Subtle Blood

by KJ Charles

  Will nearly dropped his drink as Maisie and Phoebe hurtled in. They were both dressed in finery, but dusty and windswept; Maisie had a silk scarf tied tightly round her hair and Phoebe’s face was smudged. “Darlings!”

  “Fee!” Kim embraced her as Will grabbed Maisie. “What on earth? Where did you two spring from?”

  “We drove up, of course.”

  “Phoebe drove,” Maisie said. “She’s had lessons. In Paris.”

  “Don’t they drive on the other side over there?”

  “You tell her that.”

  “Darling, I only forgot once or twice,” Phoebe said reproachfully. “I hired the most adorable machine, Kim, quite perfect for ladies, no matter what that silly man in the shop said. You should take a turn in her. I might have to buy one, actually, it was such fun. Shall we, Maisie? We can call her Suzy.”

  “Su— A Hispano-Suiza?” Kim demanded. “Do you know how fast those beasts go?”

  “We do now,” Maisie said. “I’d like a drink, please.”

  “It was too glorious, letting her rip. I can see why you enjoy motoring so much.” Phoebe sparkled at them all. “And anyway I had to make good time. We have the most extraordinary news.”

  “You won’t believe it,” Maisie agreed. “But for goodness’ sake, let me sit down first.”

  “You’ve been sitting down since London,” Phoebe pointed out.

  “Only on the edge of the seat.” She took one of the Sheraton chairs with a sigh of relief. “Honestly, Phoebe. I’m still shaking.”

  “I know the feeling,” Will assured her. “Kim’s just as bad.”

  “Far be it from me to observe you could have telephoned—” Kim began.

  “Well, that’s just it, darling, we couldn’t. Your line is faulty.”

  “Is it? It was working earlier.”

  “Well, it isn’t now,” Phoebe said. “I tried to call you at lunchtime and they said it wasn’t connected. I tried again and then we decided to visit.”

  “That must be why DS hasn’t called,” Will said. “Blimey, that’s bad timing.”

  Kim was just going over to give Maisie her drink. He stopped dead at Will’s words, glass in hand. Will took it off him, passed it to Maisie, and said, “What?”

  “Bad timing at this moment would be a remarkable coincidence,” Kim said. “I don’t believe in coincidences where Zodiac is concerned.”

  “Zodiac?” Maisie had just taken a ladylike sip of her drink. She looked over at Kim, then downed half the glass in a swallow. “What’s happening?”

  “Kim worked out who Leo is,” Will said. “The secretary of the Symposium, bloke called Knowle. He killed Fairfax and set Chingford up for it.”

  “Chingford telephoned him yesterday, leading to Knowle sending us a hired killer—”

  “A what?” Phoebe yelped.

  Maisie looked appalled. “Why would Lord Chingford do that?”

  “Because he thought Knowle was on his side, and I’m suddenly wondering if he’s quite grasped he’s not,” Kim said grimly. “I assumed Father would take him in hand, and that he understood he was out of trouble.”

  “Looks like he didn’t believe you,” Will said.

  “Hell’s teeth. If he didn’t, if he contacted Knowle—”

  “Pretty sure he did,” Will said, and this time Kim caught his tone and looked around.

  Lord Chingford and Eric Knowle, the Secretary, were at the door. They both held revolvers.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Kim said. “You stupid, stupid man.”

  “Sit down,” Knowle said. “You, Mr. Darling, and Lady Waring. All of you.”

  They sat. Chingford stepped back and Lord Flitby walked into the room. His mouth was set like a rat trap, a muscle pulsing in his jaw, and Will couldn’t help noticing that Chingford had waved him in with a movement of his gun.

  Chingford and Knowle followed. A third man, also armed, was behind them, a big, bulky fellow with a contusion on his temple, who Will recognised now he got a good look at him. The last time he’d seen him—the last time before the pine wood, rather—he’d broken a knuckle on the fucker’s jaw.

  The man knew him too, because their eyes met and held, and Will found his fists closing. Maisie gave a sharp hiss. “Phoebe—”

  “I know, darling.”

  It was Anton, the deceased Lord Waring’s chauffeur. He’d attacked Maisie at their last meeting and she’d knocked him unconscious with a candlestick. He clearly hadn’t forgotten because he gave her a leering smirk that promised vengeance.

  “Wipe that off,” Will told him.

  Phoebe wasn’t looking at Anton. Her eyes were fixed on Knowle. “I know you. You came to visit my father.”

  “He’s Leo,” Kim said. “Eric Knowle of the Symposium Club.”

  Phoebe gave a lift of the chin that conveyed withering contempt. Knowle remained unwithered. “I’m delighted to see you ladies here. That makes our business rather easier. Please take a seat, Lord Flitby.”

  The Marquess obeyed, stiff-legged. Knowle closed the door and turned to face them all. “Allow me to outline the situation. I have already discussed it with Lord Chingford and your father, Lord Arthur. Your role is to listen and obey.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Kim said. “But go on.”

  Knowle gave him a malevolent look. “You have put me in a very inconvenient situation. I had plans, Lord Arthur. I had ambitions, things to do, but you had to interfere, didn’t you?”

  “I’d say you forced my hand. Or did you expect me to sit back and watch my brother hang?”

  “Hang? I had the business entirely under control. It’s you who ruined my plans and put Lord Chingford in danger of his life. Without your interference, all would be well for him now.”

  “You see?” Chingford said triumphantly.

  “Oh, for— He intended you to hang for Fairfax’s murder, and he put the handkerchief and money in Quiller’s room to incriminate you,” Kim said. “What’s it going to take, Chingford?”

  “Lord Chingford knows who’s on his side,” Knowle said. “And I’m grateful to him. Your organisation missed me only thanks to his timely warning. The ports and airfields are already watched and a manhunt is underway.”

  “Good.”

  “On the contrary. If I am arrested, it will be disastrous for everyone in this room.”

  “You think?” Kim said. “Because, stop me if I’m wrong—”

  “You are wrong. You see, if I get away, all the recent events can be blamed on me. You can say that I killed Fairfax for my own reasons, and Quiller because he was going to take back my alibi. Lord Chingford and Mr. Darling will be exonerated, and the Secretan name will be preserved. That is far better for you than the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  Knowle gave a wintry smile. “If I am arrested, I shall deny Fairfax’s murder to my last breath. I shall confess to encouraging Lord Chingford to commit the crime, as well as to the killings of more than one of my former colleagues under the departed Lord Waring”—he nodded at Phoebe—“and any amount of crime, depravity, and viciousness. But not to Fairfax. I will stand in the witness box and admit everything but that. I will tell the jury—the world—precisely what Fairfax had on Lord Chingford, and you know with what sentimental outrage that will be received.” His eyes were gleaming. “His fingerprints are on the murder weapon; there is the handkerchief, and Quiller’s evidence that I was with him at the time of the killing—”

  “A lie,” Kim said.

  “Prove it. I will see him swing. I will kill your heir, Lord Flitby, and destroy your name when the world finds out what he did in the war, and saddle you in his place with a degenerate cowardly gaolbird that you will be ashamed to acknowledge—”

  “Gaolbird?” Will said. “Since when?”

  Kim flicked a finger towards his father. “He’s got the book.”

  Will hadn’t noticed. But there it was, held loosely in Flitby’s hand. White Stains, with its illegal, obscene poetry,
and that bloody inscription in Kim’s own writing.

  “That’s mine,” he said.

  “That much is obvious, Mr. Darling. Quite an extraordinary message for Lord Arthur Secretan to write to another man, wouldn’t you say? One that would mightily interest the police. Were you not raided once already on suspicion of indecent behaviour with him?”

  “The sergeant in question is currently serving a four-year sentence for corruption,” Kim said. “That kite won’t fly. And you will struggle to destroy my reputation when I don’t have one.”

  Knowle smirked. “You may not care what’s said about you, Lord Arthur, though in fact I think you do. But your father cares. He doesn’t want you proclaimed all over London as the Oscar Wilde sort, any more than he wants Lord Chingford disgraced. And I expect Mr. Darling feels the same.” He looked to Will. “You wouldn’t like your friends and family knowing you keep Lord Arthur’s bed warm, would you?”

  “Don’t tell me what I think,” Will said. “And go fuck yourself. Excuse my French, ladies.”

  Phoebe waved a hand. “Not at all, darling.”

  “So you’ll hang as long as you can ruin us,” Kim said. “I grant we are an unlikeable family, but that seems excessive.”

  “I don’t understand,” Maisie said. “If Mr. Knowle is planning to make sure Lord Chingford hangs, why is Lord Chingford helping him?”

  “Because none of that’s going to happen,” Chingford said.

  “Indeed. The solution is very simple,” Knowle said. “Lord Flitby’s steam yacht will take us to the Continent with a generous sum to ease our way. Once Anton and I have left the country you may speak of us as you please. Lord Chingford’s name will be cleared, and so will Mr. Darling’s. Lord Waring’s deeds need not be dredged up. You can even have your book back. When I go free, so do you all.” He paused meaningfully. “But if I am caught, you will all be ruined with me.”

  “Not if I break your neck first,” Will said. “Why don’t I do that?”

  Anton raised his revolver and gave Will an ugly look. Will returned it. “I don’t know what you’re grinning about, sunshine. You couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with that, judging by this morning.”

  “But he can unquestionably hit you from this distance,” Knowle said. “And suppose you did kill me—two more deaths to the House of Flitby’s credit? How many is that in the past six months?—I will destroy you all from the grave.”

  “Oh, come now,” Kim said.

  “Believe me, Lord Arthur. I have composed a full confession, which will be sent to the newspapers if I fail to communicate to a certain person within a certain period.”

  Kim looked unconvinced. “Really. One wouldn’t have thought you’d have time to arrange that.”

  “I’ve had the arrangement in place for years. Years in Zodiac, years as the trusted heart of the Symposium Club. I know far too much for the comfort of many a rich or noble man. You had better hope I live, because my death will bring you down in flames.”

  “Yes, I have grasped the principle,” Kim snapped. “For God’s sake, Chingford, what are you doing? We’ve cleared you. He can say what he likes in court: nobody will listen. Why the devil are you siding with this swine when he’s trying to have you hanged?”

  Chingford gave him a look of pure loathing. The bruises on both sides of his face were coming up nicely, long ugly marks, as though he were looking through bars. “You think I believe a word you say, you little worm? I know what side my bread’s buttered. I know what you’re doing, what you’ve been doing all along, trying to take my place—”

  “He was trying to save your neck!” Will said.

  Chingford swung the revolver to him, the look in his eyes unsettling. “Shut up. For tuppence I’ll kill you myself. You’re a murderer and he’s a liar and you’ve been trying to trap me and I won’t have it.”

  “Knowle set you up, you fucking fool,” Kim said through his teeth.

  “Knowle’s a cleverer man than you. He knows what’s what.”

  “He’s had at least three people killed in recent weeks. He’s been trying to revive a criminal organisation. Actually, while you’re here, Knowle, what was the plan? The one that horrified Pisces so much he informed against you, and set Fairfax wanting to get away? I’m consumed with curiosity.”

  “You’ll see it in action yet,” Knowle said. “Enough of this. I’ve told you what’s going to happen. Lord Flitby has agreed to my proposition—”

  “Oh, really,” Phoebe said, with open disgust. “Goodness me.”

  “Be quiet, Lady Waring.”

  “If you point that gun at her, it will be your last act,” Kim said. “Are you serious, Father? You’re going to help a criminal escape justice?”

  “Several criminals,” Knowle said. “You as well, Lord Arthur.”

  “If you’d like to be rude, Kim, don’t mind us,” Maisie said. “And I don’t think Lord Chingford should do this.”

  “Nor do I,” Phoebe agreed. “I think he should be on the other side.”

  “Be quiet, woman!” Knowle said, with startling contempt. “Lord Chingford understands the situation very well. Get me over to the Continent and everything will be all right.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Kim said. “And you are telling us all your plan because—?”

  Chingford grinned unpleasantly. “Because you’re coming too. All of you.”

  “You what?” Will said.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Phoebe said. “Why should we?”

  “It’s a six-man yacht.” Lord Flitby’s voice was flat and toneless. “A ten-hour trip each way at best. A full day and night’s sailing. I prefer not to take crew from the village.”

  “No indeed,” Kim said. “Since you’d be making them accessories to a serious crime, and Knowle would probably kill them once we got to the other side rather than risk them talking. What part of that makes you feel this is a good idea?”

  A muscle tensed in Lord Flitby’s jaw. “You heard him. This is the only possible course.”

  “Can’t leave you here to blab, and someone needs to stoke the boiler,” Chingford added.

  “You want us doing your manual labour?” Will said. “Get fucked.”

  “You will cooperate or I will kill you now.” Knowle spoke quite casually. “There is nothing else I can do to keep you silent. So you will come with us and assist, and the ladies will accompany us to guarantee your good behaviour.”

  “That’s more likely to guarantee very bad behaviour,” Phoebe said. “And we will most certainly not accompany you. Maisie gets dreadfully seasick.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll have to tolerate that.”

  “I don’t think you heard me.” Phoebe’s voice was cold and clear as ice water. “We will not be part of this vile and sordid business. I don’t know what you were to my father, Mr. Knowle—”

  “His loyal lieutenant, Lady Waring. I did as he bid me. Would you like to know the things he ordered me to do?”

  “No, though I dare say you’ll tell me anyway because you’re a quite revolting person.”

  “Shut up,” Knowle said, anger thrumming through his usually toneless voice. “Shut up, you bloody arrogant bitch. You think you can give orders, and sneer, and expect your bidding done? I’ve had enough of pandering to whims and demands. I’m the master here now. And you’ll do as you’re told.”

  Phoebe had gone very white. Maisie looked at her, drew in a breath, and said, “Are you really going do this, Lord Flitby? Take two women hostage and help a criminal escape?”

  Flitby’s face looked like raw veal, pallid and bloodless. Chingford turned towards him, gun in hand. Not quite pointing it at him, but not holding it away, either. “You agreed, Father. We agreed. It’s for the best.”

  “There is no choice.” Flitby didn’t sound like he believed himself. “Once this man has gone—”

  “You’ll have abetted the escape of a multiple murderer,” Kim said. “This is conspiracy, sir. You are breaking the law.”

 
“And what is this?” Flitby jerked up his arm, raising White Stains in a motion that made Will think of a puppet.

  Kim’s mouth set. “My responsibility and I’ll take the consequences. Don’t pretend you’re protecting me.”

  “Shut up,” Chingford said. “I’ve decided. We’re all going.”

  “I wasn’t aware you were head of the family.”

  Chingford’s mouth moved. It was a tiny flash of an expression, too fast for Will to read, but Kim sucked in a breath. “What are you doing, Chingford?”

  “Shut up. You come or we shoot you here and now. I’m not going to hang on your account.”

  “We have to go soon, to catch the tide and as much light as we can,” the Marquess said. “The Aurora has ladies’ accommodation, Lady Waring. It is a day, nothing more.”

  “It is a day I do not consent to give you,” Phoebe said. “Are you going to force me?”

  “Yes,” Knowle said. “We have guns, Lady Waring, and you do not, and that is the end of the matter. Get up, all of you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Marquess owned two touring cars. Kim drove one, with Maisie and Phoebe in the back, and Knowle beside him, holding the gun to his head. Anton drove the other. Flitby had the front seat; Chingford sat in the back with his revolver digging into Will’s ribs.

  The village, whatever it was called, was on the mouth of a river where it met the North Sea. There were a few biggish boats moored around the harbour, including a very elegant white one with two masts, two lifeboats hanging above the deck, a pointy front, and a cylinder in the middle with steam already rising from it. There was also a sort of cabin on deck behind the steam cylinder, from where he assumed you steered the thing.

  They parked the cars at the harbour. Anton and Knowle ushered Kim and the ladies on board first. Will sat in the car next to Chingford with the muzzle pressed against his side, and concentrated on not saying anything that would provoke the stupid bastard into squeezing the trigger.

  Kim had better have some ideas. Will had a few, all involving violence, but they depended on knowing that someone he loved wasn’t going to get hurt.

  They sat while Lord Flitby spoke to a harbourman, presumably with some sort of explanation for why he’d ordered the boat past eight at night. It wouldn’t be dark till ten or so in these midsummer days, but nobody else was setting out on a jaunt.