She beamed as she led me through the surprisingly deep house to a room in the back. “Mr. Kingston, we have visitors.”
The chamber we entered was a cozy study filled with books, worn from use. A window showed a back garden with struggling greenery.
The man who rose from behind a desk was tall. Stretched might be a better adjective. He was extraordinarily thin, as though someone had taken him by the top of his head and pulled him upward.
He was not sickly, however, as Laybourne had been. This man was robust, with interested eyes, healthily pink skin under his island tan, and a straight back. When Mrs. Kingston stood next to him, she did not appear as tall. They were well matched in size, and I wondered if Kingston had chosen her as his bride so he would not have to stoop to kiss her cheek.
Not that either seemed inclined toward intimacy. They both wore severe black, the white stock around Kingston’s neck a sharp contrast. Mrs. Kingston’s cap was pale gray, and she wore a fichu around her collar of the same color.
Their somber dress did not make them somber people. Mrs. Kingston’s manner was lively. “Just think, Mr. Kingston. This man is a friend to Sir Gideon Derwent.”
Mr. Kingston brightened. “A blessed gentleman, is Sir Gideon. He bathes in sorrow because his wife will leave him soon, but please tell him to rejoice that she will be safe in the arms of Jesus.”
I did not believe Sir Gideon or his family would like to be told to rejoice in anything, but I kept my opinion to myself.
“I am also acquainted with Major Eden, a fellow passenger on your voyage,” I said.
Mr. Kingston began to answer, but Mrs. Kingston cut in. “Yes, Major Eden. Such fine manners. Quite gallant. Utterly depraved, of course, but perhaps he will come around in the end.”
“Depraved?” Not a word I’d use to describe him.
“He does not follow the path of righteousness,” Mrs. Kingston said. “I tried to help him. I can only hope my words went through, and he finds his way.”
“I imagine he will muddle along,” I said. “I came to ask you about Mr. Warrilow.” I decided to dive in headlong. “You were seen visiting him the evening of the night he died.” I directed the words to Mr. Kingston.
That man flushed. “Well, I …”
“Of course Mr. Kingston was there,” Mrs. Kingston broke in firmly. “Mr. Warrilow needed us.”
I raised my brows, aware of Brewster, who’d remained silent, inching closer to me. “For what purpose?”
“To save him, of course,” Mrs. Kingston said in triumph. “Oh, no, Captain, I do not mean to save his life. I mean to continue what we’d begun on board ship, the saving of his soul. I only hope my husband was in time.”
“Why did you decide to go that evening?” I asked. “Did you make an appointment with him?”
Mrs. Kingston looked blank, but Mr. Kingston burst in, “He sent for me.” He said the words rapidly, as though fearing his wife would answer for him.
I blinked in surprise. “Sent for you?”
“I do not know why. I was never able to speak to him. I was turned away.”
“Because Mr. Warrilow refused to see you?”
“Indeed.” Mr. Kingston nodded. “So I—”
“That’s what the landlady said,” Mrs. Kingston finished for him. “Though why he’d send for my husband and then not admit him is puzzling. But it is heartening that he wanted to speak to Mr. Kingston. Perhaps he knew somehow it was his last night on earth and wished guidance into the palace of the Lord.” She clasped her hands.
Mr. Kingston was a bit more skeptical. “Before we left the docks, he asked me to visit,” he said while his wife caught her breath. “He told me where he was taking rooms but never said why he wanted to see me.”
“He had a premonition.” Mrs. Kingston nodded with confidence.
Or, I thought, he wanted to confide in Kingston about the weapons and who had been smuggling them. Kingston, in Warrilow’s opinion, would be honest enough to report it and respectable enough to be believed. But maybe Warrilow then had second thoughts about asking for Kingston’s help and decided instead to blackmail Laybourne for whatever money he could obtain.
Then again, perhaps Kingston himself was the smuggler. What more innocuous guise for a gun runner than a pair of missionaries who irritated all with their proselytizing?
“I see,” I said. “Why did you return to Warrilow’s later that night?” Harry had said he thought he’d seen Mr. Kingston in the street after Warrilow had gone to bed. “And Mr. Laybourne yesterday?”
Mr. Kingston blinked, and Mrs. Kingston turned to him in shock. “Mr. Laybourne?” she repeated.
“I did not.” Kingston shook his head. “I never went back to see Warrilow, and I did not cross the river at all yesterday. I was assisting the vicar.”
“I never saw you at the church.” Mrs. Kingston’s eyes narrowed.
“I assure you, my dear.” Mr. Kingston flushed.
I did not pursue the question, but I wondered whether he lied, and why. “Thank you. I appreciate you admitting me into your charming home.”
“It is good to be back,” Mrs. Kingston said. “Though we’ll be off to foreign parts soon enough. They need us.”
“How well did you know Mr. Warrilow?” I asked. “Were you acquainted with him on Antigua? I inquire because none know of his family—none have come to collect his body or any of his things.”
Mr. Kingston took a step forward, as though to block his wife from answering first. “We did not know him at all. Met him for the first time aboard, though I’d heard of him. He owned a small plantation. Not a kind person.”
“But everyone is worth saving.” Mrs. Kingston jumped in as soon as she was able. “I do not believe he had any family living, but not to worry. We will donate his things to our charities and see that he has a good Christian burial.”
Brewster shifted. “Why would ye? If ye never knew him? And he was a right bastard, begging your pardon, missus.”
Mrs. Kingston did not flinch at Brewster’s language. “God welcomes even the direst sinners into his kingdom. It is obvious Mr. Warrilow had repented his evil ways and wanted Mr. Kingston’s help in his last hours. He is now with the Lord, the angels rejoicing that he came to them.”
I could only imagine Mr. Warrilow snarling at these angels until they fled him, but I let Mrs. Kingston have her imagined happy ending. I recalled that Eden said the Kingstons had fought hard to put through anti-slavery bills, and I respected them for that.
“I bid you good day,” I said, making another bow. “May you have safe travels.”
“We always do, Captain,” Mrs. Kingston said brightly. “The Lord keeps us well on the seas. He saved Jonah from the belly of the whale, did he not? I have faith he would do the same for us.”
“YOU FINK THEY DID IN WARRILOW?” Brewster asked as our hackney traversed the streets back to Mayfair. “Went ’round to see him, pretending they’d preach at 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.”