The Arnifour Affair (2 page)

“You mentioned . . . ,” I chose my words carefully, “. . . that you disagree with Inspector Varcoe's assessment. Might you tell us why?” I shot Colin another warning glance as I pressed a snifter into his free hand, his other continuing to swirl the coin effortlessly, and was rewarded with a comparable rolling of his eyes.

“Victor Heffernan is a good man,” she began slowly, keeping her gaze on the fire. “His family has worked for my family for three generations and that doesn't even include his son Nathaniel. I've known Victor since we were children. I was present at Nathaniel's birth. My husband and I have always been fond of the Heffernans. There's simply no reason why Victor or Nathaniel would want to hurt Samuel or Elsbeth. It's inconceivable. As I told you before, I would stake my reputation on it.” She turned and glared at us as though daring us to disagree. “I can see that you've earned every facet of your reputation, Mr. Pendragon, but I would still like you to take this case. So will you prove that Mr. Heffernan and his son are innocent of this terrible crime?”

“And if the perpetrator
does
turn out to be your Mr. Heffernan or his son?”

She blanched slightly, her face drawing rigid as though she'd been struck. “I do not fear the truth,” she said, but there was little conviction in her words.

“Then I am your man.” He gave her a quick tilt of his head as he snatched the coin into the palm of his hand. “But you do understand, Lady Arnifour, that the truth is seldom what we want it to be.”

“I only ask that you live up to the
best
of your reputation.”

He smirked, but gave no other quarter to her having chastised him. “I think I've already proven that I shall not disappoint you.” He flashed her a rakish smile that showed off his dimples. “We will be out tomorrow to have a look around.”

Lady Arnifour nodded earnestly before downing her brandy in a single ferocious gulp. “I shall look forward to it,” she said as she set her glass on the mantel and glided past us.

“There are two things you must do, however.” Colin spoke up before she reached the landing. “If you've not already done so, you must hire a guard to sit with your niece twenty-four hours a day. We cannot risk the chance that whoever committed this crime might wish to correct their unfinished business. Your niece could solve this case quite handily.”

“A guard has been in place from the first night.”

“Then there is only the matter of my fee,” he gestured toward me, “and I shall leave that to the two of you.”

I escorted our new client to the front door as we discussed an agreement, quickly coming to terms on a figure she had not hesitated to accept. Colin's repute does preclude most clients from balking at his fee.

“What did you make of that?” Colin asked, carefully pouring the contents of his untouched snifter back into the decanter, as I reentered the room.

“It's a horrible crime. The poor niece.”

“Indeed.” He finished with his glass and did the same with mine. “Yet Her Ladyship hardly seems the grieving widow.”

“I'm sure their marriage was arranged and you know those things just never seem to turn out well.”

“Tell that to dear Victoria. She seems unwilling to ever let off mourning Albert. If it weren't for my father and his scheming with her stable man, John Brown—”

“That's nothing but rumor.”

“Ah, Ethan, ever naïve.” He chuckled. “As to Lady Arnifour . . .” He moved to the fireplace. “She not only lies to herself every time she looks in a mirror, but she was most certainly lying to us tonight. There is much more to this crime than she's letting on. It's preposterous to think that she would place her reputation on the line for a groundskeeper.”

“I thought I could hear her forefathers spinning when she said that.” I laughed.

“It will be most interesting to meet this Victor Heffernan. And we shall see if I am not right about him and the Lady.”

I chuckled. “And what if you are right about the two of them?”

He looked at me with a mischievous grin. “Then we shall have our first motive.”

CHAPTER 2

W
e set off for the Arnifour estate on the outskirts of London only after the new day had eased past one o'clock, jouncing along the cobbled roadways in the cab Colin had procured. We had chosen this specific time of day as there are few things as indulgent as teatime in the finer homes. Finger-sized sandwiches of cucumber and butter, petit crown-shaped biscuits, thinly sliced hard-cooked eggs, cream cheese with minced olives atop water wafers: all the delicacies Mrs. Behmoth has had no patience for. We came through the massive stone archway that marked the edge of the Arnifour property, catching our first glimpse of the family home: a rambling Greco-Roman structure in the shape of an elongated U rising from the green hillsides around it like a white monolith. A double row of Ionic columns adorned its façade and there were well over a dozen chimneys crowning its rooftop. As our carriage rose and dipped over the uneven hills, the house was never lost completely from view, but rather stretched out like an imposing anomaly, reminding all that it did not dwell
within
its surroundings, it
ruled
them.

It was only after we gained the final hill that we could see how this seemingly regal building showed its age every bit as much as its overly lacquered mistress. Its wooden columns were chipped and flaking while the stone block façade covering its lower half was in need of both cleaning and repair. Both wings of the house had boards fastened across their windows, leaving only the long central section showing signs of habitation. And even there the large French doors fronting the portico revealed that many of those outlying rooms were devoid of furniture.

“It would seem . . . ,” Colin mused as our cab rounded the driveway at the main entrance, “. . . that this tea will likely be less than we were hoping for.”

“Now don't start,” I scolded. “These people are dealing with a terrible tragedy.”

“This entire estate is something of a tragedy.”

“It is a wonder she didn't blink at your fee.”

“She'd have been stuck with the inspector if she had,” he said as he climbed out of the cab.

While I made quick arrangements for the driver to wait for us by paying only half his fee, Colin availed himself of one of the door's large, scripted-
A
iron knockers. As I joined him on the porch I noticed that the massive doors were warped and weather-beaten as they abruptly yawned open to reveal a thin, pinch-faced woman dressed entirely in black. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled taut into a bun. She offered nary a smile nor a nod of welcome.

“Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt?” she asked with obvious disdain.

“Well done,” Colin answered. “You've saved me a card.”

Her brow furrowed as she glared at him. “I will remind you this is a house in mourning.”

“Indeed. . . .” He arched an eyebrow.

Whether she understood his inference or not I cannot say, but she did finally feint to the side and allow us entry. Colin gave a tight smile and passed so close to her that she was forced to take an awkward step back while I, on the other hand, gave her as much room as I could.

We were ushered into the study and directed to a pair of brocade armchairs. Dutifully obeying the housekeeper's silent bidding, we settled into the chairs and watched as she turned with the rigidity of a Queen's guard and left through a rear door.

“That woman has disapproval refined to an art.”

“Whatever could she be so sour at us for?”

“An excellent question.” Colin stood up and began to inspect an oil painting of a grim family hanging above the mantel. “This must be the Arnifour family in happier times.” The portrait showed a stilted, balding man with a sour face seated next to a woman obviously older than him, with three stoic children shy of their teens—one boy and two girls—standing behind them. The woman at the portrait's center was clearly a twenty-some-years-younger version of our client. “It is extraordinary how unhappy some people look when being immortalized.”

“I don't remember you looking much better in that portrait your father had done when you were living in Bombay,” I needled, recalling the equally stuffy rendition of Colin and his father.

He scowled at me a moment, but his expression quickly slid into a warm, generous smile, his dimples flashing and his eyes sparkling like sapphires as he said, “It's a pleasure to see you again.”

I turned as Lady Arnifour ambled into the room, appearing even more haggard in the harsh daylight. “I regret I cannot say the same. How I wish this were a social call.” She sat on the edge of a sofa across from me.

“I appreciate how difficult this is for you,” he said as he came and sat down next to her.

“Do you, Mr. Pendragon? Have
you
suffered the loss of a loved one to murder?”

Colin flicked his eyes at me and I knew what he was asking. I returned a slight nod and he said, “Mr. Pruitt has, but I have not. Yet I would suspect there are few who do not understand what it means to lose someone they love.”

“How perfectly maudlin.” A disheveled, rail-thin man in his early thirties stood in the doorway the housekeeper had exited through, clenching the doorjamb so tightly that I wondered if he had an infirmity that left him unsteady on his feet. “Comparing war wounds, are we?”

Lady Arnifour glowered at her son, yet he seemed either unaware or unconcerned as he stalked into the room with a gait that was at once as unstable as it was cocksure. I guessed his infirmity to be intoxication.

“Mr. Pendragon.” He stuck out a hand and gave a protracted bow that seemed more mocking than deferential.

“Eldon!”
Lady Arnifour snapped.

Colin stood up and pumped the younger man's hand, flashing him a rogue's grin. “Such a formal greeting. I assume you are doing your best to adapt to your new role as lord of the manor?”

Eldon's eyebrows shot up as he pulled himself to his full height, several inches taller than Colin, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes.” He smirked at his mother. “That would be me. Lord of the manor.”

“You will excuse my son's insolence,” Lady Arnifour scoffed as she snatched up a small bell from the table beside her. “His manners tend to wither with the advancing day.”

“Now, Mother . . .” Eldon dropped into a chair near me. “Let's not be priggish. I'd much prefer to hear what Mr. Pendragon has to say about Father's murder.” He settled his gaze on Colin, in whose furrowed brow I noticed the seeds of distaste. There was clearly no love lost between this son and his father. “Tell me, do you agree with Mother's contention regarding the innocence of the sainted Mr. Heffernan?”

“Do you disagree?” Colin shot back.

“I would sooner stake my bits to a fence post, Mr. Pendragon. It's not prudent to disagree with Mother.” He forced a laugh that did not cover the unsettling rage that momentarily shifted behind his eyes.

Before either Colin or Lady Arnifour could respond, however, the mirthless housekeeper returned with a silver tray piled high with sandwiches and a tea set.

“Perfect timing, Mrs. O'Keefe,” Lady Arnifour said as she began fussing over the tray, slowly regaining her composure.

“Yes, ma'am.” Mrs. O'Keefe exited as hastily as she had come. The only warmth she'd shown, and that only rudimentary, was when she'd addressed her mistress. She'd not even given Eldon the slightest look. He seemed ever the misfit, or perhaps something more.

“Mr. Pendragon . . .” Lady Arnifour held out a cup of tea. She was about to do the same for me when Eldon popped out of his chair.

“Perhaps our guests would like something to invigorate their tea?”

“Really, Eldon,” Lady Arnifour rebuked. “It's not even a proper hour.”

“That's never stopped the Arnifours,” he sneered.

“Tell me . . . ,” I interrupted to keep things from denigrating further, “do you still cultivate your land?”

“Not anymore. Mrs. O'Keefe tends a small garden out back, but it's been generations since these lands were properly worked. It's too much, I suppose . . . the staff, the upkeep, the toil—”

“The expense . . .” Eldon chuckled. “That's why this old pile looks as tired as it does. The family gentry forgot how to earn its keep a long time ago.”

“That's enough!”
Lady Arnifour banged her cup back onto its saucer. “I will
not
have you talk about your heritage that way.”

He waved her off. “We can hardly sully the Arnifours or your Langhems any more than they've already done to themselves.”

“I've had all I'm going to tolerate!” she snapped. “You may take your leave.”

Eldon shrugged and stood up. “And there you have it, gentlemen. The lord of the manor can still be dismissed by his doting mother.” A smile thick with resentment spread across his face. “It's been a pleasure.”

“I should very much like to speak with you later,” Colin called to him.

“You'll have to get dispensation from the dowager empress!” he growled as he stalked out.

“You must forgive my son. My husband and I married later in life and my children were born to me at a time when most women are finished with such duties. I remember thinking them little miracles,” she grimaced, “but Eldon's never been well and I cannot help but wonder if my choice to bear him at such an age had an impact.”

“I'm sure you did everything you could,” I said.

Colin smirked. “I'd say it has more to do with your son's passion for drink than your age at conception. Either way, it serves no purpose to blame yourself.”

“That's . . . , ” Lady Arnifour paused before giving an awkward grin, “. . . very kind of you, Mr. Pendragon,” she finally said. “Now tell me,” she shifted in her seat, “how can I assist your investigation?”

“I should like to ask a few questions, after which we shall need to go out and see where the attack occurred,” he said.

“Of course.” She nodded, a hand nervously fluttering up to her face. “I'll have someone take you.”

“Excellent. Now you mentioned that your husband and niece met at the barn that night. What makes you think they didn't meet along the way? That perhaps she gave him a ride? Wouldn't that explain his covering such a distance in so short a time?”

“I think not, Mr. Pendragon. My husband was not a small man. There'd never have been room for him to get onto her horse. Samuel was of average height, but he was quite stout.”

“I see. And has Inspector Varcoe shared with you his theory on how your husband covered that distance?”

“He brought up precisely what you've suggested. An inauspicious beginning to your investigation, it would seem.” She gave a flinty smile.

Colin arched an eyebrow but held his tongue as he sipped his tea and snatched up a petit four. “And what alerted the household that something was wrong that night?”

“Nathaniel saw smoke on the horizon. The barn where my husband and niece were found had been set on fire.”

“On fire?” Colin leaned forward. “You didn't mention that yesterday.”

“It hardly seems relevant.”

“How a thing seems is seldom how it is.”

“Of course,” she said, but there was little resolve in her words.

“And what of Mr. Heffernan and his son, Nathaniel? Has the inspector rounded them up yet?”

“He's allowing them to stay here at my behest. But I fear he's only biding his time. It would be a tragedy if they were arrested, Mr. Pendragon, and this family has suffered enough already.”

Colin offered a quick smile, one that left me wondering what notions were racing about in his mind. “Permit me one last question. Has the inspector found the weapon used in the attack?”

“No.”

“I didn't suppose he would.” He drained his tea and stood up. “That would require actual detection. May I trouble you to have someone escort us down to what's left of the barn then?”

“I shall have Mr. Heffernan take you. It will give you an opportunity to speak with him.”

“Outstanding.” Colin leaned forward and grabbed two more petit fours, palming them into a napkin and sliding them into his pocket. “I should also like to speak with your daughter—Kaylin, isn't it?”

“Yes. But I'm afraid she's not here just now. All of this business has put her quite on edge, so I've sent her to stay with a friend in town. If you'd like, I'll arrange to have her meet you at your flat one afternoon?”

“That would be ideal. The sooner the better.”

We followed Lady Arnifour through the rear door Mrs. O'-Keefe had used and found ourselves in a sparse hallway that opened onto a large, immaculate kitchen. It was the most pristine space I had ever seen. Not a speck, not a smudge anywhere save for the harsh, black-clad personage of Mrs. O'Keefe peeling carrots into a rubbish can at a well-worn table.

“Have you seen Mr. Heffernan?” Lady Arnifour asked.

“Out back, ma'am. Trimming roses last I saw.”

“Very well.”

We filed through the kitchen and out back, and I was aware of being under the watchful gaze of Mrs. O'Keefe the entire time.

A compact vegetable garden ran along the back of the house just off the kitchen, displaying an assortment of lettuce, tomatoes, cabbage, carrots, broccoli, cucumber, spinach, and a few other bits of greenery I did not recognize. Just beyond was a hedge of boxwoods clipped to precision, but it wasn't until I looked out among the array of rosebushes beyond that I noticed the thick man attending them. He had a plaid cap slipped down on one side of his head and the plain gray-green jumper of a groundsman. I knew at once it had to be Victor Heffernan.