Page 78 of Who Cries for the Lost

Sebastian had fought at Roliça himself, but all he said was, “Interesting.”

“Mmm,” said Lovejoy, his worried gaze meeting Sebastian’s. “I thought you’d think so.”

Sebastian spent the early-evening hours making the rounds of places like the Scarlet Man and Yellow Dog, looking for men who’d once served with Palmer. He spoke to a broken-down former corporal, a blind sergeant, and a one-legged lieutenant on half pay. Then, as the sun was sinking slowly in the western sky, he turned his horses toward Marylebone.

He found the Reverend Sinclair Palmer in the small, fastidiously tidy parlor of his rectory. His hair was vaguely disarrayed, as if he’d only just come in, and he was in the act of pouring himself a brandy when the housemaid showed Sebastian in.

“Ah, Lord Devlin,” said the churchman, looking up from what he was doing. “Splendid to see you again. Have you heard? Word on the streets is that the fighting has begun.”

“Any official confirmation yet?”

“None that I’m aware of. But it must surely be so.”

“Most likely,” said Sebastian.

Palmer raised the carafe invitingly. “I was just pouring myself a brandy. Won’t you join me?”

“Thank you, yes,” said Sebastian, going to stand beside the empty hearth. “I’m told you served in the 40th Foot.”

The Reverend gave a strange, startled laugh. “A long time ago, yes. Took a bullet in the shoulder in Portugal.”

“That’s when you sold out?”

Palmer set aside the carafe and turned with two glasses in his hands. “It was, yes. Although if truth be told, I’d realized by then that I would be far better suited to a life in the church than in the military.” He handed one of the glasses to Sebastian and raised his own as if in a toast. “Here’s to better days ahead, when we can focus on bringing solace into the lives of our fellow men rather than killing them, aye?”

It didn’t exactly fit with what Sebastian had heard from the men who’d served with the then Cornet Palmer. “Yes,” said Sebastian, raising his own glass. “Here’s to peace.”

The Reverend took a deep drink of his brandy. “So, have you made any progress in finding Sedgewick’s killer?”

Sebastian wondered if the phraseology was significant—finding Sedgewick’s killer as opposed to finding the man who’s doing these killings. “Not as much progress as I’d like, I’ll admit.”

Palmer took another deep drink. “I should think a man known for seducing the wives of his friends must have made any number of enemies.”

“Last time we spoke, you said you thought Sedgewick’s death had something to do with his interest in witches and werewolves.”

The Reverend’s eyes widened. “Ah, yes, well... That was before I knew about Lady— Well, let’s just say it was before I knew about a certain lady.”

“Do I take it Eloisa Sedgewick knew her husband was having an affair with this ‘certain’ lady?”

“Of course she knew. The woman isn’t stupid.”

“She must have been very angry and hurt, if she spoke to you about it.”

“What woman wouldn’t be?”

“And what about this ‘certain’ lady’s husband? Do you think he knew of his wife’s affair?”

“As to that, I couldn’t say. Some men are very good at deceiving themselves, are they not?”

“Up to a point, perhaps.”

Palmer drained his glass. “Well, you would know that particular man better than I. You did serve together in the Peninsula, did you not?”

“We did.”

“Then you should know what he is capable of.”

“Meaning?”

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