Broken Blue: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  Six

  1895

  "Lady deHavilland will see you now," says the butler who comes to collect me. I have been sitting in the drawing room for almost half an hour, and I had begun to think that the lady of the house might be planning to leave me here all day. Finally, however, it seems I am to be granted an audience.

  "Thank you," I reply, walking over to the door. When I get into the next room, I find that it is a large, high-ceilinged drawing room with the most vibrant red walls. Dotted all around, there are items of furniture and trinkets that speak of moneyed taste, while a small tree appears to be growing in a pot over by the window. The place is rather disorientating, and more so when I see that a parrot is hopping from branch to branch, staring down at me with its beady eyes.

  "You must forgive me for keeping you waiting, Inspector Matthews," says a voice from behind, and I turn to see Lady Henrietta deHavilland walking into the room. She is well known across the city, and I can see why: wearing a striking red dress, she possesses the type of smile that instantly lights up a room.

  "Please don't apologize," I reply, remembering that it would be in my best interests to appear highly deferential. "I am merely grateful that you were able to grant me an audience at all".

  "I was speaking to Mr. Vincent D'Oyly. I don't know if you know him?"

  "I think not," I reply, as a man follows Lady deHavilland into the room. Whereas Lady deHavilland is a bright, vivacious woman, Mr. D'Oyly is a rather sinister and unsettling individual. He is young, but also very thin and pale, with a receding hairline and dark eyes. I step forward to shake his hand, and find that his skin is exceedingly cold to the touch.

  "Mr. D'Oyly has just arrived in London from the Lake District," Lady deHavilland explains as she opens her liquor cabinet. "He has come to take up a new position, and I have been helping him get accustomed to our busy London ways. Now, Inspector, can I interest you in a drink?"

  "No thank you," I reply. "I'm here on official police business".

  "Oh, what a shame," she says. "I had hoped that perhaps you just... popped by to say hello. Still, you don't mind if Mr. D'Oyly and I partake, do you?"

  "Of course not," I reply, feeling a little uneasy about the whole situation. "Lady deHavilland, I hope you don't mind my asking, but have you ever had the acquaintance of a gentleman by the name of Edward Lockhart?"

  "Edward Lockhart?" she repeats as she pours two glasses of brandy. "I do not believe so," she continues, "though as you can imagine, I meet a great many people every week, so it's entirely possible that I have come across him. In fact, if he is at all active in London society, it would be rather surprising if I haven't made his acquaintance at some point". She walks over to D'Oyly, who has taken a seat in the corner. As she hands him his drink, she turns to me and smiles. "Might I ask why this Mr. Lockhart is of interest to you, and why your inquiries have led you to my door?"

  "It's a police matter," I reply, preferring to keep the details to myself. "Mr. Lockhart came to me with certain claims, and it is my duty to investigate the matter".

  "Claims?" Lady deHavilland says, affecting an air of surprise. "About me?"

  "I do not feel it is necessary to get into the details," I say. "Suffice it to say that Mr. Lockhart told a very complex story that took in a great many names, and as a matter of course I am obliged to investigate and ensure that there is no danger to the public". I pause for a moment. "Might I inquire whether you are acquainted with a young lady named Sophia Marchant?"

  "Sophia Marchant?" she replies. "I do not believe so, though as I have already indicated, it can be quite a struggle to keep up with all the people I meet in my daily activities. As you might be aware, I am involved in numerous political groups, and as such as I'm afraid I receive regular solicitations from all manner of individuals".

  "Indeed," I say, sensing that I am unlikely to get very far with these questions. "Might I also ask about a young lady named Elizabeth Cavendish?"

  She sighs. "Inspector Matthews, if this is to be a litany of names, I am afraid I shall probably not be able to help you. I remember faces very well, but names alas are wont to slip from my mind rather easily. I am not proud of this fact, but nonetheless, it renders me rather unhelpful. You must accept my apologies".

  "I quite understand," I reply. "I merely hoped that perhaps you would know some of these people, but I certainly cannot fault you for being unable to keep track of all those who cross your path. However, there are a few names that I feel are rather more memorable, and that might elicit some glimmer of recognition. Have you by any chance encountered, or heard of, a group of individuals who go by the names Mr. Blue, Mr. White and Lady Red?"

  She stares at me for a moment. "No," she says finally. "I am sure I would remember such curious monikers. Surely those are not real names?"

  "They are not," I say. "At least, this is my assumption. I am merely investigating some of the more outlandish claims made by Mr. Lockhart".

  "And what might those claims involve?" she asks. There is a clear shift in her tone now, and it is almost as if I have said something that has attracted her attention.

  "I hardly think this is the time or the place to delve into such matters," I continue. "Suffice it to say that he made certain statements of a rather indelicate nature".

  "Such as?"

  I smile, feeling rather reluctant to go into details with a woman. "I really couldn't say, M'am".

  "Was it about sex?" asks Vincent D'Oyly, who has so far remained silent in his seat.

  "Yes," I reply, turning to him. There is something about D'Oyly's countenance that fair sets me on edge, though I could not pinpoint precisely what troubles me. I think, if pushed, that I would say I dislike his sharp, edgy nature and his curious, feminine face. All in all, he is the kind of man who seems to be extremely intelligent but also, if pushed, perhaps a little dangerous.

  "It's always about sex," he says, glancing over at Lady deHavilland. "Sex is the engine of the world, you know".

  "So they say," Lady deHavilland replies, clearly a little perturbed by the conversation. "Inspector Matthews, while I am always anxious to help Her Majesty's Constabulary with any matters that arise, I feel that this continued discussion must surely be distracting you from the rest of your work. I simply cannot help you, and I would hope that you do not feel you have to stay purely out of some sense of deference. I would certainly feel much safer if I knew that you were out on the streets, seeking to catch those who would threaten our peace and security".

  "I shall detain you no longer," I reply. "I hope very much that my visit has not unsettled you too much, and I can assure you that I shall not be returning on this matter".

  "I wish you all the best," she says. "My man will show you out".

  A few minutes later, I'm out on the street once again, and I find myself troubled by my encounter with Lady deHavilland. For all her claims of grandeur and respectability, she seems unusually edgy when I mentioned certain details of Edward Lockhart's story. Furthermore, I found that D'Oyly man to be rather unpalatable, and I cannot for the life of me understand why he would be entertained in any decent household. Although the pieces of this puzzle remain very much separate, I am becoming increasingly convinced that there is a puzzle here, and the most obvious step is to locate Edward Lockhart. I am quite certain that all this talk of his having gone abroad is merely a smokescreen, designed to throw me off the scent. I must locate the man as soon as possible, since his life might very well be in danger and he could be the only one who is able to throw some light on these strange occurrences.

  Seven

  Today

  "You were marvelous," says an old lady, cornering me at the reception. "The speech you gave was just perfect. Your father would have been so proud".

  "Thank you," I reply, taking a deep breath and glancing across the room at Mark. He's standing alone, sipping from a glass of water and looking totally incongruous. We're all in a room at the back of the crematorium, where everyone has gathered to talk a
bout my father and eat cucumber sandwiches. All I can think about, of course, is that I want to talk to Mark, but every time I try to get over to him, I end up being waylaid by yet another well-wisher who wants to tell me how much they liked my speech, or tell me how much my father meant to them. At this rate, it's going to take me about a thousand years to get to the other side of the room.

  "You remind me of him, you know," the old lady says. "Just in little ways. Your eyes, I think. Yes, it's your eyes!"

  "That's nice to know," I reply. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go and check on some things". I slip away from her, but I've barely made it another meter before another old lady stops me.

  "What a marvelous speech!" she says. "I just know that your father would be so proud of you. So, so proud".

  "Thank you," I reply, smiling politely as I see that Mark appears to be checking his watch. I'm starting to worry that he might slip away before I get a chance to speak to him.

  "You know," the old lady continues, "the first time I met your father -"

  "Excuse me," I say, "but I have to go and check on the sandwiches". Turning away from her before she has a chance to keep talking, I make my way quickly across the room, carefully plotting a trajectory that takes me away from any potential interruptions until, finally, I reach Mark.

  "Nice speech," he says, taking another sip from his glass of water.

  "Thanks," I reply. "So how are you doing?"

  "Oh, I'm having a great time," he says. "You know how fun funerals can be, especially if you don't know anyone else".

  "You know me," I say.

  He smiles. "I was just going to leave, anyway".

  "I want to talk to you," I blurt out, immediately realizing how desperate I must sound. "I mean, I'd like to talk to you," I correct myself, "if you have time".

  "I'm not really in the mood to talk," he says. "Sorry".

  "Right," I say, taking a deep breath. I hadn't expected him to be so abrupt. "Sorry," I continue, "I just assumed you'd have five minutes to spare. I mean, you seem to have been hanging around on your own, which doesn't exactly seem like the behavior of someone who doesn't have any time for a quick chat".

  "What do you want to talk about?" he asks.

  I stare at him, and I can't help wondering what caused the cuts and bruises on his face. "Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private," I say. "I think there are some storage rooms down that corridor. Do you want to take a walk?"

  "I'm not a big fan of storage rooms," he replies brusquely.

  "Please?" I turn and walk over to the door, before glancing back and seeing that Mark is reluctantly following me. Feeling a rush of excitement, I try to remind myself that I barely know the guy, but it's hard not to get carried away. I don't know what it is about him, but I feel more alive whenever I'm around him. Also, even though he keeps saying he doesn't want to talk to me, he's still following me. That has to mean something.

  "This won't take long," I say, leading him along the corridor. It almost feels as if we're doing something clandestine and wrong, as if we're sneaking away from everyone else so that we can have a moment alone. My heart is racing as I head into a small room and turn to face him.

  "Alright," he says as he follows me inside and pushes the door shut. "What is it you want to say?"

  "What happened to you?" I ask. "I mean, no offense, but you look like shit".

  "Thanks," he replies, turning back to the door. "I'm really glad we had this chat".

  "Wait!" I say, running over and grabbing his arm. "I also wanted to thank you for sending that driver to pick me up yesterday. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't..." I pause, realizing that I'm making it a little too easy for him to think of me as some helpless maiden who needed to be rescued.

  "It was nothing," he replies.

  "So you send drivers to pick girls up all the time, do you?"

  He shrugs.

  "If you hadn't done that," I continue, "I would have missed my father's funeral. I'd be in Exeter right now, and I'd have regretted it for the rest of my life. I owe you, and I want you to know that I truly appreciate what you did for me".

  "Like I said, it was nothing".

  "It was nice of you," I reply. "It showed you care".

  "You think I care?"

  "Well, you kissed me," I say, shocking myself with my candor. I was hoping to raise the subject of that brief kiss we shared the other night, but I certainly didn't intend to just blurt the question out like this. "I mean... Yeah. You did. You kissed me".

  "I shouldn't have done that," he replies.

  "Shouldn't you?"

  "No". He pauses for a moment. "You're in a very vulnerable place, Elly. Your father died. You're confused. I took advantage of that, and it was a moment of weakness that should never have happened".

  "I'm not vulnerable," I say. "I'm not some fragile little thing".

  "You're a kid".

  "I'm twenty-one years old!"

  "Well, you act younger".

  I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but I manage to hold my tongue just in time. I had no idea that Mark saw me that way. "I act younger?" I say eventually, starting to feel a little angered by his arrogance.

  "I'm sorry," he continues, "but you do. From my perspective, at least. I mean, you did a great job today, but in general, your level of emotional maturity..." He pauses for a moment. "You know what? We shouldn't be having this conversation. It's inappropriate, especially at a time like this. You're a lovely young woman, Elly, and I wish you all the best, but -"

  I suddenly lean closer and try to kiss him, but he pulls away.

  "Elly, please..." he says.

  "Why not?" I reply. "You were fine with it the other night".

  "The other night was different," he says. "The other night was... you were drunk".

  "I was not!"

  He sighs. "If we did this, Elly, it would be a mistake".

  "Why?" I ask. "Because you don't want to hang out with a kid?"

  He stares at me for a moment. "Not a mistake for me, Elly. A mistake for you. Trust me; you have no idea what you'd be getting yourself into. I'm not..." He pauses. "I'm not the kind of person you think I am. My life is complicated. I promise you, this is game you really don't want to play".

  I take a deep breath, feeling as if my heart is about to leap out of my chest. "So you're not interested?"

  "It's not about being interested," he replies.

  "Then why do you keep popping up in my life?" I ask. "Why do you phone me to see how I am, and why do you ditch your date so you can give me a lift home, and why do you send your driver to pick me up, and why do you hang around here like you're waiting for me to come and talk to you?"

  He sighs. "I guess you're right," he says, turning and walking across the room. "I'm sorry, Elly. I guess I..." He turns back to me. "I guess I allowed myself to ignore some of my usual rules. I can't deny that there's a hint of attraction between us, and I can't deny that part of me would like to..." His voice trails off.

  "Would like to what?" I ask, feeling a shiver shoot up my spine.

  "Like I said, you're a very attractive young lady. That's not the issue here. The issue is me. I'm..." He takes a deep breath. "It would be wrong of me to encourage you into my world. It would be wrong of me to let these things happen to you. It would be wrong of me to let you get into something you can't possibly understand, and that would almost certainly be too much for you".

  I stare at him. "What are you talking about? You're acting like it's some kind of huge thing, when -"

  "Look at me," he says. "I'm hurt. I've got cuts and bruises. I'm limping. I've got other injuries you can't see. For a start, two of my ribs are cracked. Surely you can see that my life isn't as safe and normal as you imagined. I'm different, Elly, and I have to be very careful when it comes to choosing who I allow to get close to me. Sometimes things happen that can't be undone, and the last thing I want to do is to hurt you. If things weren't so complicated, I'd have no hesitation here, but I
've learned over the years that I have to be more cautious".

  "It's Monday," I say. "I'm leaving on Thursday morning. I'm going back to Bristol, and I've got no plans to come back to London any time soon. I'm not even going to be around much longer. I'm here for two more full days. That's barely enough time to get to,,," I let my voice trail off. The last thing I want to do is start begging.

  "So you should just go," he replies. "Go back to Bristol, finish your course, get a job and have a happy life".

  I know I should walk away from this whole thing right now. If I had even an ounce of self-respect, I'd be long gone. But the truth is, I can't help feeling there's something Mark isn't telling me. It's as if he's firing off all these contradictory signals, and his actions don't match his words. No matter how many times he tells me he thinks it would be a bad idea for us to get together, he keeps hanging around. If he truly believes it would be a mistake, why is he here? Why did he help me out the other day? Why did he kiss me? Why doesn't he just go away and stay away?

  "You think I'm some delicate thing who can't handle whatever goes on in your life?" I say eventually. "You think you've got this dark and twisted thing going on, and I'm too timid to get involved? What kind of person do you think I am?"

  "I think you're a good person," he says, "and I think you don't deserve to get caught up with me. My life is a game, and you really don't want to play".