The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,79
him, then knocked him on his head? Maybe they are the gun smugglers?”
“It is a tempting idea.” I idly spun the head of my walking stick. “Is Mr. Kingston lying about going to Laybourne’s lodgings? Young Harry saw him.”
“Missionaries don’t lie,” Brewster said with a straight face.
“I rather think they do,” I said.
“Course they do.” Brewster barked a laugh. “They’re the biggest liars of all. Depend upon it, he’s the killer. Or at least, has summut to do with it.”
He might prove to be correct.
We returned to South Audley Street, I puzzled by what the Kingstons had told me and worried about Eden. Still no word from him, both Barnstable and Bartholomew informed me when I stepped inside.
I had intended to renew my search for Eden, but as Barnstable took my coat, a tightness around his eyes, I heard screams of agony stream down from above.
In alarm, I tossed my coat to Barnstable and leapt up the stairs, heart banging, barely feeling my protesting knee as I went.
CHAPTER 20
A s I reached the landing of the second floor, I met a strained Donata descending. Above us the screams grew more shrill.
“What has happened?” I bellowed. I imagined all sorts—Anne falling from a chair or her bed, grabbing broken shards of a cup or snatching at a bare knife, or attempting to climb on a shelf, windowsill, or table, and crashing down to the floor.
“It is temper, not distress,” Donata answered, thin-lipped. “She is not pleased to be moving from this house.”
Her glare told me she knew exactly from whom Anne had inherited her temper. I could not argue, but I knew exactly from whom Anne had her stubbornness and her spirit.
“She is not even two years old.” I banished the visions of Anne lying bleeding on the floor, though my heart continued to race. “This is confusing for her.”
“I do understand that, but she has been shrieking for an hour. Nothing will placate her.”
“Let me see if I am able.”
Donata clearly did not think I would be. She made an exasperated noise and stormed into her bedchamber, slamming the door.
I reflected that Peter and I were the quiet ones as I continued climbing toward the nursery floor. The tumult increased as I ascended. I heard Nanny McGowan alternately scolding Anne and telling her sweetly that all was well, that we were off to see her brother.
When I pushed open the nursery door, I beheld Anne sitting in the middle of the floor, on a rug, her dress awry, and her dark curls standing on end. Her mouth was open, a pink oval in a scarlet face, her eyes squeezed shut. From this mouth issued a roar that rattled the windows.
“Good heavens, has Bonaparte escaped again?” I shouted the question. “Shall we saddle our mounts and meet him in battle?”
Mrs. McGowan, who’d been at the edge of the carpet, hands on hips, drew a breath to admonish me, but I waved her to silence.
The roaring abruptly ceased. Anne opened her streaming eyes and gazed up at me, her lower lip trembling. She let out another wail, as she had built up a momentum that she could not quench, but the cry had less power.
“Well, that is a relief,” I said, my voice much quieter. “I thought we were in danger once more. Everything is well, my sweet.”
Anne trailed down into curious sniffles. Her face was beet red, her nose running. Coupled with the mass of her hair every which way, I realized she looked much as I did the morning after a long night of revelry.
The nursery was in disarray with half-packed bags and boxes standing on every surface. It looked as though an army had been stowing everything they could lay their hands on, but fled when Anne began to scream.
“No wonder you’re angry,” I said, making for her. “Your brother vanished, your parents are rushing about without you, and your home is at sixes and sevens. Why don’t you and I find something else to do?”
The cries had completely ceased, Anne regarding me with interest. She wiped her eyes, then emitted a halfhearted sob, as though remembering she ought to be weeping.
She reached for me at the same time I reached for her. I scooped her into my arms, kissed her mussed hair, and proceeded to kidnap her.
Mrs. McGowan rushed forward with a shawl. “She’ll catch a chill.”
“No, she will not.” I took the wrap, snuggled Anne into my arms, and carried her down the stairs.