The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,8
convenient and he wanted his dinner.
Sir Nathaniel waved us to chairs and took a seat behind a table, spreading out a sheaf of papers before him.
“Major Miles Eden.” Sir Nathaniel fixed him with a keen eye. “You stand accused of the murder of Mr. George Warrilow. From what Mr. Pomeroy has indicated, you will enter a plea of not guilty to the murder.”
“That is correct.” Eden sat forward, his breath quick, his eyes animated. “I did not kill Mr. Warrilow.”
“Several witnesses have attested to the fact that you came to blows with the man as you traveled on the ship.”
“I did.” Eden gave him an unashamed nod. “Mr. Warrilow was an unpleasant person to the point of cruelty. He regularly beat his servants for no reason except to satisfy his pique. About halfway through the voyage, I grew tired of his pettiness one evening at supper and remonstrated him for it. He became enraged and actually attacked me with his fists. I defended myself. The captain broke up the fight and asked that we shut ourselves in our quarters. I had little to do with the man after that.”
“He was found in his lodgings the morning after the ship docked,” Sir Nathaniel went on in his dry voice. His hand trembled slightly as he moved a paper. I’d heard from Pomeroy that the man contemplated retirement as his health was declining, but he spoke with as much vigor as ever. “Two days ago. Dead from a blow to the head. You were seen visiting his boarding house the evening before, not long after you both had disembarked.”
Eden flushed. “True. I looked him up but I never saw him. The landlady told me he’d already gone to bed, so I decided not to bother.”
“Why did you visit him?” Sir Nathaniel asked. “If you disliked the man so?”
“To ask him a question—about business he had in Antigua. It scarcely matters now.” Eden clamped his mouth closed, setting his face in stubborn lines.
“The landlady, Mrs. Beadle, is a witness,” Sir Nathaniel said. “She will be asked to verify your story. Did anyone else see you there—and more importantly, see you leave without speaking to Mr. Warrilow?”
“I suppose there must have been.” Eden shrugged. “Servants and such. I didn’t notice.”
“Mmm.” Sir Nathanial made a note.
“Beg pardon, sir,” Pomeroy broke in. “I’ve already inquired. The landlady’s boy saw Mr. Eden. He seems a sharp lad. He couldn’t swear Major Eden left without speaking to Mr. Warrilow, but he’s sure he heard Mr. Warrilow snoring sometime afterward.”
Sir Nathaniel made another note. “Thank you, Mr. Pomeroy.”
Pomeroy nodded. He was zealous in his pursuit of criminals, but he was fair enough to let the truth of the matter be proved.
“You knew Mr. Warrilow in Antigua?” Sir Nathaniel asked Eden. “What business did you have there?”
“The Thirty-Fifth Light Dragoons—my regiment—sent some officers over to advise the defense force near St. John’s, but after about six months of this, I decided to sell my commission and become a planter.” Eden grimaced. “Couldn’t stick it. Plantations are run on the backs of poor unfortunates who have no lives of their own. So then I had a small trade business, taking over from a man who’d died and whose widow didn’t want the responsibility. Made a bit of cash, but I missed home.” Eden smiled faintly. “The fog might annoy you gentlemen, but I find it refreshing.”
Conant fell silent a time as he made more notes. Eden drummed his fingers on his knee, his booted foot sliding a little on the floor.
After a while, Sir Nathaniel cleared his throat. “You visited the cargo hold of your ship a number of times during the voyage, it seems. Several of the crew and other passengers remarked upon it.”
“Nervous about my personal affects.” Eden’s cheeks stained red once more. “With good cause, as we now know, if some of the cargo was stolen.”
Yet he’d told me, only moments ago, that he’d fled the Custom House without retrieving his belongings because they were of no importance.
“What were you transporting?” Conant asked.
“Eh? Oh, you know. Clothing. A chair I liked.”
“You traveled without servants?”
“Yes, I am very much on my own.” This last was delivered with clarity and without hesitation.
It was unusual for a gentleman of Eden’s standing, especially one who’d just confessed to have made a bit of money, not to have at least one servant to look after him. I’d gone years without an attendant, but I’d been nearly penniless.