Robbie considered. “There’s three of them. Two are ordinary—I saw them in the belly of the ship. The other was tall and very thin. Like that missionary chap.”
Well, well. I turned to Eden. “Why do you suppose they had anything to do with you? They might be searching for the gun smugglers.”
Robbie shook his head. “They were staring straight at this house. Watching it, like.”
Mrs. Davies’ hand trembled as she set down her cup. “Can they come and take him from me? My Robbie?”
Grenville, master at soothing troubled waters, answered. “I shouldn’t think so. Slavery is illegal by the laws of England and the acts abolishing the international slave trade, so the boy should be free on this soil, which presumably was Eden’s thinking. No, I’m wondering if they aren’t afraid of what Robbie might have seen in the hold. They probably thought him of no consequence if they glimpsed him there, but if they ever saw you with him, Eden …”
“My thinking too, Mr. Grenville,” Brewster said. “Someone likely followed you here, Major, maybe caught sight of young Robbie, and worked it all out. What with you always down in the hold, they might think you saw other things too. If the customs agents were taking bribes, they’d not want anyone to find that out.”
“They are clearing up loose ends, you mean,” Eden said in alarm.
“Warrilow was a loose end,” I said, surprisingly calm. “He knew, with his way of ferreting out men’s secrets and berating them, about the smuggling and the bribery. I still make him out to be a blackmailer, but he was a threat.”
“Jove.” Eden swallowed. “Laybourne was a threat too, wasn’t he? Poor fellow. I imagine he only wished to retire, as he said.”
“And they killed him for it,” Brewster put in. “He knew too much about the goings on.”
I glanced at Mrs. Davies, who’d followed the conversation without surprise.
“Oh, I’ve told her all,” Eden said, catching my look. “She had it out of me after Warrilow was killed, and I came to her, so very upset.”
“It was a terrible thing,” Mrs. Davies said. “Even if Mr. Warrilow was a very bad man. I wager you are right that Mr. Warrilow took money for his silence, Captain. He did the same with others on Antigua.”
“It’s Fitzgerald doing this then?” Eden asked. “He bribed the customs men to be able to offload his artwork without hindrance, and then shut up Warrilow. Laybourne too, because Laybourne must have known about the bribe—since he was paying one as well. A pity. I rather like Fitzgerald.”
I set down my cup and rose abruptly. It was time to put a stop to this.
“I believe we should visit the Custom House itself, gentlemen. Put forth all we know, and let them and the magistrates take care of the villains in their midst. I’d like Robbie to come with us, Mrs. Davies. I promise to return him very soon, and unscathed.”
CHAPTER 25
I wanted to bring two more people with us. One was Harry, whom I borrowed from Mrs. Beadle. The two boys, about the same age, and dwelling in close proximity, already knew each other.
“Mornin’, Robbie,” Harry said as Brewster lifted him into the coach. “Where we going?”
“Custom House,” Robbie said. “Wherever that is.”
“I know it.” Harry spoke with the confidence of the London-born. “Mornin’, Mr. Brewster. You wouldn’t have a flask on ye, would ye?”
“I would,” Brewster said as he shut the coach’s door on us. “But the captain and your grandmum would break me bones if I gave it to ye.”
He chuckled as he turned to climb onto his perch in the back.
I asked Jackson to make one more stop on Wapping Docks before he took us to the Custom House.
Always easygoing, Thompson did not question me when I hurried into his office and asked him to accompany us. He chose to join Brewster on the back of the coach, his slim build fitting easily onto the seat with him.
We piled out at the Customs House and went inside, making our way to the long room. Eden led the way through the crowd there, the rest of us trailing, as Brewster held firmly to each of the boys’ hands.
When we reached Seabrook’s office, I halted. “There won’t be much room inside,” I said. “Brewster, will you look after the lads? I’ll want them to speak to him, but I doubt we can all squeeze in at once.”
Brewster nodded, cheerfully telling the boys they’d hunt up something interesting to do.
The clerk, Bristow, recognized Eden and me but was doubtful at our reception. “He is ever so busy, Captain. There was an explosion near here yesterday, and a fire. It’s put out now, but the warehouses on that lane are being gone through, and it’s a job.”
Seabrook wouldn’t be sorting through whatever ruined goods were found, I reasoned, but dealing with all the reports. I pictured the piles on his desk growing taller.
“We’ll not take much time,” I said.
“It’s devilish important,” Grenville put in.
Bristow studied Grenville, evidently a wealthy man, possibly a powerful one. One who might give him a good tip, I saw him conclude.
“Right then. This way, sirs.”
He tapped on Seabrook’s door and opened it at Seabrook’s invitation.
The customs official stood up with an expression of gladness when he saw us. “Excellent. I needed an excuse to lay down my pen.” He dropped it on the tray with a clatter. “What can I do for you today, Captain? Major Eden?” He glanced with interest at Grenville and then Thompson. “Aren’t you a Thames River fellow? Yes, I think we’ve met once or twice.”
“Peter Thompson.” Thompson peeled off one fingerless glove and shook Seabrook’s hand. “This is Mr. Grenville.”
“Oh-ho.” Seabrook grinned. “What has brought the famous Mr. Grenville to the Custom House? To rescue some very fine brandy?”
“Hardly.” Grenville shook his hand and gave him a friendly nod. “I purchase mine legally, I assure you.”
Seabrook chuckled. “Please, sit down, gentlemen, if you can find space. What brings you here? What can you tell me about the warehouse that blew itself into powder?” His sage expression told me he believed I’d been involved somehow.
“I am here to explain what happened on the Dusty Rose,” I said. “The ship that brought Major Eden to England.”
“Yes.” Seabrook nodded. “That cargo was finally cleared, although as I say, we have not found what was stolen.”
“I do not think anything was actually taken from the ship,” I said. “But it was used to smuggle expensive, and possibly stolen, artwork, and shipments of guns. Carbines and possibly more.”
“Ah, yes, the carbine you found.” Seabrook sifted through papers on his desk and extracted one. “I have my notes on it. Did you discover any other weapons?”
“Not yet. Mr. Laybourne likely knew where they were. But let me give you a sequence of events as I believed they happened.”
I glanced at my friends. They nodded at me to continue, though Eden appeared apprehensive.
“The Dusty Rose sailed with cargo and several passengers,” I began. “Major Eden, Mr. Warrilow, Mr. Laybourne, Mr. Fitzgerald, and the missionaries, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston. Warrilow was a passenger of the sort most people dread, arguing over every point in a conversation, prying into their business. He was suspicious of Eden, who visited the hold to check on his belongings, and also of Laybourne, Fitzgerald, and the Kingstons. The Kingstons seem to be exactly what they are, zealous missionaries. I’ve met them. But a little too zealous to be true perhaps?”