He hauled up Bashing Billy and strode him off around the corner. The fire in Billy’s eyes had died a sorry death.
The excitement over, the footmen and curious maids drifted back into their houses.
I explained to Eden that I’d been on my way to see him. Catching him unawares was now impossible, but Eden brightened.
“As it happens, I planned to look you up today.” He gestured to the tall house two doors down from where the fight had taken place. “Please, come upstairs.”
Brewster pulled his hat down on his head. “I’ll keep watch. First attempt failed, which means Creasey will only send more next time.”
“It was you they attacked, not me,” I pointed out. “It is better for you to be indoors.”
“Indeed, Mr. Brewster.” Eden made a sweep of his arm. “There is plenty of room, and my landlady can find you some ale if you wish it.”
Brewster scanned the street, brows lowering as he considered. “Just as you like. But I’ll need to be by a window.”
Thus agreed, we followed Eden into a fine house with bow windows in the first three floors above the front door, and large square windows at the very top. Eden greeted the landlady breezily as he led us inside, she a plump woman who shook her head at the goings-on of ruffians in the street. She did not like the look of Brewster, but Eden assured her he was my trusted servant, and upstairs we went.
Eden’s lodgings were on the third floor, up a polished staircase with an oriental carpet runner and twisting balusters. Tables with curved legs on the landings held silver candlesticks and clocks, I supposed so gentlemen lodgers could find their way upstairs in the dark and also know what time they were stumbling home from their clubs.
The front room of Eden’s chambers contained one of the bow windows I’d seen from below. Brewster immediately strode to it and sat himself on a chair there.
The rest of the room was pleasantly furnished with gold upholstered settees, a shelf of books near the fireplace, tables for snuffboxes and the aforementioned books, and a desk with a curved lid supplying a stack of paper and a pen tray with quills and a pot of ink. Through an open door I spied a bedchamber with another fireplace and a bedstead hung with brocade curtains.
The contrast between this elegant abode and the rooms I’d occupied above the bakeshop in Covent Garden was marked. When Eden began apologizing for the cramped space, I was hard-pressed to hold my tongue.
“Think nothing of it,” I said tightly. “I’ve been looking into the matter of Warrilow, if you do not mind my prying.”
Eden gestured me to a chair. “Not at all. I’m happy for any help to untangle me from this snarl.”
Before either of us could continue, a footman entered with a tray of coffee and a few small cakes, and ale for Brewster. Brewster took the glass with a nod of thanks but barely pulled his eyes from the street below.
Once the footman had departed, I sipped the coffee, which was quite good. “I’ve come to know magistrates and one of the River Police since I’ve been living in London these past five years,” I told Eden.
Brewster’s snort was soft, but we heard it. Eden raised his brows, but I shook my head. Brewster was not the sort who would efface himself and hide his opinions.
I told Eden about my visit to Wellclose Square and the little I’d discovered about Warrilow. “We found a wedding ring. Was he married? Did he have a family?”
Eden’s face smoothed as he sipped coffee. I watched him think through his answers, choosing his words carefully, and wondered why the devil he’d need to.
“Warrilow was a small planter, as I told you.” Eden set his cup into its saucer with precision. “He is—was—a widower. I don’t believe he had any children. He’d lived in Antigua a long time, thirty years, I think I heard him say.”
“And he was returning to London for business he didn’t trust any other to do?”
“Eh? Oh, yes, I suppose that is what he said.”
“It is what you told the magistrate.”
Eden’s face reddened. “See here, Lacey. Did you come to interrogate me or help me?”
“I came to get to the truth of the matter.” I sipped coffee and took in my surroundings. Eden had mentioned he’d transported a chair he liked, which was one reason he’d visited the cargo hold, but I saw no chair here that did not match the decor. These sofas and armchairs had been purchased as a set. I suppose the customs men could have kept hold of it, but Eden seemed to have forgotten all about it.
“The truth of the matter is I went nowhere near Warrilow the night he was killed,” Eden said firmly. “Mine is not the hand that struck him down.”
“I’m inclined to believe you, for many reasons. His landlady told me the same tale of you turning up at half past nine and Warrilow being abed. She considered you a fine gentleman.”
“What a relief. Exonerated by an East End landlady.” Eden took a sip of coffee, eyeing me coolly over the cup. “I hope that is enough for Pomeroy and his magistrate.”
“Please do not take offense. I do want the truth. I must warn you that if I discover you truly did kill the man, I will have to let Pomeroy take you.”
Another soft snort from Brewster. I heard a mutter of thickheaded pride and honor.
Eden didn’t seem to notice. “I’d expect no less, Lacey. Likewise, if I discovered you bashed the man over the head for some reason, I would haul you before the magistrates myself.”
“Then we understand each other. Truth is our best chance.”
I saw Brewster shake his head as though fed up with mad army officers.
Eden opened his hand. “What do you wish to ask me?”
“Did you know Warrilow in Antigua? You said you tried your hand at planting. Did your paths cross?”
“Unfortunately. Let me explain about Antigua, Lacey. There is much money to be made in sugar—if you have the right connections. The island is dominated by large plantations, the owners of which bring in fortunes. The navy and the dockyards where Lord Nelson commanded before he went off to chase old Boney were put in place to protect the merchantmen hauling rum to the rest of the world and supplying the planters when they returned. The business runs the island.”
“Is that why you tried planting? To make a fortune?”
Eden shrugged. “I needed to do something with myself. The threat from the French had died once Napoleon was defeated.” He trailed off. “Think of it, Lacey. Nelson, one of the great naval captains, and his foe, Napoleon Bonaparte, another astonishing man. We’ll not see their like again. One dead, the other withering away on an island prison.”
“And here you and I, who bloodied our hands in the thick of the battles, sit in comfortable chairs drinking coffee.” I took a sip. It did make one think. “Wellington survived. He’s as confident as ever.”
“So I have heard.” We reflected for a moment on all we had seen and done in the long, long fight to defeat Napoleon. “In any case, you are waiting for me to answer your question,” Eden went on. “Yes, my path and Warrilow’s crossed. He was known for his brutality and actually twitted me for being soft with my workers. I can’t look the other way at slave labor—it’s an archaic and barbaric practice that should have been banished centuries ago. In any case, I freed the twenty slaves who worked for me and settled them into paying posts or sent them to acquaintances in Canada for the same. After that I turned my hand to shopkeeping.” He chuckled. “I was horrible at it. My employees were relieved when I sold the business and decided to return to England.”