“Did you and Warrilow clash over anything in particular?”
I studied the gilded carved plaster of the fireplace as I waited for his answer.
“No.” Eden sounded uncertain. “No.” This was more firm. “He simply put my back up. He did with everyone.”
When I turned my gaze to Eden once more, he’d lifted his coffee cup as though hiding behind it.
“Did he clash with anyone else in Antigua? I mean more than irritating them in general.”
Eden shook his head. When he lowered the cup, he had more command of himself. “Not that I heard. I wouldn’t be surprised if he annoyed someone enough to kill him, though. He was unpleasant in the highest order.”
“You are saying anyone could have done it? That is not particularly helpful.”
“You didn’t know him.” Now Eden’s eyes held grim anger. “I do not think any man deserves to be struck down without being able to defend himself, but it does not amaze me that someone did.”
“What about Mrs. Beadle, his landlady? She was there all night, on the spot. Would know where to reach for a weapon.”
Eden paused. “I’d hate to say yes. I’d land her in it, wouldn’t I? She seemed a good soul when I met her, but if he upset her enough…”
“He was coshed extremely hard.” I recalled Mr. Clay probing the wound on the man’s skull. “I will be charitable and say I think it unlikely Mrs. Beadle is the culprit. She must have had many an unpleasant lodger, and killing them would put her out of business.”
Eden nodded somberly. “You jest, Lacey, but Warrilow truly was a bad person.”
“Yet, he married.”
“Yes, pity the woman. Dead these ten years, poor thing.”
Compassion swam in his eyes. If Warrilow’s wife had been gone ten years, then Eden wouldn’t have met her. Ten years ago, he and I were slogging through mud in the Netherlands before heading to Portugal. That meant Eden wouldn’t have quarreled with Warrilow when gallantly defending his wife or blaming Warrilow for her death. His sympathy for the lady was fellow-feeling only.
“Well then, let us turn to the others aboard with you,” I said. “Could Warrilow have enraged his fellow passengers enough for one of them to follow him home and strike him?”
“I think it highly likely.” Eden set down his cup and tapped his fingertips together. “Let me see, there were seven of us traveling to England. The captain of the ship didn’t like to fraternize with the passengers. He was congenial and a reasonable man, but not a conversation maker. He was busy most of the time, in any case.”
Eden paused to sip more coffee.
“As for the passengers—there was a missionary couple. Kingston was their name. Very earnest. You know the sort. They’d been traveling through the islands, converting the heathen. They were also abolitionists, which did not sit well with Warrilow, I can tell you. It was when he was busy hurling abuse about that at Mrs. Kingston that I became incensed and we nearly came to blows.”
I could easily picture Eden abandoning his affability to defend a lady, even a zealous missionary.
“What did Mr. Kingston do during this exchange?”
“Smoldered. He was the weaker of the couple. Mrs. Kingston was quite spirited.” Eden grinned in remembrance.
“Did anyone else witness this quarrel?”
“Of course. It happened at the supper table—that’s how gauche Warrilow was. Couldn’t keep quiet even to let us all dine in peace. The other passengers were there—a Mr. Laybourne. Small man, rather threadbare, soft-spoken. An accountant for a merchant in St. John’s, he said, though I hadn’t met him before. The other man, I knew slightly. Mr. Orlando Fitzgerald. A gentleman in his fifties, rather grand, went on about his connections to the Carlton House Set when he was younger. I gather his father sent him to Antigua to separate him from said Carlton House Set and their rakehell ways. Or perhaps Fitzgerald never knew the Prince of Wales at all and glorifies his past. Easy to do when you are among countrymen far from home.”
“My friend Grenville might know of him,” I said. “He’s acquainted with the Carlton House Set of old.”
Eden’s eyes widened. “Lucius Grenville? Good Lord, Lacey. You sit and speak off-handedly of befriending magistrates and marrying the beautiful Lady Breckenridge, and now you claim friendship with the most famous man in Britain? You are a wonder, my friend.”
I flushed. “Accidents all. They took a liking to me, though I’m damned if I know why. I have a foul temper.”
Eden studied me in amusement. “You intrigue people with your honesty. They never know what to make of it. I remember this happening quite frequently during our army days.”
I shifted, uncomfortable with this change of topic. “What other passengers were with you?”
“That is all. The missionaries, Laybourne, and Fitzgerald.”
“You said seven.”
“I was including Warrilow and myself.”
“Which makes six.”
Eden’s flush returned. He counted on his fingers. “Jove, you have the right of it. Well, I misspoke. There were six of us.”
His blush was so furious and deep this time, that I knew he lied, and fervently so.
CHAPTER 9
I remembered that whenever Eden grew discomfited, whether because he had to hide an opinion at an officer’s supper or explain his rash actions on the field to Colonel Brandon, he’d become as pink-cheeked as a debutante when asked for her first dance.
I eyed him now, wondering what the devil he was hiding. When he’d claimed innocence of murdering Warrilow, Eden’s face had been clear, but at the moment, he was beet red.
To give him time to compose himself, I returned to the passengers he’d named. “Do you have an idea where Mr. Fitzgerald or Mr. Laybourne might have gone once they disembarked? Did they mention where they were staying in England?”
“Laybourne, no.” Eden drew an easier breath, relieved I didn’t press him about his slip of the tongue. “He seemed the penniless sort of clerk, so he’d find an inexpensive boarding house in the City, I’d think, and search for a post. Fitzgerald regaled us with descriptions of his large home in Surrey and another in Hampshire. He claimed to have much business in London to see to, so I’d guess he’d use his house in Surrey, or is staying at his club. White’s. He boasted of that as well.”
“Then Grenville will be even more helpful, being a member of every fashionable club in existence. I will write to him.”
Eden grinned, his face having regained its normal color. “You do move in high circles, Lacey.”
“Your uncle is a baron,” I countered.
“Ha. Which means I dine on gold plates and wear silk next to my soft arse?” Eden shook his head. “Uncle Reg is out of pocket most of the time. He inherited a nice plot of land he doesn’t know what to do with, and his sons, my cousins, run up plenty of debt. I went to the colonies because I knew I could expect nothing from that branch of the family. No idea what I’ll do here. But it’s good to be home.” He let out a contented sigh.
Eden must have some money, I reflected, to be able to afford these elegant rooms.