The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,39

burden. I’d relieve my pride for not being allowed to help by asking Brewster to tote things, once we found him.

I glanced back before I departed for a final farewell and caught Seabrook gazing after Eden with an expression of vast suspicion. He smoothed out the look when he caught my eye and gave me a half smile.

I departed, wondering very much what was on the man’s mind.

I caught up with Eden who navigated the stairs awkwardly, but he landed without a mishap. We pushed our way through the long room, which, if anything, had grown more crowded, and back down to the street.

Before I could mention Seabrook’s odd reaction, or suggest we find Brewster to carry the box for him, four large men surrounded us.

One pointed a thick finger at me. “Mr. Creasey wants to see you. Now.”

CHAPTER 10

I faced the man who’d spoken, his broad finger almost touching my nose. “I’m very busy at present,” I managed to say coolly. “Mr. Creasey may write for an appointment.”

The man curled his hand into a fist. “He don’t make appointments. You come with me, now.”

“Steady on,” Eden broke in. “Captain Lacey can go where he pleases and do as he likes.”

“Not if he don’t want his nose broken. This way, guv.”

I glanced about for Brewster but saw him nowhere. Meanwhile, Eden and I were surrounded by four toughs, larger still than the ones who’d attacked Brewster and me in St. James’s.

Eden and I could possibly fight them, if Eden dropped his luggage. And, in this crowd, surely passers-by would jump in to assist, though whose side they’d take I could not guess.

“What does he want?” I asked the fist.

“T’ have tea.” The bully bared blackened teeth in a foul grin. “He says t’ bring ye for a talk, for an hour or so. Not t’ kill ye.”

“How polite of him,” Eden said. “And if we refuse?”

“I’m t’ bring the captain don’t no matter what. Not you, guv.”

“I’ll not desert my comrade,” Eden said stoutly.

“It’s all right.” I shot Eden a quick glance. If I went alone, Eden could go find a patroller or Runner to rescue me, or better still, Brewster. “I’ll see what he wants. You lug your things home.”

Eden opened his mouth to protest, then understood my look, and nodded. “Right you are. I’ll hunt up a hackney, shall I?”

The four men closed around me.

“Go on, then,” the ruffian said, finally lowering his fist and waving Eden off.

I concluded they didn’t mean me any harm, at least not at present. If they’d wanted to kill me, they’d not have let Eden go—they’d have herded us both to Creasey’s warehouse and murdered us together, so Eden would not bring the law down upon them later.

Eden gave me a nod and tramped away, balancing his luggage, reluctance in every step. As soon as he faded into the crowd, the four men stationed themselves around me and marched me toward the lane in which Creasey lived.

His empty warehouse looked the same as it had yesterday, with dust-filled corners and blank walls. As I hoisted myself up the stairs, the ruffian who’d spoken to me seized my elbow and half-lifted, half-pushed me onward, impatient with my slow pace.

They hurried me across the upstairs floor of the warehouse, more blank walls and darkness, the only light leaking in through a single dirty window above the staircase.

The man who held me opened the office door and thrust me into the room. Creasey was seated at the table with the chessboard, the only uncluttered area in the place. An unmatched chair rested on the other side of the chessboard, and the pieces had been set up in their rows.

“Captain Lacey,” Creasey said without rising. “Welcome. Do sit. We’ll have our game.”

I made for the chair—a maroon-upholstered Hepplewhite delicacy—but only because my leg was aching from all the stairs I’d gone up and down today. I sank onto its seat, finding it stiff and somewhat uncomfortable, but my knee was grateful for the relief in pressure.

“I have not played in years.” I laid my walking stick against the table, near enough that I could easily grab the sword inside. “I have heard you are a master at the game. You might be disappointed in me as an opponent.”

“Not at all,” Creasey said in his thin, dry voice. “Any game is instructive. You do know the moves?”

I inclined my head. “I do.”

“Excellent.” Creasey gave me a smile that could have graced a gargoyle. “You have white, so