Death by Silver (32 page)

Julian sighed. “Yes, I know. You do realize that whoever Victor is protecting probably had a very good reason to kill Edgar Nevett.”

“I know,” Ned said. “And, believe me, if what you heard is right, and it’s Reggie or Freddie – it’s damnably hard to condemn a man for one’s own vices. But it’s still murder.”

Julian nodded. Ned had stretched one arm along the back of the sofa, and Julian leaned cautiously against his shoulder. Ned wrapped his arm around Julian’s chest in answer, and Julian relaxed into the embrace.

“It has to be Mrs Nevett or one of the boys,” he said. “I can’t see Victor protecting anyone else.”

“Nor I,” Ned answered. “And if Lennox has it right, that’s the best motive we’ve heard so far.”

“I can’t really see that using enchantment to bring about a marriage would be that serious after, what, it must be nearly thirty years,” Julian said. “Though I suppose if Edgar had believed her innocent, he might have made her life sufficiently miserable.”

“I imagine it could have made things difficult with Ellis,” Ned said. “He’s enough of a stickler that he might have banned her from the mission, and she really seems to care about that.”

“Lennox said she always was interested in social questions.” Julian tipped his head back, grateful for Ned’s solid presence, and Ned leaned his cheek against Julian’s hair.

“Interested enough to murder her husband for them?”

“Well, we are talking about Edgar Nevett,” Julian answered. “But I grant you it seems unlikely.”

“And that leaves Reggie or Freddie,” Ned said. He sounded distinctly unhappy at the idea, and Julian laced his fingers with the hand covering his chest.

“Wynchcombe said he’s stayed in touch with Reggie,” he said. “I could write and ask what he knows.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“And I can keep asking among Lennox’s friends. I should be able to find out something more.”

“That would be helpful.” Ned paused. “Have you heard anything from Mrs Makins?”

“Not yet.” Julian sighed. “I sent Bolster a note, but – I haven’t gotten an answer. I’m afraid she’s going to try to deal with it on her own.”

“Or your friend Bolster will manage it for her,” Ned said.

“I’d feel better if I thought he would,” Julian answered. That was a subject better not pursued, and he said, “I still wonder about Louisa. It all depends on what Edgar knew, I suppose, and what he would have done about it. I could ask Lennox about that as well.”

“And there are people I can ask, as well,” Ned said.

Julian closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth of Ned’s body against his back, the movement of his ribs and the tickle of his breath against Julian’s ear.

“You’re falling asleep,” Ned said, after a while, and disengaged his fingers.

“Not really.” Julian sat up. “And – don’t go.” He copied Ganymede’s most seductive smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Ned gave a snort of laughter. “You’ll probably fall asleep in the middle,” he said, but made no protest when Julian leaned close again.

They spent a while in increasingly heated embraces on the sofa, ending only when the
Urtica mordax
, apparently distressed by their movements, tried to nip Ned’s ear. They retreated, snickering, to the bedroom, and Julian pushed Ned lightly toward the bed.

“Take your clothes off.”

“Take yours off, then,” Ned retorted, but began undoing buttons willingly enough. Julian copied him, deliberately slow, so that by the time Ned sprawled naked among the sheets, he was still half dressed. The contrast always thrilled him, his lover nude, himself still clothed, and he reached eagerly for Ned.

When they were done, they lay panting for a long moment, until finally Ned shifted them to a more comfortable position.

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Julian said, his voice muffled against Ned’s shoulder, and he felt as much as heard Ned’s rueful laugh.

“And a damn good thing you didn’t, too. There might have been another murder.”

Julian smiled sleepily, smugly, and let himself drift into oblivion.

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Miss Frost came in late the next morning, looking pleased with herself. “I’ve found her,” she said.

“Louisa’s metaphysician?”

“I’m not sure I’d call her that. Her name’s Mrs Landry. She has a little parlor above a milliner’s shop where she sees clients. All lace and little china dogs. After a while I got the feeling they were watching me.”

“Well done,” Ned said. “I do hope you didn’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I didn’t bring up murder. But I did say that I’d heard that she was a great help to Louisa Winchester in matters of the heart. From my dear mother who was a great friend of Louisa’s at school and always admired her audacity.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

Miss Frost shrugged. “Probably not, but then what would I have learned? She danced round the point for a while, but she finally said that, yes, she had, and that Louisa wouldn’t ever have married Edgar Nevett if it weren’t for her. Mind you, she was careful about it. Not a word that couldn’t have referred to simply giving good advice, or at worst providing beauty charms. My impression is she knows perfectly well what she could be brought up on charges for, and she isn’t going to be caught in that trap.”

“But you think she did it.”

“I think she did. I made up a tale of an entirely fictitious suitor, and she made it clear there were ways of making him consider me in an entirely new light. I’m confident in my own mind of what she meant, but as I say, she was careful about it. She’d probably swear in court that she only meant that he’d think far better of me if I had a more fashionable hat.”

Ned leaned back in his chair, considering the matter. “Suppose Edgar found out about it. What could he possibly do, after all this time?”

“Make her life unpleasant? Divorce her? Certainly not take legal action against Mrs Landry. There’s no proof. For that matter, I can’t imagine what he could have found out to make him certain he’d been foxed. You said there were already rumors years ago.”

“I suppose she might have admitted it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Miss Frost said. “But it might happen, I suppose. Something said in the heat of an argument that confirmed his suspicions?”

“Maybe. It’s not much to hang divorce proceedings on.”

“A court might take his word against hers. Sometimes they do, when there’s enchantment alleged, no matter how unconvincing the facts are.”

Ned frowned. “They might. I should find out who Edgar’s solicitor was. If he was sounding out the idea of proceedings, that’s suggestive.”

“Surely that’s confidential?”

“I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean no one knows about it. You know how it is.”

“The eternal rumor mill.”

“It’s part of the point of belonging to clubs.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Miss Frost said. “Women’s clubs confine themselves to entirely frivolous activities.”

“I’m never sure when you’re serious,” Ned said.

“Would you prefer to think we’re secretly plotting the overthrow of society? It doesn’t involve Edgar Nevett’s solicitor, in any event.”

A quick note to Hatton produced the welcome information by return post that afternoon that Edgar Nevett had used Weldon and Barnes. “Claude Barrow,” he said, folding Hatton’s letter. “I’m almost certain he’s a junior partner at Weldon and Barnes. I ought to be able to twist his arm a bit.”

“And suppose Edgar wasn’t thinking anything of the sort?” Miss Frost asked.

“Then we consider this whole thing a red herring. Which it may still be, whatever Edgar Nevett was contemplating. Either Reggie or Freddie may also have had good reason to want the old man dead.”

“I’m still unclear as to what we think that reason was.”

“An unsuitable romance,” Ned said, and took himself off before she could ask any more questions he didn’t want to answer.

The Mercury Club was filling up by the time Ned arrived, the dining room busy and the smoking-room beyond it clearly in use from the smell of cigar smoke that filtered out into the hall. Ned evaded several offers for him to share a table before finding Barrow, who was fortunately eating alone.

“Mind if I join you?” Ned asked, dropping into a chair without waiting for a response.

“No, make yourself at home,” Barrow said. He was sandy-haired with an open, friendly manner that Ned thought must set his clients at ease, although combined with Barrow’s undeniable good looks, Ned found it more discomfiting. The Mercury was a haven for him, and he preferred to spend his time there with friends who didn’t inspire thoughts that had to be firmly concealed.

Barrow flagged down a waiter, who took Ned’s order and whisked himself away; if the food at the Mercury wasn’t inspired, it was at least promptly served. “How are the conjuring tricks, then?”

“Right now I’m trying to conjure up some answers about the Nevett case,” Ned said frankly. “Your firm handled Edgar Nevett’s affairs, didn’t they?”

Barrow frowned. “We did, but if you’re acting for Victor Nevett, I don’t think we can take that on. Even if one of the other partners handled it, it wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances.”

“I entirely understand,” Ned said. “I was only wondering if there’d been anything out of the ordinary in Nevett’s legal affairs before he died. Any changes to his will, or any idea of legal action of some sort.”

Barrow looked interested. “You know something.”

“I have some ideas,” Ned said. “I don’t think Victor Nevett’s guilty, if that’s what you’re wondering. But if Mrs Edgar Nevett is your client…”

“I thought you might ask that,” Barrow said. “And, no, she’s not. Of course we’ll have some dealings with her in the process of settling the estate, but Edgar Nevett was our client, and it’s his interests we’re bound to represent.”

“Are you still?” Ned asked, and let the question hang in the air between them for a minute.

“What do you want to know?” Barrow asked finally. He held up a hand to stop Ned from answering as the soup was placed in front of him, and then motioned for him to go on once the waiter had retreated again.

“Anything of the sort I asked about, but particularly pertaining to Mrs Nevett. I had the idea that Edgar might have been investigating the possibility of having grounds for divorce.”

“More than that,” Barrow said after a moment’s hesitation. “He actually had us drawing up the papers for him to sue for divorce.”

“On what grounds?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you a word of this.”

“If she made away with your client –”

“Now, I don’t know anything about that. It was the usual story, old grudges turned bitter, and I understand that he was up in arms about the amount of his money she spent on her charities. ‘Beggaring me to please that milksop Ellis,’ Nevett said.” Barrow looked embarrassed. “Not that I listen at doors, but the man’s voice did carry when he was in a temper.”

“Always awkward with clients like that.”

“It is, rather. As for the actual cause, I believe he was planning to claim enchantment.”

“He had some proof of it, then?”

“I don’t know that he’d have needed it. I hate to break it to you, Mathey, but the grounds given for granting divorces aren’t always strictly accurate in the most factual of senses. If he’s determined to be rid of her, and she’d rather be rid of him as well, it’s easier sometimes to blame an enchantment purchased as a youthful folly than for one of them to admit to adultery or worse.”

“But if she didn’t want the divorce?”

“Then he’d have had to put forward some evidence. That can be messy, trying to dredge up people to swear to what a woman did when she was being courted decades ago. I imagine Mr Weldon would have tried to talk him out of it, under those circumstances, on account of the likely scandal. But clients aren’t always reasonable. I understand…at least, it was my impression that Mr Nevett had met a young woman whose moral scruples would trouble her less if he weren’t married.”

“Not a young lady he intended to marry himself?”

“He’d find that hard to achieve, I should think, after dragging his good name through the divorce courts. We do handle divorces for our clients, but we try to be honest about what it’ll mean for them. It’s worse for a woman, of course.”

“Of course,” Ned murmured.

“But, really, Mathey, I can’t tell you any more about it. I shouldn’t have said this much.”

“Say no more about it.”

“It’s only that you’re right that I’d like to see justice done. He wasn’t a particularly pleasant man, but he was a client, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“Surely it does,” Ned said, and let Barrow turn the conversation firmly to the lamentable state of modern cricket as the waiter arrived to take his soup plate away.