The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,32

from the houses on the close, mostly servants, as the hour was early and the fashionable often didn’t rise until after noon.

The ruffian was groggily coming around under our ministrations by the time Pomeroy arrived. Pomeroy took in the scene, listening in delight as Eden told him how Brewster and I had been attacked but defended ourselves valiantly. Pomeroy stepped over to the fallen man, who hunkered against a railing, massaging the back of his head where I’d struck it.

“Billy McCann, is it?” Pomeroy inquired in his ringing tones. “Bashing Billy, as I live and breathe. I’ve been after you a long time, son, for doing in a woman in Blackfriars. Thank you, Captain. Major Eden, Mr. Brewster.”

He hauled up Bashing Billy and strode him off around the corner. The fire in Billy’s eyes had died a sorry death.

The excitement over, the footmen and curious maids drifted back into their houses.

I explained to Eden that I’d been on my way to see him. Catching him unawares was now impossible, but Eden brightened.

“As it happens, I planned to look you up today.” He gestured to the tall house two doors down from where the fight had taken place. “Please, come upstairs.”

Brewster pulled his hat down on his head. “I’ll keep watch. First attempt failed, which means Creasey will only send more next time.”

“It was you they attacked, not me,” I pointed out. “It is better for you to be indoors.”

“Indeed, Mr. Brewster.” Eden made a sweep of his arm. “There is plenty of room, and my landlady can find you some ale if you wish it.”

Brewster scanned the street, brows lowering as he considered. “Just as you like. But I’ll need to be by a window.”

Thus agreed, we followed Eden into a fine house with bow windows in the first three floors above the front door, and large square windows at the very top. Eden greeted the landlady breezily as he led us inside, she a plump woman who shook her head at the goings-on of ruffians in the street. She did not like the look of Brewster, but Eden assured her he was my trusted servant, and upstairs we went.

Eden’s lodgings were on the third floor, up a polished staircase with an oriental carpet runner and twisting balusters. Tables with curved legs on the landings held silver candlesticks and clocks, I supposed so gentlemen lodgers could find their way upstairs in the dark and also know what time they were stumbling home from their clubs.

The front room of Eden’s chambers contained one of the bow windows I’d seen from below. Brewster immediately strode to it and sat himself on a chair there.

The rest of the room was pleasantly furnished with gold upholstered settees, a shelf of books near the fireplace, tables for snuffboxes and the aforementioned books, and a desk with a curved lid supplying a stack of paper and a pen tray with quills and a pot of ink. Through an open door I spied a bedchamber with another fireplace and a bedstead hung with brocade curtains.

The contrast between this elegant abode and the rooms I’d occupied above the bakeshop in Covent Garden was marked. When Eden began apologizing for the cramped space, I was hard-pressed to hold my tongue.

“Think nothing of it,” I said tightly. “I’ve been looking into the matter of Warrilow, if you do not mind my prying.”

Eden gestured me to a chair. “Not at all. I’m happy for any help to untangle me from this snarl.”

Before either of us could continue, a footman entered with a tray of coffee and a few small cakes, and ale for Brewster. Brewster took the glass with a nod of thanks but barely pulled his eyes from the street below.

Once the footman had departed, I sipped the coffee, which was quite good. “I’ve come to know magistrates and one of the River Police since I’ve been living in London these past five years,” I told Eden.

Brewster’s snort was soft, but we heard it. Eden raised his brows, but I shook my head. Brewster was not the sort who would efface himself and hide his opinions.

I told Eden about my visit to Wellclose Square and the little I’d discovered about Warrilow. “We found a wedding ring. Was he married? Did he have a family?”

Eden’s face smoothed as he sipped coffee. I watched him think through his answers, choosing his words carefully, and wondered why the devil he’d need to.

“Warrilow was a small planter, as I told you.” Eden set his