My words were a mumble.
“Do not worry. I prefer the staid and stodgy.” Donata caressed my chest.
I was too tired to respond appropriately. “Fitzgerald seems reformed enough. Or at least finished with his young foolishness. Was he the sort who would murder a small planter for being irritating?”
“In his day, yes, according to Aline. He had a prickly temper and fought several duels. Wounded a man in one, though the young man recovered. However, the gentleman’s family tried to sue Fitzgerald’s family for the injury. That was when Mr. Fitzgerald’s father sent him off to the colonies. The ordeal of island life must have frightened him into bettering himself.”
“So he says.” I yawned. “I must tell you about what he showed me.”
I tried to describe the box by van Hoogstraten, but sleep overcame me. I felt Donata’s lips on mine, heard her chuckle.
“Tell me in the morning,” she whispered, and then I met oblivion.
I FOUND Donata by my side when I woke in daylight. She was not an early riser by habit, but she stirred when I did, and then she kissed me and slid her arms around my waking body.
I did not get out of bed for some time after that.
When I did emerge from behind the bed curtains, I rang for Bartholomew and began preparing for my day. Donata dragged the covers over her head and went back to sleep.
I washed and dressed, Bartholomew shaved me, and I went down for breakfast. My overindulgence at White’s last night slowed me a bit, and the back of my neck ached, but my morning with Donata had refreshed me.
I was ready to discover who had killed Mr. Warrilow if I had to wring the information out of every person in London. I wanted to quit the city and find some peace with my family in the country.
I summoned Brewster when I finished breakfast and told him we were off to Cable Street.
CHAPTER 14
L aybourne’s lodgings, to which Brewster directed me, lay immediately north of Wellclose Square, the house nearly backing onto the one in which Warrilow had taken rooms.
“Discover whether a person can reach that house from this through the back gardens,” I said in a low voice to Brewster as we approached. “Perhaps Laybourne slipped out unnoticed, climbed over the wall, or went through a gate, or some such. Mrs. Beadle might never have seen him enter.”
Brewster gave the house a dubious glance. “Don’t know if I can find out much in this place, but I’ll do me best.”
The abode was rundown, though it had obviously once been grand. Like Wellclose Square, this street’s better days were long gone. Paint peeled from the house’s shutters, the stucco was pockmarked, and a layer of grime filmed every window.
“Mr. Laybourne, you say?” asked the thin woman who answered my knock. “He’s having breakfast, inn’t he? Who are you, love?”
“Captain Gabriel Lacey, madam.” I made her a bow. “He does not know me, but I am a friend of Major Eden, one of his shipmates on his voyage from Antigua.”
The woman looked me up and down in clear doubt. “Well, I’ll ask him.”
She shut the door in my face, leaving me in the drizzle that began to coat the street. Brewster, heading down the outside stairs, gave a breathy laugh and disappeared into the dingy recesses below.
I shivered in the rain for some time before the woman yanked open the door and stood aside to allow me to enter. “He’s in the dining room, love. Has never heard of ya and didn’t like Major Eden, but he’s curious why you’re here. Go on in.”
I thanked her and removed my hat, politely scraping my boots before I stepped onto her tiled floor. Not that my efforts would have made any difference. The floor bore scrapes and smears, bird’s feathers, and a coating of dust.
The dining room had a threadbare carpet and one long table surrounded by a few rickety chairs. A small, thin man was its only occupant. He sat at the head of the table and gazed dolefully into a bowl of porridge.
“Mr. Laybourne?” I extracted one of my cards. “Good morning to you. Apologies for disturbing you at your meal.”
“Ain’t much of a meal.” He took a bite and made a face as he gulped down the lumpy porridge. He made no move to reach for the card, and I tucked it back into my pocket. “Don’t have any spirits on ye, do you? I’m a sickly man.”
I could not place