The Arnifour Affair (16 page)

“In that I am happy to accommodate you.” He smiled again as we started to move off before he suddenly turned back and added, “By the way, Abigail Roynton sends her regards, though she does find your accounting methods rather disagreeable.”

“She's a lying slag.”

“Odd . . . ,” he locked his eyes on Warren Vandemier, “she said much the same about you.”

Nothing further was said as we left the premises. I sneaked a peek back and caught Warren Vandemier saying something to the Oriental woman who'd initially welcomed us. I knew there would be no such greeting were we to come back. I hoped Colin had gleaned what he'd come to learn.

“You all right?” he asked as soon as we were outside.

“I am,” I answered with conviction in spite of the fact that my head was swimming toward a certain migraine. “And now we know who replaced Abigail Roynton at the Earl's side.”

“Ah . . .” He chuckled. “We know more than that.”

“We do?”

“While you were off fetching cold tea in a glass, which, by the way, was inspired, I not only learned of the Earl's trysting with his niece, but also that Elsbeth might not actually be a relation of his at all.”

“What? But Lady Arnifour said . . .” And even as I heard myself say those words, I knew how foolish I sounded.

“Indeed.” He chuckled as he stepped into the street to hail a cab.

CHAPTER 24

T
hree days passed since our foray to Warren Vandemier's opium club, which left only two more before the
Ilya Petrovina
was due to return to the docks at Dover. Colin spent most of his time wrestling at the gymnasium or doing calisthenics in our flat, and when he wasn't slaving away at one of those rituals he would sit in front of the fireplace and either sharpen, polish, or gaze blankly at one of the knives in his collection as though whatever answers he sought might possibly be coaxed from out of its cold, hard metal.

Each night we would venture forth to plant ourselves in a cab among the hedgerow down the road from the Arnifour property, waiting to see if this might be the night Victor went to Nathaniel, but he never did. It was our fourth night running, the silence in the cab full between us with only the sound of the horse flicking its tail and shifting its hooves to interrupt the incessant trill of crickets.

“I wonder . . . ,” Colin startled me as he flipped open his pocket watch and checked the time, “. . . how Nathaniel felt knowing the woman he pined for was involved, so to speak, with the Earl.”

“What makes you think he knew?”

He lifted an eyebrow to me as he switched his pocket watch for a crown and began teasing it slowly around his hand. “I think we'll find that nearly
everyone
knew who the Earl's momentary favorite was. And if you'll recall, Victor told us that the night of the attack he overheard Nathaniel arguing with Elsbeth. Nathaniel said himself he tried to talk her out of going. He knew what she was up to.”

“You can't know that.”

“I think I do,” he said pointedly, palming the crown. “Remember the afternoon Victor took us to see the remains of that stable?” I nodded. “Remember my telling you there were two sets of horse prints?” I nodded again. “I told you that one set belonged to the killer because I could see where he'd run the Earl down, and the other set were deep, suggesting a heavy load: Elsbeth and the Earl.”

“I remember.”

“Nathaniel would have realized by the condition of her horse whenever she went out alone. When she returned, there would have been a marked difference in the beast's level of fatigue between carrying that slight woman as opposed to both her and a man with the girth of the Earl.”

“Well, that's true. . . .”

He smirked at me as he set the coin in motion again. “Elsbeth and the Earl met up at some prearranged place, no doubt their habit whenever she got out alone, and rode down to that stable together to avail themselves of its privacy. It explains how a man of the Earl's age and physical condition could have covered such a distance in so short a time. It also explains
why
he would have done so.” He stared out into the night. “Consider that not one person in that household believed the Earl capable of covering such a distance on his nightly jaunts, and yet none of them has offered that explanation as a possibility.”

“Which means what?”

“They all knew what was going on.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Deadly serious.”

“Then you think Nathaniel followed Elsbeth and attacked her and the Earl in a jealous rage?”

“That
is
the rub.” He knit his brow as he gazed up at the starry sky. “I think Nathaniel is innocent.”

“Innocent? Then who do you suspect?”

Colin suddenly bolted upright, seizing the crown in midair. “Victor Heffernan.”

“Victor?!”
I was stunned by his accusation, especially given that he'd repeatedly insisted Lady Arnifour would never have hired us if she weren't confident of his innocence. And that's when I heard the frantic clatter of horse hooves bolting along the opposite side of the hedge we were hiding behind. “Oh,” I mumbled. “You meant
that
was Victor Heffernan.”

Colin gave me a sideways glance before leaning forward and pounding on the cab's roof. “Here's your chance, man,” he called out. “Don't lose him and for heaven's sake, don't let him see that we're following him.”

The driver jerked the reins and quickly guided us out onto the cobbled street that led back to the heart of London. Victor had already achieved some distance, making it unlikely that he'd take any notice of us, though I did worry we could lose sight of him once traffic picked up. Our driver proved himself adept, however, guiding the horse with equal parts skill and strength as he maintained an easy pace in Victor's wake. Nevertheless, Colin remained ratcheted forward in his seat, keeping a steely gaze on our quarry's dark, hunched back.

We were not forced to slow down until we'd reached the narrowed streets of Whitechapel, the very same neighborhood as Warren Vandemier's opium club. It occurred to me that Victor could be headed there, but I rejected the notion as I knew he wasn't a user and couldn't imagine Nathaniel having anything to do with it, either.

Our cab careened around a dimly lit corner at a preposterous speed as I scanned the area ahead while waiting for gravity to grip our wheels again. I was relieved to catch sight of Victor among the throng cluttering the slim thoroughfare, dismounting and tying his horse to a post in front of a sorrowful-looking storefront. Our driver had also spotted him from his vantage point above and was bringing the cab to a smooth stop some distance from where Victor was still fiddling with his horse.

“Expertly done.” Colin handed the man the entire fistful of notes I'd given him earlier. “You needn't wait for us.”

“I'd be 'appy to,” he assured, beaming at his earnings.

“Another time,” Colin called back, and headed down the street, his eyes locked on Victor. “I never forget a helpful face.”

As Victor ducked down an adjacent alleyway, Colin took off at a measured pace, forcing me to nearly break into a run to keep up. He slowed as he neared the corner and came to a stop, peering cautiously around the building's edge. He stood that way: morbidly still, his head cocked slightly, and all I could think was how glad I was that we were in this section of the city, as anywhere else his unorthodox stance would have attracted notice.

“Where's he gone?” I whispered in spite of the din in the street.

“Through a metal doorway on the left. Looks like a tenement building. I think we've struck gold.”

“Suppose this turns out to be a pied-à-terre for Victor and Lady Arnifour?” I blurted out. “What if we walk in on something unseemly?!”

“Perish the thought.” He pursed his face. And then he was off again, striding down the center of the alley with his eyes fixed on the doorway he'd seen Victor disappear through.

I followed as quickly and casually as I could, wondering how he intended to determine which of the building's flats was the one Victor had gone into. He entered the scrubby, dimly lit entryway and stopped in front of the bank of mail slots, slowly running a finger across each of the names. He skimmed each of the thin slips of paper until he reached the bottom and then, without the slightest hesitation, stabbed his finger at a name just shy of the midpoint.

“What?” I asked, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Desiree Helgman,” he answered. “I think you were right.”

“What?” I stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Right about what? Who's Desiree Helgman?”

He chuckled. “Doesn't the name Helgman rattle something in your brain?”

“Helgman?” I parroted in an effort to jog my gray matter.

He grinned. “It
is
rather inside out.” He pointed to the letters in a seemingly haphazard order, one after another: “
L-a-n-g-h-e-m.
Langhem. Lady Arnifour's maiden name.”

My jaw slackened and I laughed out loud.

“And Desiree, a derivative of the word ‘desire,' is no doubt an unsubtle homage to how this place was used. Rather pedestrian.”

“I just hope it's Nathaniel we find.”

“Indeed.”

We started up the narrow staircase hugging one side of the small foyer. Nothing about the building offered even a hint of gentrification, paling even in comparison to the faded austerity of the Arnifour estate. This was a place of profound desperation, of prostitutes and addicts. It seemed inconceivable that Lady Arnifour would have come here for any purpose, let alone the one so clearly advertised on the mail slot.

“Do you suppose . . . ,” I spoke softly as we creaked up the sagging stairway, “. . . that the Earl might have found out about this place and tried to blackmail his wife? That's one way he could've gotten his hands on her money again.”

“The inestimable value of one's reputation,” he muttered. “You could be right. There's certainly nothing that matters more to the titled set.” We came to the third-floor landing and he waved me back. “Stay away from the door.” He spoke quietly as we approached number 304: Desiree Helgman's flat. “We'll not be knocking.” He glared at the door as he pulled a small pistol from the breast pocket of his overcoat.

He backed up, gripped the doorjamb with one hand, raised a foot, and then stopped, looking at me with his leg dangling in midair. “If they're having it off,” he whispered, “I'll pluck my eyes from my head.” And then he crashed his boot against the flimsy knob.

Given the ease with which it sprang open I surmised that either the Earl had never had the occasion to follow his philandering wife or else she simply didn't care. Whichever the case, it gave way like a prostitute at last call, slamming so fiercely against the receiving wall that it left spidery fissures where the knob collided with it.

The room beyond was not well lit and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, though I was aware of frantic movements almost at once. Colin didn't hesitate, however, but careened immediately inside. There was a rapid succession of shouting followed by the heart-seizing report of a gun.

And then there was silence.

No motion, no words, not even the life-affirming sound of a breath being drawn, for what felt an eternity until I became aware of someone pounding on the opposite side of a nearby wall and shouting,
“Shut the bloody hell up in there!”

That muffled voice finally propelled me inside the tiny one-room flat once I'd done my best to seat the damaged door back into place. I came up behind Colin, standing no more than ten feet from where I'd been rooted, and saw that he had his gun leveled on the room's only window. Nathaniel was slumped on its sill, one leg out but the bulk of him still inside, his father standing beside him. I thought he'd been shot even though I couldn't see any blood before finally realizing that Colin had only fired a warning. He'd wanted to stop Nathaniel from fleeing down the fire escape and been persuasive with that one shot.

“Swing around, Nathaniel.” Colin's voice was as calm as if he meant to discuss the night air. “And have a seat on the bed.”

The young man did as he was told, pulling himself out of the window and dropping onto the large bed that dominated the room. As my heart began to settle I noticed that the flat was much more than what the dilapidated building seemed to suggest. While undeniably discreet in size and design, it was freshly painted and immaculately clean, and its sparse furnishings were as comfortable looking as they were new. Even the commode and sink, partially hidden behind a silk flat-panel screen, appeared to be pristine, as though they'd only recently been installed. The place was indeed fit for a lady, a lady and her paramour.

“You're makin' a dreadful mistake, Mr. Pendragon,” Victor said in a pitifully beseeching voice. “Nathaniel didn't do anything. The boy's innocent.”

“Of course. Innocent men always run.”

“You're wastin' your time!” Nathaniel snapped. “Let 'em hang me. I don't care anymore.”

“No!”
Victor stepped toward Colin, his eyes blazing. “I will
not
let you accuse my son of something he didn't do.”

“May I remind you, Victor, that I've yet to accuse your son of anything. And that's despite his proximity to Elsbeth's bedside the night she died.”

“I didn't kill her, you tosser,” Nathaniel spat. “I loved her. If you were half as smart as they say, you'd already know that.”

“Nathaniel . . .” Victor shrank back.

“The boy's right.” Colin shoved the gun back under his vest. “I suspected it but haven't been able to find any proof, and without proof all that's left is supposition, which is really little more than overinflated rumor. But the one thing that keeps nagging at me is why the son of a groundskeeper would ever fancy himself a suitable match for a potential heiress to the Arnifour estate? How is it you thought the family would ever look kindly upon such a union?”

I caught Nathaniel stealing a peek at his father, but neither of them answered.

Colin rubbed his chin as he began pacing the short distance between the window and the door, being careful to keep himself placed to avoid giving Nathaniel a second opportunity to attempt an escape. After a couple moments of idle wandering with nary a breath from either of the Heffernans, Colin started up again. “Nothing? Then let's talk about your decision to flee the night Elsbeth died. Running off like a guilty man. Why would you do that if you've nothing to hide?”

“The inspector—”

“—is an ass who wasn't even there.” Colin waved him off. “The coroner confirmed she died of the wounds sustained the night of the attack. She wasn't asphyxiated by you or anyone else. While your guilt in the initial attack may still be a matter of consideration, you have most assuredly been exonerated of any misdeeds the night she died. And you knew that. But you still ran off.” Colin turned back and settled his gaze on Nathaniel. “So why is it I think you're still not going to be returning home?”