A Beautiful Blue Death

Chapter 24

After he had interviewed Soames, Lenox was at loose ends. He was to have lunch with his brother in only an hour, give or take a few minutes, so it would be pointless to go home. He decided that he would take a walk.

The new snowfall was already trodden underfoot, and the city had again taken on a dingy aspect, but the air was clear and, if cold, not unbearably so. He decided he would go down by the river.

Every few hundred yards, in this part of London, there was a staircase leading down from the sidewalk that overlooked the Thames. Lenox went down one of these staircases and soon found himself even with the water, on a little promenade lined with short trees that ran for a while just next to the river, much more quietly than the busy street above.

The water was gray and running fast, with drifts of ice eddying down it and snow fringing its sides. A few birds were flying close to the water, and Lenox stopped to sit on a bench and watch them skimming the small waves. The sky was gray and the river was gray. It was the sort of thing he loved, though a sudden ache where he had been hit called him back to the world.

Soon it was lunch time, and he walked back slowly, looking at the buildings of Whitehall.

Lenox’s interest in politics dated back nearly as far as his memory. Lady Jane’s father had often taken his seat in the Upper House, where Lenox and Jane would watch him speak from the spectators’ gallery, and while Lenox was unimpressed with the trappings of power, he was fascinated by the power itself. It amazed him, after his schoolboy lessons of the monarchs and a deeper look into history at Harrow, that the bodies of Parliament controlled the fate of their countrymen. The discourse, which he read in the papers, was seldom elevated, occasionally very low, but once in a while sparkling. He had grown up with the ideal of the great statesmen, Burke, Fox, Peel, and Palmer-ston, in his mind. And then, he felt, as he grew toward adulthood, that he had fallen into a singularly lucky time, when both Disraeli and Gladstone were coming into their strength as leaders of men. It was a time of great debate.

But it had been a fascination from afar. Sir Edmund, as both brothers had always known, would be the member from Market-house. The baronet always was. Charles, their father thought, would buy an estate near Lenox House, or, if it were absolutely necessary, a house in London. But leisure would fall to him, whichever it were, as the consolation for having lost a career.

And yet there were times when Lenox walked among the members he knew, or spoke confidentially with his brother or with the half-dozen politicians he had known since childhood, when it occurred to him that there still might be a chance; he still might enter the House. He knew their minds, though suited to politics at the moment, were in the end no sharper than his. He felt that he might be equal to the job.

But for now he was content to walk the halls of power, to ask his brother for morsels of information, to read the paper in the evening, and to say hello to Disraeli at a party or to Russell at a country house where they found themselves together—to move partially in the political set.

No matter, no matter. The case at hand, that was the important thing. He walked back in the direction of the members’ entrance at Parliament and then to Bellamy’s, with its low windows and old portraits, to meet his brother.

Lenox had been sure he could take Soames unawares and question him almost without his knowing. That such was not the case put Lenox on his guard. And then, Soames’s manner had been so peculiar. The way he grasped at Duff’s character, his uneasiness at certain questions, and his insistence that none of them would be found to have done it when the facts came out in the clear.

But surely not Soaps the clubman, whom Lenox had known to say hello to for decades, since he and Edmund had been at university together? No, it was the drinking that had rendered him so inarticulate and ill at ease and of such an unhealthy pallor.

Lenox waited for his brother, and at last he arrived in the dining room. They each ordered a slice of hot game pie with sauce, chips, and peas. Sir Edmund, who was in a cheerful mood because he was returning to the country soon, ordered a bottle of port after lunch, and the two men shared it happily, talking not of the case but of Lenox’s own nephews, who were good lads, and of minor matters about the estate: its rolls, the steward’s complaints, and Darrow Farm, which was the largest tenant farm on their land. Sir Edmund had a living in his hands and wondered whether he should sell it to the highest bidder or, at a lower price, to a cousin of their mother’s; both decided that the cousin should have it and come to Markethouse as the rector. The two men occupied themselves with problems such as these, which brothers who are lucky enough to be close may discuss. At the end they talked over Charles’s visit, which would come at Christmastime.

“I had hoped to go to the Riviera, you know.”

“Oh, Charles, you will plan, won’t you? I remember when it was Portugal last year, but you had that case with Meyer the German—oh, and I remember your short-lived dreams of crossing over to America, as well.”

“Well, well, one of these days.”

“I daresay.” Sir Edmund laughed. “But it won’t do to get your hopes up again. Be happy to come to the country; we can hunt a bit, you know. I’ve finally managed to convince Crump”—the butler at Lenox House since time immemorial—“that we need real fires while anyone at all is awake. Though you would have thought I’d suggested we set the old portraits ablaze.”

Lenox laughed along with his brother. “I look forward to it so greatly, you know. To see Molly and the boys.”

“Yes, well, they only wish you’d come more often. Particularly the boys.”

“Yes,” said Lenox, and smiled to himself. “Where are you off to?”

“The law and order committee in the House. The Royal Academy’s report on banned poisons is coming in.”

Lenox had an idea. “Who was responsible for it, in the House?”

Edmund thought. “Young James Hilary. Duff. Alexander Adams. Those three, I think.”

“Duff?” For a moment disappointment coursed through Lenox. Was that why Duff had the arsenic? But if so, why buy it in a private shop? Surely the Academy would have given them samples.

After a few moments of further talk, Edmund and Lenox stood up and began to walk back toward the members’ entrance, wending their way through the refreshment rooms and tearooms and card rooms.

“You’re staying in the House for the evening?” Lenox asked, as they walked.

“I must. Terrible trouble, of course, but they would like it.”

“Shall we trade jobs? I’ll leave you the task of interviewing Duff.”

“Newton Duff?” Sir Edmund grimaced. “Perhaps we’ll trade later. Oh! There he is.”

Both men had seen Duff, who was a member, settling on a couch in the usually abandoned chess room, surrounded by a set of papers he appeared to be deciphering.

“Would you like me to take you over?” Sir Edmund asked in a low voice.

“Yes, actually. I suppose it may as well be now as ever.”

“Unpleasant, though.”

“Thank you for reminding me, dear brother.”

“Only saying. Here we go.”

The two men walked over to Duff, but Lenox had to cough once before the austere member would look up.

“Mr. Duff,” said Lenox. “We’ve met several times before, but I daresay you don’t remember.”

“I do.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Well, I must be off, then!” said Sir Edmund, and shook his brother’s hand and walked away.

Duff looked down at his papers again.

“May I sit, for a moment?” Lenox asked.

“I suppose, yes, if you must. I came to this room seeking solitude.”

There was another moment of silence. Duff’s hard, dark eyes focused relentlessly on him. His hair was dark as well, and combed back, and he had the strong jaw and lean body of someone without much pleasure in his life except work.

“I believe you’re staying with George Barnard?”

“I am.”

“Some business of a murder, from what people say.”

Duff finally looked up, though it was not an altogether pleasant look that he gave Lenox.

“Yes.”

“Have they any idea what happened?”

In response to this question, Duff stood up and said, with an iron glance, “I must be on my way, sir. Good day.”

Lenox watched him leave with a sigh. Why had he bought that arsenic? He was a difficult man. Other men, whom Duff walked by on his way to the chambers, seemed to wait for him to pass until they spoke again. Curious, his reaction—but hard to say whether Duff merely disdained frivolity or, perhaps, knew Lenox’s business, as Soames had, or, indeed, mistrusted his own answers, should the line of questioning have gone any further.