by KJ Charles
“Well, you tell me, sir.” Kim extracted a small blue book from his pocket. “This is Fairfax’s notebook. It contains a number of names that I found surprising, including Chingford’s. Numerous times.”
Chingford’s eyes bulged. “What?”
“Your name. You were making regular payments to Fairfax, with regular sums of—”
“Give me that, you little shit!” Chingford lunged. Kim snatched the notebook out of his reach. Chingford’s other arm went up, fist clenching, and Will stepped in, grabbed his wrist, and wrenched it down behind his back with no regard for where the shoulder joint wanted to go. Chingford bellowed, knees folding in a helpless effort to alleviate the stress.
“All right, stop,” Kim said. “You needn’t break his arm.”
Will couldn’t see why not. He put a bit more pressure on to make the point, waited for Chingford to stop shouting, leaned down, and said in his ear, “That was the last swing you ever take at him. Do it again and I’ll twist your head right off your neck.”
Chingford made incoherent sounds. Flitby was also protesting loudly. Kim, the only one Will cared to listen to, said, “Enough.”
“Just getting started,” Will said, but he let the wrist go.
Chingford cradled his arm in front of him. “Father—!”
“No, you,” Kim said. “Why is your name in Fairfax’s notebook alongside large sums? What were you paying him for?”
“That is not relevant,” Flitby said, voice very thin. “You said you can use your position to aid Chingford, Arthur. Explain that.”
“We’re going to talk about this first. Fairfax, and the War Department.”
“It is not necessary—”
Kim held a hand up. “That was not a request. Chingford’s name is in Fairfax’s notebook with payments against it. I need hardly explain how bad that would look to the Metropolitan Police. Or the jury.” He let that hang a second. “I am currently the only person who knows the contents of this book. If I were to pass it to the authorities...”
Flitby’s lips tensed. “Is this blackmail?”
“For God’s sake!” Will said. “Of course it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” Kim said. “It is precisely blackmail. You are going to give me all the information I want, or I will pick up the telephone and advise Inspector Rennick that I can put the last nails in Chingford’s coffin. Chingford can tell the police why he was paying Fairfax and what he did at the War Department and everything else, and I will wash my hands of this whole sorry mess. You have thirty seconds to make the decision.”
“You cannot—”
“Try me.”
Lord Flitby stared at him. Kim’s expression was flat neutral. “Talk to me or talk to the police. Fifteen seconds.”
His eyes were locked on his father’s. The two stared at one another. Kim said, “Fine,” and reached for the telephone.
Flitby’s hand shot out and closed over his wrist. Kim looked down at it, face freezing over, and Will wondered when he’d last had a physical touch from his father.
“If I speak to you,” Flitby grated, forcing the words out, “you will suppress this notebook.”
“I will act as I see fit,” Kim said. “You have run out of choices, sir. I expect Stratton told you that earlier. I am currently all that stands between Chingford and the gallows. Trust me and I will do my best to save his skin. Or don’t, and fend for yourselves.”
“And why should I believe that you are finally attempting to be worthy of your position?”
“I’m not. I’m here because I can think of nothing worse than to be your heir. Co-operate and we may never have to see one another’s faces again. You can pretend I’m not your son, and I can forget I had a father. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Flitby stood abruptly and turned, stalking to the window. “You have never been fit for your place.”
“So you have told me. Now tell me what Fairfax was blackmailing Chingford about.”
There was a long silence, then the Marquess resumed his seat. “Stratton informed me that he had been contacted by certain persons who advised that I cooperate with you. Indeed, he said that I would be making a serious mistake if I failed to do so.”
Will wondered who the hell that was. Something Kim had set up? The Private Bureau? Kim simply said, “Yes.”
Flitby’s mouth tightened. “Very well.”
“What? No!” Chingford said. “I won’t have this damned mountebank—”
“You will do as you are told. My decision has been made.”
“And I say no, damn it! I will not stay here to be picked over and insulted—”
“Then get out!” Flitby bellowed. “You have caused enough trouble, you damned puling cur, get out of my sight!”
Chingford took an angry breath, met his father’s glare, and stormed out without a word, slamming the door behind him. Flitby rested his head on one hand.
Kim waited for a moment. “Well?”
“Chingford was contacted a year and a half ago.” The Marquess’s voice was thin. “The letter-writer claimed to be aware of certain...irregularities in his time at the War Department and demanded money. Chingford brought the matter to me.”
“What irregularities?”
Flitby waved a hand, indicating it didn’t matter. Kim said, “Don’t make me extract this piecemeal, sir. I don’t have the time or the patience. What irregularities?”
Flitby’s jaw tensed. “The allegations were of relaxed procurement standards for certain suppliers. That some checks, technicalities, had not been carried out. That emoluments had been received.”
“He was taking bribes,” Will said. “Letting substandard goods through. Wasn’t he?”
“Was he?” Kim asked.
“There are gentleman’s agreements in business—” Flitby began.
Will strode over, planted both fists on the desk, and leaned close to the Marquess’s face. “Was—he—taking—bribes?”
“Arthur!”
“Answer him,” Kim said. “Although, really, you have.”
The Marquess’s nose was about six inches from Will’s. To give him credit, he didn’t move away. “He received unauthorised payments. Yes.”
Will eyeballed him a second more, then straightened. “He lined his own pockets at the expense of men who were fighting for their country, while he sat in the safe back-room job you got him. You must be proud. Deliberately sending substandard supplies to the army, impeding the war effort—isn’t that treason? I’d call that treason.”
“And he told you about it,” Kim said. “Why?”
“He was unable to meet the demand himself.”
“He’s thirty-seven and he can’t even pay his own blackmail?”
“I took on the obligation in the interest of the family name.”
“Oh, don’t,” Kim said. “It would make a cat laugh. How much were you paying?”
“Three hundred pounds a month.”
“Bloody hell,” Will said involuntarily.
“In-deed.” Kim had a little frown. “And you didn’t consider taking it to the police, and letting Chingford face the consequences?”
“Neither of us knew who was responsible for the extortion. I should have dealt with it, had I known.”
“The police could have found out, but I don’t suppose you mean that. How was it done?”
“The business was conducted by letter. I wired Chingford the money and he gave a messenger cash.” The Marquess frowned. “Do you know it was this man Fairfax? How?”
“Regular sums of money in his notebook,” Kim said. “Other evidence in his papers, which have been secured—and, again, are not yet in the hands of the police. And, of course, Chingford’s public row with Fairfax, which rather suggests he’d found out what was going on. Or was that about something else?”
“He has not disclosed that to me. He said it was a disagreement between gentlemen.”
“Between a gentleman and his blackmailer,” Kim said. “I am going to send for
Chingford now, and when he arrives, sir, you will kindly tell him to answer my questions in full without any more shouting or lies, because I am an inch from giving the whole thing to the Met out of disgust. He, a Secretan, betrayed his country and you, Marquess of Flitby, paid up to hide the fact. God knows I’ve besmirched the family name, but I’ve never been ashamed to bear it before now.”
He pressed the bell without waiting for a response, which was good because Lord Flitby seemed disinclined to give one. They all waited in ever-thicker silence as a footman arrived and was sent off to find Lord Chingford, and then they waited some more. It must have taken five minutes, in which father and son ignored one another with the malevolent silence of rival cats, and Will pretended he was on parade.
Finally the door opened, to reveal the butler.
“Hastings?” the Marquess said. “I sent for Chingford.”
“Yes, my lord. I regret to say Lord Chingford has gone out.”
“Out? In the grounds?”
“Out in the motorcar.”
“Excuse me?” Kim said. “What about his conditions of bail?”
“He is obliged to remain in the grounds,” Flitby said through his teeth. “I gave my word— Who brought the car round, against my orders? Bring him to me at once!”
“My lord, the staff are not accustomed to refuse Lord Chingford’s commands,” Hastings said. “The man was put in an impossible position.”
“Do we know where he was heading?” Kim put in before his father could reply.
The butler turned from the Marquess’s glare. “I understand he mentioned sea air, Lord Arthur.”
“The coast,” Kim said. “Is he making a run for it?”
Flitby slammed a hand on the desk. “No, he is not! He is my son and his name will be cleared!”
“I suggest you send to the village, then, without loss of time,” Kim said. “We’ll leave you to it. If he returns, I’m looking forward to that conversation. Come on, Will.”
Will followed him down the passage, holding back till they were out of earshot of the room, and said, “What the hell’s going on?”
“Hold on.” Kim collared a footman. “Could you supply me with the makings of a gin and tonic, or two actually, and find Mr. Willerton a beer? Thank you. In the Sheraton Room, please, and if you could let whoever’s in charge know that we will be dining separately to their lordships? Thanks.”
He led the way to the Sheraton Room and flopped heavily into a spindly and expensive chair. Will sat with more care. “So?”
“Drink first.”
The drinks arrived rapidly. Kim closed the door, mixed himself a drink, and knocked back a good half of it while Will sampled an excellent bitter. “I needed that.”
“Same. So what’s Chingford doing?”
“Christ knows. Even if he’s just popped out for a country drive, he’s in breach of stringent and hard-fought bail conditions. If one were to call the police, he’d be picked up and put in gaol until his trial. One would obviously prefer him to come back, and for the authorities never to know about his little aberration.”
“But?”
Kim sighed. “But there’s a non-trivial chance he’s planning to commandeer Father’s steam yacht, which is moored a few miles away, and make for the Continent.”
“Can he do that? Get over there, I mean?”
“He could be in Vlissingen for afternoon tea tomorrow. It’s not a one-man craft, but there’s men in the village who’d act as crew.”
“Oof. Why would he do a flit?”
“Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he’s just gone for a pleasant country drive. But if he takes the yacht, the obvious answer is: because he’s guilty as sin and he wants to escape the rope. Do you recall how much my father said he was paying in blackmail on Chingford’s behalf?”
“Three hundred a month. Why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure the sum against Chingford’s name in the notebook was a hundred and fifty.”
“Can’t you check?”
“That was my notebook I showed him. I gave Fairfax’s to Merton.”
One day Will would see all the lies coming. “So, what, Fairfax was going halves with someone?”
“I suspect someone was going halves with him. My father was wiring the money to Chingford, remember, and I have no doubt he was taking his word for the amount. Hence Chingford’s reaction.”
“Your old man was paying his blackmail, and Chingford was cheating him? Jesus. Why?”
“Good question,” Kim said. “He’s invested in a couple of failed businesses but my father gives him an allowance commensurate with his station, always has, and I’m not aware he’s profligate by the standards of his—our—set. I wouldn’t have thought he’d need to steal.”
“I wouldn’t think he’d have needed to take bribes. What the hell did he need all that money for?”
Kim just shrugged. Will took a substantial swig of beer. “You should have let me beat some answers out of him.”
“It may yet come to that.”
“All right. He’s on bail, he’s gone, he might be making for the Continent. If we don’t call the police, does that make us accessories?”
“Probably,” Kim said. “In fact yes. We are morally and legally obliged to advise the authorities.”
“Are we going to?”
“Well, I’m not.”
Will sighed. “Fine. And we hope he comes back?”
Kim came and sat next to him, leaning into his side. Will stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, and Kim grabbed his hand and tugged it down to rest over his shoulders. “We hope he comes back and explains himself like a reasonable man, the Private Bureau charges Leo with Fairfax’s murder, we go home, and my father makes the rest of his life an unending hell.”
Will tipped his pint. “I’ll drink to that.”
Chapter Eighteen
They ate dinner in the Breakfast Room, which was probably the sort of thing that got you blackballed from clubs. Kim rang for the butler once they were done. There was no news of Lord Chingford’s whereabouts.
“So he hasn’t gone for the yacht,” Will said.
“Or he has, and my father has realised it would be better for him to breach bail and flee the country than hang. A position with which I can agree. Actually, it would solve all our problems.”
“But shows he’s guilty.” Will contemplated his wine glass. “Must be pretty bad for your father right now.”
“We reap what we sow,” Kim said. “Or do you think I should go and offer him comfort?”
He said that with such lightly amused, mocking irony that someone who didn’t know him might think it wasn’t a real question. “We all make our choices,” Will said. “And come to that, we all make mistakes, and your father’s not the only person in this house to make a sodding mess of his life and find himself sitting in the wreckage. How much comfort did he offer you then?”
“Some might say that’s a reason to do better.”
“Some might think he’d curse you out of the room for presuming to offer sympathy.”
“You’ve got an excellent grasp on my family situation.”
He didn’t go. They sat quietly together, reading, until the clock struck ten and Kim said, “I’m going to bed. If Chingford comes back tonight it won’t be in an amenable mood.”
“Works for me.”
Will followed him up, and when they got to the Floral Stair, he followed him into the room and shut the door with his heel. “Do you want company?”
“Very much.”
Kim walked into his arms. Will kissed him, holding his face, wanting to hang on and not let go. He slid his hands down Kim’s lean back and onto his hips. “I meant to say. You did bloody well in there.”
“In—?”
“Earlier. Lying like a trooper. Working out what was going on. I was pretty confused.”
“You didn’t look confused.” Kim closed his teeth on Will’s earlobe. “You looked deliciously intimidating.”
�
�I do that when I’m confused. It saves trouble.” He arched his neck to give Kim more access to the sensitive skin. “Got to admit, it’s good watching you lie to people. When they’re not me, I mean.”
“I can lie to you too if you like.”
“We both know that.” Will got a hand under his arse. Kim wrapped a thigh round his waist. “Christ, you’re gorgeous. And you ought to be back at work.”
“Are we talking about this now?”
“I like a man who can do his job. And I like how you look in the bookshop but I bloody love it when you’re playing the dark-arts merchant. It suits you.”
Kim stilled in his arms. He leaned back a little, to look at Will’s face. Then he said, “Right.”
“Right what?”
“For a start...”
He unwound himself, went to the door, and put a chair under the handle. “Just in case. And with that formality done, would you care to fuck like animals?”
“My pleasure.”
He managed to pull off half his jacket before Kim was on him, wrenching at the fabric, bite-kissing him fiercely. Will returned the enthusiasm, dragging at Kim’s clothes with reckless strength, kicking his own trousers away, till they were both naked and Kim shoved him back onto the bed and straddled him. “Christ, Will. You are staggering. And if you’d care to make me stagger—”
“Always a pleasure,” Will assured him. “Or could we, uh—?”
Kim leaned down to graze a nipple with his teeth. “Mmm?”
“Other way around?”
Kim sat up again, examining his face. “Really?”
This felt more than a little awkward. “If you want to.”
“I think it’s more whether you want to. Is there a particular reason you want to tonight?”
There was, only Will had no idea how to voice it and didn’t want to try in case it sounded as ridiculous as he feared. “I don’t know. I thought about it, and you look fucking beautiful doing the secret agent thing, that’s all.”
“I really must get my job back. Hold on.” He reached for the bedside table.
Will gave him a look. “You brought the Vaseline?”
“Would you prefer I hadn’t?”
No, he would not. Will lay back, arm pillowed under his head. Kim knelt over him. “Let’s see. We should probably get you interested.”