Death by Silver

by Melissa Scott

  “I expect that’s just as well for the sheep.”

  “Undoubtedly.” The room still felt too close, stifling despite the open window. “I’m going to go see what I can do about some of this,” he said, gathering up his working case and his hat. “If I’m not back by three, consider yourself at leisure for the day.”

  “Yes, Mr Mathey,” she said, and he made his escape out into the hallway.

  Out in the Commons square, the air smelled of lavender from the herb garden, which at the moment was merely bending in the warm breeze; the more mobile plants tended to be active at twilight and dawn. He took the long way through the garden toward the back gate by the omnibus stop, hoping to settle his nerves.

  It was unreasonable to hold schoolboy grudges, he knew, and yet the old sentiments still crept in; unreasonable or not, he found himself with the urge to once again punch Victor Nevett in the face.

  It had been their second year at Toms’, which by all rights should have been easier than the first. It hadn’t seemed so, though. James the Less had gone up to Oxford, and he’d been the best of the prefects; Staniforth was in his place, and encouraged the others to punish the slightest infraction with a heavy hand. They hounded Julian particularly, far beyond what Ned thought was reasonable or fair, stealing his things or tripping him in the hallways, tipping ink over his books and getting in a dig with elbows or fists every chance they got.

  Victor Nevett was one of the worst of them, and Julian had pronounced himself baffled by Ned’s desire to attend cricket practices despite the fact that Victor would be in attendance. Practice for the younger students tended to consist of being sent to chase errant balls and occasionally used as targets for batting practice, but he didn’t particularly mind, and could catch most balls that came anywhere near him, even if they’d been aimed to bruise.

  He was starting to feel confident of making the House team in the summer term, and that day had even avoided being laden down with anything heavy to carry back from the pitch.

  “They don’t aim at you,” Smythe grumbled, having been awarded a heavy cricket-bag to carry for having failed to catch the ball that was already raising a bruise on his cheek, sending it wild and letting the other team get more runs than Nevett had liked. Nevett was hanging back to keep a baleful eye on the stragglers, but was far enough ahead that Ned didn’t think he could hear them.

  “Lay off,” Barton said. “They do, only he catches them.” Smythe was a New Man this year, and technically not worthy of tagging along with men in their second year. He’d been to grammar school with Ned, though, and Ned felt that in light of that, he couldn’t begrudge him the chance to take shelter in his wake. Ned was already a head taller than the smallest boys, and while he still steered clear of the prefects, no one else cared to try elbowing him in the ribs or snatching things out of his hands.

  “Only because he’s tall,” Smythe muttered.

  “You can blame the mater and pater for that, not me,” Ned said mildly. “It’s far worse for my sisters; no one wants girls to be giraffes.”

  “It’s lucky you didn’t turn out like your mother, my mum says,” Smythe said.

  Ned could feel the blood draining from his face. He tried desperately not to show it, but he wasn’t sure whether he was succeeding. “And what do you mean by that?” The words came out too sharply, and he wished a second later that he’d bitten his tongue.

  “I know she’s ill or something, my mum said,” Smythe said, his voice rising defensively. “And that she ought to be sent off to Ticehurst or some hospital like that because the place she was in before didn’t cure her. And I expect everyone thought you’d be sickly, only you’re the size of a horse, so –”

  “Will you shut up?” Barton said, elbowing Smythe hard enough in the ribs that Smythe yelped audibly. Ned was still trying to find the right words to pass it all off lightly, his stomach turning, when Nevett turned round with a look of triumph, and Ned knew in a moment that he’d not only heard but understood.

  He might still deny everything – a half-understood rumor, mangled in the telling, nothing more – but he could feel his face heating, his fists clenching unbidden.

  “Did the ‘place she was in before’ cure her, Mathey?”

  “She was taking the rest cure, that’s all. She was run down –”

  “Did it cure her, Mathey?”

  “She only went in for a rest.”

  “I expect that’s what all the lunatics say,” Nevett said.

  “She’s not a lunatic,” Ned said, realizing too late that the words had come out as a flat contradiction. “I mean I beg pardon, but you’re mistaken, sir,” he added stiffly.

  “Did you lie about Mathey’s mother, Smythe?” Victor turned his attention momentarily to the younger boy, who flushed under his gaze. Ned willed him to find the right words, to say that he must have misunderstood and that he was very sorry to have caused any trouble, and then maybe they could all get on with the afternoon without the bottom falling out of the world.

  “I didn’t,” Smythe said swiftly, his cheeks flaming. “My mum said she belonged in Ticehurst and that it was a very serious case and she’d been away before to take the cure, but she didn’t say it was a madhouse.”

  “Maybe you’re not a liar, then. Where was she before, Mathey?”

  “Only a spa, sir,” Ned said furiously. His father had promised him when his mother went away that it was only to a spa, although even then he hadn’t entirely believed it. She’d come back in six months, and the rest seemed to have done her good. Sometimes she seemed entirely well.

  Nevett smirked. “I certainly hope it doesn’t run in the family, Mathey. It won’t do to have a lunatic in Martyr’s.” His smile widened, as if he’d come up with a new idea. “Of course, if it’s that she’s acquired a certain disease –”

  It was the last straw, Ned drew back his fist, light-headed with rage, and punched Victor Nevett squarely in the jaw.

  It took Nevett by surprise, and he went sprawling, landing on his arse in the dirt with his legs splayed, for a moment comical until he scrambled up, his own face reddening with fury. “How dare you, Mathey!”

  Barton and Smythe both looked thunderstruck, as if the laws of nature had been reversed, and for a long, satisfied moment Ned hadn’t even regretted it.

  Victor had made him pay for it, even more dearly than he’d expected, but there was no point in dwelling on that, he told himself firmly. He’d certainly asked for it, and it wasn’t the sort of thing a grown man ought to hold a grudge about. Victor himself certainly gave every evidence of having forgotten the whole affair.

  The question was only whether Julian would be able to put up with Victor. He’d been the one who’d really suffered at Victor’s hands, and Ned wasn’t entirely sure that even he forgave Victor for that. And Julian wasn’t particularly the forgiving sort.

  It wouldn’t hurt to try, though, and the lure of a mystery might be enough to induce Julian to put aside old grudges. Besides, he still felt unreasonably unsettled, and found himself craving a few moments’ respite in Julian’s familiar parlor before going on to face the Nevetts en masse. He quickened his step toward the omnibus stop.

  The first omnibus was already packed with inside riders, and Ned didn’t bother scaling the stairs to the upper level, squeezing himself into a corner of the conductor’s platform instead for the few blocks’ trip. At least the weather was fair; in the rain, the necessity to yield inside seats to ladies led to huddling like a wet rat on the open top of the bus, trying not to bludgeon anyone with one’s umbrella. “British Museum,” the conductor called out, and Ned scrambled down with alacrity. He walked the few blocks to the museum, avoiding little knots of tourists attempting to determine from their guidebooks whether they were lost or not. Julian’s rooming-house was in Coptic Street, in sight of the museum gates, and sported a still-shiny brass plate with “Julian Lynes, Investigations” below Mr Bailey’s more tarnished one.

  He knocked and waited, and was
rewarded eventually by Mrs Digby appearing at the door, her apron damp and looking as usual put out at being summoned.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs Digby,” he said. “Is Mr Lynes free?”

  “He may well be, it’s not as if he tells me,” Mrs Digby said. “In and out at all hours, he is, and then fusses if I don’t tell his callers where he is, which I’d have to be a mind-reader to know.”

  “But he is here at the moment?” Ned prompted, undaunted.

  “I suppose,” Mrs Digby said. She led him up the stairs to the door of Julian’s lodgings and rapped hard on the door. “Mr Mathey!” She stomped off before waiting for Julian’s reply, but in a moment Julian opened the door. He looked cheerful to see Ned, or at least he didn’t look obviously put out, and Ned chose to take that as good cheer.

  “Come in, sit down,” Julian said. “I was just looking at the mail.” That was obvious from the envelopes strewn about his desk, most balancing on already-precarious stacks of books. “You should have said you were coming, I would have gotten in lunch of some sort. But you’re on your way to a job, aren’t you?”

  “In fact, I am,” Ned said. He had taken off his hat, but held onto it rather than trying to find an unoccupied place to set it down. “How did you know?” Julian always enjoyed showing off how his tricks were done, and anything to put him in the best possible mood for this request was worthwhile.

  “You’ve just been walking in the Commons garden,” Julian said, bending swiftly to pluck an ambitious tendril from Ned’s trouser leg. It twitched in Julian’s fingers, a sign that it hadn’t long been detached from the parent vine. Julian tossed it carelessly aside onto the sofa, where Ned hoped it wouldn’t manage to take root. “You came here from the Commons, but you didn’t send round first to see if I was free. I’m guessing because you couldn’t wait; you’re on your way to an appointment, but you wanted to stop by to ask me…what?”

  “I might have been overcome by carnal desire and come round to try my luck,” Ned said.

  Julian looked momentarily at a loss for words, and Ned thought there might actually be a hint of color on his cheeks. “You might, I suppose,” he conceded. “Were you?”

  “No, I’m afraid you were right,” Ned said, although he was sorry to have to say it. “Actually, I’ve been hired to look into the Nevett murder.”

  Julian looked a bit smug on Ned’s behalf. “Hatton’s finally given up hope of Carruthers suddenly becoming competent?”

  “I expect he has, but he can’t pay me. The Yard won’t stand for it when they’ve a metaphysician on staff. Whether he’s reliable or not, he’s their man,” he added, to forestall Julian’s imminent objection that Carruthers obviously wasn’t much good. “Victor Nevett hired me to find out who killed his father.”

  “You mean, assuming it wasn’t him?” Julian said, the words coming sharp and quick.

  “If it were, he’d hardly want me to investigate.”

  “Unless he expects you to cover it up.”

  “I’ve no incentive to do that.”

  “The obvious. He’s paying you.”

  “Give me some credit,” Ned said, stung.

  “I’m sorry,” Julian said after a moment, rather stiffly. “That was unfair.”

  “It was, a bit. I’ve been hired to find out the truth, and that’s what I mean to do. I thought you might want to go into it with me. You said yourself it’s an interesting problem.”

  “The murder method is unconventional. That’s true.”

  “I could use your help.”

  “Victor Nevett, though. I’m hardly inclined to do him any favors,” Julian said. The words dripped scorn, but it only made Ned remember with a pang a much younger Julian trying his best to put on an air of adult disdain when anyone was cruel to him.

  “Neither am I. It’s not as if I like the man, but Nevett senior was killed, and someone’s got to find out who did it. If Nevett’s willing to pay me to do it, I don’t see my way clear to refuse.”

  “He really doesn’t know who did?”

  “Not unless he’s a very convincing liar. Which he might be, and you’re better at catching out that sort of lie than I am. If he’s telling the truth, though, he hasn’t got a clue.”

  “That’s not a surprise.”

  “He was never particularly clever,” Ned said.

  “And now he wants us to sort it out for him. You’re not even the slightest bit tempted to tell him to go to hell?” Julian frowned at him.

  “Tempted, yes,” Ned admitted, although he felt he probably shouldn’t be. “But I’ll settle for making him pay me a generous sum to sort out his family problems for him.”

  “When you put it that way,” Julian said. “And I suppose he’d be in our debt, in a way. Not to mention a thorough investigation is bound to turn up things he won’t like our knowing.”

  “I told him you were entirely discreet,” Ned said, feeling a flicker of alarm. Julian had a strong sense of right and wrong, but it didn’t always follow established lines, and he wasn’t at all sure that Julian wouldn’t enjoy holding some secret vice over Victor Nevett’s head if he discovered one.

  “I am, yes,” Julian said, not particularly happily. “I wouldn’t get any clients if I weren’t. Still, it would be satisfying anyway, wouldn’t it?”

  Ned shook his head, unable to truthfully deny it but also not really wanting to encourage that line of thought. “And solving a case like this would do us both good in building our reputations, you have to admit.”

  “I expect it would,” Julian said, although he sounded as dubious about that line of reasoning as Ned was about his.

  “And I’ve already said I’d do it,” Ned said practically. “I could very much use your help, but if you really can’t see your way fit to work for Victor Nevett…”

  “If you’ll refrain from putting it that way, I’ll do it,” Julian said after a long enough pause that Ned expected him to refuse. “I’ll grant you that we should investigate the Nevett murder, especially since I’m not at all confident that anyone else is going to sort it out.”

  “Just try not to notice whose signature is on the cheque,” Ned said. He hesitated, and then added, “It’s been a long time.”

  “Your point being?”

  Ned considered several possible responses, discarded them as unlikely to make the next few hours more harmonious, and settled on, “All that’s behind us.”

  “Where are we going, then?” Julian asked, without giving any indication that he’d heard him.

  “The Nevett house. And before you ask what we’re doing, that’s one thing I came to ask you. Detection is really your business. I’d like to look over the room where it happened for any other enchantments that might bear, but beyond that, I’ll follow your lead.”

  Julian grasped for his hat and tugged sharply at his bell-pull. “Where is that woman?”

  “You’ve only just rang,” Ned pointed out, but under his breath.

  Mrs Digby opened the door after a long minute, frowning. “I suppose you want tea, at this time of day?”

  “A cab, if you please, Mrs Digby,” Ned said, before Julian could demand the same in a far more peremptory tone. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck listening to the two of them quarrel, if Julian took the opportunity to give vent to his nerves about facing Victor Nevett.

  She sighed but stomped off to summon the cab in question, and Ned turned back to Julian, who was rifling through a pile of what appeared to be identical memorandum-books in search of the one he wanted. “We’ll be done by teatime.”

  “Only for the afternoon,” Julian said grimly, thrusting the memorandum-book he’d finally settled in into his pocket. “I expect we’ll see a great deal of the Nevetts, unless one of them cares to make it easy for us all by confessing on the spot.”

  “You never know,” Ned said, but he didn’t have much hope of that.

  They climbed into the waiting cab, Ned pausing long enough to give the address – a nice one, Julian noted, with a cert
ain disdain that had nothing to do with envy. But then, he had known since school that the Nevett family was well-to-do. Something in the city, he thought, but before he could ask, Ned leaned forward.

  “So where should we start? I meant it when I said this wasn’t my usual line.”

  “I think your idea of checking the room – study, was it? – for any other enchantments is a good one,” Julian said. He was grateful for the distraction. “And then there’s, what, a two-day window in which someone could have tampered with the candlestick. So the first step will be to find out where everyone was and what they were doing in those two days.”

  “I’m sure everyone will appreciate that,” Ned muttered.

  “That’s what they’re hiring you for,” Julian answered, not without sympathy. “If they can’t stand it, well, they can pay us for our time and be done with it.” He paused, knowing how unlikely an outcome that really was. “We’ll need to ask the servants the same questions, too, which is the easiest way to check up on the Nevetts. Ask them what they were doing, and where the master and mistress were as well.”

  “Do you think they’ll tell you?” Ned asked.

  “Generally they do,” Julian said. “They’re usually not stupid. Unless they’re protecting someone, it’s easy to make the case that the truth will only help.”

  “I wish that were true,” Ned said, and ducked his head to peer out the cab’s window.

  Julian made a face, but couldn’t really deny it. “At least we don’t have to share everything with the police,” he said, rather pointedly, and lapsed into silence.

  The cab rumbled onward, stopping and starting in the increasing traffic. Julian wished he could blame that for the queasiness at the pit of his stomach, but he knew better. In the back of his mind was the litany of all the things he’d ever wanted to do to Victor Nevett, from the caning that had never been a possibility to the poison that he had meticulously planned through most of his second year to the simple desire to knock him down and kick him repeatedly. It wasn’t very helpful, but it was better than dwelling on what Victor had done to him, along with the other prefects, and the older boys who’d followed their lead. The only thing that had made at all bearable was Ned. He glanced sideways, but Ned was still looking out the window, apparently lost in thought. Only the muscle at the corner of his jaw betrayed him, taut with strain. Victor had treated him worse than anyone, in the end. It still amazed Julian that he’d chosen to take the job.