The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,77
their cells.
The driver halted at a small church a few yards shy of Bedlam’s gates. I settled my hat and went around to the vestry, hoping someone would be in.
They were—the vicar, readying himself for an evening service with his choirmaster. Both assumed harried expressions when I asked about the Kingstons, but the vicar directed me to a small house around the corner. He was very polite, but his manner indicated he thought I ought to take myself a few paces down the road to Bedlam for asking for the Kingstons.
The house was a small cottage that had been squashed between larger buildings as this area developed. Only two stories, made of brick, it looked snug and quaint, with ivy growing over its front windows.
My knock was answered by a woman of unexpected tallness. She was almost my height, and I stand above six feet.
“Good afternoon, madam.” I extracted a card. “I have come to speak to Mr. Kingston.”
“My husband.” The woman accepted the card, read the name, turned it over as though there might be surreptitious lettering on the back, and nodded at me. “Do come in. I have heard of you, Captain Lacey, from Sir Gideon Derwent, who is as godly a man as I have ever met. Have you come to aid us on our journey?”
“Journey?” I removed my hat as I stepped into a small, flagstone hall. Brewster was a step behind me, stubbornly refusing to leave my side. The woman did not seem to mind him. “I heard you just returned from Antigua. Are you setting off again?”
Mrs. Kingston laughed, a merry sound. I understood why Eden called her spirited. “Aren’t you a one? I mean our never-ending journey to spread the word of the Lord. We can save as many folk right here in London as we can around the world. Though I have to admit that watching savages suddenly see the light is quite rewarding.”
She beamed as she led me through the surprisingly deep house to a room in the back. “Mr. Kingston, we have visitors.”
The chamber we entered was a cozy study filled with books, worn from use. A window showed a back garden with struggling greenery.
The man who rose from behind a desk was tall. Stretched might be a better adjective. He was extraordinarily thin, as though someone had taken him by the top of his head and pulled him upward.
He was not sickly, however, as Laybourne had been. This man was robust, with interested eyes, healthily pink skin under his island tan, and a straight back. When Mrs. Kingston stood next to him, she did not appear as tall. They were well matched in size, and I wondered if Kingston had chosen her as his bride so he would not have to stoop to kiss her cheek.
Not that either seemed inclined toward intimacy. They both wore severe black, the white stock around Kingston’s neck a sharp contrast. Mrs. Kingston’s cap was pale gray, and she wore a fichu around her collar of the same color.
Their somber dress did not make them somber people. Mrs. Kingston’s manner was lively. “Just think, Mr. Kingston. This man is a friend to Sir Gideon Derwent.”
Mr. Kingston brightened. “A blessed gentleman, is Sir Gideon. He bathes in sorrow because his wife will leave him soon, but please tell him to rejoice that she will be safe in the arms of Jesus.”
I did not believe Sir Gideon or his family would like to be told to rejoice in anything, but I kept my opinion to myself.
“I am also acquainted with Major Eden, a fellow passenger on your voyage,” I said.
Mr. Kingston began to answer, but Mrs. Kingston cut in. “Yes, Major Eden. Such fine manners. Quite gallant. Utterly depraved, of course, but perhaps he will come around in the end.”
“Depraved?” Not a word I’d use to describe him.
“He does not follow the path of righteousness,” Mrs. Kingston said. “I tried to help him. I can only hope my words went through, and he finds his way.”
“I imagine he will muddle along,” I said. “I came to ask you about Mr. Warrilow.” I decided to dive in headlong. “You were seen visiting him the evening of the night he died.” I directed the words to Mr. Kingston.
That man flushed. “Well, I …”
“Of course Mr. Kingston was there,” Mrs. Kingston broke in firmly. “Mr. Warrilow needed us.”
I raised my brows, aware of Brewster, who’d remained silent, inching closer to me. “For what purpose?”