He harrumphed, stepped back and closed the little door. James heard a key scrap against metal, then the door opened.
A large man with rolls of fat beneath his chin filled the door frame. He frowned. It looked habitual. Fuzzy hair came to a forward V shape on his forehead, the edges receding steeply at the sides of his head, the skin polished pink. His full cheeks resembled a squirrel’s cheeks after discovering a hoard of nuts.
“Sir James,” he said.
“Yes.”
The man’s nose scrunched up. “Battle honor?”
James allowed a smile to ghost his lips. “Peninsular battles,” James said.
The man nodded. “Name’s Harvey. Henry Harvey. I’m the warden here. Come in,” Warden Harvey said, stepping away from the door. He waddled to a desk in the middle of the room and stood by the large chair behind it. He waved his hand, indicating James should take a seat, then sat as well.
“Me older brother were a Chosen Man with the 95th Rifles,” the warden said, pride in his tone.
James knew the 95th Rifles was a regiment organized in 1800. The rifles regiment took the best and brightest men from different regiments to form a radically different corps of men, trained to be sharpshooters using the new Baker rifle; men who could think for themselves and be skirmishers instead of line and square fighters. They even had different uniforms: dark green with black leather trim to provide camouflage.
“Congratulations,” James said. If talking about the Peninsular War and this man’s brother would get him to talk to Soothcoor, it was worth the time. He relaxed back in his chair.
“My main experience with the 95th was during the Siege of Badajoz,” he told the warden. “They did a fine job of eliminating the French artillery crews there.”
The man compressed his lips and nodded. “He told us about that battle.” Then he shook his head. “Unfortunately, he got injured durin’ The Battle of Tarbes, so he missed Waterloo.”
“He was discharged?” James said.
“Aye. Injured his shootin’ arm, couldn’t hold a rifle fer a long while.” He laughed. “Got it good now, though. Gamekeeper on the Marquis of Keirsmyth’s estate.”
Then his expression dropped, and he rested his head on his chins as he looked at James.
He leaned forward. “So why do you want to visit a murderer?”
“I don’t believe it is possible for Alastair Sedgewick, the Earl of Soothcoor, to kill a man.”
The warden’s eyes narrowed. “Any man can kill another. Been the same forever. We’s taught that in the Bible when Cain kills Abel.”
“I do not argue with you. But not Soothcoor.”
The Warden snorted. “Ya think the man’s a saint?”
James shook his head. “No. Then again, I have never met a saint, so I don’t know what one would do or not do.”
The Warden smiled at that. “I like that. So, tell me about my prisoner.”
“The Earl of Soothcoor is well known. His holdings are in Northumberland; however, he spends most of his days in London. In society they refer him to as ‘The Dour Earl’ for he rarely smiles. He has never been married. He is well-liked and invited everywhere. He is also a private person. Few in society know that his hobby is building and fixing musical automatons or that his passion is helping women and children from the worst parts of London, like Seven Dials, get chances to rise above their circumstances.”
The warden nodded. “He is a quiet man. Paid fer things he’s asked fer, but he don’t ask fer much. Only thing he’s asked fer is books to read, and blankets fer all prisoners.”
James laughed. “That sounds like Soothcoor.”
The Warden reached up to scratch his ear. “Me and the wife were away that night he were brought in.” He grunted. “Left the Turnkey in charge,” he said, shaking his head. “The magistrate had the earl sent to the general prison first night they brung him here. The turnkey on duty didn’t know he were sum titled bloke so didn’t think to question the magistrate, not that he would have even if he had two thoughts in his brain, which he don’t. Magistrate jus’ gave ’is given name when ’e brought him in.”
“And the earl noticed the state of the blankets right away,” James suggested, “because the one given to him was thin and moth-eaten.”
The warden nodded. “Aye. When I got back the next day and found out where ’e’d put the earl, I wasted no time in getting him to a proper cell. Put ’im in an empty debtor’s room attached to my ’ouse. My wife sees to him. ’e’s always soft-spoken and nice ’cept when he brought up the matter of the blankets. DemandedI get new ones immediately. He pulls a yella boy outta ’is waistcoat pocket and slaps it down in front of me. Said that should cover it, and it did. Quite passionate ’e got about them blankets.”
“I believe you,” James said. “He is accused of murdering Malcolm Montgomery.”
The Warden nodded.
