The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,37

life was produce Peter, my stepson.”

“He sounds a grand lad. Ah, we have reached the Custom House.”

The hackney stopped at the busy space before the wide building, which teemed with even more people than yesterday. The wharves were crammed with ships, men busily trundling barrels and crates up and down gangplanks or hoisting cargo via ropes and pulleys. More ships anchored in the river, awaiting their berths.

Brewster climbed rapidly down from the top of the coach to land on the pavement as soon as we alighted. He darted his gaze everywhere, hand inside his coat on his knife.

“Don’t forget Creasey’s squatting in his lair not a block away,” Brewster told me. “I’ll see ye inside, then do my asking.”

“His men attacked you, remember,” I told him. “Take care.”

“I know how to, guv.” Brewster tramped directly behind us and did not turn away until we’d opened the great wooden doors of the Custom House and stepped inside.

Noise flowed down as we climbed a flight of stairs to take us above the ground-floor warehouses. The din grew as we reached the long room at the top, where the cacophony was deafening.

A hundred or so men thronged the huge space, lit by a row of arched windows that looked out to the Thames. A counter lined each long wall, behind which a row of men faced the crowd. They were the customs clerks, with their ledgers, quills, and blank countenances, explaining to those who leaned on the counters before them how much they owed.

The shippers speaking to the clerks hunched in bored resignation, growling or sighing as they produced coins or signed documents to prove they had paid the duty on their goods. Those awaiting their turns milled through the hall, shouting to one another, laughing, haranguing.

“Which is yours?” I called over the noise to Eden, indicating the line of counters.

“None here. I’m to go to a private office, yonder.” He pointed down the long room to a door under a giant octagonal clock.

“We’ve done battle with Marshall Soult’s best forces,” I said. “Surely we can reach the other side of this fray.”

Eden laughed and led the way through the throng.

The hats the multitude wore were many and varied I noted as we passed, from the tricorns of naval officers, to the tall hats of gentlemen, short-crowned ones of men of the City, and even turbans from those who had made the long voyage from India. All of humanity must past through this hall, I reflected, as anyone who brought goods into London had to stop and pay the excise.

I also reflected that this would be an excellent place for someone like Creasey to stage an ambush. So many men—and a few ladies as well—swarmed the room that a hand could push a knife into someone’s back and vanish before the victim even knew he was dead.

With that in mind, I skimmed sideways past rough-looking men and made as much haste as I could after Eden.

We at last reached the far doorway without mishap. Eden pushed it open to reveal a hall with a staircase.

“I say,” Eden called to a passing clerk in black who was rushing down the stairs. “Can you direct me to Mr. Seabrook?”

The clerk’s scowl, which he’d assumed when Eden stopped him, became an expression of respect at the mention of Seabrook’s name. “Oh, aye. He’s one above. Fourth office down when you come off the stairs. To the right.”

“I thank you, sir. Shall we, Lacey?”

We climbed the flight and followed the clerk’s directions. Or attempted to. The fourth office was not as easily found as all that, as the floor was a maze of rooms that led to other rooms. After several more inquiries, promptly answered, we stood before a door that looked the same as all the others we’d passed.

A clerk hurried around us and directly into the office. “Mr. Seabrook. That army gent from Antigua to see you.”

“Yes, yes,” came a growl. “Please come in, Major Eden.”

We entered to find a small chamber with a large desk and shelves piled with reams of paper and ledgers. A man rose from behind the desk, setting aside a pen, the stacks of papers piled on either side of him like a castle wall.

“Delighted to see you again, sir,” the man greeted Eden.

He was rather tall and a bit spindly but had a wiry strength, similar to that of the ruffian who’d attacked us earlier this morning. The resemblance ended there, however. This man had a narrow face, dark