by KJ Charles
“Haven’t changed,” Kim said. “My brother stands in danger of his life, and I’d like to ask some questions.”
“I’d appreciate your assistance, Knowle,” Mitra added. “Given those exceptional circumstances.”
Knowle frowned. “If you’d care to put your request in writing, I’m sure I can help.”
“I could do that,” Kim said. “Unfortunately, while I wait for your response, my father will be raising hell up and down the halls of power, claiming that Chingford is being made a scapegoat by the Club Committee and demanding a full investigation.”
Knowle’s jaw dropped. “He’s not saying that, is he?”
“Not yet.”
“The investigation is out of our hands,” the Secretary protested. “We’re cooperating with the police to the best of our ability.”
“Feel free to tell my father that: I believe he’s coming up from East Anglia today. Or if you prefer, I could keep him informed of the practical assistance you’ve afforded me.”
Knowle gave him a profoundly unimpressed look. “Do you think you can make him accept your brother’s guilt?”
“Chingford’s guilt is a matter for the jury to decide,” Kim said. “My father needs to hear that the Symposium hasn’t closed ranks against an unpopular man for its own benefit. I’m sure you’d rather he didn’t go around London making that claim.”
“The Committee would certainly prefer he didn’t,” Mitra added. “So if you could spare five minutes now...”
Knowle clearly knew when he was beaten. “Let me just say explicitly, gentlemen, that there is no plot against Lord Chingford, and I find it highly offensive that anyone should imply as much. The police’s interest is entirely due to his own actions and behaviour, and Lord Flitby would do best to await the outcome of the official investigation. As the Committee wishes it, Lord Arthur, I will answer your questions now, but we absolutely cannot have amateur sleuths—and non-members at that—running around the Club while this business is resolved. I hope you understand.”
“Perfectly. Thank you.”
Knowle relaxed slightly. “Fine. Please, sit down.”
Mitra nodded thanks and bowed out. Kim took a chair. There was only one, so Will leaned against the wall. “Thank you, Knowle. Can you tell me about yesterday?”
Knowle picked up a pen and twiddled it. “As you know, Lord Chingford had a very public row with, or at, Mr. Fairfax yesterday. Foul language, high volume, and in the dining room. Several people complained. Most of the membership, and indeed the Committee, have had as much of your brother as they can stand.”
“I know the feeling,” Kim said. “What specifically did Chingford say to Fairfax?”
“He called him a dirty dog and a villain and a double-crossing cheat and so on, liberally peppered with expletives. I asked him what the issue was, and he refused to explain. If he’d offered an actual grievance, we could have taken it into account, but he insisted, repeatedly and with language, that it was none of my business. Given the lack of justification, the Committee agreed that Lord Chingford should make a public unreserved apology to Mr. Fairfax or cease to be a member.” He scrunched up his face. “I told him that decision late yesterday afternoon. I can’t say it was a pleasant conversation. He made a number of highly personal remarks to me, and various unfounded allegations about other members and staff.”
“What allegations?”
“I’d prefer not to repeat them. Lord Chingford frequently makes assertions with no factual basis.” That was as smooth a way of calling someone a howling liar as Will had heard. “Such-and-such cheated at cards, so-and-so stole from members’ pockets, someone else was having his way with the housemaids, others were up to unmentionable vice in the facilities. That sort of thing. I asked him if he could substantiate any of it, and of course he could not. I said if he wouldn’t explain his grudge against Mr. Fairfax, I couldn’t take it seriously.”
“Did you consider he might have had reasons he couldn’t disclose?”
Knowle tapped his fingertips together. “I assured Lord Chingford of my absolute discretion. You know the Club rules of confidence.”
“Rather like the Catholic seal of the confessional,” Kim remarked to Will.
“We pride ourselves on respecting our members’ privacy,” Knowle said stiffly. “If he had told me anything I should not disclose it, even under these circumstances. But I do feel able to state that he refused to give me any reason at all.”
“What happened then?”
“He left me, I’d say about six-thirty, maybe a little later. Once he’d gone I made a record of our meeting, and a memorandum for the Committee and so on. There’s a great deal of paperwork needed in these cases. When I finished, I rang for a sandwich and a glass of beer. Quiller brought it up, the Chief Steward if you recall, and stayed to chat while I ate. You know he’s turning seventy in six months?”
“So young?” Kim said. “He seemed near retirement when I last set eyes on him.”
“He took up his first post here when he was almost twenty-one. He’s desperate to make it to fifty years’ service, the dear old fellow and I hope he can stay the course. We discussed his health and his plans and so on. It was a very pleasant interlude. And then Mr. Mitra came in, announced he’d found Mr. Fairfax dead, and told me what Lord Chingford had said.”
“What time was that?”
“Half past seven or so. We went out at once and—well, you saw the body. We left Quiller to guard the billiard room and make sure nobody came in. Mr. Mitra went to telephone the police, while I found Lord Chingford and escorted him to the silence room to wait for their arrival.”
“On your own?”
“That’s right.”
“You weren’t concerned for your safety?” Kim asked. “If you thought he’d just stabbed a man to death, why didn’t you bring someone with you?”
Knowle opened his mouth, and shut it again. “Good heavens. When you put it like that, I feel extremely foolish. In my defence, the whole business seemed unreal. A murdered man in the Club, one of our members suspected—and Chingford wasn’t behaving like a murderer, if you know what I mean. He treated the whole business as though it were a misunderstanding that would be very quickly cleared up, and I suppose I took my cue from him. Actually, he was very calm indeed, at that point, as if—”
He stopped. Kim said, “Go on.”
Knowle hesitated a second. “I was going to say, the calm after the storm. As if he’d vented his fury elsewhere.”
Kim shut his eyes. “Right.”
“That was just an impression. In any case, I was careful not to provoke him. I merely said the business would need clearing up and he was a witness, and he took it quite reasonably.”
“I see. Thank you. Can you tell me about Fairfax?”
Knowle leaned back in his chair. “He joined us in 1919. We had a number of vacant places after the war, of course. A stockbroker who had recently come into a legacy and retired early. Very pleasant man, no trouble at all. Really, my first meaningful encounter with him was after yesterday’s row.”
“Nothing noteworthy? No problems, or scandals?”
“Some people can belong to a club without turning it upside down,” Knowle said. “All I can think of is that his wife divorced him a couple of years ago. Regrettable, but I suppose we must move with the times.”
“Friends?”
“He seemed on good terms with everyone. I don’t recall any particular cronies.”
“George Yoxall?”
Knowle frowned. “Not that I know of. Mr. Yoxall’s about thirty years younger. Why do you ask?”
Kim lifted the tips of his fingers in an economical gesture to convey that he wasn’t saying. Knowle’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t argue. Probably a lot went without saying round here. “Anything else you think might be relevant?”
“No. If there was, or is, I shall of course inform Inspector Rennick at once.”
“Why do you think Chingford argued with Fairfax
?”
Knowle didn’t answer for a long moment, then he spoke slowly. “Lord Arthur, your brother had nothing to say in our meeting but outrageous, ranting nonsense. He accused me of embezzling funds from the Club as a mere aside in his tirade, though he has no access to the books and no knowledge of the finances, which I may say are thoroughly accounted for—”
“You needn’t say so. I apologise on his behalf.”
“I merely mention it to illustrate that Lord Chingford’s behaviour has been increasingly aggressive and unpredictable in recent months. I might even say irrational.”
“Unbalanced?”
Knowle opened his hands. “If a doctor feels he wasn’t in his right mind, I’ll be happy to give my observations. Now, if that is all, I should be grateful if you would leave and—I say this with great respect—not return. I cannot give non-members free run of the building for Lord Flitby or anyone’s sake.”
“Understood,” Kim said. “We’ll show ourselves out directly. Thank you for your time. It’s been extremely enlightening, and I shall tell my father of your generous cooperation.”
“Well,” Will said as they emerged. “That was interesting.”
Kim headed off down a different stair. “On several levels. Knowle’s clearly hoping Chingford will lodge a M’Naghten plea—guilty but of unsound mind. It would be the neatest solution, after all. Everyone agrees that he was off his rocker, no private matters come to light, and this is tidied away as a tragedy rather than a crime.”
“It should be easy enough to argue he’s not in his right mind,” Will said. “Just let him talk a bit.”
“Sadly, it’s more complicated than that. A M’Naghten plea depends on the culprit not realising that what he did was wrong. Chingford’s galumphing effort to explain away his fingerprints on the ice pick makes it clear he was trying to hide his guilt.”
“Damn. So— Hang on. Where are we going?” He’d just realised Kim was leading them down a bigger set of stairs, into the main hall.
“To find this Yoxall fellow, of course.”
He was such a damn liar. “God’s sake. I bet you didn’t talk to your father about all this, either.”
“Why would I do that?” Kim strode through the hall before Will could reply and collared a startled-looking porter. “Hello, Speight, do you happen to know if Mr. Yoxall is in?”
“Lord Arthur? Uh, may I enquire—”
Kim waved a hand with absolute assurance. “I’ve just spoken to Mr. Knowle, don’t worry. Mr. Yoxall?”
“I don’t believe he’s in, my lord, but—”
“What the devil are you doing here?”
Will turned at the hostile voice, and saw Johnnie Cheveley a few feet away.
No, he didn’t. Johnnie Cheveley was dead. He’d shot Will once and been about to do it again, so Kim had cut his arm off and he’d bled to death on the floor. But the man staring at Kim was awfully like him, all the same.
This was the older brother of course, Sir Alan Cheveley. Will had seen him at the inquest, when Kim had been commended for killing Johnnie.
“Cheveley,” Kim said, voice so level a carpenter could have used it.
“Secretan,” the other man said. “What are you doing on these premises?”
“I’m on business.”
“Business? This is not an office. You aren’t a member.”
“Notwithstanding,” Kim said. “Excuse me.”
Cheveley stepped into his way. “Just a damned minute. You aren’t a member. I want to know what you’re doing here and who allowed it.”
“This is about Chingford, I expect,” said Cheveley’s companion.
Cheveley’s jaw hardened. “That’s it, isn’t it? Trying to get your brother off, I suppose. Good Lord, it’s come to something when a family of your supposed pedigree produces not one but two murderers.” His voice was loud, making heads turn. Kim’s face stayed blank, but his cheekbones were staining red. “A filthy disgrace. How dare you set foot in these premises? I shall take this to the Committee.”
“You do that,” Will said. “My arm’s fine, by the way.”
Cheveley looked blank. “Will Darling. From the inquest, remember? Your brother shot me, just after he had Lord Waring killed so he could steal his money. What were you saying about murderers?”
Cheveley’s face flooded with deep crimson. “How dare you?”
“Your brother was going to kill me, mate, that’s how. And I’ll tell you something else—”
“Don’t,” Kim said. “This won’t help.”
“You have no right to be here and no right to speak about my brother!”
“No right? He bloody shot me!”
“Will!” Kim snapped. “Enough.”
“He was killed from behind—”
“He was a thief, a cheat, and a murderer, and he deserved what he got,” Will said, swayed sideways round Cheveley’s wild blow, and cracked the bastard a beautiful one in the eye. Cheveley staggered back, then barrelled in again. Will met him with a punch to the jaw, and was pulled abruptly off balance by an arm round his neck and a startlingly painful two-fingered jab to the kidney.
“Stop,” Kim said savagely in his ear. “Now. Jesus.”
“What the devil is going on?” Mitra demanded from across the hall.
Various voices rose. Men in suits arrived. Kim started talking urgently, and Will set his teeth and wondered how badly he’d fucked up.
Chapter Five
It was badly.
“Christ,” Kim said, stalking down the street. “There went any hope of getting back in there. Let alone any future cooperation from Harry, to whom I now owe a grovelling apology. Thank you so much.”
“Were you just going to let him talk like that?”
“Yes. And so should you have.”
“Why? Johnnie Cheveley sodding shot me!”
“So? Alan Cheveley didn’t.”
“Alan was pretending Johnnie didn’t! That or he doesn’t think it mattered either way because I’m not posh enough to count.”
“Who gives a damn what he thinks? Johnnie Cheveley’s dead, his brother is unimportant, and now I can kiss goodbye to any help from Harry or access to the Symposium! I did not need another problem, Will!”
“You already had a problem. He called you a murderer.”
“If I let that upset me, I’d have put an end to myself years ago,” Kim said flatly. “I don’t care what that idiot says. I care about the faint possibility that I might be able to prevent Chingford swinging, and you just made that several times harder. And if you think this won’t be all over Clubland by tomorrow lunchtime, as if I needed the last shreds of my reputation hung out to dry—”
“They weren’t going to help you anyway. You do realise that? That Knowle bloke’s only interested in his precious Club, and you said yourself you weren’t welcome. What good was hanging around that place going to do?”
“We won’t find out now, will we? I would have liked to go back there one day, you know!”
“Well, I’m sorry I spoiled that,” Will said furiously. “Sorry I got in the way of you getting back together with your posh mates. There was me thinking I’d rather keep a bit of self-respect than let that wanker spit in your face and mine!”
“Well, enjoy it,” Kim snarled. “Not that I see a great deal of self-respect in picking a fight with a bereaved man. It looked a lot more like you taking out your endless bloody class-consciousness without the slightest regard for what we—I—actually need to achieve. But I’m sure you know best and I hope it keeps you warm at night. I need some air.”
He turned on his heel and strode off. Will felt the urge to march after him, to get his own last word in, and had just enough sense not to. He set off back home instead in a snarling stew of anger.
He refused to accept he’d been wrong. Cheveley had insulted Kim grossly in words, and Will as much with his indifference. He’d been at the coroner’s inquest, had sat there while Will gave evidence with his arm in a sling, yet he
hadn’t even remembered his face. To Sir Alan Cheveley, Johnnie’s death was a tragedy which made Kim’s act an offence, and the fact that he’d had tried to kill Will simply didn’t matter.
Will was tired of his life not mattering. It was bad enough to be a twig thrown onto the raging bonfire of the war; even worse when the disdain for his existence was up close and personal. And he was tired of seeing Kim flinch at words of scorn, no matter how tiny he managed to make the motion, and he’d stroked his hair as he shuddered out his horror at the killing, and if Sir Alan fucking Cheveley showed his face on the street now, Will would batter it all over again.
So no, he wasn’t sorry he’d spoken out. Some things could not stand.
But he had buggered up, all the same. Harry Mitra had been furious, which was fair because he’d stuck his neck out for Kim and only asked they’d be discreet, and starting a fight in the main hall was anything but. Knowle had arrived, drawn by the noise, and gone purple. They’d been escorted off the premises with the clipped information that any attempt to return would lead to the police being called. If he’d wanted to spare Kim humiliation, he’d gone about it a bloody stupid way. And if that made Kim’s work here harder...
Kim’s work.
That raised a question Will wanted answering. Kim hadn’t actually said what he’d wanted to achieve at the Symposium until they’d argued, and then it had slipped out. The faint possibility that I might be able to prevent Chingford swinging. If he planned to help his murdering brother get away with it—
Surely not. That would be low even by his flexible morality. And if Will was meant to help with that, he bloody well ought to have been told about it first.
The thought set off a deep and unpleasantly familiar anger. Kim had promised not to lie to him any more, whether by words or omission, but a secret plan to get a murderer off was exactly the kind of weasel deception he specialised in. It was all too plausible, and Will didn’t want to believe it.