Death by Silver

by Melissa Scott

  “They probably won’t,” Ned said. “And if you do this, you probably will get caught. And even if you don’t get caught, you’ll always know you’re a murderer.” He shook his head. “I can’t let you do it, old man.”

  He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Julian handed over the box. He looked both disappointed and at least a little relieved, as if he weren’t entirely sorry for someone to stop him.

  “You’ll always know you could have done it, though,” Ned said.

  “There’s that,” Julian said, and looked as if he took at least some comfort in the thought.

  He thought – at least, he hoped – that Julian was glad now that he hadn’t become a murderer at thirteen, and not only because he probably would have been caught. They’d both tried to be better than that. And were, he thought.

  Decided, he made for the back gates and the omnibus stop. He’d given Julian enough time to cool off; he might be ready to hear reason, now, as unwelcome as it might be. They weren’t going to let Victor Nevett hang for someone else’s crimes, although he thought it might still be some comfort to Julian to savor the thought that they could have.

  He wasn’t planning to savor it himself, he told himself, and could almost make himself believe it.

  Julian sprawled on the sofa, the morocco box open on the table in front of him. He was tempted to write himself another enchantment, one that would numb his feelings just a little longer. But he was exhausted already, the shock of Victor’s confession and the quarrel with Ned piled on top of the lack of sleep the night before, and expending more energy would only make thing worse. As it was, he was likely to want a reviving charm in the morning anyway. And that was a sure way to ruin his health, or at best require a long, restorative holiday.

  He pushed himself upright, avoiding the Urtica mordax, and went to the sideboard to light the spirit lamp under his coffee maker. It probably wasn’t all that much better for him than another enchantment, but he felt thick and stupid. The coffee would cure at least some of that. But mostly – if he was honest with himself, he was mostly ashamed. He had wanted to kill Victor Nevett before – Staniforth and Noyes and Larriby, for starters, and Victor had been on the list for Ned’s sake – but at least then it would have solved an immediate problem. This would be pure revenge, and that – was not acceptable. He filled the vacuum chamber, set it to heat while he prepared the grounds, then fitted the pieces together and tightened the delicate screws. He’d always told himself he’d chosen this profession to serve justice, not to subvert it.

  “Mr Lynes!” Mrs Digby’s voice was followed by her heavy knock. “Mr Mathey is here.”

  Julian glanced once around the chaos of his parlor, and went reluctantly to the door. “Come in.”

  Ned hung his hat on the tree by the door, and if his eyes lingered for a moment on the enchantment set, Julian could pretend he didn’t see.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’ve started some coffee.”

  “Maybe in a bit,” Ned said. He took a deep breath, and Julian glared at him.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say,” Ned protested.

  “I do so.” Julian shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling as though he were thirteen again. “You were going to bring up Nevett.”

  “I was,” Ned said, after a moment. “And we have to talk about it sometime.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Yes, we do.” Ned paused. “What’s that hissing?”

  “Damn it!” Julian swung around just as the coffee machine’s safety valve released, sending up a spray of brown steam. He slapped at the off switch, and the steam died with a mournful sigh, leaving a fan of coffee-speckled damp across the wallpaper. The paper was already blistering in spots. “God damn it –” He turned, ready with a cutting answer if Ned showed any signs of amusement, but the other man merely looked concerned.

  “You didn’t burn yourself –”

  “No.” For a moment, his reaction hung in the balance, and then the sheer ridiculousness of it all overwhelmed him. It was bizarre and foolish and funny, and he shook his head, laughing. “Oh, dear God, Mrs Digby is going – is not going to be happy with me.”

  “Not at all.” Ned relaxed into laughter himself, and settled onto the sofa. “Has it occurred to you that there might be better ways to make coffee?”

  “It’s very scientific,” Julian answered. He poked cautiously at the device, decided that it was indeed safe, and began unscrewing the pieces. He could see what he’d done – forgotten to open the siphon once the pressure rose sufficiently – and looked over his shoulder. “I could make more?”

  “By no means!” Ned answered, with more fervor than courtesy, and Julian snickered again.

  “Perhaps not,” he agreed, and came to join Ned on the sofa. “I wonder if there’s a glamor for repairing wallpaper.”

  “Miss Frost might know one,” Ned answered. “She knows a shocking number of useful things.” He paused. “Lynes –”

  Julian sighed. “Yes, I know. You do realize that whoever Victor is protecting probably had a very good reason to kill Edgar Nevett.”

  “I know,” Ned said. “And, believe me, if what you heard is right, and it’s Reggie or Freddie – it’s damnably hard to condemn a man for one’s own vices. But it’s still murder.”

  Julian nodded. Ned had stretched one arm along the back of the sofa, and Julian leaned cautiously against his shoulder. Ned wrapped his arm around Julian’s chest in answer, and Julian relaxed into the embrace.

  “It has to be Mrs Nevett or one of the boys,” he said. “I can’t see Victor protecting anyone else.”

  “Nor I,” Ned answered. “And if Lennox has it right, that’s the best motive we’ve heard so far.”

  “I can’t really see that using enchantment to bring about a marriage would be that serious after, what, it must be nearly thirty years,” Julian said. “Though I suppose if Edgar had believed her innocent, he might have made her life sufficiently miserable.”

  “I imagine it could have made things difficult with Ellis,” Ned said. “He’s enough of a stickler that he might have banned her from the mission, and she really seems to care about that.”

  “Lennox said she always was interested in social questions.” Julian tipped his head back, grateful for Ned’s solid presence, and Ned leaned his cheek against Julian’s hair.

  “Interested enough to murder her husband for them?”

  “Well, we are talking about Edgar Nevett,” Julian answered. “But I grant you it seems unlikely.”

  “And that leaves Reggie or Freddie,” Ned said. He sounded distinctly unhappy at the idea, and Julian laced his fingers with the hand covering his chest.

  “Wynchcombe said he’s stayed in touch with Reggie,” he said. “I could write and ask what he knows.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “And I can keep asking among Lennox’s friends. I should be able to find out something more.”

  “That would be helpful.” Ned paused. “Have you heard anything from Mrs Makins?”

  “Not yet.” Julian sighed. “I sent Bolster a note, but – I haven’t gotten an answer. I’m afraid she’s going to try to deal with it on her own.”

  “Or your friend Bolster will manage it for her,” Ned said.

  “I’d feel better if I thought he would,” Julian answered. That was a subject better not pursued, and he said, “I still wonder about Louisa. It all depends on what Edgar knew, I suppose, and what he would have done about it. I could ask Lennox about that as well.”

  “And there are people I can ask, as well,” Ned said.

  Julian closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth of Ned’s body against his back, the movement of his ribs and the tickle of his breath against Julian’s ear.

  “You’re falling asleep,” Ned said, after a while, and disengaged his fingers.

  “Not really.” Julian sat up. “And – don’t go.” He copied
Ganymede’s most seductive smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Ned gave a snort of laughter. “You’ll probably fall asleep in the middle,” he said, but made no protest when Julian leaned close again.

  They spent a while in increasingly heated embraces on the sofa, ending only when the Urtica mordax, apparently distressed by their movements, tried to nip Ned’s ear. They retreated, snickering, to the bedroom, and Julian pushed Ned lightly toward the bed.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “Take yours off, then,” Ned retorted, but began undoing buttons willingly enough. Julian copied him, deliberately slow, so that by the time Ned sprawled naked among the sheets, he was still half dressed. The contrast always thrilled him, his lover nude, himself still clothed, and he reached eagerly for Ned.

  When they were done, they lay panting for a long moment, until finally Ned shifted them to a more comfortable position.

  “I didn’t fall asleep,” Julian said, his voice muffled against Ned’s shoulder, and he felt as much as heard Ned’s rueful laugh.

  “And a damn good thing you didn’t, too. There might have been another murder.”

  Julian smiled sleepily, smugly, and let himself drift into oblivion.

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  CHAPTER TEN

  Miss Frost came in late the next morning, looking pleased with herself. “I’ve found her,” she said.

  “Louisa’s metaphysician?”

  “I’m not sure I’d call her that. Her name’s Mrs Landry. She has a little parlor above a milliner’s shop where she sees clients. All lace and little china dogs. After a while I got the feeling they were watching me.”

  “Well done,” Ned said. “I do hope you didn’t take any unnecessary risks.”

  “I didn’t bring up murder. But I did say that I’d heard that she was a great help to Louisa Winchester in matters of the heart. From my dear mother who was a great friend of Louisa’s at school and always admired her audacity.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  Miss Frost shrugged. “Probably not, but then what would I have learned? She danced round the point for a while, but she finally said that, yes, she had, and that Louisa wouldn’t ever have married Edgar Nevett if it weren’t for her. Mind you, she was careful about it. Not a word that couldn’t have referred to simply giving good advice, or at worst providing beauty charms. My impression is she knows perfectly well what she could be brought up on charges for, and she isn’t going to be caught in that trap.”

  “But you think she did it.”

  “I think she did. I made up a tale of an entirely fictitious suitor, and she made it clear there were ways of making him consider me in an entirely new light. I’m confident in my own mind of what she meant, but as I say, she was careful about it. She’d probably swear in court that she only meant that he’d think far better of me if I had a more fashionable hat.”

  Ned leaned back in his chair, considering the matter. “Suppose Edgar found out about it. What could he possibly do, after all this time?”

  “Make her life unpleasant? Divorce her? Certainly not take legal action against Mrs Landry. There’s no proof. For that matter, I can’t imagine what he could have found out to make him certain he’d been foxed. You said there were already rumors years ago.”

  “I suppose she might have admitted it.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Miss Frost said. “But it might happen, I suppose. Something said in the heat of an argument that confirmed his suspicions?”

  “Maybe. It’s not much to hang divorce proceedings on.”

  “A court might take his word against hers. Sometimes they do, when there’s enchantment alleged, no matter how unconvincing the facts are.”

  Ned frowned. “They might. I should find out who Edgar’s solicitor was. If he was sounding out the idea of proceedings, that’s suggestive.”

  “Surely that’s confidential?”

  “I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean no one knows about it. You know how it is.”

  “The eternal rumor mill.”

  “It’s part of the point of belonging to clubs.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Miss Frost said. “Women’s clubs confine themselves to entirely frivolous activities.”

  “I’m never sure when you’re serious,” Ned said.

  “Would you prefer to think we’re secretly plotting the overthrow of society? It doesn’t involve Edgar Nevett’s solicitor, in any event.”

  A quick note to Hatton produced the welcome information by return post that afternoon that Edgar Nevett had used Weldon and Barnes. “Claude Barrow,” he said, folding Hatton’s letter. “I’m almost certain he’s a junior partner at Weldon and Barnes. I ought to be able to twist his arm a bit.”

  “And suppose Edgar wasn’t thinking anything of the sort?” Miss Frost asked.

  “Then we consider this whole thing a red herring. Which it may still be, whatever Edgar Nevett was contemplating. Either Reggie or Freddie may also have had good reason to want the old man dead.”

  “I’m still unclear as to what we think that reason was.”

  “An unsuitable romance,” Ned said, and took himself off before she could ask any more questions he didn’t want to answer.

  The Mercury Club was filling up by the time Ned arrived, the dining room busy and the smoking-room beyond it clearly in use from the smell of cigar smoke that filtered out into the hall. Ned evaded several offers for him to share a table before finding Barrow, who was fortunately eating alone.

  “Mind if I join you?” Ned asked, dropping into a chair without waiting for a response.

  “No, make yourself at home,” Barrow said. He was sandy-haired with an open, friendly manner that Ned thought must set his clients at ease, although combined with Barrow’s undeniable good looks, Ned found it more discomfiting. The Mercury was a haven for him, and he preferred to spend his time there with friends who didn’t inspire thoughts that had to be firmly concealed.

  Barrow flagged down a waiter, who took Ned’s order and whisked himself away; if the food at the Mercury wasn’t inspired, it was at least promptly served. “How are the conjuring tricks, then?”

  “Right now I’m trying to conjure up some answers about the Nevett case,” Ned said frankly. “Your firm handled Edgar Nevett’s affairs, didn’t they?”

  Barrow frowned. “We did, but if you’re acting for Victor Nevett, I don’t think we can take that on. Even if one of the other partners handled it, it wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances.”

  “I entirely understand,” Ned said. “I was only wondering if there’d been anything out of the ordinary in Nevett’s legal affairs before he died. Any changes to his will, or any idea of legal action of some sort.”

  Barrow looked interested. “You know something.”

  “I have some ideas,” Ned said. “I don’t think Victor Nevett’s guilty, if that’s what you’re wondering. But if Mrs Edgar Nevett is your client…”

  “I thought you might ask that,” Barrow said. “And, no, she’s not. Of course we’ll have some dealings with her in the process of settling the estate, but Edgar Nevett was our client, and it’s his interests we’re bound to represent.”

  “Are you still?” Ned asked, and let the question hang in the air between them for a minute.

  “What do you want to know?” Barrow asked finally. He held up a hand to stop Ned from answering as the soup was placed in front of him, and then motioned for him to go on once the waiter had retreated again.

  “Anything of the sort I asked about, but particularly pertaining to Mrs Nevett. I had the idea that Edgar might have been investigating the possibility of having grounds for divorce.”

  “More than that,” Barrow said after a moment’s hesitation. “He actually had us drawing up the papers for him to sue for divorce.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you a word of this.”

  “If she made away with your client –”

  “No
w, I don’t know anything about that. It was the usual story, old grudges turned bitter, and I understand that he was up in arms about the amount of his money she spent on her charities. ‘Beggaring me to please that milksop Ellis,’ Nevett said.” Barrow looked embarrassed. “Not that I listen at doors, but the man’s voice did carry when he was in a temper.”

  “Always awkward with clients like that.”

  “It is, rather. As for the actual cause, I believe he was planning to claim enchantment.”

  “He had some proof of it, then?”

  “I don’t know that he’d have needed it. I hate to break it to you, Mathey, but the grounds given for granting divorces aren’t always strictly accurate in the most factual of senses. If he’s determined to be rid of her, and she’d rather be rid of him as well, it’s easier sometimes to blame an enchantment purchased as a youthful folly than for one of them to admit to adultery or worse.”

  “But if she didn’t want the divorce?”

  “Then he’d have had to put forward some evidence. That can be messy, trying to dredge up people to swear to what a woman did when she was being courted decades ago. I imagine Mr Weldon would have tried to talk him out of it, under those circumstances, on account of the likely scandal. But clients aren’t always reasonable. I understand…at least, it was my impression that Mr Nevett had met a young woman whose moral scruples would trouble her less if he weren’t married.”

  “Not a young lady he intended to marry himself?”

  “He’d find that hard to achieve, I should think, after dragging his good name through the divorce courts. We do handle divorces for our clients, but we try to be honest about what it’ll mean for them. It’s worse for a woman, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ned murmured.

  “But, really, Mathey, I can’t tell you any more about it. I shouldn’t have said this much.”

  “Say no more about it.”

  “It’s only that you’re right that I’d like to see justice done. He wasn’t a particularly pleasant man, but he was a client, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?”