Death by Silver

by Melissa Scott

“Hardened by working in such a masculine profession, I expect.”

  He had no idea what to say to that, so he pressed on. “Her servants would certainly know which shops she patronizes. I should go round and find out…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “No, that’s stupid. You should go and find out yourself. Unless you mind being involved in a murder investigation?”

  “Not at all,” she said; if anything, she seemed pleased. “I wouldn’t ask her servants, though, they’ll tell her straight away. But I can probably find the shops she visits anyway, if you don’t mind my being out of the office for a while. I’ll have to tramp round claiming that I’m terribly envious of her fashion sense and want to know where she has her hats made. I only hope that’s remotely plausible.”

  “I’ve only seen her in a widow’s cap,” Ned said. “It was unremarkable.”

  “Well, it’s worth a try. And I promise I’ll take care not to be murdered myself.” Her voice lost its wry tone at his expression. “Do give me a bit of credit. I’m not going to say ‘by the way, I have a husband I’d like to bludgeon with a candlestick, can you help me with that?’ I can make a few discreet inquiries without standing out.”

  “It does make sense,” Ned said, although he couldn’t help feeling a stab of guilt at his lack of chivalry. “But do take care.”

  “I generally do, Mr Mathey,” she said, but he wasn’t entirely reassured.

  Julian made his way down George Street in the familiar flicker of the gas lamps, heading for Jacobs’, where gentlemen of a certain taste gathered to play cards. He’d heard nothing from Bolster, told himself it had only been a day since Annie Makins had disappeared. In the meantime, he had promised Ned that he would help check out the rumors about Louisa Nevett’s marriage, and if anyone would have the story at his fingertips, it would be Lennox. And Lennox was likely to be found at Jacobs’ most nights of the week.

  He climbed the steps, flanked by heavily curtained bow windows, and tugged the polished bell-knob. The door opened instantly, the big man in dark maroon livery relaxing as he recognized the caller, and Julian stepped inside.

  “Good evening, Parker.”

  “Evening, Mr Lynes.” Parker latched the main door, then pulled back the baize-covered inner door.

  In the interior hall, Julian surrendered hat and cane, and made his way into the front parlor. It was early yet, by Jacobs’ standards, the restaurants not yet closed, the theaters still in the last act, and only a handful of men were gathered in the cream and dove-gray space. A trio were hanging about the hazard table, more intent on their conversation than on getting up a game, while the others were playing what looked to be a rather sedate game of whist, and Julian crossed to the bar to order himself a brandy before moving into the main card room. Here the light was mellow, the gas dimmed so that the players sat in pools of lamplight, cards and cuffs flashing against the baize of the tabletop. At the back of the room, Jesperson had set up a game of chemin de fer and was auctioning the bank; it stood at thirty pounds as Julian passed, and Trefethen raised his hand in greeting.

  “Lynes! Care to buy in?”

  Chemin de fer was not Julian’s favorite game – the stakes were too high, and usually only monetary, though it was easy enough to manipulate the outcome – and he shook his head. “Later, maybe. Have you seen Lennox, by any chance?”

  “Not I,” Trefethen said, and Summergate looked over his shoulder.

  “In the blue room, I think?”

  “Thanks,” Julian said, generally, and headed for the stairs.

  The second floor held the two smaller card rooms, where the serious players gathered, as well as a billiard room and the smoking lounge. There was no one in the billiard room yet, but in the pale-blue front room a game of lanterloo was in progress, Lennox frowning as they sorted out the pot. He was generally a poor player, and Julian hoped the stakes were reasonable. He paused in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the play, but Lennox looked up at the movement, his face relaxing.

  “Lynes, dear boy.”

  “Hello, Lennox.”

  The dealer gathered the cards to shuffle again, and Lennox pushed back his chair. “I’m out, Tommy. I’d like a word with Lynes.”

  “Suit yourself,” the dealer answered, and Julian stepped back into the hall.

  “Always glad to oblige,” he said, with a smile, and Lennox rolled his eyes.

  “My dear, Tommy takes this sort of thing far too seriously. One can’t really enjoy oneself under the circumstances.”

  “I was looking for you,” Julian said. “If you have a moment.”

  “Did you bring your paragon?” Lennox patted his shoulder. “No, I can see you haven’t, more’s the pity. The same old set is, well, the same old set. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about the Nevett case,” Julian said.

  “I didn’t know you were involved in that,” Lennox said, with a lifted eyebrow. “And I never kiss and tell.”

  Julian smiled, though his attention sharpened. Not Edgar or Victor, surely – Victor had never been that way inclined, even at school – but Reggie? Freddie? “I wouldn’t have thought he’d be to your taste,” he tried, and Lennox waved a finger.

  “An unpleasant creature, not worth the time to dissect him. And that’s my last word on the matter.”

  Julian recognized the warning in Lennox’s voice but tried to think of other men whose habits and connections overlapped with Lennox’s. “Not Lucy’s young man, surely?”

  “I meant it, Lynes. And it’s not entirely my story, in any case.”

  Julian nodded, accepting the rebuff. “It was actually Mrs Edgar Nevett I was curious about,” he said. “Louisa Winchester, I believe she was. I thought you might have known her.”

  “Louisa Winchester,” Lennox said. “If you want to know about her, my boy, you’ll need to fetch me another drink.”

  “But of course,” Julian murmured. The theaters were finishing up, and more men were drifting in; the steward had opened the first-floor supper room, and a few younger men in slightly crumpled evening dress had been filling plates at the buffet and talking loudly about the performers as Julian came back up the stairs. He collected a whiskey and soda for Lennox and another brandy for himself, and they settled into a corner of the smoking room.

  “What’s so scandalous about Louisa Winchester?” he asked, and Lennox took a sip of his drink, closing his eyes to savor it.

  “You wouldn’t think of scandal when you look at her now, would you?” he said.

  Julian shook his head.

  “She was striking, you know,” Lennox went on. “So very fair, with hair like gilt silver and ice-gray eyes. And a lovely figure, ripe but not overblown. Like a Viking queen, or a Valkyrie. I think that was part of the reason for the talk, you know. She was so unlike every other woman Edgar Nevett ever courted.”

  Julian paused. He’d only caught the barest glimpse of her when he’d been at the house, and then she’d been a shadow in mourning so severe it made her a grim silhouette at the top of the stairs. “I’ve heard a whisper that she bewitched him.”

  “That was the talk at the time,” Lennox answered. “And Nevett had been paying rather marked attention to Rosemary Archambault – she’s now Mrs Leander Borthwick, which to my mind is the better bargain. But at the time there were cutting things said between the girls. They’d been friends, you see. But of course the Winchesters had rather more money than the Archambaults ever did, even if old Oliver had been willing to make a decent settlement on any of his girls.”

  “That all sounds very vague,” Julian said. “And rather ordinary. What had the poor woman done to start so much gossip?”

  Lennox folded his hands around his glass. “I never really knew,” he said. “There was a story that she’d jilted some other young man, before she came to London, or perhaps when she set her cap at Nevett, but it was never very clear. I rather doubt it was true, myself. She wasn’t the sort to lead one on. She was intense and determined, but she wasn’t cold
. She was whole-hearted, all or nothing, and she never went back on her word.”

  “You liked her,” Julian said.

  “I did.” Lennox nodded. “I truly did. In those days, anyway – she’s gone in for good works since, I hear.” He gave a wry smile. “We don’t move in the same circles any more.”

  “She’s involved with a mission that educates poor children for domestic service,” Julian said.

  “She always did care about such things.” Lennox shrugged. “But, clearly, our paths wouldn’t cross. She was a lovely dancer, though.”

  Julian tried to picture Louisa in the wide-sleeved, bell-skirted fashions of thirty years ago, Lennox her dapper escort. He could imagine Lennox well enough, younger, slimmer, his hair untouched with gray, his smile less cynical, framed in luxurious side whiskers, but he couldn’t bring that Louisa to life.

  Lennox smiled sadly, as if he’d guessed the thought. “If she did use enchantment – and I don’t say she did – she’s paid for it now.”

  That thought was depressing enough that Julian lingered at the club longer than he’d meant, hoping that another drink and a hand or three of écarté would raise his spirits. After an uninspiring couple of games, however, he pushed himself away from the table, shaking his head at the tall baritone who laughingly pleaded with him to stay. On another night, he might well have been tempted to accept both the game and the implicit invitation, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood. What he really wanted – He shied away from the thought, then made himself face it. What he really wanted was to go home to find Ned waiting, which was at best highly unlikely. Even if they had managed to make a habit of each other for long enough that Lennox thought he had a new lover, there was little chance it would last past the day Ned had saved enough money to think of marriage. But if it could… To share lodgings, the way they had that first year at University: yes, that was what he wanted, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see how it could be achieved.

  He ordered a final brandy, resting his elbows on the bar, turned his attention to the room at large. A game of hazard was in full swing now, the club’s croupier in charge of the table, and whist had given way to écarté and another chemin de fer bank, this one hilarious and presided over by a very red-faced young man with improbable golden curls.

  “– Nevett’s father’s funeral,” someone said at his elbow.

  He managed to keep from starting, turned his head as though he were only idly curious, to see a trio in very tailored evening wear collecting their whiskeys from the expressionless bartender.

  “I’ll warrant it’s an excuse,” the tallest of them said. “He’s a dreadful tease, my dear. I’m only telling you for your own good.”

  They moved away, heading for the supper room, and Julian took a final swallow of his brandy. He didn’t know any of the three, so there was no point in pursuing them: one could not ask questions without rousing suspicion, at least not without more information than he had in hand. But if either Reginald or Freddie – or even Victor, unlikely as that seemed – were habitués of certain clubs – well, that was as good a motive for murder as anything else they’d come across. He’d have more to tell Ned than just confirming the rumors of enchantment.

  0707201316911

  CHAPTER NINE

  The cab pulled up outside Julian’s lodgings, and Ned stepped out, handing a coin up to the driver to induce him to wait. It took a considerable amount of time after the landlady banged on Julian’s door for him to open it, long enough that Ned began to wonder if he hadn’t in fact spent the night there, or, even more unhappy thought, had spent it there but in other company.

  The door finally opened to reveal Julian still in his dressing gown. “What time is it?” he asked, squinting suspiciously at the sunlight filtering in through the drawn curtains.

  “Not yet nine-thirty,” Ned said. “I know it’s early, but Hatton says he wants us both down at the Yard immediately. There’s been an urgent development in the case.”

  Julian’s eyebrows rose, his interest clearly pricked. “Has he made an arrest?” He stepped back and waved Ned in, which at least suggested that he was alone.

  “I’ve told you all I know. But he was very emphatic that it was urgent.”

  “Right,” Julian said, running his hand through his disheveled hair. “Just give me a minute to dress. I suppose it’s too urgent for coffee?”

  “I’ve got a cab waiting. There’s cold tea,” Ned offered, nodding toward the tray of breakfast that lay untouched and stone-cold on the table.

  “It’ll do,” Julian said, and retreated to dress. Ned poured Julian a cup of tea and spread jam on a slice of toast, holding both out to him when he emerged having dressed and shaved with what Ned had to admit was admirable speed.

  Julian downed the tea in one draught, making a face at the taste, and waved the toast away. “I’ve news of my own,” he said. “I only wish I knew if it were Reggie or Freddie they meant, or even Victor, but… I’m fairly sure one of them is moving in the same circles as Lennox. If one of Nevett’s sons is that way inclined, and his father found out about it, he’d have an undeniable motive.”

  “Damn,” Ned said.

  Julian raised an eyebrow. “It’s a step closer to solving the case. At least, it might be.”

  “I know. It’s only… I’d rather have it be for a different reason, I suppose.” It felt uncomfortably close to home. Not that Ned’s father would threaten to expose him if he ever found out Ned’s predilections. It would simply be one more shameful secret for him to keep from the world, another burden for the family to bear.

  “Well, you may get your wish. Lennox says that he knew Louisa in her younger days, and that it might be true she beguiled Edgar. And that’s not a grudge; he liked her, he says.” Julian picked up his hat. “Let’s go find out what the Yard wants, and then we can try to sort through it all over breakfast. Or lunch. Or something.”

  Hatton was in his office at the Yard, and nodded as they entered.

  “I was wondering if we’d have to do this without you,” Hatton said. “He’s your client, though, and he asked that you be present when he gives his statement.” Ned could hear Julian’s momentary catch of breath just before Hatton said, “Victor Nevett has confessed to murdering his father.”

  “Impossible,” Ned said automatically.

  “I know you were in school with him. I expect it’s something of a blow.”

  Julian’s breath caught again, dangerously close to a laugh, and Ned gave him a sharp look. “It’s certainly a surprise,” Ned said.

  “I believe you,” Hatton said. “If I thought you’d been covering up for him, we’d be having a different kind of conversation. But I handed the murder weapon over to you myself, and you didn’t take the chance to spoil the evidence.” He shook his head. “I’ll take you to him. We’ll be sending him over to Holloway on remand, but he says he’s willing to make a statement, so I want to get that down first.”

  “Ask him why he did it,” Julian said.

  “Believe me, I will.” Hatton led them down a twisting hallway and into a room with two constables guarding the door. Inside, Victor was pacing the length of the long table that occupied the center of the room. “Sit down, Mr Nevett,” Hatton said.

  Victor sat, and looked up at Ned, his jaw set. “Mathey.”

  “I’m here, Nevett, but I expect your solicitor would do you more good,” Ned said, settling awkwardly into a chair. He found himself unsure what to do with his hands.

  “I haven’t got one,” Victor said. “Or only my father’s, and that won’t do, will it? Besides, you’re both old Toms’ men.” He swallowed hard, and Ned realized with an uncomfortable twist in his stomach that Victor felt safer with the two of them there. They were familiar, at least, and if he’d put their school days behind him, he probably expected them to have done the same.

  “So you killed your father,” Julian said, his eyes intent on Victor’s face. Whether Julian was searching it for signs that Victor might
not be telling the truth, or merely savoring the moment, Ned wasn’t sure.

  “I’ll take charge here, Mr Lynes, if you please,” Hatton said mildly. “Mr Nevett, I understand you have a statement to make.” He tugged at a bell-pull behind him, and one of the constables came in at once. “Constable Gregg here will take notes.”

  “I killed my father,” Victor said. “I cursed the candlestick so that it fell and struck him. It was right after dinner, when we were going in to join the ladies in the drawing room. I went into his office for a minute and… And in the morning he was dead.”

  “What about the burglary?” Hatton said.

  “There wasn’t a burglary. I hid the rest of the silver. I threw it in the river, later. I should have gone back and taken the candlestick…” He faltered, and then went on. “I suppose I lost my nerve. I stayed upstairs until morning, and then the girl was screaming her head off, and by the time I got down there everyone had seen the candlestick. I couldn’t just take it away.”

  “It didn’t occur to you to substitute another similar one?” Julian asked.

  “No,” Victor said, shaking his head in what seemed like genuine surprise. He’d never had much imagination, Ned thought, or been particularly swift to think in a crisis. “No, I just hoped everyone would assume it was a burglary and not ask too many questions. Maybe they’d even think the curse was real.”

  “Why did you want to kill your father, Mr Nevett?” Hatton asked. His voice was even, as if he dealt with this sort of thing all the time. Hatton had seen worse than Victor Nevett, Ned realized, and tried to steady himself with the thought.

  “For the money,” Victor said. “My inheritance. It was the only way I was ever going to get out of that rotten little house. He promised me before I married he’d help me buy a house of my own. That’s what he said to start with. Then it was that he was going to buy a house and we could live in it, and he’d have that to hold over my head if I ever crossed him. And then he said he wasn’t sure I deserved anything at all.” There was real heat in his voice for the first time. “So I found the curse in a book, and I did it.”