Death by Silver

by Melissa Scott

  They got Mrs Makins settled, and Ned collected spare quilts and a sofa pillow to make up a sort of bed by the fire. Julian poured them each a last whiskey and came to sit cross-legged on the floor beside him.

  “I left you the sofa,” Ned said, and took his glass.

  “I don’t fit on it much better than you do.” Julian took a careful sip of his drink, the whiskey warm and smoky on his tongue. “That’s what happened. It has to be.”

  “Yes,” Ned said again. He clicked his glass against Julian’s. “Well done, Lynes.”

  “And well done, you,” Julian answered. “I doubt I could have kicked that door in.”

  Ned grinned. “Sometimes it’s handy being a sportsman.”

  Julian glanced over his shoulder, saw the bedroom door firmly closed, the narrow gap beneath it dark. He leaned forward, cupped Ned’s cheek, rough now with the evening’s stubble. “Very,” he said, and kissed him thoroughly.

  Ned responded with gratifying eagerness, but finally broke away with a gasp. “Lynes, we can’t.”

  “I’ll keep you quiet,” Julian said, and bore him down onto the quilts.

  In the morning, Ned and Julian picked themselves up from their nest on the floor and settled by silent mutual agreement at opposite ends of the sofa. Mrs Makins was still asleep, and the house was quiet, too early for the usual morning clamor of doors opening and feet tramping up and down steps.

  The satisfaction Ned had felt the night before at the successful rescue was fading into the bleak light of very early morning; he felt stiff and cramped from sleeping on the floor, and not at all prepared to make an uncomfortable choice. He’d hoped to put it off until after breakfast, or at least after tea, but he was afraid even making tea over the fire would wake the sleeping woman in the other room.

  “We have to do something,” Julian said finally.

  “We do,” Ned said, bracing himself to face it. “We can’t let Ellis go on trying to eliminate witnesses.”

  “Or us, for that matter.”

  “That, too. But if we go straight to Hatton, we’ll bring down the house around the Nevetts’ ears. Reggie will be all right eventually – he hasn’t done anything wrong when it comes down to it, only foolish. And Victor will be cleared. But there’s Freddie to consider, and Louisa. Whether or not she’s really been having an affair with Ellis, everyone will say she was, and that’ll ruin her.”

  “She’s inherited a decent living, I should think. At least she’ll have that.”

  “Still.”

  “I know. But what else is there to do, when it comes to it? We can’t kill him – don’t look at me like that, I said we couldn’t. We can’t let him go on like this. We’ll have to go to the police.”

  “It’ll hurt Louisa worst,” Ned said, an idea beginning to form. “Do you suppose Ellis really cares for her?”

  Julian looked as if he’d never considered the matter. “He might, I suppose.”

  “In which case he might care enough not to let her name be dragged through the courts. If we confront him with what we know, and give him the chance to write a confession and then take the honorable way out –”

  “Suicide, or merely keeping his mouth shut about his motives?”

  “I suppose I was thinking of suicide. Which sounds ghoulish, but if the alternative is being hanged and ruining the woman he loves –”

  “Assuming that he does love her.”

  “She’s not a pretty young lady anymore, and he’s still pursuing her. That speaks to a certain constancy of attachment, surely.”

  “Possibly to her bankbook.”

  “We can’t know,” Ned said patiently. “But I do think we have to try.”

  After a moment, Julian let out a breath. “All right. I see that we do. How do you suggest we arrange a meeting, preferably free of Ellis’s thugs?”

  “That’s the catch. I don’t suggest we walk into Ellis’s mission. Probably not very good for our health.”

  “Send him a note asking him to meet us at a neutral location? I doubt he would. If he’s hanging about the Nevett house, we might run into him there.”

  “We can’t hang about the Nevett house ourselves, though.” From below, Ned could hear the first stirrings in the kitchen, the distant sound of the fire being stoked and kettles being put on to heat. “What about Mrs Victor? If we sent her a telegram saying it was imperative we know when Ellis comes to call, and she sent one back by return –”

  “That should work,” Julian said. “She’d do it, I think. She wants her husband cleared. And we could be there within the hour. Surely if he’s paying court to Louisa he won’t be cutting his visits short.”

  “You write the telegram, you’ve spoken to her before,” Ned said, pushing paper and pencil into Julian’s reach. “There’s no point in sending it until it’s a decent hour. And then you’d better go home and change while I wait for a reply.” Julian looked down at his clothes, clearly about to argue that they’d do for the Nevetts, and Ned cut him off before he could begin. “Because if Ellis won’t do the decent thing, we’ll have to go straight to the Yard.”

  Julian made his way back to his lodgings in time to wolf down his breakfast before it got too cold. He bathed and changed, knowing that Ned was right and that they would need to look respectable if they had to go to the Yard, then tried to settle to the morning papers while he waited. They had to try to minimize the damage, though he suspected it wouldn’t work as neatly as Ned hoped. But they couldn’t just kill Ellis, tempting though the idea was – though Bolster would probably be able and willing to help, after Ellis had kidnapped Annie Makins. It wouldn’t be all that hard, and there would be a certain poetic justice in using one of Ellis’s own enchantments. He shook the thought away. This was what the police were for, if it came to that, and maybe, just maybe, Ellis had loved Louisa Winchester enough to protect her. Lennox had been deeply fond of her, in his way.

  He was standing by the window when the cab pulled to a stop outside and Ned climbed out. Julian rapped on the window, but failed to catch his attention, and rattled down the stairs in time to catch him in the hall.

  “Is he there?”

  Ned nodded. “Mrs Victor says she’ll wait for us, and show us up herself.”

  “That’s good,” Julian said, and clambered into the cab beside him. There was a knot in his stomach again, something between fear and anger that tightened every muscle until it ached. Ned’s fists were clenched, his jaw taut, and Julian wanted to clutch his hand, though he couldn’t have said which of them it would have comforted more.

  The cab drew up in front of the Nevetts’ house, the horse slithering to an awkward stop, and Julian paid the fare while Ned rang the bell. The housemaid opened the door with a wary look that turned to a smile. “Oh, yes, sirs, Mrs Victor said you’d call. This way, if you please.”

  She led them into the front parlor – full circle, Julian thought – and Mrs Victor rose hastily from her chair by the window. Black did not become her, but the dress was cut to flatter.

  “Thank you, Pugh, that will be all.” She took a deep breath. “You said you needed to talk to Mr Ellis to clear Victor. Is – does the reverend gentleman have something to do with all of this?”

  “We think so,” Ned said, gently. “I’m sorry.”

  “Poor Mama-in-law. She thought she might be happy, if only we could clear Victor.” She shook her head. “But you said the matter was urgent. He’s with Mama-in-law in the upstairs parlor.”

  “Thank you,” Ned said, and they followed her up the stairs. Julian saw her take a deep breath at the door, and no wonder. If she destroyed her mother-in-law’s happiness, there would be years and years for the older woman to take her revenge. A lesser woman would have sent the maid to announce them.

  “Mama-in-law,” Mrs Victor said, as she pushed open the door. “Mr Mathey and Mr Lynes are here to have a word with Mr Ellis.”

  They had been sitting on either side of the unlit fire like an old married couple, Julian saw, Mrs N
evett with a book on her lap, Ellis with a sheaf of papers and a pencil, his glasses pushed down on his nose. They looked up as one, Mrs Nevett frowning, Ellis’s expression as yet untroubled, and Ellis set his papers aside.

  “With me? Whatever for?”

  “It’s about Mr Victor Nevett’s confession,” Julian said. “It’s false.”

  Ellis shook his head. “Mr Lynes, I fear you raise unwonted hopes.”

  “Not at all,” Julian answered. “We can prove it. And we know who did kill Mr Nevett.”

  “That’s excellent news, if it’s true,” Ellis said, and for an instant, Julian felt a pang of doubt. Suppose they did have it wrong? But, no, Mrs Makins’s testimony proved without a doubt that Ellis was the man.

  “We’d like a word with you,” Ned said.

  Ellis waved at the sofa and chairs. “By all means, Mr Mathey.”

  “It would probably be better to speak with you privately,” Julian said. “But if you’d prefer Mrs Nevett to hear what I have to say…” He let his voice trail off, and Mrs Nevett looked up sharply.

  “And why wouldn’t I want to hear? Wilfrid, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, my dear,” Ellis said. “I suspect these gentlemen have things backwards or sideways.”

  Mrs Nevett smiled at that, as he had clearly meant, and he fixed them with a stare.

  “Still, there’s no need to trouble Mrs Nevett. Perhaps if we were to retire to the back parlor?”

  “Of course you’re welcome to use it, Mr Ellis,” Mrs Nevett said, with chill dignity that didn’t quite conceal the worry in her eyes. As the door closed behind them, Julian heard her say, “Alice…?”

  Ellis led them down the plain-carpeted hall, looking more like their host than seemed entirely fitting. Walking behind him, Ned looked threatening, a dangerous bully looking over a meek and defenseless man. And that was at least part of how he’d gotten away with it for so long, Julian thought. He seemed so entirely harmless, insignificant, no threat at all, not even to a marriage. A man with milk in his veins, not blood.

  Ellis closed the parlor door gently behind them, and turned up the gas, fussing with the adjustments and clucking disparagingly at invisible dust, before he turned to face them. “I trust you will excuse me if I don’t ring for refreshment,” he said, “but I see no point in pretending this is an ordinary social call.”

  “Hardly that,” Julian murmured, and Ned frowned.

  “I think you know why we’re here,” he said.

  “I assure you, I do not,” Ellis answered. “I only know that you are causing Mrs Nevett considerable distress.”

  “Very well,” Ned said, stiffly. “If that’s how you want to play it –”

  “I ‘play’ nothing,” Ellis interjected.

  Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Then let me be blunt. We know, and can prove, to the satisfaction of any court of law, that you are the person who killed Edgar Nevett, Joe Makins, and Jack Dixon. You’re also morally responsible for the death of Sarah Doyle, but I think those three are enough to hang you.”

  “If you truly believe that,” Ellis said, “your business is surely with the police.”

  “So it would be,” Ned answered, “except that it seems unfair to Mrs Nevett. You’ve been devoted to her interests for years, surely you would want to spare her as much pain as possible. If you hang for Edgar Nevett’s murder, public opinion will brand her an adulteress; she will be banned from society, and her sons’ prospects will be blighted. You could spare her that through your confession, and if you were to avoid a trial –”

  “You cannot seriously be suggesting that a man of the cloth should commit an act which is against all Christian principles.” Ellis’s eyebrows rose above the rims of his glasses.

  “Rather like murder?” Julian asked.

  “I do not admit to any such thing,” Ellis answered. “And self-murder is a sin.”

  “As Mr Lynes said, so’s murder,” Ned said. “And murder is a capital crime. I assure you, we have solid evidence – we know about your arrangement with Summers, how you hired Makins, and we can prove that you cursed the candlestick that killed Edgar Nevett. This is your only chance to keep Mrs Nevett from social ruin.”

  There was a long silence, broken only by the hiss of gas in the fixtures. Faintly, Julian heard the sound of a door closing – the kitchen door, he thought – and the distant jingle of a bell. Ned started to say something more, then thought better of it.

  “I am surrounded by schoolboys,” Ellis said softly. “Schoolboys whose only knowledge of the world was gained between the covers of a penny dreadful, where justice is always served, and the villain obligingly blows his brains out to spare the feelings of the innocent.” He shook his head. “This is not the way of the world.”

  There were two spots of color high on Ned’s cheeks. Julian caught his breath, but managed to keep from speaking.

  “I will not deny that I have held Mrs Nevett in great regard ever since she was a girl,” Ellis said. “I was even able to forgive – indeed, excuse – her decision to marry Edgar Nevett, even though he was far from her most worthy suitor. It is to be expected that a young woman will be dazzled by wealth and a handsome face, and it is understandable that, when he did not return her feelings, she so far forgot propriety as to use the Lord’s great gift to influence him to marry her. We have discussed it many times since, she and I, and she is truly repentant. She has done much to atone for her sin over the years.”

  “You blackmailed and bullied her, you mean,” Ned said. He bit his lip, as though he was afraid he’d broken the spell, but Ellis went on, oblivious.

  “She has been a worthy helpmeet, and I would certainly have wed her, were it not for the current scandal. But my work is far too important to allow any question of impropriety to taint it.”

  “Your work sends children into a service that’s not much better than slavery,” Julian said.

  “Tut.” Ellis gave him a disapproving stare. “You sound like a Socialist, Mr Lynes.”

  Julian bit back a profane response, shook his head at Ned to keep him silent.

  “The world cannot be left to schoolboys and socialists,” Ellis said, “idealists who would spare the rod at every turn. The work of redemption must continue, at whatever cost, and so, no, I will not – how would you put it? Take the honorable way out. Nor will I hold my tongue. Should I be arrested, I assure you that many unpleasant and inconvenient facts will come to light. Louisa’s frailties are already suspected; your friends, too, are not without guilty secrets of their own. Frederick in particular – but let that pass. Victor has chosen to be an honorable fool, but if you wish, I will undertake to persuade him to recant his confession. The police will then blame young Sarah, who is safely dead. Your friends will be spared further scandal, and that will put an end to the whole distasteful business.”

  Ned opened his mouth and closed it again, his fists clenched tight. Julian swallowed his fury, groping for the words that might still goad Ellis into action. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr Ellis. Your explanation clarifies things considerably, though you’ve been laboring under a misapprehension. You see, neither Mathey nor I are particularly fond of any of the Nevetts – in fact, I owe them several bad turns – so I have no compunction about turning you over to the police. I’d much rather see Victor and his family disgraced than see him hanged. And I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that the guilty man is dead.”

  Ellis’s mouth fell open, his eye bulging behind his glasses. “But –”

  Julian turned on his heel. “Come on, Mathey, let’s go.”

  “Wait –”

  “Good morning, Mr Ellis,” Ned said, and Julian smiled over his shoulder.

  “We’ll see you in hell.”

  There was no question of omnibuses this time. Ned whistled for a cab, and swung aboard as soon as it slowed. “Scotland Yard, as quick as you can,” he said.

  “He’s still got time to make his escape,” Julian said.

  “If he ran out o
f the Nevett house with the clothes on his back and the cash in his pocket, he does. But I can’t see him doing it, can you?”

  “No,” Julian said after a moment. “No, he’ll stay and make some explanation that makes him sound ill-used and us like villains, and then he’ll go back to the mission and either settle in to brazen it out, or start packing. The Yard’s closer than Limehouse – there’s time for them to catch him.”

  The cab was making breakneck speed, but all the same Ned’s heart was pounding in his chest as they scrambled down at the Yard. He refrained from stopping at the desk to give his business, hoping they looked respectable enough to be assumed to be invited visitors, and took the stairs to Hatton’s office at a run.

  Ned flung open the door without knocking, and Hatton looked up with a frown. “What in the name –”

  “Mr Ellis killed Edgar Nevett,” Ned said. “I can prove it, and I will, but for the love of God don’t let him get away. We left him at the Nevett house.”

  Hatton gave him a searching look. “He knows you know?” Ned nodded, and Hatton tugged at the bell-pull behind him, seemed to have second thoughts about waiting for an answer, and pushed past them out into the hallway. He returned after a minute. “I’ve sent men round to the Nevett house and the mission to bring Ellis in for questioning. And now you’d better give me good reason to have done it.”

  “There’s good reason,” Julian said, and Hatton waved for them to sit down.

  Ned let Julian lay it out for Hatton, only breaking in occasionally with further explanations. They both avoided mentioning breaking down doors and giving a false alarm of fire at the gas works, mentioning only that Mrs Makins had sent for them, which Ned felt was wise.

  It was impossible to avoid mentioning Makins’s death, but it also seemed wise not to say they’d concealed a murder for several days. “I made a brief examination of the body,” Ned said. “I can’t be certain it was murder…”

  Hatton raised his eyebrows. “Can’t you?”

  “But surely your metaphysician at the Yard can do better. Or I can make a more thorough examination, if you’d like.”