Death by Silver (10 page)

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 certain 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.

But that was Ned for you. He believed in honor and justice and fair play, in helping others and bringing the truth to light, all the inconvenient virtues. And he would stand up for them with the same half-apologetic shrug he’d given when he was sixteen and had decided that some squeaking New Man had been mistreated enough. The same way he’d stood up for Julian, for reasons Julian had never quite been able to fathom. If Ned thought the Nevetts – even including Victor Nevett – weren’t going to get a fair hearing from the police, a fair chance to catch the person who’d murdered father and husband, then he’d step in, because he could, and someone should. The least Julian could do was stand up with him.

And they weren’t twelve any more. Julian took a careful breath. They were grown men, professionals and Oxford graduates, and maybe Ned was right, it was a long time ago. But a part of him still wished he’d poisoned Victor Nevett.

The cab moved on, tracking west and then north up the Edgeware Road. Ned glanced rather sadly down St. John’s Wood Road, no doubt wishing he were at Lords, but instead they turned left, coming at last into Randolph Crescent. The buildings were neat and expensive, bright brick outlined in blinding white stone, two dozen identical façades defining the curve of the street, each with its neatly fenced entranceway, two steps up to the brightly painted front doors, and a wrought-iron gate discreetly marking the steps down to the kitchen entrance. The only thing to distinguish Nevett’s house was the crepe still on the knocker. It was not on the better side of the crescent, but the address must have stood him in good stead in terms of business.