Meanwhile, the hackney conveyed us across the metropolis, as it had yesterday, to the home of James Denis.
It was now that I missed Grenville. He’d been gone from London some weeks, excited about his new house and bringing Marianne to it as his wife. She’d never be accepted fully in his circles because of her background—or lack thereof—but deep in the country, away from the crush of London, she might find a place for herself. Grenville was no fool, and he’d have chosen an area where they could have a modicum of peace.
If Grenville were here, we would discuss the mysteries put before us, dividing up the tasks and interviewing those close to the crime. I would write to him of all this tonight, including asking about the Mr. Fitzgerald Eden had mentioned.
We would visit Grenville soon, I told myself. I looked forward to viewing Grenville’s home, and cursed Denis again for deciding to bring danger down on us all. Though Creasey had promised to spare Brewster and to leave me alone, I certainly did not trust the man to keep his word.
When we reached Curzon Street, Brewster climbed down from the top of the coach, helped me descend, and sent the driver onward.
Denis was not at home. The butler, Gibbons, opened the door a crack and informed us of this.
“We’ll wait,” Brewster said.
Gibbons scanned the street before he condescended to pull open the door. Behind it, four men were poised, I suppose to make certain we’d not been sent by Creasey as decoys to get us inside Denis’s house. When no one swarmed down the road to push in behind us, Gibbons relaxed a fraction—an expression very difficult to discern—and quickly closed and locked the door.
He led us to a cold reception room decorated in pristine whites highlighted with gold. Denis did not keep his masterpieces of art in this room where anyone might be admitted, but the chairs, paintings, and candelabras were nonetheless impressive and obviously costly.
I perched on the edge of a graceful settee, leaning on my walking stick. Brewster would not sit, but folded his arms and stared at the herringbone pattern of the wooden floor, still annoyed with me.
“They did not give me much choice,” I told him. “I sent Eden off in the exact hope that he’d find you, which he did. If Creasey had wished to harm me, his men would have killed me the moment they took me inside.”
Brewster lifted his head, his eyes flashing in a glare. “He’s a snake in the grass. Never have truck with him again.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, snapping off a salute.
“You joke, but I’m not wrong. He’ll lure you in, then snap you up.” Brewster brought his hands together in a loud clap.
“I’m not as naive as all that, Brewster. I know he’s a bad man, and I won’t forgive him for sending men after you. I’ll not go to him tamely.”
“Not tamely, but you will. He’s got ice in his veins, that one. He doles out violence as easily as he sips his breakfast tea.”
I’d thought the same of Denis many a time, but I believed it more strongly of Creasey. Denis was a thoughtful man, only striking when he had to. Creasey struck for the fun of it, akin to the way he played chess. He enjoyed the game but intended to win.
“He agreed to leave you be,” I said. “But like you, I do not trust him. Perhaps Mrs. Brewster ought to also be a guest in our house, for her safety.”
Brewster shook his head. “You’re house ain’t safe, guv. Not with the likes of Creasey knowing where you live. Em knows how to look after herself. She’ll keep out of his way.”
“Are you certain she’ll be well?” I asked in concern. “With you hovering over me instead of home protecting her?”
He snorted. “Em’s known the London streets since she were a lass. She’s much shrewder than you are, more canny too. She’ll be all right.”
Having met Mrs. Brewster, I knew that she was most capable. Even so, I would not like to see her drawn into Creasey’s machinations.
I wanted to argue further, but under Brewster’s warning stare, I decided to change the topic.
“What did you find out about Mr. Laybourne? Aside from where he resides? Which is immensely helpful. Thank you.”
“Don’t try to talk me ’round, guv. How your lady wife puts up with you, I don’t know. I found Mr. Laybourne easily enough. Fellows at the Custom House know ’im. He used to be a customs clerk then went off to do the same in Antigua. Couldn’t stick the heat and caught the ague. Recovered, but it made him sallow and sickly. So he came back here to restore his health. Huh.” Brewster glanced upward as though at the gray sky we could not see. The room had no windows.
“Whether you rein in your anger at me or not, this is helpful knowledge,” I said. “Not that I can imagine why a sickly clerk would kill Warrilow, or if he’d have the strength to do so. But it’s a link, of sorts. I will interview the man.”
“As ye like. You are leaving at the end of the week, though, mind.”
“Of course. I have said I would.”
Brewster sent me a narrow gaze and resumed staring at the floor.
We sat thus as a silver gilt clock on the table chimed out the half hour. After it had gone three rounds of this, I heard a door open in the hall, and then Gibbons entered our room. Without speaking, he gestured us to follow.
Denis had come in but not through the front door. He walked from the back of the house, in his greatcoat, divesting himself of hat and gloves and handing them to a beefy footman.
The butler put himself between us and Denis as he passed us without a word and walked upstairs. As soon as Denis had vanished on the upper floor, Gibbons led us in his wake to his study.
Denis had moved his desk. It no longer sat against the front wall between the windows, but before the fireplace, facing the door. The shutters on the front windows were closed, and blinds had been drawn over the back ones. In this gloom, the butler lit candles, their light joining that of the fire.
A chair was brought to me so I could sit, but Brewster remained standing.
“What did he want?” Denis had seated himself at his desk and now drew a letter from a stack that had been placed there. He broke its seal and scanned the contents while he waited for my answer.
I did not ask how he knew I’d been to see Creasey. Brewster hadn’t said a word to any but me since we’d entered the house, but as Creasey had acknowledged, Denis would have sent men to watch my every move.
“To offer me a post,” I answered. “At least, so he said. In truth, I imagine he was trying to pry information from me.”
“I doubt that.” Denis laid the letter aside. “He would have more information from his spies. He summoned you to discover what sort of man you are. To learn what it would take to make you betray me.”
“I am not in the habit of betraying people,” I said stiffly.
Denis spread his fingers. “He will poke at you until he understands your exact price. Every man has one.”
“So you said to me when we first met.”
“I stand by my assessment.” Denis gave me a slight nod and placed his hands, palm down, on the desk. “I would like to know all he said to you.”
I saw no reason not to repeat the conversation and told him all I could remember. “He painted you in the wrong, which did not surprise me. That he’d agreed to a truce he’d suggested and abided by it until you sent him the queen.”