“Yes.” Eden’s hands tightened into fists on his lap.
“Very well, then. The coroner’s assistant who examined the body has estimated the time of death to be about eleven that night and probably not later than five in the morning.”
“That absolves me, then.” Eden looked a little more cheerful. “I was well away from Warrilow’s lodgings by eleven and I certainly did not go back later.”
“Where did you go?” Conant lifted his pen and dipped it into ink.
“To my rooms, of course.” In spite of Eden’s confident tone, his fists tightened again.
“Witnesses?” When Eden didn’t answer, Conant looked up. “Your landlord? A fellow lodger? Anyone who saw you on the street? Did you stop by your club to greet anyone?”
Conant was trying to help him, I saw. He must doubt that Eden killed Mr. Warrilow, but if Eden continued to fidget and blush, he might as well put a noose around his own neck. Juries tended to believe that anyone who acted guilty truly was. What other reason would a man have to be nervous?
“No, no,” Eden said breathily. “Saw no one, unfortunately. Slept like a babe. Spent yesterday looking up old friends, seeing to my tailor—will need heavier clothing for this climate. Got word from the Custom House I was welcome to retrieve my baggage, which is where I went this morning.”
The room grew silent, save for the scratch of Conant’s pen on the paper and Pomeroy snorting through a stuffy nose. Eden’s hands loosened, and he returned to drumming them. His gaze fixed on Conant’s quill, which moved evenly over the page.
Finally, Conant set the pen down again. When he lifted his head, he looked at me, not Eden.
“Captain Lacey, I assume you have accompanied your friend to speak of his good character?”
He was giving me the opportunity to clear Eden as well. Sir Nathaniel did not want to send him to Newgate, I could see—he was a fair man, and I had been proved right about the innocence of a man he’d charged before. Either Conant now trusted me, or he did not want to get caught out again.
I gave him a nod. “I served with Major Eden on the Peninsula. We were captains in the same regiment. Major Eden was known for his bravery, but he was not reckless. He saved many a man with his prudence. I trusted him.”
“Do you trust him still?” The question came in a gentle tone, Conant’s intelligent gaze piercing me.
I thought of how readily Eden had walked into the dark alley with me and faced the subtle menace of Mr. Creasey. He’d been trying to ask for my help—I assume about the handbill he’d seen with his name on it—but he’d put that worry aside to assist me.
“Yes,” I answered. “I trust him still.”
Conant studied me while I hoped I had not made a terrible misjudgment of character. At last he bent his head and made a note.
“Very well. Major Eden, given the lack of sufficient evidence, I will not charge you for a crime at this time. However.” He fixed Eden with a severe gaze. “Please remain in London, until I can be confident in the identity of Mr. Warrilow’s killer. Retain your lodgings in St. James’s Place, and be prepared to answer any further questions.”
Eden blew out a breath, his relief apparent. “Of course. Thank you, Sir Nathaniel.”
Conant sent him a brief nod, then gathered his papers and rose. We scrambled to our feet, me leaning heavily on my stick. Conant gave us another nod then made his way around us, moving slowly but with dignity, and out the door Pomeroy opened for him.
“Well, that’s you lucky.” Pomeroy beamed at Eden. “Congratulations, sir.” He came forward and shook Eden’s hand. “But do remain where I can put my hands on you again if I need to.”
“I have already said I would, Sergeant.” Eden sent him a wry smile. “I’m pleased to find you in good circumstances. At least, more pleased than I was an hour ago.”
Pomeroy laughed loudly. His response was cut off as another Runner paused outside the door, one whom I did not wish to see.
Timothy Spendlove, of thinning red hair and light blue eyes, could with his very presence cut through laughter and good cheer like an icy knife. He did so now, his lips flattening into displeasure.
“Captain Lacey.”
Pomeroy ceased his laughter in annoyance. “I didn’t arrest the captain, if that’s what you’re thinking, Spendlove. He’s here as a witness.”
Spendlove’s gaze flicked from me to Eden without interest. “I was addressing him, not accusing him,” Spendlove said calmly. “I thought you’d like to know, Captain, that someone has tried to murder your Mr. Denis. Not an hour ago. He escaped within a hair’s breadth of his life.”
CHAPTER 4
I was surprised by the flare of concern and alarm that filled me at Spendlove’s announcement.
When I’d first met Denis, I’d loathed and distrusted him, and this before his ruffians had tried to kill me. I never liked that he used me for errands and bound me with obligation. He had helped me many times in the years since our first acquaintance, it was true—making my sense of obligation still stronger—but I did not consider him a friend.
Until this moment, when I realized that if Denis were killed, I’d be sorry.
“Almost murdered?” Pomeroy exclaimed before I could. “What do you mean, man?”
“I do not know details.” Spendlove appeared most displeased that the assassin had failed to bring down Mr. Denis. “Someone caught him between doorstep and carriage. Pity he did not succeed.”
I tamped down my sudden flare of anger. Spendlove, on the right side of the law, had far less honor than James Denis, a man who had committed criminal acts before my eyes.
“Thank you for the information,” I said stiffly. “Good day.”
Spendlove stepped aside for me. While his expression remained stern, his lips twitched in the corners, in a ghastly parody of a smile. He liked to see me unnerved.
Eden followed me, with Pomeroy behind him. “Mr. Denis and his sort always fight amongst themselves,” Pomeroy boomed, voice echoing in the stairwell. “I’d not be concerned, Captain.”
I knew Denis had many enemies, but I was most certainly concerned. First, that an assassin had been able to get past his many bodyguards, and second, that I had not an hour ago visited one of Denis’s rivals with a message only he and Denis understood.
I continued to the ground floor, those still waiting to be tried, the dejected who were being led away to await their transportation to Newgate, and barristers’ clerks in black, seeking clients.
Outside, a gust of wind sent spatters of droplets over my face. The fog was clearing, to be replaced by cool needles of rain.
I turned to Eden, who settled his hat against the wind. “I must return to Mayfair,” I said. “You can ride with me, if you like, and we’ll set you down in St. James’s.”
“No.” The word was abrupt before Eden softened his tone. “No, I must go once more to the Custom House and wrest my baggage from them. I hope the handbills have been disposed of, and no one tries to arrest me—again.”
“Never worry,” Pomeroy, who’d followed us out, assured him. “I’ll send word that you’re not to be touched, for now. Pleased to see you again, Captain—no, Major—Eden. Life in the islands was kind to you, I see. You are brown as a nut and strong as an oak.”