I flipped my cloak inside out and threw it over my arm before stepping inside and coaxing the door closed. The only light emanated from a few gas lamps dangling from the ceiling. A picture of Nicholas Romanov hung over the bar, though he had yet to be coronated, and two small flags with the double-headed eagle hung from the ceiling, making it evident to whom this pub intended to cater.
I spotted Mademoiselle Rendell at once curled up in a booth near the back with a dark, bearded man. She seemed well in the throes of a rampant flirtation and it made me fear that all my efforts had been for naught. The nearer of her hands was already settled on the man’s leg and her other was flitting about like a hummingbird in search of nectar.
Once again I sucked in a quick breath and steeled myself before moving to a barstool just beyond Mademoiselle and her mark. I ordered a stout and laid my cloak across my lap, turning sideways so I could better listen in on the conversation happening between the two of them. What I expected to hear I cannot say, but between the throaty giggles, playful slaps, and whispered innuendos I heard nothing less than the most blatant form of seduction.
“Yer makin’ me ’eart pound like a race ’orse,” she purred at one point. “Care ta feel?”
“I fear ze cost of such an act,” her companion snorted, his accent thick and guttural, definitely a Slavic tongue but certainly not Russian, which surprised me given the bar’s obvious allegiance.
“This one’s on me,” she parried back.
“Ve are done here,” he answered, obviously not tempted by the course of her prodding. “I leaf this veekend. You know vhere to find me if you have reason; udderwise I vill consider our vork finished until I return.”
“And when will that be?” she whined, all pretense of seduction dropped with the haste of a flicked ember.
“Zix months . . . eight months . . . I dun’t know.” I watched him reach out and take her arm, carefully removing her hand from his leg. “You vill hear from me.” He pushed himself out of the booth and gave a curt nod.
“I ain’t ’appy ’bout this,” she called, but it was too late, as the man had already made his way out the door.
For a minute I considered following her companion rather than staying here to watch what she might do next, but then another man approached her table and quickly slid in beside her. Given that it was she whom I was here to shadow I decided to stay put, though I committed the hairy Slavic man to memory, as I was certain their business dealings were nefarious at best. At least then, if I did return to our flat with little more than tales of her flirtations I would do so having been successful in the intent of my purpose.
I casually nursed my stout and feigned a look of boredom and inapproachability so as not to be sidetracked by someone who might want to spill his every thought onto the first fool who looked like he was alone. My frustration quickly mounted, however, as I could hear little of the conversation with Mademoiselle and her new companion. If I had any hope of learning anything further I was going to have to find a way to twist around to see what the two of them were up to. I only hoped I would not turn to find them glaring at me.
Shoving my cloak onto the seat beside me, I slumped against the bar and peered around with what I thought was extraordinary restraint, only to find Mademoiselle Rendell slowly sinking beneath her table. A table that held no cloth atop it. Instantly it became apparent to anyone who cared just exactly what she was up to, so it was hardly surprising when I felt a great rush of air barrel past me as the establishment’s owner brusquely moved in to save the reputation of his pub.
“Get out from under there!” he growled. “I’ll not have such goings-on in me pub!”
“For a quid ya can be part a the goin’s-on,” the unperturbed mademoiselle snorted from below.
“Piss off!” her companion snapped. “You’re ruinin’ me stiffy.”
“I will not have this!” the man thundered, pounding a meaty fist onto the table’s top.
“Bugger!” Mademoiselle Rendell bellowed as she came scuttling out. “Ya ’bout broke me bleedin’ eardrums, ya shite.”
“Get out!” he bellowed. And although the proprietor was no taller than the diminutive mademoiselle herself, he shook with such rage that neither she nor her burlier companion seemed willing to press him any further.
The two of them made their way out, the rest of the patrons holding their collective breath until the door swung shut behind them. Only then did the general murmuring start again, although this time with a renewed sense of vigor. I cursed myself for not having followed the Slavic man out. Surely her business with him had been more apropos than what I’d stayed here to witness. We were making scant headway on either of our cases and each day their trails were becoming fainter.
CHAPTER 13
My failure to gain much information about Mademoiselle Rendell was tempered by the fact that Colin had won not only the wrestling tournament for his age group, but also the exhibition round against a man nearly fifteen years his junior. He gave me the glowing details before finally settling in and agreeing that the Slavic man was likely to prove a man of interest. Thereafter he left me on my own for the remainder of the evening while he retreated to the bath.
We had little interaction the next day as well and I knew he had withdrawn into his thoughts in an effort to ferret out the next best step. I’d suggested that perhaps I should try to find the Slavic man, but he’d dismissed the idea for the moment, and so it was that we were in our study late that afternoon; me reading while Colin paced relentlessly, incessantly disassembling and reassembling his new Nagant revolver, when there came a sudden and frantic pounding at our door. Colin spun away from the fireplace so quickly that the cylinder of the Nagant he’d been fussing over was launched from his hand in great cartwheels before coming to land across the room.
“Damn . . . ,” he cursed as he hurried after it. “If that got bent . . . ,” he threatened rhetorically. I watched him give it a quick inspection as he went to the window and peered outside. “It’s the Arnifours’ buckboard,” he announced. “Has to be one of the Heffernans. Nathaniel most likely. Victor would never have the audacity to pound on anyone’s door like that.”
“I wonder why he’s here?”
“We shall know soon enough,” he said as he wrapped the pieces of the revolver into his handkerchief and laid them on the mantel.
The sound of two sets of shoes mounting the stairs drifted up as Colin took his seat next to me. A moment later he was proven correct when Mrs. Behmoth ushered Nathaniel Heffernan into the room.
“Nathaniel ’efferead ta see ya.”
“Nan . . . ,” he corrected sourly. “Heffernan.”
“If ya like.” She shrugged and made her exit.
“I take it,” Colin stood up, “that you bring news?”
“I do.” He stared at Colin blandly and said, “It’s Miss Elsbeth.” And at once I feared the worst. “They’re saying she’s begun ta come round.” There was little inflection in his voice.
“Extraordinary!” Colin popped out of his chair. “You must be anxious to get back and see how she’s doing.”
Nathaniel did not answer at once, and I wondered if he was trying to gauge whether there was any accusation in Colin’s words. “Is there any message ya want me ta take back?” he finally said.
“No message . . .” Colin slid a glance to me and then looked back at Nathaniel. “What I’d really like you to take back is us.” He didn’t even wait for a response before he bolted down the hallway toward our bedroom.
“What?”
“We’re going with you, boy,” he called back. “Make yourself comfortable while we put a few things together, because this time we’ll be staying. We shan’t be but a minute or two.”
“You will excuse me.” I stood up and gave what I feared was a pained smile, as surprised as our guest by this unexpected turn of events.
I hurried to the bedroom and found Colin rooting through the top drawer of the dresser. “Prepare to spend a night or two,
” he said as he flung undergarments onto the bed. “If she’s coming around I’ll not come back until we’ve had the chance to speak with her. I don’t trust that house of rogues.”
“House of rogues?!” I chuckled as I pulled a valise from under the bed. “Now you sound like Mrs. Behmoth.”
“You’re forgetting that someone there would almost certainly prefer to see her dead, and at this point it’s rather impossible to tell who might be her friend and who her foe.” He tossed me an arch look as he withdrew a small double-barreled derringer from the dresser.
“You’re bringing a gun?”
“I’d bring three if I could get you to carry one.”
I screwed up my face, the memory of once having had a derringer prodded against my ribs during a soured opium transaction causing me to shiver. Even that had not led me to forsake the drug, which is why I suppose the memory retains its ability to provoke such a reaction from me. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I tried my best to sound glib. “It’s the estate of nobles. They’re not all beyond redemption.”
“And are you prepared to decide who is and who is not?” He eyed me as he stuffed the little gun into his boot. “Who is it you find trustworthy?”
“What about Lady Arnifour? She hired us after all.”
He waved a dismissive hand as he went over to the holster hanging from the headboard on his side of the bed. “I’d bet she hasn’t given a whit about her husband since she conceived their daughter, and they were both probably well plied with alcohol at the time. The only person our dear patroness seems to even remotely care about is Victor Heffernan, and even that impression is probably hysterically generous.”
“Well, you have to admit that he seems kind and loyal.”
“A dog is kind and loyal,” he grunted. He pulled a Colt revolver from the holster and stuffed it into his waistband, yanking his overcoat closed atop it. “Of course her husband was clearly a scurrilous man who had more dalliances with other women than his own wife. But then that is what those chaps do.”
“Your father didn’t.”
He leveled a frown on me. “The Pendragons are a cut above. Besides, my mother died too young. He didn’t have the chance. Are you ready?” He headed for the door.
“Ready?! I’ve hardly begun. And all you’ve done is throw a few things on the bed and litter yourself with guns. I’d say you’re not ready, either.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got what I want. Throw in whatever else you think I might need.”
“Fine.”
I heard him beckon from the front of the flat as I stuffed the last few things into the valise and tucked it under my arm. “On my way!”
It would be nice to come back to this room and have the worst of this case behind us or even solved. My eyes raked over Colin’s empty holster and I felt that familiar knot clutch at my stomach. How I hoped we would return with his guns unneeded. I turned down the lamp on the dresser and headed out.
CHAPTER 14
The evening was cold enough to make the ride in the open buckboard uncomfortable. Even so, Colin appeared oblivious to the wind’s chilling fingers as they sliced across the exposed flesh of his face. The fire in his eyes seemed to be heating the whole of his body so that he wasn’t even bothering with the scarf Mrs. Behmoth had pressed on him on our way out. In contrast, I was well wrapped in mine and noticed Nathaniel repeatedly yanking his collar closed. Given the potential turn in this case there was little wonder Colin felt so impervious.
As we pulled through the gates, catching a glimpse of the house on the ridge ahead, I was struck by how different everything looked under the cloak of night. The trees appeared menacing as they bent overhead like a sepulchral army of skeletal soldiers, their great withered arms only fleetingly allowing a sliver of moon to peek through. Then, quite suddenly, they gave way to a field of tall grass. Yet even that otherwise sanguine field stretched far off into a forbidding, black oblivion on either side of the driveway even as it seemed to threaten to press in on the house at any moment. I forced my attentions to the house and found that even it could not manage to suffuse any aura of warmth or invitation. With its darkened wings like atrophied limbs it looked like life had long ago vacated its vast corridors. Only its center section glowed with any light at all, and that sporadically, leaving the impression that those who remained here were slowly losing their battle against the shadows closing in around them.
Nathaniel guided the buckboard to a halt at the center of the crescent drive and Colin immediately leapt out and attacked the stone steps two at a time, seizing the door knocker with his usual relish. He was clearly not suffering any trepidation.
“Well, bless our unholy rolling empire.” Eldon Arnifour stood at the threshold with a dopey grin and a tumbler. “Just look at what the night creatures have heaved onto our doorstep.”
“Mr. Pendragon!” Lady Arnifour’s voice cut in from somewhere behind her well-oiled son. “I’ve been praying you would come soon. Go on, Eldon, make room for our guests, for pity’s sake.”
Eldon stiffened at the sound of her voice, his grin transforming into something closer to a grimace. Nevertheless, he followed his mother’s command and stepped aside, bowing and sweeping an arm across his body with all the formality one might use to usher a revered guest into an otherwise humble dwelling.
“I’m sorry it took us as long as it did,” Colin said, entering without so much as the flick of an eyebrow toward Eldon. “It is a miracle indeed that your niece is showing signs of recuperation. We may soon have a quick end to this most horrendous crime.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Eldon smirked. “Care to join me?”
“That will be all!” Lady Arnifour snapped as she descended the stairs in the foyer.
He tossed her a withering glare. “Just trying to be charitable.”
“You’ve been charitable enough with yourself all afternoon. I would say you’ve had enough for one night.”
“Is the thought of your cousin awakening driving you to drink?” Colin asked with a feinted grin.
“Oh, Mr. Pendragon, your inference cuts me to the bone.”
“I meant to infer nothing.”
“I’m afraid my son needs no particular reason to overindulge.”
“Spoken like the driving force she is.”
“That’s quite enough.” She turned on her son. “I would suggest you retire for the night.”
Eldon’s face pinched into a contemptuous scowl. “Fine.” He turned and headed for the study. “I’ll do that just as soon as I’ve had a nightcap . . . or two. . . .” He paused in the doorway and glanced back. “Assuming such a repast does not make me a suspect for murder.” And with that he slammed the study’s door so fiercely that Lady Arnifour winced as though her body had absorbed the injustice accorded the doorjamb.
“Some people really shouldn’t drink,” Colin muttered.
I stopped myself from chuckling and, when I noticed Lady Arnifour’s shoulders gently rise and fall with a wearied sigh, knew it was time to focus on the business at hand. “How long ago did you notice Elsbeth beginning to come round?” I asked her.
“A couple of hours.” She turned abruptly and headed back to the marble staircase. “The man on duty heard groaning and ran to get Mrs. O’Keefe. She was the first one to check on her.”
“Has she opened her eyes?”
“No.” She led us up the sweeping stairway. “The poor dear must be in terrible pain. I sent Mr. Heffernan to notify the doctor and he sent him back with an elixir of Belladonna to ensure she sleeps through the night. He’s promised to come first thing in the morning.”
“Have you given her any?” Colin asked.
“We haven’t needed to.”
“Good. There’s little chance she’ll gain consciousness with a bellyful of that in her. I’m anxious to speak with her before your doctor sends her into any sort of medicated slumber.”
“But she mustn’t be allowed to suffer,” I reminded.
“Of
course not.” He shot me a sideways glance that encouraged me to contain myself. “Her well-being is paramount, which is why we mustn’t forget that she alone holds the key to what happened at that barn, so until she’s able to speak with us, her life remains in grave danger.”
“It’s all too horrible.” Lady Arnifour sagged. “How someone could want to cause that poor girl harm.”
“Not just harm,” Colin corrected. “It’s about self-preservation now, which can be a most powerful inducement.”
“Well, there’s no one in this household who would wish such a thing.”
“No? . . .” Colin said that single word in such a pointed way that Lady Arnifour missed the top step and lurched precariously forward before he stabbed an arm out and steadied her. She took a moment to collect herself, but none of us made any further comment.
The man posted outside Elsbeth’s door barely glanced at us from his tipped-back chair, head thrown back, legs akimbo, arms folded neatly across his chest. He wasn’t asleep—yet—but it was easy to see it would only be a matter of time. As soon as everyone in the house settled in for the night, he could almost certainly be counted on to join the ranks of the dreaming. Another fine example of Inspector Varcoe’s crack staff.
Lady Arnifour swept past him as dismissively as he deserved, most likely having arrived at the same conclusion. Yet he could still be counted a deterrent just by virtue of being there, for it was less likely anyone would try to strike against Elsbeth with him planted outside her door, whether fully awake or not.
The three of us crept into the room as though we might disturb her slumber. Mrs. O’Keefe was seated by the bed crocheting what looked to be a large coverlet. It billowed across her lap and cascaded to the floor in a tumult that surrounded her for three feet around. She looked as if she were on the verge of cocooning herself inside its very profusion and I wondered if that might not be part of what she meant to do.
The Arnifour Affair Page 8