“Anything?” Lady Arnifour whispered as we pressed near the bed.
“No, ma’am.” She immediately began gathering the blanket in great folds, tossing it over one arm with the practiced hand of someone who has done it many times before. “She moans and flinches every now and then, but that’s all.”
“Thank you.”
“You needn’t thank me, ma’am. You know how I feel about Miss Elsbeth.” She aimed her sentence at Colin and me, and I thought her sentiment heavy-handed. Just who was she trying to convince? She moved across the room, drawing the train of knitting as she went, and gently pulled the door shut behind her. It was the only delicate thing I would ever see her do.
“How do you think she looks?” Lady Arnifour cast an anxious glance at me, remembering, I was sure, Colin’s reference about my passing knowledge of medicine. I thought it a good thing she didn’t know it was actually nothing more than survival skills garnered while in the East End. Nevertheless, I leaned in close to Elsbeth to get a better look. There seemed little change in the few days since we’d last seen her. The swelling of her face had only marginally receded and the bruises around her eyes and cheeks had deepened to the blue-black of thunderheads from an impending storm. There was some improvement in her breathing, however. It was less labored and no longer contained the rattle that so often signals the last struggles of a soul to tear itself free of its body.
“I do believe she is a bit better,” I announced, though I did not dare go further. I reached out and touched her forehead, and was stunned to find her exceedingly hot. I knew it to be the sign of a battle against infection raging within, but before I could reach for the basin of water at her bedside she flinched slightly and muttered something as thin as her breath. It was all Colin needed. He wrenched me aside and bent so far over her that his ear nearly grazed her lips.
“What . . .” It was Lady Arnifour’s turn to plow through me. “Can you make out what she’s saying?”
Colin’s brow furrowed as he patiently hovered a hair’s breadth above her, but there was nothing else. I suspected her sudden outburst had been due more to the feeling of my cool hand on her burning face than any desire to reveal information, but decided to keep my peace.
“No,” he lamented as he stood up. “But I can assure you that we shall be spending the night here tonight and the next one after that if need be. We will protect this young woman as if she were our own, and should she truly awaken at any time, you will be the first person we send for.” His brow furrowed as he turned to look at Lady Arnifour. “I trust my determination to stay at her bedside will not in any way impugn your finer sensibilities.”
Lady Arnifour’s hand fluttered up to her neck. “Of course not . . . whatever you think best, Mr. Pendragon. The room next door is empty and I shall have Mrs. O’Keefe prepare it at once in case either of you should require some rest. I’m sure you will find it suitable.”
“You are most thoughtful.” He smiled. “And let us hope we will have the answers we seek by morning.”
“For the sake of your niece,” I hastily added.
“That would be such a blessing.” She sighed heavily and I knew she held little hope. “Very well then,” she said after a moment. “I shall leave you be.”
As soon as she closed the door again I turned to Colin. “I really don’t think she’s going to be waking up and telling us any stories tonight.”
He yawned as he pulled Mrs. O’Keefe’s chair closer to the bed. “I’m sure you’re right, but I don’t mind if the rest of the household thinks it possible.”
“One thing we have to do is get her fever down. Dunk your handkerchief in the basin of water and apply it to her forehead. As soon as it becomes warm rinse it out and do it again. That alone should help her to feel better.”
“Then perhaps she will be able to surprise us tonight.”
“I hope so.” I stifled a yawn. “Do you really think Lady Arnifour knows who did this?”
He glanced at me. “She may not have proof,” he said, his sapphire eyes crackling with the surety of his words, “but I’m certain she’s suspicious of someone. It’s the only reason she’s hired us with such conviction to prove the innocence of her dear Victor. If she had any doubts, if she wondered at all, we wouldn’t be here now.”
“It’s all very disturbing, made ever more so by the fact that we’re here to protect Elsbeth.”
He nodded. “We are here to protect her as we tighten the noose. With a little bit of well-placed pressure we shall see who cracks about the seams first.”
“You mean to incite the perpetrator to action again, don’t you?” He patted his waistband where his revolver was hidden. “I’m prepared for whatever may come.”
“I hope so. We both know that desperation can be a tragic motivator.”
“That it can,” he said as he unbuttoned his jacket. “Now go get some sleep so you can spell me in a few hours.”
I yawned again and went back to the hallway to find the room we’d been promised, and as I passed Inspector Varcoe’s nameless sentry I was incensed to find him with his head lolled fully back, a tiny thread of drool spinning down from one corner of his slackened jaw. He looked as comatose as Elsbeth, so I nicked the side of his chair as I strode past. His head snapped forward and he bolted up with a snort, batting his eyes furiously to chase the tendrils of sleep away. He glanced at me as he dragged a sleeve across his wet chin.
“Sorry,” I muttered without a shred of regret.
He shrugged me off with a scowl, but at least Colin’s first line of defense was back in operation.
I headed down the hall and nearly collided with Mrs. O’Keefe as she came barreling out of the next room. She was cradling a wad of linens under one arm and nursing an expression of marked exasperation. “Oh,” she grumbled as she pulled up short. “That room is ready for the two of you.”
“Thank you.”
She stared at me but said nothing more before turning and moving down the hall in the opposite direction.
“She’s a bloody sow, that one,” a male voice piped up behind me, and for a moment I thought it was the sentry outside Elsbeth’s door. As I turned, Eldon stepped out from the shadows, a sneer alight on his face. “Can I tempt you with a nightcap?”
My instincts demanded I give a polite refusal, yet curiosity overruled my brain as I considered that I just might be able to learn something useful. Eldon was the only one in the household whom we hadn’t had a chance to speak with alone. I was tempted by the prospect of being able to coax some information from him. I held my tongue and allowed him to lead me back down to the library.
“What will you have?” he asked as he circled the wood-paneled bar in the far corner of the room.
“Whatever you’re having,” I replied flippantly, as I had no intention of drinking anyway. I’d already eyed a plant near my chair to surreptitiously “water.”
“I’m drinking scotch with a whisper of soda.”
“That’ll be fine, though I will ask you to lean my drink in the opposite direction. A bit of a lightweight, I’m afraid.” I chuckled.
“Oh I could give you some lessons.” He winked at me as he came around the bar and handed me my drink. “It’s really all about tolerance. The more you drink the more you can tolerate.” He clinked our glasses with a laugh. “So tell me . . . ,” he said as he settled into a chair across from me. “How long have you and the prestigious Mr. Pendragon been saving the world from itself?”
“About twelve years.” I took the thinnest sip of my drink and wondered if the smarmy expression on Eldon’s face ever gave way to anything even remotely resembling warmth.
“Twelve years?!” He shook his head with that same smirk. “Then you must know all the secrets.”
“Know them, and have written them down.”
“Intoxicating . . . ,” he sneered with a laugh. “Perhaps we’ll all get a read one day. . . .”
“Perhaps,” I gave him a coy smile, “but what about you? What secr
ets might you be hiding?”
He held up his glass. “I’m afraid my secret is poorly kept.”
“Well, I would hardly call a preference for spirits to be the stuff of secrets. Now murder . . .”
“Oh!” He wagged a finger at me as he snickered, “Aren’t you the wily one.”
“Has your sister returned yet?”
“Kaylin?”
“You have others?”
He snorted delightedly. “My darling sister is due home by week’s end. Have you met her yet?”
“We have.”
“I’m sure you found her charming.” He stood up and meandered back behind the bar. “But let me assure you that she can be a right tyrannical little bitch when she wants.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“I’m sure she was on her best behavior,” he scoffed, foregoing the subterfuge of soda as he refilled his glass. “The Arnifour progeny can be such a mixed bag. But I’ll bet you’ve noticed that.”
“Is this about secrets again?”
He came back around with his glass and pulled his chair so close to mine that our knees were nearly touching when he sat down again. The stale smell of scotch radiated from him like putrefaction from a corpse. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? I will tell you this: You get my sister started on that women’s suffrage bollocks and you’ll find her every bit the rabid dog the rest of us are. She and that ridiculous pack of man-eaters she insists on idolizing have the temerity to advocate that women are the equal of men. Can you imagine?” He bellowed a great, sloppy laugh. “If you ask me, that Pankhurst twat should be hauled home by her disgraceful husband and chained to her washbasin.”
“You do know our sovereign is a woman—”
“How very puckish, Mr. Pruitt. No wonder your Mr. Pendragon likes having you around.” He lifted his glass and took a drink, all the while keeping his eyes leveled on me. “I do find you intriguing,” he said as he lowered his tumbler. “Do I intrigue you?”
“Everyone in this household fascinates me.”
His grin widened. “Outstanding. I love being a suspect.”
“Then why are you always so well oiled when we’re around? Seems like you might be finding it all a bit too much.”
“Now you’re just being boorish.” He stood up and wandered over to the fireplace with a pout, allowing me to finally tip part of my drink into the nearby plant. “Do you want to know what I think about my father’s murder?” He turned around and glared at me and I could see that I had finally pressed through his artifice.
“More than anything else.” I toasted him with my half-empty glass.
“And I thought it was my company,” he sneered before laughing and toasting me back. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Pruitt: My father didn’t have any enemies. Underachievers seldom have enemies.” He tossed back part of his drink. “Don’t misunderstand—my father was a good man in his own way: reliable, knew his place, that sort of rot, but I’m convinced his life goal was no greater than to marry into money. After he did that there really wasn’t much else for him to do but sire a few offspring and twaddle about in a bit of business here and there.”
“What sorts of businesses?”
“He ran a stud farm for a while, but couldn’t make a go of it. My mother made him divest it when he hadn’t turned a profit in eighteen months.” He shook his head and chuckled. “She’s a bloody corker, that one. But who can blame her? It was her money. My father would’ve been better off if he’d just rented out his own services,” he snorted lecherously. “That became evident when he put some money into a West End production. Turned out he was giving more to the leading lady and most of the chorus than financial backing. Such prowess is a curse of the Arnifour men.” He leveled his eyes on me and smirked as he tipped his glass back again. “You can just imagine my dear mother’s dismay . . . or perhaps relief. Needless to say she put an end to that business as well.”
“What about your father’s last business partner, Warren Vandemier?”
“Warren Vandemier?” He leaned against the fireplace mantel as though giving it some real thought before abruptly snapping his eyes back to mine and growling, “Warren Vandemier is a weasel!”
“A weasel?! And what sort of business were they engaged in?”
“Opium.”
“Opium . . . ,” I repeated like a fool, sucking in a quick breath even as my stomach curdled. “No one’s mentioned that before.”
Eldon laughed out loud, too long and too hard. “My parents spent the greater part of their marriage staying out of one another’s way.” He came back around and stopped right in front of me, staring down at me. “Tell me the truth, Mr. Pruitt: My mother didn’t hire you to find my father’s killer, did she? She only hired you to prove that Victor’s innocent, isn’t that right?” And to my amazement the look on his face was every bit as lucid as my own.
“I’m sure I don’t remember the exact details of what she said at our first meeting,” I replied, unwilling to give him that win.
“A selective memory.” He snickered. “I’m sure many of your clients have appreciated that quality.”
“I’m sure they have.” I returned a terse smile. “But tell me, how did your father get himself caught up in the opium trade?”
“Caught up?!” He laughed. “You make it sound like my father was an innocent, and I can assure you he was not. My father went through a great deal of my mother’s money on countless schemes over the years, which is why this place and its pathetic staff look the way they do. That was my father’s contribution. You should’ve heard the rows my parents had over the years. Is it any wonder my sister and I remain unattached?”
“And the opium?” I pushed again, trying to keep this feckless man in a singular direction even as I grappled with the spectre of my old nemesis.
“A pretty shrewd opportunity for the old bastard to earn some of the fortune back, I suppose.” He sauntered back over to the bar. “It was the money. That’s what drove my father. He’d hand over a pile of it if he thought he could get a bigger one in return. Refill?”
“No. What about his latest business? Was it widely known?”
“He had little to do with the details. It was all very neat, very upper-class. Would you expect anything less of the Arnifours?”
“And your mother?”
“That old sack of bones knows exactly what she wants to know. Don’t let her bluster fool you. She certainly knew about Abigail Roynton.”
“You’re referring to the rumor of an affair?”
“Rumor?! That’s priceless.” He came back over to me and sat down, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Father was a bore at discretion.”
To my surprise Eldon did not seem to see the irony in his statement. “So what are your thoughts on this case then? You say your father had no enemies and yet he was involved in the opium trade. That is most certainly a dangerous business. In which direction do you think the perpetrator lies?”
He stared at his tumbler as though peering into a fortuneteller’s ball, his mood darkening as his eyebrows slowly knit together. “My mother,” he finally muttered. “She hired some cretin to bludgeon my father’s skull. My cousin . . .” He gave a dismissive shrug. “. . . An unfortunate casualty, I suppose. The price of war.” His lips curled down and then he suddenly turned and threw his glass into the fireplace, sending the flames roaring back to life. “God help that vile bitch.”
CHAPTER 15
Night had permeated every living thing by the time I found myself inexplicably standing by the blackened bones of the barn at the far end of the Arnifour estate. I was tired, exhausted really, and couldn’t even remember why I’d dragged myself all the way down to this miserable spot at such an hour. The wind had picked up and was whistling around with such force that it stung my face. I tried to recall what lunacy had compelled me down here even as I gradually became aware of the lathered snorting of a horse being ridden hard from somewhere over my left shoulder—from the woods.
; I realized at once that Colin must have discovered me missing and sent one of the Heffernans to fetch me back, and yet, as the thundering sound drew ever closer, I began to feel, though I cannot say how, that the unseen presence bearing down upon me was not an ally. I looked around just as the rider cleared the dense underbrush from atop a great midnight stallion, his face hidden within the dark recesses of a hooded cloak that billowed behind him like the snapping tongue of Satan himself.
The stallion reared up and bolted toward me, its powerful haunches gleaming in the moonlight with the sweat of its effort as it carried its spectral rider relentlessly forward. I turned to run, straining to suck in gulps of air as I tried to reach the relative sanctuary of a nearby stand of bushes. Even so, I could smell the horse’s hot grassy breath quickly closing the gap. This is it! my mind screeched.
I opened my mouth to holler into the vast night before I could be struck by the blow I knew was coming even though no one would hear me.
And then it came.
Not to my head as I’d been so sure that it would, but to my shoulder. And as I struggled to twist around I jarred myself so abruptly that my eyelids flew open and I lurched up from the bed I’d been lying on to find myself staring into the blasé face of the sentry who’d been posted outside Elsbeth’s door.
“Mr. Pendragon sent me ta fetch you,” the guard mumbled. “It’s past midnight. I think he means ta switch.”
“Of course.” I pushed myself fully up and mopped my brow with my sleeve, grateful to see the man heading out of the room without further comment. It would be good to stay awake for a while.
I went to the basin and splashed water on my face and quickly ran my wet fingers through my hair. As I passed the guard, already well situated in his chair with his legs akimbo and his head threatening to bob back, I grunted a hasty thank-you.
“The cavalry’s here,” I announced with much false bravado as I let myself into Elsbeth’s room to find Colin alert at her bedside, a shiny crown spinning effortlessly between the fingers of his right hand.
The Arnifour Affair Page 9