Death by Silver

by Melissa Scott

  He opened the press and the cabinet to see for himself. “Did she leave anything behind?”

  “No, sir. All her things are gone.”

  That would make it harder to track her through metaphysical means, not that most scrying methods were particularly effective to begin with. “Is anything else missing from the room?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” the girl said. “Sarah wouldn’t steal. And I looked, just to be certain.” She sounded a bit ashamed of that. “There’s nothing that didn’t belong to her missing.”

  “Not even a blanket to bundle her clothes in? I don’t suppose she had a trunk.”

  “Oh, no, sir, but she made up her bed before she went, and everything’s still here, you can see. I don’t expect she had so many clothes that she couldn’t have worn them all at once,” Jane said.

  It seemed a bleak little existence, although he supposed it was the common lot. “Which was her bed?”

  “The far one.”

  He drew out his wand, at which Jane shrank back against the wall in nervous respect, and traced a few experimental sigils over the pillow and then the washstand. There was no sign of any enchantment, not even the kind of pre-written enchantments to bring on sleep or improve the complexion that an uneducated girl might have tried.

  “Did you ever see her with any enchantment written out?” he asked. “Not necessarily in her own hand, but the sort of paper they sell in shops?”

  “No, sir,” Jane said. “I never did. And certainly not anything in her own hand. She knew her letters and could read a bit out of the Bible, but she wasn’t much for writing. Mogs did try one against freckles, once, but it didn’t work, and Mrs Rule said she shouldn’t ought to have wasted her pennies that way.”

  “Probably not,” Ned said. “Those commercial enchantments don’t work more often than not.” Which raised the question of whether there was any chance that Sarah could have managed the curse on the candlestick, even if it had been written out for her. He couldn’t rule it out; there were always a few people with the natural bent of mind to make the commercial enchantments work for them, even when they didn’t know what they were doing beyond tracing lines on paper. “Did she leave anything behind?”

  “You don’t suppose, with the curse, that she saw something? Something creeping towards, her, I mean, in the night –”

  “There wasn’t anything creeping,” Ned said.

  “As you say, sir.” She didn’t sound persuaded.

  “Where do you think she might have gone?”

  “I’d have said to the mission, sir, but the reverend gentleman says she hasn’t come there. She didn’t have followers. Mrs Nevett doesn’t stand for anything of that sort. She has a brother living, but she never went to him on her days out, because he’s in service himself.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “No, sir, I’m afraid not. Only that his name was Bill.” The bell hung on the wall rang loudly, the bell-rope jerking, and Jane jumped. “I’m sorry, sir –”

  “Go on,” Ned said. He took the opportunity to slip the pillowcase off Sarah’s pillow and tuck it into his pocket. It wouldn’t be as useful as something that had belonged to her particularly – he didn’t expect the same linens were put back on the same beds every washing day – but it was better than nothing. He made his own way downstairs, and was confronted by Victor waiting for him on the first floor landing.

  “Well?” Victor demanded.

  There was an uneasy knot in the pit of Ned’s stomach, which he preferred to blame on the roast beef rather than on Victor’s tone. “I’m afraid there’s no sign of any enchantment.”

  “That won’t do, Mathey.”

  “It’s nevertheless true,” Ned said firmly, trying not to feel that he’d earned himself six of the best by saying it. “You’ve hired me to exercise my professional competence. If that’s not satisfactory –”

  “Calm down, Mathey, don’t be so touchy,” Victor said. “I’m not insulting your work, I’m only saying that it’s damned inconvenient. Mother is sure that Ellis can do no wrong, and if he sent the girl, she can’t possibly be a murderess. And I would like to find some answer that doesn’t involve it being someone in the family.”

  Ned dropped his voice. “And if it was?”

  “Well, it doesn’t look likely now, does it?”

  Jane came out the upstairs parlor door, stopping when she saw the two of them. “Mrs Nevett would like to see you, Mr Victor.”

  “Of course she would,” Victor said, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like the old bat.

  “And Mr Ellis asks if you can come down to him, Mr Mathey.”

  “Certainly,” Ned said. He was glad for the opportunity to find out if Ellis had any idea where his former charge might have gone, although when Jane opened the parlor door for him, Ellis’s expression was anything but welcoming.

  “Mr Ellis,” he said.

  “Mr Mathey.” Ellis paced like a schoolmaster, his glasses folded in his hand and a stern gaze fixed on Ned.

  “I expect you know this is a bad business,” Ned said. “I don’t suppose Sarah Doyle has come to you?”

  “No, Mr Mathey, she has not. I’m very much afraid that all our hard work has been in vain with her.”

  “It’s far too early to be sure that she’s guilty,” Ned said.

  “I’m afraid you don’t take my meaning,” Ellis said. “I’m afraid that all my efforts to set her on the right path have been ruined by your bullying.”

  It was the last thing Ned had expected to be accused of, and it took him a moment before he could find the words to reply. “I’m sure that Mr Lynes did no such thing when he spoke to her.”

  “When he demanded answers from her after the police had done the same, forcing her to repeat a story that understandably horrified her. The girl is barely sixteen, Mr Mathey, and despite her background she’s unused to violent death. I wonder if Mr Lynes knew that, when he set out to frighten her into a confession.”

  “No one set out to frighten her.”

  “Whether you set out to it or not, that’s what you’ve achieved. She was an ignorant creature when we took her in, but I had hoped she would be one of our successes. There’s no hope that she’ll better herself now, not after she’s left her place.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you know, Mr Mathey, as a man of the world, where too many girls like her end.”

  “You must admit it looks suspicious for her to run.”

  Ellis fixed him with an exasperated expression. “The servant class are simple people, Mr Mathey, but you must credit them with some intelligence. If they’re treated as common criminals, they learn that’s what they’re believed to be. Don’t you think they know in the kitchen that Victor Nevett wants one of them blamed for the murder? And what do you imagine a child like that thinks she can do about it but run?”

  “All the more reason for me to find her,” Ned said. “She may have seen something that frightened her, or been talked into some minor act of wrongdoing that she’s afraid to admit. If she’s innocent –”

  “If she can be proven to be innocent, perhaps Mrs Nevett will allow her back into the house. Are you willing to tell the police that you are satisfied that Edgar Nevett was killed in the course of an ordinary burglary, and that no one within the house had anything to do with it? That would be helpful.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true,” Ned said.

  “Then I have no choice but to ask Mrs Nevett to forbid you the house. I won’t allow you to persecute and bully decent girls who are under my protection, Mr Mathey. Not even if Victor Nevett asks you to.”

  There was no possible reply to that last remark but to leave the room, and to prepare to make his departure entirely. Victor met him in the hall on his way out. “Well, Mathey?” he demanded again.

  “I believe Mr Ellis would like me out of this business,” Ned said.

  “Never mind him,” Victor said. “Find the girl, will you? Ideally before the police turn the hou
se inside-out again.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Ned said shortly, and went out.

  It was a maddening case, he told himself, once safely ensconced in a cab. It was only that it was a maddening case, and that was undoubtedly what accounted for feeling that he’d spent the entire last hour trying not to clench his fists.

  Julian rested his elbow on the scarred table, toying with the last of the cheese. He’d already stretched his meal to the limit, but luckily Blanding’s wasn’t terribly busy on a Sunday evening. Mostly the tables held the metaphysicians who lived in chambers, sitting alone or in groups or two or three, and he was beginning to think he might have misjudged the situation. If Ned didn’t dine at Blanding’s, then – at home, most likely, or possibly his club. Maybe it would be better to wander over to New Cavendish Street and see if Ned were home, though, again, that would involve leaving some sort of message if he wasn’t.

  The street door opened, and he looked up to see Ned’s familiar figure silhouetted against the last of the light. He was dressed for business, unusual on a Sunday, and Julian could see the tension in his shoulders even at a distance.

  “Mathey!”

  Ned turned, squinting in the relative darkness, then came to join him. “Lynes.”

  “Join me?” Julian gestured to the empty chair, wincing a little at the stiffness that cramped Ned’s normally fluid movements.

  “You’ve already eaten,” Ned said, but he took the chair, setting his hat aside.

  “I’ve no place I need to be,” Julian said. “I was going to order another glass of wine.” He lifted his hand for the waiter, who slouched over to take their orders. “And I’d be glad of the company.”

  Ned gave him a quick glance at that, but concentrated on his order. When the waiter was out of earshot, Julian said, “I want to apologize for the other evening. I overstepped, badly, and I’m sorry.”

  Ned blinked, then managed a smile. “Quite all right. Nothing to forgive.”

  That wasn’t exactly the answer Julian was looking for, but he let it go. “Working on a Sunday? For shame.”

  The waiter brought the wine, and Julian poured them each a substantial glass. Ned downed a third of his at a gulp, and managed a wry smile.

  “One of the Nevetts’ housemaids has gone missing,” he said. “Victor summoned me to see what I could find out, since he couldn’t persuade his mother to call the police. He seemed to think it was likely that she’d cursed the candlestick and fled – probably to France, for God’s sake. And somehow he’s sure that would be less of a scandal, never mind why a housemaid might kill her master.”

  “Which one?” Julian asked.

  “Sarah – Sarah Doyle.”

  “The one who found the body,” Julian said, and Ned nodded. “No, I don’t believe it.”

  “Nor I,” Ned said. “But I’m glad to hear you say it.”

  “They must have consulted the mission,” Julian said. “But would Ellis have told them if she were there?”

  “He’s furious at me for frightening her,” Ned said. “And wants me off the case. I don’t think he’s lying.”

  “Much as I hate to say it, it’s not his call,” Julian said. “Victor’s your client. And it’s me he should be angry with. I’m the one who talked to her.”

  “He blames us both,” Ned said. There was a note in his voice that Julian hadn’t heard since before University.

  “What does Nevett say?”

  “He wants me to prove she did it – killed his father, I mean.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Julian scowled, and reached for the bottle, topping up both their glasses.

  “Mrs Nevett – Mrs Nevett Senior – wants me to prove it was a random burglar. The criminal classes are ingenious, you know.”

  “Ingenious enough to smuggle in a candlestick – no, to curse a candlestick on the spot, so that it falls on the householder when he sits down at his desk, thus guaranteeing that the burglar would hang?” Julian shook his head. “She can’t be serious. Who’s she protecting, I wonder?”

  “Any of them,” Ned said. “All of them, I don’t know. Reggie took a swing at me for asking what they’d been fighting about.”

  “It’s a hazard of the profession,” Julian said, and was pleased to draw a smile.

  “Do you get hit often?”

  “I’m better at dodging than I used to be,” Julian answered.

  “That’s probably just as well.” Ned drained his glass and refilled it.

  “It’s useful.” Julian poked at the last of the cheese, watching Ned nibble at small cuts from his chop. It was Blanding’s usual fare, solid and hearty, but Ned seemed to have lost his appetite. “Hatton seems a decent sort. If you were to withdraw –”

  “I can’t do that.” Ned set his fork down hard. “It would be failing a client.”

  “It’s Victor Nevett, for God’s sake,” Julian said. “You don’t owe him anything.”

  “He’s still my client. He hired me to find out who killed his father. Yes, he was a bully at school but you can’t hold that against him forever.”

  “Oh, can’t I?”

  “Well, I can’t.” Ned took a determined bite of his chop.

  “He bullied anyone he thought he could get away with,” Julian said. “He knocked you about, beat you bloody –”

  “We were schoolboys. “ Ned didn’t look up from his plate. “It was years ago. Only a fool and a weakling would let it bother him now.”

  Julian sat back as though he’d been slapped. If that was what Ned believed –

  “If I withdraw – Hatton’s a good man, but he’s got other cases to worry about,” Ned went on, heedless. “And Carruthers won’t be the slightest bit of help. Victor wants it to be that poor mouse of a maid, and everyone else wants it to be a burglar, and no one seems to care that someone in that house is a murderer. And I’m damn sure that if I don’t find out who did it, it’s just a matter of time before he decides to solve another problem exactly the same way. And that death will be on my conscience.” He fixed Julian with a sudden fierce glare. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I can’t,” Julian said, after a moment. “I think you’re right. And you know I’ll help you. Any way I can.”

  “Thank you.” Ned blinked hard at the remains of his meal.

  Julian took a careful breath. “I had a word with my friend Bolster today. I asked him about Ellis’s mission.”

  “Oh, yes?” Ned still didn’t look up, but his voice was steadier.

  “He gives it a good name, which I admit surprised me.” He went on for a bit, repeating Bolster’s information, and was pleased to see Ned relax enough to finish most of his dinner. He debated suggesting brandy, but Ned still looked a little gray. As if to prove it, he shook his head at the waiter’s offer of a pudding, and refused the cheese as well. They paid their bills in silence, collected their hats, and threaded their way through the tables to the door. If it had been a normal evening, Julian would have invited him home, but the shadow of their last meeting still hung over him.

  “I’ll walk back with you, shall I?” he said instead, and Ned nodded.

  “By all means. Have a brandy with me, if you’d like.”

  “Yes,” Julian said.

  It wasn’t far to Ned’s lodgings, a neat, well-kept house with the steps freshly washed and the trim newly painted and the curtains stiff and clean in every window. Ned let them into his parlor without attracting his landlady’s attention, and stripped off hat and coat before turning to the decanter. Julian took the offered glass, and, after a moment’s hesitation, joined Ned on the sofa, sitting scrupulously at the opposite end. Mrs Clewett had opened the window to catch the evening breeze, and the air was cool and pleasant.

  “Did Corinthian win?” Julian asked, not quite at random, and Ned looked up frowning.

  “What?”

  “The horse, the one in the agony column. Did it win?”

  Ned laughed softly. “Only you would refer to the 9-5 favorite in the Mayor’s P
late as ‘that horse in the agony column.’ Yes, he won. And I think you were right, it was someone laying off his bets. There was a rumor that Macgregor had gotten himself in trouble over bets he took before Corinthian won the ’Cap, but he paid out all right.”

  Julian sipped his brandy, drawing out the conversation, and Ned seemed glad to talk about horses and cricket, shifting on the cushions to sketch out various clever plays until they were sitting almost side by side. Their glasses were empty, too, and Julian rose to his feet without being asked, fetched the decanter to refill them. He settled closer to Ned this time, and put a cautious arm around his shoulders. For an instant, he thought Ned would pull away, but then he sighed, and rested his head against Julian’s shoulder.

  “God, it’s been a day.”

  Julian patted his shoulder, afraid of breaking the mood with the wrong word. Ned closed his eyes, sprawling comfortably, and Julian shifted again to take his weight. They sat that way for a bit, the light fading, and finally Ned said softly, “It wasn’t that bad, you know. It’s nothing to take account of now.”

  Julian closed his lips tightly over several things he might have said. Instead, he gave Ned’s shoulders a quick squeeze, and sat up. “You should go to bed.”

  Ned blinked at him. “I suppose I ought.”

  “And I should go home,” Julian said. “I’m meeting Wynchcombe in the morning to deal with his automaton.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Ned pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll let you out, then.”

  “Thanks.” Julian collected himself, shrugging on coat and hat, and followed Ned down the front stairs. In the dark of the hall, Ned fumbled for a moment with the latch, and Julian dared to touch his cheek. He wanted rather desperately to kiss him, but that was too great a risk.

  “Good night, Ned,” he said instead, and headed out into the street. The omnibuses were still running on the Tottenham Court Road; if he hurried, and didn’t look back, he’d be home in plenty of time.

  “All right,” Ned said, putting his feet up on the visitor’s chair. It was just after nine, and most prospective clients weren’t energetic enough to begin the business day that early. “Let’s think this through.”