Death by Silver (11 page)

They climbed down and Ned paid off the cab, and they stood for an instant on the sidewalk before Ned shook himself and started briskly up the steps. Julian wanted to say something, any number of things, but none of them seemed particularly useful, and he didn’t trust his voice, anyway. He touched Ned’s shoulder instead, and drew a glance, startled and then oddly grateful, before Ned pulled the bell.

The door was opened by a diminutive maid, not much older than fifteen or sixteen by the look of her. She took Ned’s card and their hats and ushered them into the parlor, where the heavy curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun. The decoration was conventional rather than comfortable, with a spinet in one corner and chairs in fashionable dark-red damask flanking chinoiserie tables, and there was a silver bowl piled high with beadwork fruit beneath a cage of what he devoutly hoped were stuffed birds. Ned saw where he was looking, and lifted an eyebrow.

“I suppose I did see all the silver, then. That wasn’t there before.”

“You should probably ask anyway,” Julian said, and grimaced. “Sorry. Don’t let me tell you your business –”

Victor Nevett chose that moment to make his appearance. He hadn’t changed nearly as much as Julian would have liked, down to the lank forelock that drooped toward his eyebrows. “Mathey,” he said, and held out his hand. Julian saw Ned brace himself, and guessed Victor had developed a bone-crushing grip. “And – by God, it is Lynes. You’ve changed.”

“I do hope so,” Julian said, silkily, and accepted Victor’s hand. There was a trick to it – yes, a nerve, just there, and Victor twitched as though he’d been stung. Julian gave him a blank look, and Victor cleared his throat, rubbing his thumb against the leg of his trousers when he thought they couldn’t see.

“Well,” he said. “Sit down, sit down. I do appreciate your finding the time to come today, Mathey. It’s not been pleasant, between the police running roughshod through the house, and half the staff threatening to quit. The mater’s been frantic.”

“I’m sure,” Ned said. His voice was calm, a little remote: soothing, if you didn’t know him.

“I made Reginald and Freddie stay home,” Victor went on, “so they’re here for you. And Mater said she’d see you, but wants Mr Ellis to sit with her.”

“And he is – ?” Julian asked. Ned gave him a warning glance, but Victor just shrugged.

“One of the mater’s charity projects, I think, though I suppose it doesn’t do to say so. He grew up in the same town she came from in Kent, and after he took the cloth he came up to London to run a mission in Limehouse. Mother’s hired some of his trainees, and they’re decent enough, I suppose.”

The girl who answered the door, for one, Julian guessed. She had the pinched look of a mission child, not yet worn away by the security of her place.

“A worthy cause,” Ned said.

“My wife takes an interest, too,” Victor said. “Keeps Mother happy, anyway.”

Julian couldn’t help looking at Ned, but Ned was better at hiding his surprise. But of course Victor would be married, he was certainly well of age, and forbiddingly normal in that regard.

“The first thing I’d like to do is get an idea of how many people were in the house in the period when the enchantment had to be placed,” Ned said.

Victor sighed. “The police have been asking us that for days. Can’t you get the list from them?”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” Ned said, patiently. “Just in case something occurs to you.”

Victor’s frown said how likely he thought that was, but he answered anyway. “The servants, of course. I don’t think any of them had a day off. Then Mother, of course, and myself and my wife. Reginald and Freddie, though now that I think of it, I’m not so sure about Reginald. He and Father quarreled, and I think he spent the night at his club.”

“You and your brothers live at home?” Ned asked.

There might have been a hint of color in Victor’s cheeks. “We do. Of course, in my case, it’s just until my wife and I can find a suitable house. We’ve only been married a year.”

“So that’s everyone who lives in the house,” Ned said. “Visitors?”

“God, I don’t remember. And I wouldn’t know who called on Mother, I was at Hoare’s all day – I’m a senior manager there, you know.” Victor paused. “No, I tell a lie. We did have guests to dinner that first night, the Reverend Mr Ellis and Mr and Mrs Boies. But Father stayed in Town that night.”

“It probably doesn’t matter,” Ned said. “But it’s good to know.” He glanced at Julian, one eyebrow flicking up, and Julian shook his head minutely. No, he didn’t have any more questions.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to go through this in detail again,” Ned said. “And then I’ll want to take a look at the study, to be sure there aren’t any small lingering enchantments.”

“The police did that, too,” Victor said.

“If you were content with the work of the police, you wouldn’t have hired me,” Ned said, and somehow contrived to keep his tone pleasant.

Victor blew out his cheeks. “No, very true. All right. Where do you want to start?”

“I’d rather not keep Mrs Nevett waiting,” Ned said. “And, Lynes – you’ll talk to the servants?”

“Yes,” Julian said, gratefully.

“I’ll ring for Larkin, then,” Victor said. “And if you’ll come with me, Mathey?”

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Larkin proved to be the butler, younger than Julian would have expected, with a precisely trimmed beard and a flat, expressionless face. The latter was a requirement for the position, of course, particularly since he was young for it, and Julian watched him carefully as he explained that he and Mr Mathey had been hired to supplement the police investigation, and that he required time and place to interview the rest of the staff. Larkin nodded gravely, only his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second, and led Julian down the back stairs to the kitchen.

“Miller is with Mrs Nevett, I believe,” he said, over his shoulder, “but I will send Sarah to fetch the others.”

“Miller is Mrs Nevett’s maid?” Julian asked, and Larkin inclined his head.

“Yes, sir.”

They had reached the kitchen, enormous and cheerful, a stone-floored, low-ceilinged room that stretched the width of the house, from the entry on the crescent to the back garden. Heavy pillars divided the space, holding up the arches that supported the house, and the cook turned sharply from her range, her words dying unspoken as she saw the strangers. The kitchenmaid, who couldn’t have been more than twelve, yelped and dropped her paring knife, and the cook cuffed her gently.

“Not more police, Mr Larkin.”

She knew perfectly well he wasn’t police, Julian thought, from the cut of his suit if nothing else, and he felt a surge of renewed confidence. He had grown up in a house like this, had first learned to read secrets among his great-uncle’s staff. He knew far more about the ways of life belowstairs than they would expect, and he could use that to his advantage.

“No, Mrs Rule.” Larkin’s voice was delicately reproving. “Mr Victor has hired Mr Lynes – and Mr Mathey, whom you have not met – to assist the police. He is wishful to speak with the staff.”

“When I have tea to make, and then dinner?” Mrs Rule protested.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Julian said. “Nor will I keep your helpers any longer than I have to.” He glanced over his shoulder. The back door opened into a narrow, stone-walled garden, not likely to be overlooked or, if voices were kept low, to be overheard. There would be a bench or a seat there, he knew, as well as the herb and flower beds. “Larkin, I’ll talk to your people outside, please, singly, in whatever order is most convenient for the house. And then if I might have a word with you – in your pantry?”

Larkin nodded. “Very good, Mr Lynes. I believe – yes, I’ll send Sarah first. The underhousemaid. And then Miller and Jane Pugh should be free of their duties.”

“Thank you,” Julian said, and stepped out into the garden. It was exactly as he had expected, a long paved area surrounded on three sides by solid brick walls – seven feet high and topped with broken glass, though he doubted there were many attempts at entry from the gardens to either side. The back gate looked solid, with a modern enchanted lock, and a heavy bar leaned against the wall beside it. The brackets were new, however, and he made a mental note to ask if it had been installed after the murder.

As he’d expected, there were iron chairs and a bench toward the middle of the garden. He shifted one to a respectable distance, and looked up as Larkin appeared in the doorway.

“This is Sarah, Mr Lynes.”

It was the girl who had opened the door, her face carefully blank, her hands folded in front of her.

“You’re to answer his questions, Sarah, just as if he were the police,” Larkin went on.

“Yes, Mr Larkin,” she said.

Larkin gave Julian a last look, not quite disapproving, and withdrew into the shadows of the kitchen. Sarah came forward reluctantly and bobbed a curtsey.

“Mr Lynes,” she said.

She was older than he’d thought at first sight, sixteen or so, a thin pale rabbit of a girl with dishwater blonde hair drawn ruthlessly back under a prim plain cap. “Sarah,” he said, his tone scrupulously neutral. “What’s your surname?”

“Doyle, sir.”

Julian jotted it down in his memorandum book. He’d learned that taking notes made people feel perversely more comfortable, as if he wouldn’t remember the things they said that he didn’t write down. “Thank you,” he said. “I know I’m going to be asking questions you’ve already answered, but I hope you’ll take your time with them. Anything you remember, no matter how small, may prove to be helpful.”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was as colorless as her hair.

Julian took her through the events of the day of the murder, as much for what she thought was normal as to find anything that seemed odd to him. It had been entirely uneventful, just the usual round of visits and shopping, livened only by a dinner party of friends so familiar as to be almost part of the family. From everything she said, Ned’s visit had been the most excitement the household had seen in months.

“And did you notice anything peculiar about the silver?” Julian asked.

Sarah hesitated. “I can’t say I did,” she admitted. “Not that I have much to do with it. But Mogs – Margaret – she did twist her ankle coming in the kitchen door the first time she’d been set to help clean it. Swelled up like a melon, and Mrs Victor had the doctor come for fear she’d broken it. And Mr Larkin always says he comes over queer when he polishes it.”

Possibly because it was new and in poor taste, Julian thought, or because the polish overwhelmed him. He hadn’t yet seen the size of the butler’s pantry, but it couldn’t be too large. Or, more likely, because Edgar Nevett had spread the story among his staff, and Larkin was astute enough to agree with his employer. Still, it would be interesting to see who first bruited the notion of a curse.

Julian took her through the day’s routine again, but there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. The gentlemen had gone to their work, except for Mr Frederick, and the ladies had occupied themselves with visits and charity work. Sarah had waited at table during the dinner party, but she had noticed nothing unusual.

“It was like a family party, really,” she said. “Mrs Nevett and Mrs Boies are old, dear friends, so Miller says, and they both sponsor Mr Ellis’s work.”

“So it was Mr and Mrs Boies, and Mr Ellis,” Julian said.

“And Mr and Mrs Victor,” Sarah said. “And Mr Frederick.”

“Not Mr Nevett?” Julian refrained from looking up, though that was the first unusual thing he’d heard so far.

She hesitated again. “I believe he had to go back to the City.”

There was definitely more there, but Julian merely nodded. “And Mr Reginald?”

“He left for his club before dinner.”

Julian nodded again. “What did they quarrel about?”

“I never said they quarreled,” she said sharply.

“But they did.”

Sarah looked at her feet. “Yes, sir. But I couldn’t hear what they said, not even with them shouting –” She stopped again, flinching. “They argued a lot, sir. It didn’t mean nothing.”

“Mr Nevett was a quarrelsome man,” Julian said. He made it a statement, and after a moment, she nodded.

“Well, not quarrelsome, exactly. Cross, I’d say. Always angry about something.”

That reminded him far too much of Victor, and he glanced at his memorandum book again, as though he had the details of the case written there. “The police said a parlormaid found the body. Was that you?”

What color she had drained slowly from her face, leaving it the color of skimmed milk. “Yes, sir.”

“If you can tell me just once more,” Julian said, “I promise you I won’t ask you again.”

She took a deep breath. “I went in to sweep and air the room, like I always do. And I was startled because the lamp was still lit. And then I saw him. He was lying on the carpet, just like someone had dropped him. His head was all bloody – it hit him right on the back of his head, and it was stove in like a broken basket, and that candlestick was lying there, and there was more blood on it and all on the carpet, too –” She stopped, swallowing hard.