Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,20

course. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Have I been of assistance?” said LaRivière, walking with him toward the entrance hall. “I’ve heard you frequently interest yourself in such matters, although I fail to understand why—particularly in the case of this murder. What could Hayes possibly mean to you? You didn’t know him, did you?”

Sebastian found himself hesitating. What could he say? That no, he hadn’t known Hayes, but somehow that didn’t stop him from feeling personally invested in the man’s death in a way that had nothing to do with ties of friendship or kinship? That he’d looked at the dead man lying on Gibson’s slab and felt a jolt of powerful emotion that went beyond empathy, far beyond it, to something he couldn’t identify but suspected was at least partially colored by a cold breath of fear? For Sebastian was an Earl’s son who’d once been accused of murder. He understood all too well how easily a man’s life could be shattered. He himself had once come uncomfortably close to being forced to endure the horror, pain, and humiliation that Hayes had suffered. Those shackle and flogging scars could easily have been his.

Except of course he could say none of those things.

“No,” said Sebastian as a footman reached to open the Count’s door. “I didn’t know him.”

It was the truth. And yet the denial had the flavor of a lie and left a bad taste in his mouth.

Chapter 15

T he palace is unhappy,” said Lovejoy as he and Sebastian walked down Bow Street toward the magistrate’s favorite coffeehouse on the Strand. The chaos that tended to characterize the district around Covent Garden Market in the morning was beginning to subside, the crush of carts and barrows in the streets easing. “They don’t like the newspaper headlines reminding people that a peer’s son once committed such a shocking murder. I’m afraid they may move to shut down our investigation.”

“And blame—whom?” said Sebastian. “Footpads?”

Lovejoy rarely smiled. But a brief, faint suggestion of amusement lightened his normally somber gray eyes. “What would we do without footpads to blame?” The amusement faded. “The Earl of Seaforth came to see me first thing this morning.”

“He did? Why?”

“Ostensibly to inquire as to the location of Nicholas Hayes’s body. But I suspect in reality to attempt to convince me to quietly end Bow Street’s investigation into his cousin’s murder.”

“Interesting.”

“He also informed me—quite without my asking—that he dined at his club yesterday evening before going directly from there to Carlton House.”

“An enviable alibi, if true.” Sebastian watched a costermonger turn his empty barrow into Vinegar Yard. “LaRivière was also at Carlton House last night—although that might not mean anything, given that we don’t know how long before the discovery of his body Nicholas Hayes was murdered.”

“We have a better idea than we did. A couple of my lads spent the morning up in Somer’s Town interviewing the tea gardens’ staff as well as searching the area. One of Pennington’s daughters was working the entrance yesterday, and she says she remembers Hayes arriving fairly late in the afternoon.”

“She’s certain?”

Lovejoy nodded. “She saw the body as the men from the deadhouse were removing it. Pennington’s house is next to the front gate, and the man made no effort to keep his family from turning out to watch the spectacle. She says Hayes had a young boy with him, and she particularly noticed the child because he was so striking—perhaps wholly or at least partly Chinese. Does that sound like the lad who came to Brook Street?”

“It does, yes.” Sebastian chose his words carefully. “It appears likely that Hayes came here from China and brought the boy with him, although I’m not certain as to the exact nature of their relationship.”

“China? Good heavens, is that where he’s been? Well, if the boy is Chinese, it will certainly make him easier to find.” There were probably no more than two or three hundred Chinese in all of London, most of them men. And they tended to stick close to the docks of the East End. “I’ll set one of the lads to see if he can find the ship Hayes came in on. The officers and crew might be able to tell us much that we do not know.”

“That would help,” said Sebastian. “Did Pennington’s daughter work the entrance all day?”

“Most of it. If we can come up with the culprit, she might be able to identify the fellow.” They were passing St. Mary’s burial ground, and Lovejoy had his frowning gaze