The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,35

I misspoke. There were six of us.”

His blush was so furious and deep this time, that I knew he lied, and fervently so.

CHAPTER 9

I remembered that whenever Eden grew discomfited, whether because he had to hide an opinion at an officer’s supper or explain his rash actions on the field to Colonel Brandon, he’d become as pink-cheeked as a debutante when asked for her first dance.

I eyed him now, wondering what the devil he was hiding. When he’d claimed innocence of murdering Warrilow, Eden’s face had been clear, but at the moment, he was beet red.

To give him time to compose himself, I returned to the passengers he’d named. “Do you have an idea where Mr. Fitzgerald or Mr. Laybourne might have gone once they disembarked? Did they mention where they were staying in England?”

“Laybourne, no.” Eden drew an easier breath, relieved I didn’t press him about his slip of the tongue. “He seemed the penniless sort of clerk, so he’d find an inexpensive boarding house in the City, I’d think, and search for a post. Fitzgerald regaled us with descriptions of his large home in Surrey and another in Hampshire. He claimed to have much business in London to see to, so I’d guess he’d use his house in Surrey, or is staying at his club. White’s. He boasted of that as well.”

“Then Grenville will be even more helpful, being a member of every fashionable club in existence. I will write to him.”

Eden grinned, his face having regained its normal color. “You do move in high circles, Lacey.”

“Your uncle is a baron,” I countered.

“Ha. Which means I dine on gold plates and wear silk next to my soft arse?” Eden shook his head. “Uncle Reg is out of pocket most of the time. He inherited a nice plot of land he doesn’t know what to do with, and his sons, my cousins, run up plenty of debt. I went to the colonies because I knew I could expect nothing from that branch of the family. No idea what I’ll do here. But it’s good to be home.” He let out a contented sigh.

Eden must have some money, I reflected, to be able to afford these elegant rooms.

“The missionaries?” I asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Kingston. Did they mention where they were from?”

“A parish somewhere in London. Let me think …” Eden tapped the arms of his chair. “Oh, I remember. Lambeth. Warrilow twitted them about people who swanned around Lambeth Palace rushing off to convert impoverished sinners. Idiot.”

Lambeth Palace housed the Archbishop of Canterbury, the head of the Church of England. I doubted common missionaries from that parish were allowed into its hallowed halls.

“I take it they are from an eager parish church, ready to carry Bibles to the unfortunates of the world?”

“Indeed. Not Methodists or others of that ilk—they are C of E—but as I say, quite earnest. I don’t agree that reading a Bible to an illiterate slave will help his lot very much, but they mean to be kind.”

“They were abolitionists, you said.”

“Yes, fervent ones. They don’t simply sit and spout indignation about the evils of the world, but actually work to fix them. The Kingstons have cornered MPs and put their muscle behind bills to end slavery in the colonies forever, or so they say. I respect them for that—it is a struggle. Their fights for laws will be much more effective than all the singing and praising that fills up their days.”

I knew quite well Eden’s feelings on established religion, which bordered on the atheism of the French revolutionaries, though he did not condemn any man for his beliefs.

“What about your chair?” I said into the lull in conversation.

Eden jerked. He’d just lifted his cup, and liquid splashed into his face. He coughed, set down the coffee, and reached for a handkerchief.

“Bloody hell, Lacey.” He mopped his chin. “What chair?”

“The one you said you transported because you liked it.”

The flush reappeared. “That was something to tell the magistrate, as he was keen for a reason for me to go into the ship’s hold. Keeping an eye on my meager belongings wasn’t convincing him. Which reminds me, I never did manage to collect my baggage yesterday.”

“I thought you went to the Custom House after you left Bow Street.”

The redness deepened. “Meant to. Was distracted, and it takes a blasted long time to move through this town. I gave up and came back to St. James’s. Looked in at Brooks’s but saw nobody I knew there. I