The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,53
Fitzgerald went on after he’d dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, leaving a pink stain on the linen. “He was not the most pleasant of fellows. Downright blistering on occasion. I imagine he startled a burglar, and Warrilow, instead of shouting for help like a sensible chap, snarled at him about the error of his ways. Burglar became fed up and smashed him over the head.” He chuckled.
“An interesting speculation,” Eden said. “But until we find the burglar, we shall never know.”
“Ah, well. It’s a terrible thing, and I am certain to tell my valet to lock my door at night. But it makes me all the more determined to enjoy life while I have it.” He lifted his glass in another toast.
“What brings you back to London?” I asked.
“A rather creaky ship.” Fitzgerald grinned. “It was time. I’m not a young man anymore. My poor old pa sent me out to Antigua to remove me from the danger of becoming a dissipated and useless blight on the landscape. A canny man, was my father. We didn’t have a title to keep the family from ruin, and I could have landed him in desperate straits. Look what happened to Brummell, who’s now rusticating in France, living on the charity of others. I was furious with my father for packing me off, but it turned out to be the making of me.”
Several footmen served us a cream soup as this speech ended, then quietly retreated. I dipped my spoon into the smooth, thick liquid, and tasted a velvety broth with a hint of nutmeg. Some among the dandy set disparaged White’s cuisine, considering Watier’s, run by a chef, to have the best food. However, I found nothing to sneer at as I imbibed the soup.
“You enjoyed Antigua?” I asked as we slurped.
“I am not certain one enjoys Antigua.” Fitzgerald swallowed his last bite of soup before Eden and I were halfway through our bowls. “But it was good to me. I made a circle of friends. I was a bit haughty about the plebeian crowd when I first arrived, but soon found genuinely good fellows. I nearly married but came to my senses in time. Ha ha. She wed a better man and bore him a half dozen sturdy children.”
“But it was time to come home?”
“Indeed. As I said, I am growing no younger. The heat became more difficult to bear each year, and the storms …” He shuddered. “They did not come along often but when they did, they were terrifying. Eden, here, knows what I mean. English weather is far more tame. Forever damp, but it’s predictable.”
Fitzgerald leaned back comfortably as he waited for Eden and me to catch up, not at all chagrined by his appetite.
The footmen whisked away our bowls as soon as I’d scooped up the last drop and replaced them with plates of fish in a butter sauce with plenty of fresh dill.
Eden took over the questions. “What do you plan to do now that you are home? Retire to the country and collect spoons?”
Fitzgerald laughed and thumped the table. Though he ate quickly, he did so neatly, wiped his fingers on a napkin, and only spoke or laughed when his mouth was empty. A gourmand, I decided, rather than a glutton.
“I hope not. No, I shall look up old acquaintance, go to the theatre, join a hunt, enjoy what I could not in the islands.”
“A sound plan,” I said.
We finished the fish, Fitzgerald inhaling it in several large bites. The footmen removed the plates and brought forth the meat, a roast in an excellent wine sauce accompanied by hunks of crusty bread.
“You did not join me tonight so I could speak nostalgically about my life, Captain Lacey,” Fitzgerald said after we’d made a start on the beef. “You want to know if I had anything to do with Warrilow’s death. I have heard much about you in the very short time I have been staying at White’s. Grenville’s captain friend, they say, who makes a nuisance of himself but finds criminals where the Runners cannot. The cavalryman with mud on his boots who stole away the beautiful Lady Breckenridge and has brought down men from on high.” Fitzgerald sawed at his roast and paused, a large hunk poised before his mouth. “So, Captain. What would you like to know?”
CHAPTER 13
F itzgerald’s amiable openness was disarming—almost. I decided not to let my fledgling liking for the man cloud my judgment.