The Bellingham Bloodbath by Gregory Harris Page B

McReedy agreed before bottoming his glass and waving another barmaid over.
    Colin waited until he’d been served again before speaking up. “The sergeant was just telling me he served under the captain for three years.”
    â€œThat’s right.” He heaved a sigh and stared off. “You get to know a man in that time. He was solid. I never had any quarrel with him.”
    â€œNor, it seems, did any of his men. But you mentioned his wife’s brother. . . .”
    â€œAch . . .” He scowled and downed another slug of ale. “Thomas Mulrooney. A bastard sergeant in the Irish Guard. A real tosser.” My ears perked at his mention of the Irish Guard, reminding me of what Maw had said about a brawl between them and the officers of the Life Guard a few months past. “Never had nothin’ good ta say about the captain.”
    â€œDid they ever have an altercation?” I tried to ask blithely.
    The sergeant’s eyes flicked over to me with such intensity that I dropped my gaze and took a drink. “It’s the Guard, not a schoolyard,” he growled.
    â€œOf course.” Colin smiled. “And what about Major Hampstead? Did Captain Bellingham ever confide anything to you about the major? Something in passing perhaps?”
    â€œThe Guard doesn’t natter like a bunch of old women,” he scoffed, still holding himself tight. “If he had an issue with the major he wasn’t talkin’ to me about it.”
    â€œI just wondered if you heard any rumblings. Men have been known to complain from time to time, you know.” He chuckled.
    Sergeant McReedy stared off a moment and then drained his glass. “I’m done,” he said as he thumped his tankard onto the table and slid from the booth.
    â€œOne more?” Colin smiled.
    The sergeant wouldn’t meet his gaze as he shook his head and stalked off without another word, disappearing in the phalanx of people long before it would have been possible for him to reach the door.
    â€œYou certainly know how to empty a booth.” Colin eyed me. “What was that about?”
    â€œI heard there was some sort of brawl between some men in the Irish Guard and a few of the Life Guard officers a couple months back. Happened at a tavern on the east side named McPhee’s. When he mentioned Mrs. Bellingham’s brother being in the Irish Guard and not liking the captain”—I shrugged—“I thought there might be a connection.”
    Colin’s brow creased. “Hard to believe there wouldn’t be. And Lady Stuart . . . ?”
    â€œLancaster Gate.”
    He beamed. “What would I do without you?!” He reached under the table and squeezed my hand. “Let’s go home. I’ve had quite enough of this place for one night. I’ll get Mrs. Behmoth to scrounge something up for us and we shall share what information we’ve learned tonight, as I’ve not been entirely without success myself.” He prodded me before I could press for a hint, and for the first time since he had accepted the case I allowed myself to consider that maybe, just maybe, he really would be able to solve these murders in the two and a half days we had left.

CHAPTER 11
    I n spite of her having been the family’s scullery maid, it is true that Mrs. Behmoth served as the primary maternal influence for Colin after his mother’s death when he was seven. She was not Sir Atherton’s first choice for such a pivotal role in his young son’s life, but after trying one nanny after another and seeing Colin pay them little heed, he’d finally had no choice but to resign himself to the attachment between Colin and Mrs. Behmoth. I am certain it was easier for Sir Atherton to simply give in. Some things have not changed.
    To this day I do not profess to fully understand the bond between Colin and Mrs. Behmoth, and yet I would have bet that Colin could never have convinced her to