Death by Silver (14 page)

“I told you it wasn’t a quarrel. Father had strong opinions. He felt we ought to do what he thought was right. You should hear him – should have heard him, that is, bedeviling Victor about houses he wanted him to buy.”

“Your father wasn’t satisfied with his domestic arrangements?”

“My father felt this was too many of us to bear under one roof, and he was probably right,” Freddie said.

“He made himself clear, that’s all. I told him he probably knew best, but that now that I’d taken the position, I had to go on as I’d begun. It wouldn’t look right to chop and change when I was just starting out. You know how it is, Mathey. We junior men can’t do just as we please.”

Ned’s first impulse was to answer in the same vein, putting them both on the same side, but he couldn’t afford to fall back into a sense of fellow-feeling with Reggie. Not when it was becoming increasingly clear that someone in this house had planned and carried out cold-blooded murder. “I understand Mr Nevett left the house before dinner,” he said instead.

“It wasn’t a quarrel, though,” Freddie said. The words were right, but the tone made it sound less like agreement with his brother than subtle mockery of him. Ned was beginning to wonder if anyone in the family got along harmoniously.

“He didn’t want to have dinner with that lot, that’s all,” Reggie said, motioning toward the front parlor, although he dropped his voice as he did. “He said he’d had enough of their good works to last a lifetime, and that he was going to his club where no one would bother him.”

“I see,” Ned said noncommittally. “And then after dinner?”

“I had an engagement,” Freddie said.

“Which was?”

“I went to the theater. With a party. Or, at least, I was going to meet them there, but then they didn’t end up going at the last minute. It was all very casual.”

“What play?”

“I don’t remember,” Freddie said. “Some new thing they wanted to see.
Mrs Somebody
, I think. Or
Lady Somebody’s Something
.” He shrugged with elaborate carelessness, as if he couldn’t imagine it mattering to anyone.

“Which theater?”

“The Criterion,” Freddie said after a pause. Of course, the chances of anyone at the Criterion remembering one unremarkable young man in evening dress were practically nil.

“I went to my club,” Reggie said, rather belligerently. “They’ll tell you I was there.”

“I’m sure they will,” Ned said soothingly. “You often spent the night there?”

“It’s more convenient to the bank,” Reggie said. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Ned waited, and as he’d suspected, Reggie couldn’t resist filling the silence. “Besides, it wasn’t exactly peaceful around here.”

“Why not?”

“He and my mother were always quarreling. He had a temper, and she kept doing things she knew he didn’t like, like getting in these girls from the mission for maids. The last one dropped things and couldn’t carry a message, and of course we couldn’t have that. She was in a temper herself when he turned the little girl off.”

“These domestic upsets happen,” Ned said.

“He used to frighten the poor little thing into fits,” Freddie said. “It’s no wonder she dropped things.”

Reggie looked momentarily bemused, as if Freddie had suggested that the kitchen stove were unhappy, and then seemed to dismiss the idea from his mind. “The new one’s not as bad.”

“You stayed at your club all night?”

“I did. The Perseus. And I went straight on to the bank. Of course I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known.”

“Somehow in all the confusion no one thought to send for you,” Freddie said.

“And when did you come in?”

“Heaven knows,” Freddie said. “After midnight, I’m sure.”

“Was there any sign that anything was amiss?”

“I suppose there was a great lot of silver missing from the kitchen, but I didn’t come through the kitchen, of course. There was a light on in the pater’s study when I came up, but I didn’t exactly want to have a chat about why I was coming in at that hour, so I just went straight up to bed like a good boy.”

“Would he have been cross?”

Freddie shrugged, perhaps a little too casually to be entirely natural. “I expect so, but I’m too old to get a thrashing, so I wasn’t particularly worried. I didn’t bash his head in because I was late getting back from the theater, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Of course not.”

“I didn’t want a scene in the middle of the night, that was all. He didn’t approve of late nights. He wanted me to go to work for a bank,” Freddie said, as if the idea were unthinkable. “Thankfully, when my great-aunt popped off, she left me a bit of a legacy. It’s not much, but then I live simply.”

“
Writing
, and things like that,” Reggie said, in what sounded like an echo of Victor’s scornful tone. “While the rest of us have responsibilities.”

“Such as?” Freddie asked.

“To – to behave ourselves like grown men who have a position to uphold, who can’t just – who can’t do whatever they please every minute of the day,” Reggie sputtered. “If no one else cares about the family, I do.”

“Which makes it curious that you’re never here.”

“I’m sure it’s been a trying day,” Ned said, in an attempt to postpone further hostilities until he could make his escape. “Have another drink, both of you, and try to soldier on. I think I’ve got the general idea.”

“You’re off already?”

“I may have some more questions later, but I won’t keep you any further this afternoon.” He shut his notebook and tucked it away. “Tell me, though, just as a hunch, who do you think might have killed your father?”

“There’s no telling,” Reggie said heatedly. “You can’t think I have any idea. It’s horrible.”

“It must have been one of the servants,” Freddie said, shrugging. “Poor little wretches.”

“Would any of them have had any particular cause?”

“You mean did he get any of the girls in trouble?”

“Certainly not,” Reggie said indignantly.

“Probably not,” Freddie said. “Mother would have…” He looked abruptly taken aback and trailed off, as if realizing what the natural end to that remark would be.

“I think that’s enough, Mathey,” Reggie said.

“I’ll just go see how Lynes is getting on,” Ned said, and left them with each other and the decanter for company.

They took a cab back to Julian’s lodgings, and for once Ned made no objection when Julian asked for an inconvenient supper. Mrs Digby grumbled, but allowed that she could do a bit of cold joint and a dish of peas and maybe a salad. Julian deemed it acceptable, and sent young Digby for a couple of bottles of claret. That settled, he dropped into his usual chair, waving vaguely toward the rest of the furniture.

“Make yourself at home.”

Ned eyed the sofa warily, and chose the client’s chair. Julian slanted a glance in that direction, saw nothing but the piece of plant he’d tossed there earlier – surprisingly still fresh and green – and decided he could ignore whatever was bothering Ned at the moment.

“There’s whiskey if you want it,” he said, and Ned gave him a look.

“Yes, I do, rather, and I suppose you want me to pour you one, too?”

“Please,” Julian said, and tried to dismiss the sharpness in Ned’s tone.

Ned hesitated for just an instant, then poured two glasses and brought them across. Julian took his, and they clicked glasses.

“Our first investigation,” Ned said, and slumped back into his chair. “I wish I thought I’d gotten somewhere.”

“It’s early days,” Julian said. He took a long swallow of his whiskey. “I warned you we’d have to spend a lot of time with them.”

“So you did.” Ned folded both hands around his glass, sinking even lower in his chair.

Julian shook himself. Someone had to stay positive, after all. “We’ve made some progress.”

“Such as?”

He couldn’t actually think of anything, except that Ned had been right about the curse, and he’d never doubted that. “We’ve narrowed down the time when someone could have placed the curse,” he said. At least, he’d managed to eliminate most of the daylight hours.

“I suppose.”

“The servants were in and out all day,” Julian said. “The second housemaid, Sarah, cleans in the morning, and then they don’t touch it because Nevett is usually in and out all day.”

“More than that, he was in his study before dinner, so presumably the curse wasn’t in place then.”

“Although it was still before sundown,” Julian began, and shook his head. “No, that doesn’t really matter, my earlier point applies. Was that when he was arguing with Reggie?”

Ned nodded. “So everyone knew about that? Reggie tried to make it sound like it was just an ordinary discussion.”

“Carried on at the top of their lungs,” Julian said. “And he ran out of the house by the kitchen door, which suggests he really didn’t want to meet any of the family.”

“I can’t see Reggie killing his father,” Ned said. “He wasn’t…he was never the daring sort.”

“You’d know better than I,” Julian said. “I never had much to do with him.”

“Hopeless at cricket,” Ned said. “Could have been decent at football if he’d been able to stand having his shins kicked.”

Julian refrained from saying he felt that was entirely reasonable. Reggie hadn’t won any prizes as a scholar, either. And it was probably time to stop thinking about school. “Be that as it may,” he said, “this means no one could have set the curse until after Nevett and Reggie were done shouting at each other.”

“True.” Ned straightened. “Neither of them stayed to dinner – Nevett went to his club after, so, say, half past six. That means the candlestick had to be cursed between then and when Nevett got home, which seems to have been before midnight.”

“Which makes it hard for it to have been one of the servants,” Julian said. “They’d be busy with dinner and then with the washing-up. Not entirely impossible, of course, but – I didn’t really get much sense of a motive there.”

“Which leaves the family,” Ned said. “Which was pretty much what we expected all along.”

Mrs Digby arrived then with the supper tray, to Julian’s relief, and he busied himself opening the claret while she fussed and made space at the table. It was a better meal than usual, complete with cheese and biscuits for after, but then, everyone had a soft spot for Ned. Julian did his best to keep the discussion cheerful – they had made progress, that much was clear, but Ned seemed determined to see things in the worst possible light. Julian’s own nerves were beginning to fray by the time Mrs Digby cleared the dishes, and he gave Ned a speculative glance as they moved back to the chairs by the fire. If he were alone, he’d visit one of his clubs for release; there were plenty of friends there who’d be willing to oblige him. His breath caught at the sudden image of Ned on his knees, of tangling his own fingers in Ned’s hair, demanding service… And maybe it was possible, or at least maybe it would be possible to take him to bed. If they were both relaxed.

He turned to the sideboard, unlocked the right-hand compartment, and brought out the square morocco-leather case. Ned lifted an eyebrow as he brought it over to the table, but Julian pretended not to see as he fished the key from his watch-chain. The four sides of the case folded away from the interior, revealing the neat fittings: the spirit lamp in the center, the brass bowl, the five neat boxes that held ink tablets, the folded papers and the brass-handled pen with its engraved nib.

“I have a proposition,” he said. He was afraid, so he made himself meet Ned’s gaze with a cool stare. “Join me in a little something to take the edge off – your choice, I’ve everything here – and then – I’d like to fuck you.”

He knew the moment he spoke that it was a mistake. Ned’s eyes widened slightly, and Julian thought he saw a flash of hurt before Ned’s expression froze and he shook his head.

“It’s getting late,” he said, “and I’m exhausted. Another time.”

He rose to his feet, and Julian copied him. “Ned –” He stopped then, not knowing quite what to say. He had meant it, and he didn’t know why Ned was squeamish now, it wasn’t as though they hadn’t already done it. “I’m sorry?”

Ned was already shrugging into his coat, but he managed a smile at that. “Don’t be, it’s just – I am really tired.”

“I-I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

“Oh, yes.” Ned’s smile was as wide and false as anything he’d used at school. “Absolutely.” He set his hat carefully on his head. “Good night, Lynes.”

“Good night,” Julian said, and watched the door close behind him. If he had spoiled everything – but he wouldn’t think of that.

He returned to his chair, moving with new purpose, and lit the tiny lamp. He knew exactly what he wanted, where he wanted the enchantment to take him, and the ritual steadied him, soothed his nerves. He took out a tablet of the violet ink, set it in the bowl to melt over the lamp, and tore off a slip of the thick soft paper. The symbols were familiar, the spell to bring sleep of oblivion, deep and sweet. He traced them in his mind and then, as the ink melted, dipped the pen and wrote them firmly, tracing them over and over until all the ink was gone. He blew out the lamp, leaving the rest to clean later, and went back to the sideboard, poured three fingers of neat gin into a wide-mouthed glass. Absinthe was traditional, the paper added with the water and sugar, but he didn’t have the patience for that tonight. Instead, he swirled the paper in the gin, washing the ink away, dissolving the paper into the alcohol, feeling the enchantment take hold. He drained the glass, the first tendrils of unnatural sleep already curling around him as he set it aside, and went on into the bedroom.