“And they’ve given good service?” Julian asked.
She met his eyes squarely. “They most certainly have. It would do them no kindness to keep them on if they weren’t capable of doing the work.”
“And yet Mr Nevett complained.” That was something of a shot in the dark, but Julian was certain he was right.
“Mr Nevett was very exacting in his standards,” she answered. “Sometimes to a fault. But Mrs Nevett and I were satisfied.”
There was nothing to say to that. Julian bowed slightly, and escorted her back inside. Larkin was waiting, and they stepped into the tiny pantry as Mrs Victor drifted up the stairs.
“She’s very protective of her people,” Julian said.
Larkin bowed. “She and Mrs Nevett are ladies.”
There was no good answer to that, either. They retreated to the butler’s pantry, far too narrow for its purpose, and Larkin confirmed that, indeed, Nevett had been the first one to mention the curse.
“And in front of the younger females,” he said, “which is never well. They were overexcited about the mere idea, and I believe Mr Nevett was wise to have the silver looked at.”
He, too, proclaimed the day entirely ordinary, and was adamant that the quarrel between Nevett and his middle son was also nothing unusual. Young men who were trying to make their way in the world could be oversensitive, and Mr Nevett was perhaps not always tactful. But it was nothing more than that. He’d not noticed the silver missing first thing, but the burglar had closed the door of the pantry, and that had hidden it at first glance. It was only after Sarah had found Mr Nevett’s body that they’d thought to look for a robbery.
Julian thanked him, feeling the familiar overstretched, overstuffed exhaustion that came at the end of a day of interviews. There wasn’t anything more to be asked, at least not until he’d had a chance to talk to Ned. He folded his memorandum book into his pocket, and allowed that he was ready to rejoin his compatriot.
Ned followed Victor into the smaller back parlor, a more masculine room, with leather chairs and a number of bookcases; maps lined the walls rather than elaborate still lifes, although a large portrait of a younger Edgar Nevett and his wife hung over the fireplace. Both looked stiffly posed, and neither was smiling, but he supposed that was fashion.
The two younger Nevetts were sitting in armchairs with a decanter between them, both cradling glasses; Ned expected that if he were in their place, he’d want a stiff drink as well. Reggie had changed more than Victor, ruddier and even more plump than he’d been in school, with a curling mustache.
“Mathey, old man,” Reggie said, actually looking a bit pleased to see him. “Victor said he was bringing you in, but I thought you might not want to take on such a mess.”
“I’ll do what I can to sort it out, old boy,” Ned said.
In the other armchair, Freddie shook his head and drained his glass before putting it down. His black frock coat looked stiff and new in a way that made Ned suspect he hadn’t possessed one before going into mourning. His hair curled too long over his collar in a way that would have been unremarkable at Oxford but was probably now meant to signify artistic temperament.
“I won’t keep you long.” Ned settled into a chair himself. “And I think we’re all right here,” he said, glancing up at Victor. “I’m sure you’ll want to attend on your mother.”
“I’ll do that,” Victor said rather sourly, and went out.
“All right, then,” Ned said. He tried to shake the feeling that he ought to be in a Sts Thomas’s uniform with his books piled on the table rather than sitting here in a frock coat with his metaphysician’s case against his knee. “Just so that I can have it entirely straight, if you could tell me where you were the day Mr Nevett was killed?”
“I went to work as usual,” Reggie said. “I’m at Seale’s. My bank, that is. I’ve a position there.”
“You breakfasted here?”
“No, I spent the night at my club. I came here from the office.”
“Around what time would that have been?”
“I couldn’t tell you exactly. Around six o’clock.” He frowned at Freddie. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”
“I was upstairs,” Freddie said.
“Doing what?” Ned asked.
“I had to dress for dinner, didn’t I?”
“That doesn’t take an hour,” Reggie said.
“I didn’t particularly care to encounter the pater,” Freddie said. “I’d been sick with a headache that morning – a late night, you know – and he was never very patient with anyone being ill.”
“And after you came in?”
“I went up to dress for dinner myself.” Reggie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, turning his glass around in his hands. “And then I had a talk with my father. He wanted to discuss some business matters. He called me into his study, and I couldn’t very well – I mean, of course I went in to hear him out.”
Ned made a note, and then frowned. “In his study? He was sitting at his desk?”
“He was.”
“And was the candlestick at that point in its accustomed place on the bookcase?”
“I suppose it was. Oh, I don’t know.” Reggie looked visibly flustered. “I think it was. It must have been, mustn’t it?”
Ned tended to agree, but only made a noncommittal noise. “What did you quarrel about?”
“We didn’t quarrel,” Reggie said. Freddie raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. “We were just talking.”
“What were you talking about?”
“Business matters.”
“What kind of business matters?”
“Banking, if you must know,” Reggie said, with a red-faced defiant expression that Ned would have been more inclined to believe if he hadn’t seen it too many times at Toms’ accompanied by a squeaked I was paying attention, sir, really I was! “Father felt I should have tried to get a position at Hoare’s with Victor rather than going to Seale’s. The family has always used Hoare’s. He felt strongly on the matter.”
“And that was the source of your quarrel?”
“I told you it wasn’t a quarrel. Father had strong opinions. He felt we ought to do what he thought was right. You should hear him – should have heard him, that is, bedeviling Victor about houses he wanted him to buy.”
“Your father wasn’t satisfied with his domestic arrangements?”
“My father felt this was too many of us to bear under one roof, and he was probably right,” Freddie said.
“He made himself clear, that’s all. I told him he probably knew best, but that now that I’d taken the position, I had to go on as I’d begun. It wouldn’t look right to chop and change when I was just starting out. You know how it is, Mathey. We junior men can’t do just as we please.”
Ned’s first impulse was to answer in the same vein, putting them both on the same side, but he couldn’t afford to fall back into a sense of fellow-feeling with Reggie. Not when it was becoming increasingly clear that someone in this house had planned and carried out cold-blooded murder. “I understand Mr Nevett left the house before dinner,” he said instead.
“It wasn’t a quarrel, though,” Freddie said. The words were right, but the tone made it sound less like agreement with his brother than subtle mockery of him. Ned was beginning to wonder if anyone in the family got along harmoniously.
“He didn’t want to have dinner with that lot, that’s all,” Reggie said, motioning toward the front parlor, although he dropped his voice as he did. “He said he’d had enough of their good works to last a lifetime, and that he was going to his club where no one would bother him.”
“I see,” Ned said noncommittally. “And then after dinner?”
“I had an engagement,” Freddie said.
“Which was?”
“I went to the theater. With a party. Or, at least, I was going to meet them there, but then they didn’t end up going at the last minute. It was all very casual.”
“What play?
”
“I don’t remember,” Freddie said. “Some new thing they wanted to see. Mrs Somebody, I think. Or Lady Somebody’s Something.” He shrugged with elaborate carelessness, as if he couldn’t imagine it mattering to anyone.
“Which theater?”
“The Criterion,” Freddie said after a pause. Of course, the chances of anyone at the Criterion remembering one unremarkable young man in evening dress were practically nil.
“I went to my club,” Reggie said, rather belligerently. “They’ll tell you I was there.”
“I’m sure they will,” Ned said soothingly. “You often spent the night there?”
“It’s more convenient to the bank,” Reggie said. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Ned waited, and as he’d suspected, Reggie couldn’t resist filling the silence. “Besides, it wasn’t exactly peaceful around here.”
“Why not?”
“He and my mother were always quarreling. He had a temper, and she kept doing things she knew he didn’t like, like getting in these girls from the mission for maids. The last one dropped things and couldn’t carry a message, and of course we couldn’t have that. She was in a temper herself when he turned the little girl off.”
“These domestic upsets happen,” Ned said.
“He used to frighten the poor little thing into fits,” Freddie said. “It’s no wonder she dropped things.”
Reggie looked momentarily bemused, as if Freddie had suggested that the kitchen stove were unhappy, and then seemed to dismiss the idea from his mind. “The new one’s not as bad.”
“You stayed at your club all night?”
“I did. The Perseus. And I went straight on to the bank. Of course I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known.”
“Somehow in all the confusion no one thought to send for you,” Freddie said.
“And when did you come in?”
“Heaven knows,” Freddie said. “After midnight, I’m sure.”
“Was there any sign that anything was amiss?”
“I suppose there was a great lot of silver missing from the kitchen, but I didn’t come through the kitchen, of course. There was a light on in the pater’s study when I came up, but I didn’t exactly want to have a chat about why I was coming in at that hour, so I just went straight up to bed like a good boy.”
“Would he have been cross?”
Freddie shrugged, perhaps a little too casually to be entirely natural. “I expect so, but I’m too old to get a thrashing, so I wasn’t particularly worried. I didn’t bash his head in because I was late getting back from the theater, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not.”
“I didn’t want a scene in the middle of the night, that was all. He didn’t approve of late nights. He wanted me to go to work for a bank,” Freddie said, as if the idea were unthinkable. “Thankfully, when my great-aunt popped off, she left me a bit of a legacy. It’s not much, but then I live simply.”
“Writing, and things like that,” Reggie said, in what sounded like an echo of Victor’s scornful tone. “While the rest of us have responsibilities.”
“Such as?” Freddie asked.
“To – to behave ourselves like grown men who have a position to uphold, who can’t just – who can’t do whatever they please every minute of the day,” Reggie sputtered. “If no one else cares about the family, I do.”
“Which makes it curious that you’re never here.”
“I’m sure it’s been a trying day,” Ned said, in an attempt to postpone further hostilities until he could make his escape. “Have another drink, both of you, and try to soldier on. I think I’ve got the general idea.”
“You’re off already?”
“I may have some more questions later, but I won’t keep you any further this afternoon.” He shut his notebook and tucked it away. “Tell me, though, just as a hunch, who do you think might have killed your father?”
“There’s no telling,” Reggie said heatedly. “You can’t think I have any idea. It’s horrible.”
“It must have been one of the servants,” Freddie said, shrugging. “Poor little wretches.”
“Would any of them have had any particular cause?”
“You mean did he get any of the girls in trouble?”
“Certainly not,” Reggie said indignantly.
“Probably not,” Freddie said. “Mother would have…” He looked abruptly taken aback and trailed off, as if realizing what the natural end to that remark would be.
“I think that’s enough, Mathey,” Reggie said.
“I’ll just go see how Lynes is getting on,” Ned said, and left them with each other and the decanter for company.
They took a cab back to Julian’s lodgings, and for once Ned made no objection when Julian asked for an inconvenient supper. Mrs Digby grumbled, but allowed that she could do a bit of cold joint and a dish of peas and maybe a salad. Julian deemed it acceptable, and sent young Digby for a couple of bottles of claret. That settled, he dropped into his usual chair, waving vaguely toward the rest of the furniture.
“Make yourself at home.”
Ned eyed the sofa warily, and chose the client’s chair. Julian slanted a glance in that direction, saw nothing but the piece of plant he’d tossed there earlier – surprisingly still fresh and green – and decided he could ignore whatever was bothering Ned at the moment.
“There’s whiskey if you want it,” he said, and Ned gave him a look.
“Yes, I do, rather, and I suppose you want me to pour you one, too?”
“Please,” Julian said, and tried to dismiss the sharpness in Ned’s tone.
Ned hesitated for just an instant, then poured two glasses and brought them across. Julian took his, and they clicked glasses.
“Our first investigation,” Ned said, and slumped back into his chair. “I wish I thought I’d gotten somewhere.”
“It’s early days,” Julian said. He took a long swallow of his whiskey. “I warned you we’d have to spend a lot of time with them.”
“So you did.” Ned folded both hands around his glass, sinking even lower in his chair.
Julian shook himself. Someone had to stay positive, after all. “We’ve made some progress.”
“Such as?”
He couldn’t actually think of anything, except that Ned had been right about the curse, and he’d never doubted that. “We’ve narrowed down the time when someone could have placed the curse,” he said. At least, he’d managed to eliminate most of the daylight hours.
“I suppose.”
“The servants were in and out all day,” Julian said. “The second housemaid, Sarah, cleans in the morning, and then they don’t touch it because Nevett is usually in and out all day.”
“More than that, he was in his study before dinner, so presumably the curse wasn’t in place then.”
“Although it was still before sundown,” Julian began, and shook his head. “No, that doesn’t really matter, my earlier point applies. Was that when he was arguing with Reggie?”
Ned nodded. “So everyone knew about that? Reggie tried to make it sound like it was just an ordinary discussion.”
“Carried on at the top of their lungs,” Julian said. “And he ran out of the house by the kitchen door, which suggests he really didn’t want to meet any of the family.”
“I can’t see Reggie killing his father,” Ned said. “He wasn’t…he was never the daring sort.”
“You’d know better than I,” Julian said. “I never had much to do with him.”
“Hopeless at cricket,” Ned said. “Could have been decent at football if he’d been able to stand having his shins kicked.”
Julian refrained from saying he felt that was entirely reasonable. Reggie hadn’t won any prizes as a scholar, either. And it was probably time to stop thinking about school. “Be that as it may,” he said, “this means no one could have set the curse until after Nevett and Reggie were done shouting at each other.”
“True.” Ned strai
ghtened. “Neither of them stayed to dinner – Nevett went to his club after, so, say, half past six. That means the candlestick had to be cursed between then and when Nevett got home, which seems to have been before midnight.”
“Which makes it hard for it to have been one of the servants,” Julian said. “They’d be busy with dinner and then with the washing-up. Not entirely impossible, of course, but – I didn’t really get much sense of a motive there.”
“Which leaves the family,” Ned said. “Which was pretty much what we expected all along.”
Mrs Digby arrived then with the supper tray, to Julian’s relief, and he busied himself opening the claret while she fussed and made space at the table. It was a better meal than usual, complete with cheese and biscuits for after, but then, everyone had a soft spot for Ned. Julian did his best to keep the discussion cheerful – they had made progress, that much was clear, but Ned seemed determined to see things in the worst possible light. Julian’s own nerves were beginning to fray by the time Mrs Digby cleared the dishes, and he gave Ned a speculative glance as they moved back to the chairs by the fire. If he were alone, he’d visit one of his clubs for release; there were plenty of friends there who’d be willing to oblige him. His breath caught at the sudden image of Ned on his knees, of tangling his own fingers in Ned’s hair, demanding service… And maybe it was possible, or at least maybe it would be possible to take him to bed. If they were both relaxed.
He turned to the sideboard, unlocked the right-hand compartment, and brought out the square morocco-leather case. Ned lifted an eyebrow as he brought it over to the table, but Julian pretended not to see as he fished the key from his watch-chain. The four sides of the case folded away from the interior, revealing the neat fittings: the spirit lamp in the center, the brass bowl, the five neat boxes that held ink tablets, the folded papers and the brass-handled pen with its engraved nib.
“I have a proposition,” he said. He was afraid, so he made himself meet Ned’s gaze with a cool stare. “Join me in a little something to take the edge off – your choice, I’ve everything here – and then – I’d like to fuck you.”
He knew the moment he spoke that it was a mistake. Ned’s eyes widened slightly, and Julian thought he saw a flash of hurt before Ned’s expression froze and he shook his head.
Death by Silver Page 10
