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.”
“The sun in the Antilles. It bakes into one.” Eden clipped off a salute. “Pleased to see you as well, Sergeant. Good day to you.”
A hackney lingered at a stand on the corner of Bow and Russel Streets, and Eden started for it, me beside him.
“You do not need to see me to the hackney,” Eden said, with a glance at my walking stick.
I disliked that he assumed me feeble, though I knew I could not walk a long distance without distress. My pride had learned that lesson.
“I happen to be traveling in the same direction. I must find my man, and I know he will be at a bake shop around the corner.” I held out my hand as we neared the hackney, and Eden signaled the driver that he’d take it. “My home now is in South Audley Street, at the Breckenridge house. Everyone knows it. Or a message left at the bake shop I just spoke of—Mrs. Beltan’s in Grimpen Lane—will reach me.”
Eden shook my offered hand. “Thank you, Lacey, for not deserting me.”
“You were good to accompany me on my unpleasant errand. I could hardly forsake you on yours.”
A gleam of interest entered Eden’s eyes as he released me. “Breckenridge, eh? I read of the death of Lord Breckenridge …”
“And I married his widow.” I touched my hat. “Well met, Eden, and good day.”
“You’ll not get away that easily, Lacey. I’ll have the story out of you another time.” Laughing, he climbed into the carriage, calling to the driver to take him to the Custom House on Lower Thames Street.
I watched the hackney roll away then continued around the corner to Russel Street, making for Grimpen Lane. Despite the rain, the square of Covent Garden beyond teemed with those shopping, bargaining, and calling out wares. The smell of greens, ripe fruit, and baking bread wafted my way.
Before I reached the narrow entrance to Grimpen Lane, Brewster came at me from the direction of Covent Garden.
“Guv, I have some news …”
“About Denis?” I drew close to him and lowered my voice, though I doubted we’d be overheard above the din from the market. “Spendlove told me. With barely concealed glee.”
“I don’t work for His Nibs no more,” Brewster said, “but I want to know what happened—what lout let a man with a blade close to ’im.”
“I am going in the same direction,” I assured him. “Shall we find our coach?”
HAGEN WAITEDfor us on Bow Street. I insisted that Brewster ride inside the carriage with me, and he did so with a show of reluctance, though I believe he was happy to get out of the rain. As we bumped our way along the Strand toward Charing Cross, I told Brewster what had transpired in Sir Nathaniel’s office.
“Huh,” was Brewster’s response. “Your man’s an officer and a gentleman, so of course he was let off. If they’d peggedmefor the murder, I’d even now be in a cage heading off to await me trial.”
“You are a known criminal,” I pointed out. “Eden has no taint to his name. But I take your point. On the other hand, Sir Nathaniel did send Colonel Brandon to Newgate once upon a time, so your argument does not hold true for all.”
“Beg pardon, guv—your colonel might be gentleman-born, but he’s good at a lie.”
I had observed the same thing. “I’d say he wasbadat a lie, as it only helped him get banged up. His wife sees through him, which is the most important thing.”
“Aye, Mrs. Brandon is a canny lady.” High praise from Brewster. “What happened to His Nibs today worries me. No one should have come nigh him.”
“How did you hear of it? That a Runner was informed—particularly Spendlove—does not surprise me, but there has scarcely been time for it to be printed in the newspapers.”
“And it won’t be. His Nibs can’t let it get about that someone attacked him and nearly succeeded in killing ’im. I heard because Lewis—one of his men—came looking for me to tell me.”
“He knew to find you in Grimpen Lane?”
Brewster shrugged. “Don’t matter I’m no longer your nanny for ’im—Mr. Denis knows every move you make. He’d have heard you were headed to Bow Street. Happens I was peckish and went out to the market, and Lewis found me there.”
“What did he say of the matter?”
