The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,106

and more to that house, and one day never leave it.”

“I wish him well.” Grenville gave him an imaginary toast. “He seems a good man.”

“He is. And rash, impetuous, and a poor liar.”

“Hmm.” Grenville eyed me, then shook his head and gazed out the window.

We arrived in Curzon Street as thick clouds covered the sun and a heavy October rain began to fall. We found Denis reestablished in his upstairs study, though his guards were in evidence throughout the house and outside it. One never knew.

Denis received the box of Egyptian treasures with a nod and ordered Gibbons to send others to assist Brewster.

“Will anything be left in that warehouse when they are finished?” I asked him.

Denis answered with one of his minute shakes of the head. “The shipment I lost was substantial.”

I chose not to argue. Nor did I protest too much when Denis lifted a bejeweled golden scarab from the crate and offered it to me. Donata would be pleased with it, I decided.

I left Denis to his stratagems. When we alighted at South Audley Street, Grenville declared himself quite fatigued and retired to his chamber for a nap. He closed his door before I approached Donata’s sitting room.

Donata was there, once again writing letters at her desk. I crossed the room, laid the scarab before her, and kissed the top of her head.

Donata took up the scarab, enchanted. “Good heavens, Gabriel, it is lovely.” She glanced at me as I hovered behind her. “Is this a peace offering?”

“It is a beautiful trinket I thought you would like,” I said quietly. “I believe Denis’s intention is a peace offering. Or a step toward the debt he says he owes me. He likes to have things in balance. Usually tipped in his favor.”

“That is true.” Donata admired the scarab once more and gently laid it on the writing table. “Thank you.”

I laid my cheek against her hair. “You are welcome.” I drew a breath. “I can never bring the balance between us aright again. I know that.” I rose, stepping back. “I accept that.”

“Gabriel.” Donata turned in her chair. “Please, do not go.”

The words made my throat tighten. I drew a chair beside hers and sat down, taking her hands. “Never. Until you send me far away.”

“I do not wish to.”

Her words were soft, her eyes holding pain, but also hope. This was a lady who’d been through much. Her life, which was the envy of many, had been hard enough to toughen her into steel.

“I do not wish to go either,” I answered.

Donata rested her hands on my shoulders. Her answer, without words, eased my heart. It was a long time before we adjourned to find supper.

BARNSTABLE SERVED us an appetizing meal several hours later. Donata, Grenville, Peter, and I relaxed in the dining room, discussing all that had happened.

A smaller mystery had been solved when I received an answer from Sir Montague about the Kingstons. He’d sent his best Runner, Mr. Quimby, to Lambeth to chat with Mr. Kingston, Mr. Quimby quite good at extracting information.

It turned out that Kingston did have an alibi for the time of both Warrilow’s and Laybourne’s murders. When I’d spoken to him, he’d claimed to have been helping the vicar, and Mrs. Kingston had said with some suspicion she’d seen him nowhere near the church.

In truth, he’d been not far away from home, at a local pub, indulging in a pint of ale and friendly conversation. Mrs. Kingston highly disapproved of public houses and taverns, but her husband apparently found them a peaceful retreat from her zealous and never-ending chatter.

I read the missive out, a lighthearted note after so much direness.

After we’d laughed and continued our meal, Grenville laid down his fork and cleared his throat.

“My proposal, that I mentioned to you, Lacey, is this,” he said. “I have a villa not far from Rome. Perhaps not a villa, but a large house with a pleasant view. I have thought about withdrawing there with Marianne for some time, until others grow used to our new arrangement.”

“Sensible,” Donata said. “Bask in private enjoyment to fortify yourself for coming battle.”

“Yes.” Grenville took a long sip of wine. “I am afraid this Season will be one continuous battle. Our current house party is going well, but that is because I handpicked the guests. When the ton bears down on us come spring, it will be a different situation. But if I invite the correct people to visit us in the beautiful Italian countryside, and