The Arnifour Affair (8 page)

CHAPTER 11

J
ust as we were sitting down to a lunch of Mrs. Behmoth's lamb stew there was a knock on our door that proved to be a messenger dispatched by Lady Arnifour, enquiring whether we would be available to meet with her daughter, Kaylin, in an hour's time. The timing was ideal, as we had decided that I would go back to Stepney Green in the late afternoon while Colin participated in his final elimination match of the current wrestling championships—a title he was determined to maintain for the third straight year. It suited me fine since I knew I could move about that area of the city more expeditiously without him in tow and, beyond that, I'm not much of a fan of his brawling, even if he does insist it's all good sport.

We indulged in our stew and the accompanying biscuits with due haste before setting ourselves to preparations for the arrival of our guest. I tidied up the study, which consisted of straightening up my clutter of writing papers and dispatching the wayward pieces of Colin's pistol and knife collection back to their display cabinet, while Mrs. Behmoth put on a kettle and mixed up a batch of currant scones. For his part, Colin was tasked with stoking the fire back to life, which he dispatched forthwith before seizing his dumbbells and hoisting them about in myriad ways. In no time at all we were awaiting the arrival of Kaylin Arnifour to the rich, buttery smell of Mrs. Behmoth's scones baking beneath our feet.

I found myself brought back to thoughts of Mademoiselle Rendell, who was about as French as blood pudding, and her insistence that she knew nothing about Angelyne's disappearance when it was clear she was far craftier than she was letting on. Which was the very reason I was to return there in a few hours' time. What she would not tell could be discerned in other ways.

Michael had told us nothing new and it had been disturbing to see the way in which he and his sister were forced to live. Their single room was less than half the size of our study and contained neither a fireplace nor radiator with which to heat it in even the most perfunctory way. The plaster on the walls teemed with hairline cracks and great chunks of it were missing altogether. Two pallets lay on the floor for the children to sleep on and there was a single battered chair and equally sorrowful table upon which sat the room's only candle. It made for a depressing tableau in the sunlight and I only hoped it might somehow look better by the flickering glow of that one fatty taper. The sight of it all had left Colin quite maudlin while I had found myself grateful for ever having escaped, though the verity that I had come to be there of my own regrettable volition left me ashamed all over again. I was gratified that Colin had not raised that spectre again on our way home.

A sudden knock at our door shook me from my prickly contemplation.

“I'll get it!” Mrs. Behmoth hollered as her slippers slapped against the wood foyer.

“Outstanding.” He chuckled as he set the dumbbells aside and pulled his jacket on. “She does have everything to do with the man I am today, you know.”

“Yes, but I do try to forgive her.”

He laughed as the sound of her plodding up the stairs brought us to our feet. A moment later she appeared on the landing with a slight young woman at her side. “Kaylin Arnifour,” she announced with her usual lack of enthusiasm.

“Lady Kaylin . . .” Colin smiled broadly as he moved to the landing and took the young woman's hand, ushering her inside. “We do so appreciate your thoughtfulness in indulging us this meeting in the midst of such a difficult time. We would certainly not have requested it if we didn't feel it to be of the utmost importance. Please”—he beckoned her to the settee—“we were just about to have some tea. I insist you join Mr. Pruitt and me.”

I stepped forward to greet her and got my first good look at her. She instantly put me in mind of how her mother must have appeared as a young woman. Delicate and trim with a jumble of light brown curls cascading down her back, she was quite striking. She also displayed a hint of color in her crystalline complexion, and given her lithe, muscular arms revealed just below the puffy sleeves of her dress, I determined they spoke of her fondness for riding. They also gave her a more substantive air than her slender build initially suggested. While she and Eldon were clearly crafted from the same physical mold, he had none of his sister's gravitas.

Mrs. Behmoth gave a disapproving sniff as she turned to leave the room, though what she was objecting to I had no idea. “I'll fetch the tea,” she said as she thundered back down the stairs, giving me momentary pause as to how she managed to maintain her girth given the number of times she assaulted those steps each day.

“I must apologize for being so difficult to reach,” Lady Kaylin said, thankfully setting my mind back to the task at hand. She settled onto the settee across from us. “I really haven't felt much like talking.”

“Understandable, and we shall not press you any further than we must.”

“You mustn't worry about me,” she said, folding her hands across her lap as though girding herself.

Mrs. Behmoth plodded back up with the tea service in hand but got no farther than the doorway before Colin relieved her of it, sending her on her way. He meticulously served us and did not speak again until we had all settled in. “I must ask you to tell me what you remember about the night your father and cousin were attacked.”

“Of course.” She delicately placed her cup on its saucer and set them back on the table between us. “I'm sure you've heard this all before,” she said, giving a disquieted smile. “We were having dinner: my parents, Eldon, Elsbeth, and I, and I had to excuse myself partway through the meal as I was not feeling well. I suffer from headaches that can be quite disabling. After a while Elsbeth came up to check on me and see if I might be able to go for a ride while there was still some sun left, but I was no better and could not.” She fell silent for a moment, staring down at her hands. “I've wondered every day since if things might have been different if I had been able to go with her.”

“You mustn't,” I said.

“It is not for us to change what is,” Colin added.

“Of course . . . ,” she muttered, but did not sound the least convinced. “I fell asleep as soon as she left my room and did not wake again until I heard Eldon hollering about smoke at the edge of the property. It was terrifying. I hurried downstairs and saw him and the Heffernans riding out, and waited with Mother for their return. Victor was the first to come back. He was the one who told us. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Had there been any visitors to the house that day?”

“Father's business partner, Warren Vandemier, had spent part of the afternoon going over books or ledgers or some such thing with him, and a neighbor, Abigail Roynton, had stopped by and had tea with Mother.”

I could tell at once by the way she said Abigail Roynton's name that there had to be a bit of bad blood there. I was certain Colin caught it as well, but he did not prod her, choosing instead to shift the conversation to the nature of the business her father had with Mr. Vandemier.

“I'm sorry . . . ,” she twisted her hands in her lap, “but I wasn't really privy to my father's business dealings. I'm sure you're acquainted with those who say business matters are best left to men.”

“Ahhh . . .” Colin grinned. “Are you one of Emmeline Pankhurst's followers?”

She smiled. “Well, I would hardly cuff myself to the gates of Buckingham, but I do think she has some wonderful ideas.”

“She has certainly caught people's attention. Does your mother share your views?”

“Oh heavens no.”

“What about your neighbor, Abigail something, I don't recollect what you said her name was.”

“Abigail Roynton,” she scoffed without apology. “She's a widow who saw fit to have an affair with my father some time ago, and if my mother had any sense she wouldn't let that wretched woman in her house.”

Colin peered at Kaylin, his expression in check, while I fought to keep the surprise from my face. “Are you certain your mother knew?”

Kaylin nodded. “At the very
least
she suspected. But she would never admit such a thing. It wouldn't be proper. So instead, she and Mrs. Roynton maintain this reprehensible charade.”

“Civility,” Colin tsked. “If nothing else you have to admire our higher class for their civility. Is there no chance you could be mistaken?”

She shook her head. “I found them in the barn once, the two of them disheveled and full of bluster. It was a disgrace. I knew what they were up to.”

“How long ago did that happen?” Colin forged on.

“About a year ago, I suppose. I really don't remember. But he ended it after that. He swore to me that he ended it.”

“Of course.” Colin flashed a tight smile.

“I believed him, Mr. Pendragon. My father was many things, but he was not a liar.”

“I'm afraid that by its very definition an adulterer
is
a liar. You cannot be one and not the other.”

“I'm sure your father meant what he told you,” I interrupted, shooting Colin a look that I hoped would divert him.

“Yes . . . well . . . I must ask you to indulge me one last question,” he said as he tossed a scowl back at me.

“Of course.”

“Do you agree with your mother's assertion that the Heffernans are innocent?”

She paled and gave a small shrug. “I really don't know.”

“Then you believe it is possible that one or both of them could be involved?”

She shifted on the settee and brushed a quick hand through the curls on one side of her face. “ ‘Possible' is a word without limitation,” she finally answered.

CHAPTER 12

T
he afternoon was ebbing toward twilight as I tucked myself into an entranceway across the alley from where Michael and Angelyne lived, fixing my gaze on the flat where Mademoiselle Rendell plied her trade. Standing in the waning light with an old, black cloak wrapped around my shoulders, I felt like a fourteen-year-old boy again, once more in the questionable employ of Maw Heikens. This time sent out to lure another clutch of imprudent sots with more cash than cares, or to fetch another batch of opium from the old Chinese man at the wharf from which I always cleaved a nip off the top for myself, or perhaps to troll the local taverns to earn my keep with whatever I could pilfer. The memory of it all made my stomach sour as though I had licked the very cobbles in the street. For it was too easy to blame Maw for the things I had done, what I had become. But the truth was darker than that. She had merely provided what I sought without judgment or question. Colin was wrong about her, not entirely, of course, but wrong. There was much that remained solely on me.

A cold wind teased my face and ruffled my hair as it brushed past me. The wind had picked up slightly and the chill along with it as I began to ask myself how long I was going to stand here like this. I knew Colin would expect me to wait all night if need be, but then he was in a warm gymnasium proving his bravado against any number of comers.

Another great sigh escaped my lips just as the light from Mademoiselle Rendell's room abruptly snuffed out, ratcheting up my heartbeat in the same instant. Something, at last, was going to happen. I sank back into the alcove as far as I could and waited for the appearance of my quarry. It did not take long. The main door quickly opened, revealing my target in a billowy cream-colored dress that had likely been white the day it came out of the dressmaker's shop, adorned with a ragged strip of gray lace around its bottom. A dark brown shawl covered her mass of dyed-blond hair. She was, I decided from the look of her, attempting to travel incognito. It was a hopeful sign.

The ersatz mademoiselle glanced in one direction and then the other before venturing down the handful of steps to the cobbled alley. She did not cast an eye in my direction and I knew the moment she made it to the street there would be little chance of her realizing she was being followed. There were too many people, horses, and carts about for her to notice me trundling along behind her, and besides that, I am not without some skill.

The mass of activity on the street made it easy for me to keep Mademoiselle Rendell in sight as I dallied along behind her. She kept to the center of the roadway, dodging the streams of burbling waste flowing through the gutters with assurance and a fair amount of speed. She held her gaze down as much for defense against the filth as to dissuade anyone she passed from trying to engage her. There was no doubt in my mind now that she was doing her best to get somewhere quickly and without distraction.

She rounded the corner and snatched a look in my direction, bringing me up short as I pretended to engage a woman who was passing beside me. I let the distance between us widen as I pulled a cap from my pocket and plopped it on my head before turning the collar of my cloak up. If need be, I could turn my cloak inside out to reveal a light gray color as opposed to the black I was now swaddled in, but it was not yet necessary, as she once again hurried down the street. Innumerable blocks slid by before I began to notice how vastly improved the neighborhood was becoming. We'd left behind the effluvium of Stepney Green for a far more gentrified area. Even the throngs of scurrying people had noticeably thinned, with fewer of them walking and more being trundled about in carriages and cabs, notable of gentility.

It wasn't until I noticed the divergent flags above the porticos of one building after another that I realized we had entered Embassy Row. That explained the lack of foot traffic that had forced me to gradually drop farther back from my prey. This area of the city was well patrolled and offered almost nothing in the way of diversion, neither shops, cafés, nor any but the most occasional pub. It meant to be uninviting, this domain of diplomats.

Mademoiselle Rendell continued hurrying along the street, paying me little mind as I forced myself to fall back yet again. I couldn't imagine what we were doing here, as it was too early for her evening's work to have begun. I began to fear she was on to me, that she'd spotted me some time ago and was taking me on a circuitous route to nowhere, when she abruptly grabbed an old, unmarked door and ducked inside.

With trepidation I approached the door I thought she'd used, willing my heart to stay steady. There were no markings to allow me to determine just what sort of establishment it was, which left my options few. Either I had to forge ahead and stumble into this unknown or I could slink back home and admit to Colin that I had failed. Neither option appealed to me, but I certainly wasn't about to let Colin down.

I girded my breath and leaned forward, gently nudging the door a sliver to give me a chance to try peering inside before making the final commitment. It took several moments for my eyes to finally be able to discern that I was staring into one of the more distinctive pubs I'd ever seen. The floor and booths were carved from great planks of dark oak, with the bar itself rent from a slab of honey-colored burl set off by etched-glass cabinets running along the wall behind. It was a small establishment with only a handful of booths and an equal number of freestanding tables, leaving most of the seating to wind around that spectacular bar.

I flipped my cloak inside out and threw it over my arm before stepping inside and coaxing the door closed. The only light emanated from a few gas lamps dangling from the ceiling. A picture of Nicholas Romanov hung over the bar, though he had yet to be coronated, and two small flags with the double-headed eagle hung from the ceiling, making it evident to whom this pub intended to cater.

I spotted Mademoiselle Rendell at once curled up in a booth near the back with a dark, bearded man. She seemed well in the throes of a rampant flirtation and it made me fear that all my efforts had been for naught. The nearer of her hands was already settled on the man's leg and her other was flitting about like a hummingbird in search of nectar.

Once again I sucked in a quick breath and steeled myself before moving to a barstool just beyond Mademoiselle and her mark. I ordered a stout and laid my cloak across my lap, turning sideways so I could better listen in on the conversation happening between the two of them. What I expected to hear I cannot say, but between the throaty giggles, playful slaps, and whispered innuendos I heard nothing less than the most blatant form of seduction.

“Yer makin' me 'eart pound like a race 'orse,” she purred at one point. “Care ta feel?”

“I fear ze cost of such an act,” her companion snorted, his accent thick and guttural, definitely a Slavic tongue but certainly not Russian, which surprised me given the bar's obvious allegiance.

“This one's on me,” she parried back.

“Ve are done here,” he answered, obviously not tempted by the course of her prodding. “I leaf this veekend. You know vhere to find me if you have reason; udderwise I vill consider our vork finished until I return.”

“And when will that be?” she whined, all pretense of seduction dropped with the haste of a flicked ember.

“Zix months . . . eight months . . . I dun't know.” I watched him reach out and take her arm, carefully removing her hand from his leg. “You vill hear from me.” He pushed himself out of the booth and gave a curt nod.

“I ain't 'appy 'bout this,” she called, but it was too late, as the man had already made his way out the door.

For a minute I considered following her companion rather than staying here to watch what she might do next, but then another man approached her table and quickly slid in beside her. Given that it was she whom I was here to shadow I decided to stay put, though I committed the hairy Slavic man to memory, as I was certain their business dealings were nefarious at best. At least then, if I did return to our flat with little more than tales of her flirtations I would do so having been successful in the intent of my purpose.

I casually nursed my stout and feigned a look of boredom and inapproachability so as not to be sidetracked by someone who might want to spill his every thought onto the first fool who looked like he was alone. My frustration quickly mounted, however, as I could hear little of the conversation with Mademoiselle and her new companion. If I had any hope of learning anything further I was going to have to find a way to twist around to see what the two of them were up to. I only hoped I would not turn to find them glaring at me.

Shoving my cloak onto the seat beside me, I slumped against the bar and peered around with what I thought was extraordinary restraint, only to find Mademoiselle Rendell slowly sinking beneath her table. A table that held no cloth atop it. Instantly it became apparent to anyone who cared just exactly what she was up to, so it was hardly surprising when I felt a great rush of air barrel past me as the establishment's owner brusquely moved in to save the reputation of his pub.

“Get out from under there!” he growled. “I'll not have such goings-on in me pub!”

“For a quid ya can be part a the goin's-on,” the unperturbed mademoiselle snorted from below.

“Piss off!” her companion snapped. “You're ruinin' me stiffy.”

“I will not have this!”
the man thundered, pounding a meaty fist onto the table's top.

“Bugger!”
Mademoiselle Rendell bellowed as she came scuttling out. “Ya 'bout broke me bleedin' eardrums, ya shite.”

“Get out!”
he bellowed. And although the proprietor was no taller than the diminutive mademoiselle herself, he shook with such rage that neither she nor her burlier companion seemed willing to press him any further.

The two of them made their way out, the rest of the patrons holding their collective breath until the door swung shut behind them. Only then did the general murmuring start again, although this time with a renewed sense of vigor. I cursed myself for not having followed the Slavic man out. Surely her business with him had been more apropos than what I'd stayed here to witness. We were making scant headway on either of our cases and each day their trails were becoming fainter.