The Arnifour Affair (11 page)

CHAPTER 16

T
ime, although admittedly rigid, sometimes feels as though it has a multiplicity of variances depending upon a given situation. For instance, when a moment is joyous and filled with laughter it seems to dash by like a dizzying streak of wind. Conversely, when an event is stout with boredom it appears to pass with the lumbering grace of a beached walrus. Worst of all, however, are the occasions of dread when time insists on dragging its unwilling participant irrevocably closer to the consequence against which nothing can be done. This last scenario is precisely where I found myself as I waited in the study for Colin to gather the household. I felt at turns adrift, condemned, and tortured, and always with that same insidious sense of regret and failure.

Eldon was pacing in front of the fire he'd prodded to life in a blue-and-white-striped nightshirt, his hair askew, but for once without an attendant drink in his hand. Lady Arnifour was seated across from me, her full-length robe pulled tight at the collar and a mask of white cream glued to her face with a cap yanked fully down over her hair. Mrs. O'Keefe, as always, had come no farther than the door, having taken a seat just inside the room while clutching her old flannel robe tightly about herself. She wore no facial unguent like her mistress, so there was nothing to soften the sour expression that seemed to be her constant companion regardless of the time.

Victor Heffernan was the last to arrive and was slumped on a stool on the far side of the fireplace wearing a look that made me think he suspected that something unique to him was terribly wrong.

Colin had banished us all here but had yet to join us himself, although I couldn't figure out why. He'd said little to me after I'd confessed the truth other than to vanquish me to the study to wait for the others. As I glanced around at the others I wondered what they thought of being awakened and pulled from their beds at such an hour. If any of them feared that Elsbeth had awoken to name her attacker, I couldn't see it on their faces.

When it began to feel like Colin might never come back, time playing its nasty tricks again, he finally strode into the room with the ease and serenity of a man arriving at a midday luncheon. “I do apologize for this unfortunate timing,” he said, “but I've some bad news and I thought it best for you all to hear it at once.”

“Where's Nathaniel?” Victor bolted up. “Why isn't he here?”

“Nathaniel is missing,” he answered. “And I'm afraid Elsbeth has died.”

Lady Arnifour gasped and let out a sob.

“It wasn't Nathaniel,” Victor stammered, casting his eyes about the room with desperation. “You can't tell me you think Nathaniel had anything to do with it.”

“Of course he thinks it,” Eldon sneered. “Don't be an ass.”

“My boy's innocent!” Victor shouted even as he sagged against the fireplace mantel.

“I haven't accused your son of anything.” Colin spoke calmly. “It's too soon to make any presumptions. We will have to wait until the inspector's man returns with the coroner.”

I caught a glimpse of Mrs. O'Keefe from the corner of my eye and saw that she'd gone quite ashen, her eyes red with tears.

“Surely, Mr. Pendragon,” Eldon forged on, “a man of your renown can connect two such obvious events in a straight line? I cannot imagine why my mother would be paying you were that not the case.”

“Stop it!” Lady Arnifour howled as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Come now, Mother.” Eldon's face flushed red. “Surely even you can see the correlation. Elsbeth's dead and Nathaniel's gone missing. Now if that pompous ass you hired and his trained monkey aren't willing to venture a presumption of the obvious then I should think they're no better than those ridiculous twits from Scotland Yard.”

“Eldon,” she hissed, this time in a low, flat tone.

But Eldon was not to be silenced. “I'm beginning to wonder if we can even accept Mr. Pendragon's word of Elsbeth's demise? Perhaps he's too recklessly—”

“Enough!”
she bellowed, bolting to her feet as she snatched up a small marble ashtray and heaved it at her son's head. Time played its trick one last time as the leaden object careened toward Eldon, missing him by a fraction before imploding into the mirror above the mantel. The sound of its strike was deafening, not because of its volume, but because of the ferocity and intent with which it had been hurled. The tinkling of a thousand tiny shards of glass punctuated that fury as they rained down to the floor.

Eldon recoiled, as he was surely meant to. And when the last of the fragments settled to the ground I became aware that Mrs. O'Keefe was gone. The door to the kitchen was left swinging to and fro in a silent arc as though marking the retreat of some ghostly aberration that had gone unnoticed by this roomful of hysterics.

“I am sure, Mr. Pendragon . . . ,” Lady Arnifour's voice was raw and taut, “. . . that you will be able to see to the authorities without my help.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “We shall take care of everything. You must try to get some rest.”

She did not acknowledge his words but kept her eyes fixed on the doorway as though getting out of the room were the only thing that mattered. I glanced at Victor and thought he looked on the verge of going after her, but before he could seem to make up his mind she had already whisked herself out of the room as suddenly as her housekeeper had. He stared after her a moment, the slump of his shoulders signifying his distress, and then he too made for the door without so much as a word to the rest of us. There was nothing he could say, yet I feared his silence hinted at his own doubts about Nathaniel.

“She tried to kill me!” Eldon growled as soon as Victor was gone. “She bloody well tried to kill me!”

“You
can
be trying . . . ,” Colin tossed off as he fished a perennial crown out of his pocket and blithely rolled it around his fingers.

“She's the devil's slag,” Eldon carried on shrilly. “All she ever did was piss on Father. You'd have thought she'd earned her inheritance herself the way she carried on.”

“Did your parents often argue about money?”

“Look around, Mr. Pendragon. She makes us live like we're on our last pound. But don't be deceived. She's got plenty. She simply prefers to dole it out. Gives her control and keeps us under her wretched, hateful thumb.” He stalked back to the bar.

“But what about your father's business dealings?” I spoke up. “I thought you said your father squandered a great deal of your mother's money?”

“A man has to do
something,
” he shot back, pouring himself another glass. “I'm done in. I've nothing more to say. And the only thing I want to hear from you is that you're going to throw that old shrew behind bars. She's the one who's really capable of murder,” he seethed as he turned and stormed out of the room.

Colin heaved a burdened sigh and sat down next to me, the coin still sliding effortlessly betwixt his fingers. Long shadows, too numerous for the oil lamps to allay, were cast against the walls in a flickering tableau. “What do you make of all of this?”

I shook my head. “It's all very sad. There's enough vitriol here to suspect all of them and I don't even think we've heard the worst of it.”

“I'm afraid I agree.”

My voice hitched as I turned to him. “I'm so sorry I let you down tonight.”

“Let me down?” He stilled the coin as he looked at me. “You never let me down, my love.”

“It's my fault Nathaniel was able to sneak into Elsbeth's room. I fell asleep. I gave him the opportunity to . . .” I couldn't even finish the thought.

“To what? Watch her die? Because I'm quite certain that's all he did. Elsbeth died without anyone's assistance tonight. You only had to look at her to see that she was neither smothered nor strangled. You'll see when the coroner arrives.”

“But . . .” And then I realized he was right. I hadn't even looked at her. I hadn't checked for the bluish hue of smothering or the telltale marks of strangulation on her neck. It had never even occurred to me since I'd been so intent on my own culpability. “Really?!”

He squeezed my hand as he offered a sad smile.

“Then why did Nathaniel run off?”

He shook his head. “Why indeed?”

CHAPTER 17

“A
s you can see, we're in the embassy district,” I said as though Colin hadn't already figured that out for himself. We were headed down the side street where I'd followed Mademoiselle Rendell days earlier. It was all familiar, if markedly drearier, in the early afternoon sun.

“To be more precise,” he pointed out, “these would be the embassies of the Austro-Hungarian nations. The Austrians, Hungarians, Bulgarians, Romanians, Bohemians, Moravians, Silesians, and Galicians are all here. And if I'm not mistaken”—and we both knew he wouldn't be—“the Russians are here as well.”

“All right then.” I yanked open the plain wooden door behind which sprawled the dark, elegant pub I'd followed Mademoiselle Rendell into. “Let's see which of those countries you see represented here.”

“Amazing . . . ,” he muttered as he took in the lavish interior. We seated ourselves at the long bar and Colin ran an appreciative finger along the magnificent wood. “I've never seen a singular piece of burl this large before,” he marveled. “And given the little flags with the double-headed eagles hanging from the ceiling and the photograph of Nicholas Romanov, I would say the place is Russian, very Russian.”

“Very good.” I grinned. “Keen eye for the obvious. But you were the only one who realized what happened with Elsbeth last night. Even Victor looked mortified for Nathaniel, but you knew he hadn't done anything.”

“Still,” he shrugged, “it was nice to have the coroner confirm it.”

I shook my head. “You knew.”

He shrugged again and ordered us a couple of ales before spinning around on his barstool. “So which was the booth our mademoiselle set herself to work in?”

“To your left. The one near the back.”

“Vaguely discreet.” He snickered. “Is the barkeep the same?”

I glanced at the hairy, round-faced man pouring our drinks. “I don't think so, but he looked like that.”

“And the man she met here—the foreign gentleman you insist was not Russian—is he here?”

“No.”

“And tell me again why you're so certain he wasn't Russian?”

“You know this. . . .”

“Remind me.”

“Back at Easling and Temple . . . ,” I prodded, “I knew a lad who was from St. Petersburg. His father was an advisor to Czar Alexander.”

“Ah yes . . . ,” he said with more enthusiasm than was necessary, and I knew he was ribbing me. “There were a lot of Russian boys attending the academy back then. What was the boy's name?”

“I don't remember,” I lied, refusing to play along with his game.

“Wasn't it something like Grigorii Yuspenovich?”

I scowled at him. “Lucky guess.”

He laughed. “Well, you were only fourteen and hadn't met me yet. You had nothing to compare him to.”

“I knew who you were. Everyone at Easling and Temple knew who you were. Ever the golden boy, smart . . . star wrestler . . . aloof . . .”

“Please. You'll make me blush.”

“As if that were possible.”

He chuckled before abruptly turning and calling out to the barkeep,
“Excuse me. . . .”

As the burly man sauntered over to us I wondered what Colin was up to. “It appears my glass has something in it beyond the ale I ordered. While that may be sufficient for your regular clientele, it is most assuredly
not
sufficient for me. Might I get a glass that's been washed since Her Majesty's coronation?”

The man's face curled sourly as he seized the glass, his bushy eyebrows furrowing into one long, seething caterpillar. “I dun't see anyt'ing!” he snapped.

“Then perhaps I might suggest you consider a consultation with one of our fine British ophthalmologists?”

The man's eyes narrowed to black beads as he glowered at Colin. “You t'ink you're funny?”

“All I want is a decent ale in a clean glass. You wouldn't serve this to one of your diplomats if you could get one of them in here,” he scoffed.

“De ambassador's staff comes here all de time.” The man leaned into Colin's face. “And ve serve many staff from France and Austria and Hungary and all over the empire, so . . . ,” and without another word he picked up Colin's glass and tossed it into the sink behind the bar, “. . . ve don't need you. You may leaf.”

“Well . . .” Colin stood up. “It would seem that someone is always getting tossed out of this place. Must be ruddy hell on the bottom line.”

“Ve have plenty business.”

“So you say.” He stood up. “What do we owe you? Maybe you can hire someone to wash the dishes with our payment.”

The door swung shut behind us and Colin snickered as he absently rubbed his chin. “Extraordinary.”

“What's extraordinary is that you just riled that man up for fun,” I said as I followed him back to the main thoroughfare. “Was that really necessary?”

“It wasn't for fun—I needed some information and figured that was the easiest way to get it from him. Surely you see that.”

“What I see is that the only thing we learned is that they serve a lot of diplomats.”

“Yes. But at least we have narrowed down our list to the Austro-Hungarian nations. Surely you would've recognized a French accent. . . .”

I frowned. “Of course. And I could have picked up an Austrian one as well.”

“Well then, perhaps the man you overheard talking to our mademoiselle was Hungarian or Moravian.” He peered at me. “Are you familiar with either of those?”

“No. And what makes you think the man she met has any correlation to a diplomat anyway?”

“Because even though Nicholas married Victoria's granddaughter, you know as well as I do that relations between our countries are acutely strained, and yet, here sits a most opulent czarist pub right in the midst of our city. I guarantee it's subsidized by their government and that it serves much more than just spirits. No doubt Russia's allies partake in those favors, which would include the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”

“Maybe so, but you can't be sure any of it's related to the disappearance of Michael's sister.”

“Not yet, but we'll know something shortly.”

“We will?”

“Indeed. We're going to Her Majesty's Foreign Ministry Office.” He turned and grinned at me, knowing I would abhor the implication.

I screwed up my face. “Must we?”

“It's time we find your Slavic man, and the only way to get information about the embassy staffs is through the Foreign Ministry Office.”

“It could take us days to look through all the files for those countries. There'll be thousands of them. We don't have the time.”

He looked at me with grim determination. “Unless you have a better idea . . .”

But I didn't, so within the hour I was stepping into the Foreign Ministry Office. It isn't that I have anything against our esteemed Minister Randolph Fitzherbert; he is an elegant, thoughtful, and intelligent man who has served our commonwealth admirably. Rather it is the effusive woman one must endure to procure a visit with Mr. Fitzherbert: one Adelaide Crouch.

Colin and I had barely crossed the threshold from the bustling hallway when the young woman leapt to her feet as though her chair had spontaneously combusted. With her hairpin curves and froth of blond hair piled atop her head she looked like a confection better suited to a bakeshop than a government office. She hustled around her desk with her eyes glued solely on Colin, wearing a smile that seemed about to cleave her head at any moment.

“Mr. Pendragon!” she squealed. “What a pleasure to see you.” As she gripped his hands she slid her eyes to me and halfheartedly allowed, “Mr. Pruitt.”

“Miss Crouch.” I conjured up a small smile, but she'd already returned her gaze to Colin.

“Always a pleasure to see you as well, Miss Crouch,” Colin said, leaning forward and kissing her lightly on each cheek, which sent her into a bray of twitters. He was incorrigible.

“Please, Mr. Pendragon.” She batted her eyes at him even as a foolish grin spread across his face. “I keep telling you to call me Adelaide.”

“But of course. Is Randolph in?”

“Stuck in Parliament, I'm afraid. I don't expect him in for the rest of the week. You know how those old Whigs can be.” She chuckled.

“That I do. I've sat through enough of those sessions listening to my father. Dreadful. But tell me, might we impose upon you to show us a file or two in Randolph's absence? You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important.” He flashed his dimples again and I knew we were about to see just how intoxicating she really thought his charms to be.

“Well, I really shouldn't,” she said as she smoothed the front of her dress in a nervous gesture that nevertheless managed to amplify her undeniable endowments. “What sorts of files are you looking for?”

“We could start with your personnel file, little one, so that I can write great good things about you.”

“Mr. Pendragon . . .” She laughed and waved him off as I wondered how he came up with such inanities. “You're just playing with me.”

“You must forgive me,” I interrupted, afraid I would lose my lunch if I did not stop these two, “but time is of the essence here and we really are in great need to see the Minister's files on the Austro-Hungarian embassy staffs. Most specifically the Romanians, Bohemians, Moravians.”

She flicked her gaze to me as her smile dropped. “Ever about business with you, isn't it, Mr. Pruitt. You really should learn to enjoy yourself like Mr. Pendragon.” And her eyes once again sought his as another smile eased across her face.

“I'm afraid he is right.” Colin sighed as though I had ruptured some delicate mood, and perhaps I had. “The spectre of reality always seems to rear its inexorable head.”

“Well, no harm's been done,” she said as she continued to stare into his eyes. “You know I understand. It must be such a burden to have harpies badgering you all the time.”

Had Colin not been standing between Miss Crouch and me I would have seriously considered reaching out and backhanding her. But Colin
did
present bodily interference in that moment, and as my better nature kicked in I settled for giving him a sharp poke to the small of his back to signal the end of my tolerance.

“You give me too much credit.” He chuckled, and I knew I had played into his ego, which only galled me more. “But I
am
in need of a gander through Randolph's embassy files for the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If we could start with the Hungarians? I promise I shan't remove a thing.”

“It's going to take days, Mr. Pendragon.”

I saw a flicker of concern flit across his face before he cracked a tight smile and said, “All the more time to spend in your company.”

“Oh, Mr. Pendragon . . .” She smiled. “Well, I suppose it would be all right. I've never known the Minister to refuse you any request and I would never want to be the one to stand in your way.” Her voice had suddenly developed a huskiness and I began to wonder whether I was missing something. “We keep the Hungarian and Austrian staffs up here, but the rest are down with the clerk.” She finally disengaged herself from Colin and headed to the door of an attendant room filled with tall wooden filing cabinets.

“We won't need to see the Austrian staff, but I'm afraid we likely need to look at the rest,” he called as she disappeared from sight.
“Are you out of your mind?!”
He rounded on me in a harsh whisper.
“We need her cooperation. Would you please try to control yourself?!”

“She called me a harpie,” I shot back.

“Then stop acting like one.”

My jaw dropped, but I managed to keep from uttering what had streaked across my mind as Miss Crouch returned with a great stack of files cradled in her arms.

“Here are the dossiers on the Hungarian staff.” She heaved the pile onto a low table across the room. “If you'd like to see any complete files just let me know and I'll have Record Keeping pull them. It can take a day or two, but you know I'll do everything I can to get it expedited for you, Mr. Pendragon. I'll have to go and have the rest pulled for you. What order do you want them?”

Colin shrugged uncomfortably. “Alphabetically? Shall we say the Bohemian staff next? Perhaps we can sort through two countries a day?”

She smiled. “That will take quite some time.”

“Yes . . .” And I noticed he didn't sound nearly as enamored as she did.

“I'll go and fetch the Bohemian files for you.”

“I'll come with you,” he piped up with renewed vigor. “You certainly can't be expected to haul those files around by yourself.”

“So chivalrous, Mr. Pendragon,” she said, and I knew I'd been set up. “And perhaps I could interest you in some tea while we're downstairs? It'll take a few minutes for the clerk to collect the dossiers anyway. . . .”

“A brilliant idea.” He gave her a generous smile as he turned to me. “You know the man we're looking for. . . .” He didn't bother to say the rest; he didn't need to; he hadn't seen the man with Mademoiselle Rendell; only I had. No matter, I'd be happy to have the two of them away from me anyway. “I'll fetch you a cup.”

“Oh no, Mr. Pendragon, you mustn't,” Miss Crouch said with a distinct note of pleasure. “If anything were to spill on the files it would be the end of me. The Minister would be livid.”

“Don't worry about me,” I chirped a bit too merrily as I took a seat at the table.