The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,11
His response was cut off as another Runner paused outside the door, one whom I did not wish to see.
Timothy Spendlove, of thinning red hair and light blue eyes, could with his very presence cut through laughter and good cheer like an icy knife. He did so now, his lips flattening into displeasure.
“Captain Lacey.”
Pomeroy ceased his laughter in annoyance. “I didn’t arrest the captain, if that’s what you’re thinking, Spendlove. He’s here as a witness.”
Spendlove’s gaze flicked from me to Eden without interest. “I was addressing him, not accusing him,” Spendlove said calmly. “I thought you’d like to know, Captain, that someone has tried to murder your Mr. Denis. Not an hour ago. He escaped within a hair’s breadth of his life.”
CHAPTER 4
I was surprised by the flare of concern and alarm that filled me at Spendlove’s announcement.
When I’d first met Denis, I’d loathed and distrusted him, and this before his ruffians had tried to kill me. I never liked that he used me for errands and bound me with obligation. He had helped me many times in the years since our first acquaintance, it was true—making my sense of obligation still stronger—but I did not consider him a friend.
Until this moment, when I realized that if Denis were killed, I’d be sorry.
“Almost murdered?” Pomeroy exclaimed before I could. “What do you mean, man?”
“I do not know details.” Spendlove appeared most displeased that the assassin had failed to bring down Mr. Denis. “Someone caught him between doorstep and carriage. Pity he did not succeed.”
I tamped down my sudden flare of anger. Spendlove, on the right side of the law, had far less honor than James Denis, a man who had committed criminal acts before my eyes.
“Thank you for the information,” I said stiffly. “Good day.”
Spendlove stepped aside for me. While his expression remained stern, his lips twitched in the corners, in a ghastly parody of a smile. He liked to see me unnerved.
Eden followed me, with Pomeroy behind him. “Mr. Denis and his sort always fight amongst themselves,” Pomeroy boomed, voice echoing in the stairwell. “I’d not be concerned, Captain.”
I knew Denis had many enemies, but I was most certainly concerned. First, that an assassin had been able to get past his many bodyguards, and second, that I had not an hour ago visited one of Denis’s rivals with a message only he and Denis understood.
I continued to the ground floor, those still waiting to be tried, the dejected who were being led away to await their transportation to Newgate, and barristers’ clerks in black, seeking clients.
Outside, a gust of wind sent spatters of droplets over my face. The fog was clearing, to be replaced by cool needles of rain.
I turned to Eden, who settled his hat against the wind. “I must return to Mayfair,” I said. “You can ride with me, if you like, and we’ll set you down in St. James’s.”
“No.” The word was abrupt before Eden softened his tone. “No, I must go once more to the Custom House and wrest my baggage from them. I hope the handbills have been disposed of, and no one tries to arrest me—again.”
“Never worry,” Pomeroy, who’d followed us out, assured him. “I’ll send word that you’re not to be touched, for now. Pleased to see you again, Captain—no, Major—Eden. Life in the islands was kind to you, I see. You are brown as a nut and strong as an oak.”
“The sun in the Antilles. It bakes into one.” Eden clipped off a salute. “Pleased to see you as well, Sergeant. Good day to you.”
A hackney lingered at a stand on the corner of Bow and Russel Streets, and Eden started for it, me beside him.
“You do not need to see me to the hackney,” Eden said, with a glance at my walking stick.
I disliked that he assumed me feeble, though I knew I could not walk a long distance without distress. My pride had learned that lesson.
“I happen to be traveling in the same direction. I must find my man, and I know he will be at a bake shop around the corner.” I held out my hand as we neared the hackney, and Eden signaled the driver that he’d take it. “My home now is in South Audley Street, at the Breckenridge house. Everyone knows it. Or a message left at the bake shop I just spoke of—Mrs. Beltan’s in Grimpen Lane—will reach me.”
Eden shook my offered hand. “Thank you, Lacey, for not deserting me.”