Death by Silver (39 page)

“No. And I’m starting to be concerned.”

Ned looked up from his coffee. “I’m concerned that your friend is going to take matters into his own hands about this poisoning.”

Julian shook his head. “I don’t think so. If he were going to do that, I think he’d warn me off more – definitely. He wouldn’t give me an excuse. No, I think he’s genuinely worried for Mrs Makins’s safety, and I don’t know if that means he doesn’t know where she is, or just that he doesn’t want me muddying the waters.”

“Write him,” Ned suggested.

“I’ve done that.”

“Write him again?”

“I suppose.” Julian frowned. “I mean, yes, of course I will, first thing. You realize that if we’ve eliminated Reggie and now Freddie, it almost has to be Mrs Nevett.”

“Mrs Nevett or Mrs Victor Nevett?” Ned asked.

Julian paused. He hadn’t seriously considered Victor’s wife as a suspect, and it took him a moment to tease out why. “Mrs Nevett,” he said. “When I’ve talked with Mrs Victor, she’s – she said she was sure Victor was protecting someone, and if it were her he was protecting, she’d never have brought it up.”

“True enough,” Ned said. “So Victor is protecting his mother, then, or so it seems –”

Julian nodded. “And there’s the strong possibility that she bewitched Edgar to get married in the first place, so in a sense she’s done it before. Except, damn, Mrs Victor said Mrs Nevett doesn’t approve of enchantment.”

“It’s easy enough to say you don’t approve of something,” Ned said. “And still do it on the sly.”

“Mrs Victor believes her,” Julian said. “But I’ll grant you that.”

Ned tossed back the last of his coffee, and pushed himself away from the table. “I wonder if Mrs Nevett still uses that metaphysical milliner Miss Frost found, or if there’s another person she could have gone to.”

“That’s the sticking point, isn’t it?” Julian said. “None of the Nevetts knows enough to have written that enchantment, most especially not on the fly. So it has to have been purchased somewhere.”

“So let’s take Miss Frost to lunch and pick her brains,” Ned said. “I’ll need to go home and change –”

Julian grinned. No, Ned couldn’t show up at the Commons in last night’s evening dress and smelling of cigars and whiskey. “You certainly do.”

“And meet you at my chambers,” Ned finished, with dignity. He collected his hat, carefully straightening the brim. “Half-past twelve?”

Julian nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Once Ned had left, Julian poured himself the dregs of the coffee and moved to his desk to compose the note to Bolster. He finally settled on something telegraphic enough to be discreet, emphasizing that he could prove his client’s innocence, and sent young Digby off to post it. After that, he did his best to dally over the papers, and through the process of shaving and changing into a decent suit, but even so he arrived at the omnibus stop nearest the Commons just as the clocks were striking noon. He hesitated on the sidewalk, knowing that Ned wouldn’t be there yet, and oddly reluctant to face Miss Frost alone. He’d been doing his best not to notice her at all, but in retrospect it seemed that he hadn’t managed not to notice that she was just the sort of young woman who had always charmed Ned. He had the rather lowering suspicion that he had not been the most gracious of visitors, and now that matters had been – astonishingly! – settled in his favor, he was feeling more than a bit ashamed of himself. A cowardly part of him wanted to stop for another cup of coffee and avoid the issue entirely, but he made himself walk on. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to make amends.

He made his way across the courtyard, noting that the bed of
Urtica mordax
had been vigorously cut back, and made his way up the stairs to Ned’s chambers. The door was partly open; he took a deep breath, and pushed it all the way back. Miss Frost looked up sharply from her typewriter – silent, as it had been silent as he came down the hall – and then relaxed fractionally.

“Oh, hello, Mr Lynes. Mr Mathey isn’t in yet. He said he’d be here soon, though.”

“I was afraid I’d be here before him,” Julian said.

“You’re welcome to wait, of course,” she said, and looked faintly surprised when he nodded.

“Thank you.” Julian hung his hat on the tree and seated himself cautiously in the visitor’s chair.

Miss Frost gave him a faintly dubious glance. “Could I fetch you a cup of tea, Mr Lynes?”

“No, thank you, Miss Frost.” Again there was a faint look of surprise, and Julian guessed she hadn’t expected him to remember her name. Surprise was followed by a look of suspicion, and Julian felt his cheeks heat. “Actually, I’m here because we, Mathey and I, wanted to talk to you about Louisa Nevett’s female metaphysician, but I know I have to wait.”

She looked for an instant as though she couldn’t decide whether she was annoyed or complimented. “I’m afraid so.”

“Yes.” She was actually quite pretty, with dark eyes and wavy chestnut hair that her sober hat couldn’t quite subdue, any more than her severe corsetry and neat shirt-waist could completely disguise an elegant figure. And she was clever, too, a graduate of the London School of Metaphysics for Women: exactly the sort of young woman who’d always appealed to Ned. It was no wonder Julian had been jealous, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself. And after last night, he felt distinctly foolish. So much for his deductive skills, if he’d so completely missed Ned’s intentions.

He was in danger of staring Miss Frost out of countenance, however, and he nodded to the copy of
The Metaphysician
on her desk. “Have you been following the series on Turkish tablet magic?”

“I have,” she said. “Professor Forster was one of our instructors.”

“My sympathies,” Julian said.

For a moment, it hung in the balance, and then she smiled. “Professor Forster holds very strong opinions on many things. Not all of them are wrong.”

“No,” Julian admitted. “Although in this instance…”

“Professor Markham does make a better case,” Miss Frost said. “Though I can’t think he’s entirely right about the grammar of the H tablet.”

“The fishhook equivalent?” Julian asked, and she nodded. “I don’t agree. I think it needs to be exactly that.”

“It has to be a conjunction of some sort, yes,” Miss Frost said. “But I don’t think it’s identical – or even very close – to the modern form.”

“It clearly wants a hook,” Julian began. “But, all right, if not a hook, what, then?”

“There are several Eastern styles of enchantment that use chained joining, a symbol linking the entire series rather than a specific conjunction,” she said. “By modern standards, it’s non-conforming, but that’s primarily because serial jointure conflicts with the later Latin style.”

Julian reached for the journal, and flipped to the engraving of the tablet. “If that’s right,” he began, studying the symbols, “and if Markham’s right about the rest of it – look, it’s really very neat.” He spread it out on her desk. “Of course, this symbol has to be something very specific –”

“Or very general,” Miss Frost said. “It could cover an entire class of items.”

“True. The same result, and for a quite reasonable expenditure of energy.” Julian was tempted to reach for his wand, but thought better of it. Ancient metaphysics was best studied in the abstract, or at least under carefully controlled conditions. “You ought to send a letter.”

Her smile dimmed. “Perhaps.”

The door opened again, and Ned shouldered his way into the narrow space. He was looking awake and well-scrubbed, and Julian couldn’t help smiling.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ned said. “Any word from Bolster?”

“No, unfortunately,” Julian answered.

Ned shrugged. “Did Lynes tell you what we needed, Miss Frost?”

“He said you wanted to talk about Louisa Nevett and her metaphysician,” she answered.

“That’s right,” Ned answered. “And I thought the least we could do was buy you a decent lunch in the process.”

“To make the interrogation easier to swallow?” she asked, with a demure smile, and Julian grinned.

“Something along those lines,” Ned answered. He looked at Julian. “I’d thought at Christie’s? We could probably get one of the rear tables, and that would be safely private.”

And Christie’s served a nicer-than-usual lunch, suitable for ladies. Julian nodded in agreement, and Miss Frost looked pleased.

“That would be lovely,” she said.

“Mr Mathey?” One of the Commons’s pages was peering around the edge of the door. “Telegram, sir.”

“Thank you.” Ned took it, frowning, and ripped open the envelope. “I’ll be damned. It’s from Hatton – he wants us to come down to the Yard and take a look at a man they pulled in last night.”

“Us?” Julian asked, and Ned nodded.

“He seems to think I’ll be able to turn you up faster than he would.”

“Probably true,” Julian said. “Right away?”

“Yes, of course.” Ned reached for the hat he’d discarded on entering. “Miss Frost, I’m sorry. We’ll have to put off Christie’s for another day.”

“No trouble at all,” she said, cheerfully enough. “I’ll just get on with the billing.”

“There’s little enough of that,” Ned said, not without bitterness. “I don’t know if I’ll be back – if I’m not, just close up as usual.”

“Yes, Mr Mathey,” she said.

Julian seized his own hat, and followed Ned down the stairs and across the courtyard. “Cab, I think,” he said, and Ned nodded.

“Hatton seems to be in a hurry.”

“I like your Miss Frost,” Julian said, and Ned gave him a look. He said nothing, however, merely reaching for his cab whistled, and a moment later they piled into a battered hansom.

“Scotland Yard,” Ned said, and the cab jerked into motion.

Hatton was waiting for them in his office, surrounded by his usual clutter of files. He brandished one of them as they entered. “Jack Dixon,” he said without preamble. “One of our regulars – robbery, garrotting, disposing of stolen property, all in his line. We picked him up last night for opening another lad’s forehead with a bottle in a fight. Funny thing was, he had this still in his pocket.” He held out a card to Julian, who frowned at it without making a move to touch it.

“I believe this is one of yours, Mr Lynes,” Hatton said.

“So it is,” Julian said promptly. “But I don’t have a client by that name. He might have been given it by one of my other clients, though.”

“No harm in that,” Hatton said. “Our business comes to us, but I expect a detective has to drum up his the same as a dentist. But given everything peculiar that the two of you have been mixed up with of late, you’ll excuse me if I’d like you to take a look at him and tell me yourselves whether you’re acquainted.”

“Fair enough,” Julian said, defensiveness clearly warring with curiosity.

Dixon was pacing the room where he was being held, a sturdy dark-haired man with a thatch of beard that didn’t quite hide a scar that twisted one cheek, wearing clothes that had once been well-made, although from their fit, probably not made for him. He started when he saw them, his dark eyes searching Ned’s face, and Ned was abruptly certain.

“That’s the man who tried to rob me the other night.”

“You’re mistaken, guv,” the man said, with a smile that bared yellowing teeth. “I weren’t anywhere near the place.”

“What place would that be?” Julian asked at once.

“Wherever a toff like yourself might have been on such a fine night. Whichever night it were.”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Hatton said. “Are you sure this is the man?”

“I’m certain of it,” Ned said. “I was on my way to see Lynes when he assaulted me. It seems he was on his way there as well.” Ned felt a surge of relief that the man hadn’t reached his destination. Not that Julian wasn’t capable of defending himself, he was sure, but he’d far rather face that sort of threat for himself.

“Care to say who gave you this?” Hatton said, holding up Julian’s card.

“I couldn’t say,” Dixon said, without more than glancing at it. “Must have picked it up on the street.”

“Nonsense,” Julian said. “Did someone direct you to me? If you wanted to consult me, that can still be arranged.” Ned considered this an unlikely possibility, although he had to admit that some of Julian’s clients were scarcely more presentable. “You’d better start by being honest.”

“Never heard of you,” Dixon said. “I picked up that piece of rubbish in the street, same as I said.”

Hatton drew Ned and Julian aside, leaving Dixon under the bored eye of a uniformed policeman. “A great coincidence, isn’t it? Just as the two of you get yourselves mixed up in the Nevett case –”

“I thought there officially was no more Nevett case,” Ned couldn’t help saying. “As you’d solved everything to your satisfaction.”

“Don’t you start,” Hatton said in frustration. “You get mixed up in the case, you’re the witness to a death – which, yes, was accident, but a damned suspicious kind of accident – and then you’re set on in the street, and I’d bet any money our lad over there was paid to do it. My question is, who paid him? Not Victor Nevett, I’ll dare say. For one thing, he’s sitting in a prison cell, and for another, right now you’re the best friends he has.”