A Beautiful Blue Death

Chapter 7

Graham, cancel my trip to Villefranche,” Lenox said, when at long last he reached home.

“Sir?” said Graham. He was sitting in small chair in the hallway, still dressed as he had been earlier that evening, reading the late penny paper. When Lenox came in, he folded it and placed it in his jacket pocket.

“Villefranche, Graham, on the Riviera. I must have told you.”

“No, sir. Although I did notice several maps of France on the desk in your library, sir.”

Lenox sighed. “That’s the second trip canceled this year, you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Paris in the autumn, before the damned forgery, and now Villefranche. There are many interesting archaeological mysteries in Villefranche.” One of Lenox’s passions was the Roman Empire, about which he read endlessly. From time to time he visited spots where the empire had left its mark, large or small.

“Sir?”

“And beaches, Graham. Warm beaches.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Paris, and now the coast.”

“I’m sorry that the trips have been delayed, sir.”

“Doesn’t seem quite fair.”

“It does not, sir. Your nightcap, sir?”

They walked together into the library, and as Lenox sat down Graham gave him a glass of hot wine.

“That’s the ticket,” said Lenox, taking a sip. He sighed. “I was planning a trip of two weeks. I had the mapmaker order a map of the region.”

“I believe it came this afternoon, sir. There was no opportunity to give it to you before you went to Lady Grey’s.”

“Can you lay your hands on it, Graham?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He left and came back a moment later with a long tube in his hand. Lenox took it from him and cleared off a section of his desk, knocking some books to the floor.

“Ah!” he said, as he unrolled it.

It was a beautiful map of the Côte d’Azur, a beautiful map being one of his favorite things in the world. He had always wanted to be a traveler in his heart, and while he had made it pretty far—Russia, Rome, Iceland—he had never lost that childhood vision of himself, dusty and tired but triumphant, finding something completely new out on the edge of the world.

“Look, Graham,” he said, pointing to the thin edge of the coast. “That’s where we were going to go.”

“Beautiful land, sir.”

“Beautiful.”

Both men lingered over the drawing, and then, with a sigh, Lenox rolled it up and placed it in an umbrella rack, which he had taken from his family’s house as a place to keep his favorite maps. His father had used it for the Japanese scrolls he liked to collect. They were a family of collectors, as the marble busts of ancient Romans in the back corner of the bookshelf attested.

“Graham,” he said, “we shall get there one day, you know.”

“There is no doubt in my mind, sir.”

Lenox smiled and then sighed one last sigh. “Are you too tired for a quick word?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“We had better sit down, then.”

The two men moved toward the armchairs by the fireplace and both sat down, although, while Lenox leaned back into a pillow and took a sip of his wine, Graham perched upright on the edge of the cushion.

Briefly, Lenox related what had happened over the course of the evening: the note, the poison, the fiancé, the wax on the floor, the examination, the window, the unused candle. Graham seemed to absorb it all fairly steadily.

“So you see,” Lenox finished, “I must do it, if only for Lady Jane.”

“If I may express my opinion, sir, I agree entirely.” Graham was a fierce partisan of Lady Jane’s.

“Did you know the girl at all?”

“Miss Smith, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I knew her to nod hello to in the streets, sir. Mr. Kirk disapproved of her.”

“Kirk did?”

“Yes, sir. And he is more lenient than some men in our profession.”

Lenox laughed. “I see,” he said.

“At the same time, sir, she was popular with the girls of this house and in Lady Grey’s.”

“They were disappointed when she left?”

“Extremely, sir. They thought of her as slightly exotic, I believe.”

“Graham, I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I need you to find out who the five people staying with George Barnard are.”

Graham nodded.

“No doubt you’ve already concluded that they are our best suspects. The open window concerns me, of course. But Barnard’s horrid housekeeper insists that all five guests were in the house the entire time, and that no milkman or anyone of the sort came along in the relevant hours.”

“A claim with definite liabilities, sir. Any house can be penetrated.”

“Yes. But still, I think that they must be our best lead. And I think as well that you could find out about them more easily than I could. There are questions I cannot ask. And you know how much I trust you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lenox and Graham had an unusual bond, often formal, sometimes bordering on camaraderie, much of it unspoken. This bond went back a great many years and was seared into both men’s memories because of certain rather dark events that had taken place. This matter of asking Graham for help on a case was part of that unusual bond—a result of trust in Graham as a man, first of all, and in his competence too. In the end, each man relied on their deep mutual loyalty, which would be hard for anyone to test. Lenox found Graham to be almost perfect in this unique role: honest, respectful but never toadying, willing to make a point that might disagree with his employer’s—always, in short, his own man. Of all the men he knew, he thought Graham among the finest.

“Will that be all right, then?” Lenox asked.

“Yes, sir. If I may suggest something else, sir?”

“Go on.”

“I think I might also have an easier time than you in finding out more about Miss Smith, sir.”

“The same sort of task, only here on Hampden Lane?”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Dashed good idea, that. Wish I’d thought of it. Jane says she was provocative, and you say she was exotic. What does that mean?”

“I shall try to find out, sir.”

“Ask the girls in both houses—at any rate, it was your idea and you’ll know how to handle it.”

“Hopefully, sir.”

“Good work. All right then, take the day off tomorrow to do those things. Oh,” he said. “Here are a few pounds to do them with.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good night, Graham.”

“Good night, sir.”

He sighed. “Villefranche, Graham.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

The butler walked out of the room, though Lenox knew that he would sit in the hallway until Lenox himself had gone to bed. Which would be wonderfully soon, he thought.

The fire was dying but warm, and once again he took off his boots and his socks and warmed his feet, which were again wet and cold, by the embers. He picked up The Small House at Alling-ton and read a chapter, sipping the last of his warm wine while he did. What a long day it had been!

And oh, how he had been looking forward to the seaside! Well, well, he thought. It will all turn out right. He dropped the book to his side, placed his hands on the top of his stomach, and stared, for a few moments, into the fire. Poor Jane, he thought. Bella indigo, whatever that was. He would have to visit a chemist on his own.…

His eyes began to close, and he knew it was time to wander up to his bedroom and put on his nightcap. He heaved his body from the chair and said, as he walked into the hallway, “Oh, and Graham? You had better cancel the trip with Mr. Kerr in the morning.”

Graham was, of course, seated in the hall, reading his newspaper and eating an oat cake. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“And you’d better give him fifty pounds as good-faith money for the next trip.” Lenox yawned. “He’ll be terribly cross, you know. I keep canceling.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now really, Graham, go to bed. I’m only going to have a bath and fall asleep.”

The butler stood up, and Lenox smiled at him.

“Good night,” he said. “And good luck tomorrow.”

Graham nodded. “Good night, sir,” he said, and sat down again in his chair, pulling the newspaper from his pocket.