Death by Silver (37 page)

“I’m here, Ned,” he whispered, and kept repeating it until the weeping stopped.

Julian sighed. Somehow the prefects had allowed the whole thing to pass off without further punishment, though in retrospect he suspected that it had frightened them as much as it had frightened him. But that had been the day he’d decided to kill Victor Nevett along with the rest of the prefects, and he still wasn’t entirely sure he was glad Ned had stopped him.
At least you know you could have
: that was what Ned had told him at the time, and Julian was a little embarrassed to take so much comfort in it, particularly when he was supposed to be helping prove Victor’s innocence. Perhaps this was what Toms’ chaplain had meant by “heaping coals of fire on their heads.”

Ned was well and truly asleep now, and with luck the combination of the cantrip and the arnica would mean his bruises would ache less in the morning. And in the morning they would need to have a word with the police, just to put the attack on record, and then – if it wasn’t Reggie Lennox had meant, then it was most likely Freddie. Julian pushed himself to his feet, moving carefully to avoid waking Ned, and began to turn down the lights.

Ned looked better in the morning than Julian felt was entirely fair, shrugging off skinned knuckles and bruised knees and head with the comment that he’d gotten far worse on the cricket field. It was probably true, too, and Julian refrained from pointing out that this was the reason he had never particularly enjoyed sport. Mrs Digby brought them breakfast without audible comment, and Ned tucked into it without complaint.

“That leaves Freddie, I suppose,” he said, after he’d inhaled most of a plate of indifferently cooked eggs.

Julian nodded. “Unless they were talking about Victor, of course, but somehow that doesn’t seem likely.”

“No.” Ned poured himself another cup of tea. “So what do we do now?”

Julian hesitated. “There are people I could ask – we could ask, if you were willing to come along. Always bearing in mind that people would assume you were with me.”

Ned gave an odd half-smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Very well,” Julian said, and told himself that the feeling of relief was because he would be able to keep an eye on Ned, in case of another attack. “I’ll call for you tonight, then – say, nine o’clock.”

“Shall I dress?”

“But of course,” Julian answered, with just the right amount of surprise, and Ned laughed aloud.

Julian called as promised, the nearest church clock sounding nine as the cab pulled up, and Ned joined him. He was looking handsome, Julian thought – taller than usual, somehow, and unexpectedly elegant. He would break hearts by mere presence alone.

They stopped at the Spanish School first, and then at the Admiral, but the company was sparse and mostly older and ostentatiously theatrical, not the sort of group that would have known Freddie. Julian got them away again as quickly as he could disengage, and on the sidewalk, Ned gave a little sigh of relief.

“They can be a bit – tiresome,” Julian admitted.

Ned made a noncommittal noise, and Julian gave him a wary look.

“All right?”

Ned forced a smile. “Not my crowd, really, that’s all.”

“They never were,” Julian said. Ned had never done well with artistic types. “Jacobs’ is better.”

They walked the handful of blocks to Jacobs’, Julian keeping a wary eye on the shadows, but there was no sign that anyone was following them. Maybe it had been robbery gone wrong, after all. He vouched for Ned at the door, and they stood blinking in the gaslit hall while Jamieson brought the book and Ned paid his three shillings for the membership. He signed himself John Smythe without hesitation, and Jamieson took the book away again with equal impassivity.

“Drink?” Julian asked. They’d had several already, but if they were going to stand around not playing cards, they’d need some excuse.

“Might as well.”

The front parlor was beginning to fill up, the hazard table surrounded, a chemin de fer bank in full swing, more games, whist and lanterloo and écarté, at the scattered tables. Julian led the way to the bar, ordered whiskey sodas for them both, and allowed his gaze to sweep the room.

“Do we know who we’re looking for?” Ned asked quietly. “It all seems a bit chancy.”

“I’d know the men I saw before,” Julian said, “and there are one or two others I thought I could ask –”

“Lynes!”

Julian flinched in spite of himself, but managed to face Lennox with a smile.

“Dear boy,” Lennox said. His eyes were on Ned, however, surveying him with definite appreciation. “You’ve brought your paragon at last. I’m Peter Lennox, my dear, since I’m sure Lynes won’t introduce me.”

“Ned Mathey.” Ned held out his hand, and Lennox clasped it just a little too warmly.

Julian could feel his cheeks heating. “It’s – it’s not quite like that, Lennox.”

“If this isn’t what’s been keeping you so busy,” Lennox began, and Julian shook his head. Even though he’d warned him what would happen, he didn’t want to see Ned made uncomfortable.

“No, really, it’s – we’re friends.” As soon as he’d spoken, he realized his mistake.

Lennox’s smile widened. “Oh? In that case, Mr Mathey, I can only hope we’ll have a chance to know each other better.”

“Honestly, Lennox,” Julian said, and Lennox raised an eyebrow.

“Another time,” Ned said, with passable sangfroid, and Julian seized the moment.

“I told you we were working on the Nevett matter,” he said. “And I know you know something about Freddie.”

“And I told you that it’s not my story,” Lennox said. “I meant it, too.”

“Whose, then?” Ned asked.

“We don’t intend to cause anyone any trouble,” Julian said. “You should know me better than that. But the oldest brother has confessed to murdering his father, and we know he didn’t do it. He’s protecting someone, and my money’s on Freddie.”

“If he’s protecting his brother, don’t you think he might know best?” Lennox shook his head.

“I don’t think he does,” Julian said. “And in any case, I can’t see that it’s better for him to hang for it.”

“It’ll come to that?” Lennox looked from one to the other.

“Without a doubt,” Ned said.

Lennox sighed. “I’ll see if he’ll talk to you. But that’s all I’ll do.” He found a slip of paper, and scribbled a note on it before dispatching it with a waiter. “I think he’s playing whist, so it may be a while.”

Julian, who had managed to see only the request for a meeting, ordered another whiskey soda. It didn’t take long, however, before a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Lennox lifted his hand, and the other man moved toward them. Ned’s eyes widened, and Julian said, “Yes, Geordie MacNab.”

“The painter.”

Julian blinked at that, and Ned sighed.

“I do know there are arts other than
poses plastiques
, you know.

“Of course,” Julian said, but didn’t think he’d successfully hidden his surprise.

Something complicated crossed Ned’s face, regret and curiosity about equally mixed, but there was no time to pursue the matter. MacNab came to join them, his expression frankly wary.

“Lennox,” he said. “You wanted to talk with me?” His voice was lightly Scottish, like his sandy looks.

“I think you know Lynes,” Lennox said, and MacNab nodded.

“We’ve met.”

“And this is his friend Mathey They’d like to talk to you about Freddie Nevett.”

MacNab hesitated. “This is about his father, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Julian said.

MacNab’s mouth tightened. “He’s not – look, we can’t talk here.”

Ned waved to the bartender, ordering another round of drinks. Julian said, “Upstairs?”

“Yes.” MacNab nodded. “There’ll be a quiet corner somewhere.”

There was an empty table at the back of the green card room, and after a moment’s hesitation, MacNab claimed it. Julian approved: as long as they kept their voices down, no one was likely to disturb them there. They arranged themselves around the baize-topped table, but MacNab fiddled with his drink as though he didn’t know how to begin.

“So you’re friends with Freddie Nevett,” Ned said, after a moment.

MacNab gave him a look of gratitude. “I was. Didn’t last long, and I made a bit of a fool of myself, but – I was.”

“You know he’s suspected of killing his father,” Julian said, as gently as he could.

“I thought the brother confessed,” MacNab said.

“He did.” Julian considered how best to get a response without actually lying, and Ned looked up from his drink.

“Victor is lying. We can prove that much. But we don’t know who he thinks he’s protecting, and I don’t want to cause more problems for innocent people. But I won’t see Victor hang for something he didn’t do.”

“And will he?” MacNab closed his eyes. “No, of course he will.”

“I’m afraid so,” Julian said.

MacNab took a deep breath. “Freddie and I had an affair. I asked him to model for me a few months back, and one thing led to another. I suppose I’ll have to get rid of the painting now, I can’t possibly show it anywhere –” He shook himself back to his story. “In any case, he broke it off, and I – well, I didn’t want it to end. I tried to talk him back, and the night in question, I persuaded him to meet me here. We had drinks, and he let me talk – oh, yes, he let me make a proper fool of myself – but in the end he went off with someone else. It made his feelings very clear.”

“He left the club?” Julian asked.

MacNab’s color deepened. “No. He just – went off upstairs with someone else. I imagine Jamieson can tell you when he left, but I stayed until two, and he never came down. I expect he stayed the night.”

“Back doors?” Ned said, to Julian, and Julian shook his head.

“There’s a watch kept, in case of a raid. We can confirm that later.”

“He’s not a nice boy,” Lennox said. “You’re well rid of him, Geordie. No matter how well set he was.”

“But he was very gratifying.” MacNab managed a smile. “Perhaps I’ll use him for Mordred – I’ve got an Arthurian commission for Grocers’ Hall. It might suit.”

“That’s giving him more credit than he deserves,” Ned said.

Julian gave him a startled look, but had to nod in agreement. MacNab sighed.

“Perhaps you’re right. But in any case, Freddie Nevett wasn’t cursing candlesticks that night. He was here proving that our relationship had ended.”

“I’m sorry,” Julian said. “And thank you.”

“I don’t want anyone to hang,” MacNab said. He forced a smile. “If you really want to make amends, persuade your friend here to sit for me.”

Julian felt the color rising in his cheeks. “That would be up to him.”

“Indeed?” MacNab turned his smile on Ned. “You’re a member?”

“I am.” Ned’s voice was perfectly calm.

“Perhaps you’ll let me persuade you, then.”

“I’d be delighted,” Ned answered. “Once all of this is done.”

Julian swallowed the tart remark born of an entirely unexpected pang of jealousy – this was not the time to make clear to Ned what sitting for Geordie MacNab might entail, particularly when he suspected Ned knew full well – and pushed his chair back from the table. “Thank you,” he said again. “Mathey, we should have a word with Jamieson.”