A Beautiful Blue Death

Chapter 25

Charles, Charles, Charles!” said Lady Jane, rushing to the door to meet him. “Oh, Kirk, call Lucy, won’t you?”

She took his hand and led him to the rose-colored sofa, where they sat, but she was in such a flurry of emotions that she stood up almost immediately and paced back and forth in front of the fire, though she would tell Lenox nothing.

It was near teatime, which had become, since the beginning of the case, a daily event for Lenox and Lady Jane. They had always managed to see each other several times a week in the afternoons—and inevitably more in the evenings, for they shared a similar society—but now, he knew, he had a daily mandate to come see her and discuss Prue Smith’s murder. He liked it, in a way. Often he took tea at home, as the quietest part of his day, but to be with his friend was no chore. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really, that she had become so invested in the matter; but in a way, nevertheless, he was.

The butler, so instructed, clambered heavily down the lower stairs, in his loud way, of which Graham so disapproved, and reappeared a moment later with the young maid Lenox had met once before, who had been Prue Smith’s nearest friend.

“Lucy, be kind enough to repeat for us what Kirk overheard you saying.”

“I’m sorry to be sure, ma’am.”

“Very well. Now let us hear it.”

“I only meant it as a bit of fun, ma’am, nothing serious,” she said uncomfortably.

Lady Jane stood up—she had been back upon the couch—and gazed imperiously, in the way Lenox always forgot she could, at the young girl.

“Lucy,” she said, “I demand that you tell us what you said now.”

“Yes, ma’am. I only said—leastwise, I only meant to say—as how Prue, she knew one of the nephews, the grand one, called Claude.”

Lenox said gently, “She knew him?”

“Well—knew him well, like, sir.”

“They had an affair, Lucy?”

Lady Jane sighed and walked toward the fire. Kirk coughed and Lucy stammered out an apology.

“It’s all right, Lucy,” said Lenox quietly. “It’s quite all right. When did this begin?”

“Last month, sir, when Mr. Claude came down to London. He’d nip into Prue’s bedroom, sir.”

“How often?”

“Often, like, sir.”

“What did she say about the matter?”

“Oh, it wasn’t serious, sir—she meant to marry Jem, sir, and keep Deck on the side, I guess, sir.”

Lady Jane grimaced, and Lenox stood up. “Shall we continue in the hallway?” he said to Kirk, who nodded.

But Jane said, “I’ll hear this,” with that strength of purpose Lenox knew so well and bade Lucy to continue.

“Well, I guess that’s all, m’lady,” said the girl.

“Was there anyone else?” asked Lenox. “I shall try just as hard to find out who killed her, Lucy, no matter what you tell me. She deserved to be killed just as little as the Archbishop of Canterbury does. But I have to know if there was anyone else.”

She shook her head with certainty. “No, sir. And even Prue knew it wasn’t right, about Mr. Claude, only she couldn’t say no, really—and he’s a charming young man, sir, you know.”

“Indeed,” said Lenox. He nodded to Kirk. “Thank you, Lucy,” he said, and turned away, and the butler led the maid back downstairs.

He walked to Lady Jane, who had her back to him now, and looked out the window.

“It’s really the fault of Barnard’s nephew,” he said. “The poor girl—”

“You’re right, of course, Charles. But it seems awful nevertheless.”

“Yes,” he said. He took her hand and smiled sympathetically when she turned to look at him.

“Well,” she said, still frowning. “Tea?”

“Of course.”

They sat again, and Lenox asked how the Devonshires’ party had been, to which Lady Jane replied that it had been rather boring, because an ambassador of great reputation and poor social skills had been the central attraction. But she had played a hand of cards and had stayed late with Toto, talking over the new season—the young girls were coming out now—and where it might be fun to stay in the country after Christmas.

“Oh, but Charles,” she said at last, cutting him a slice of treacle tart, “you must tell me, have you found anything new?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But it is a difficult case, of course, and it has barely been three days.”

“I mistrust that man Duff, you know, and the nephew sounds like the limit, but so does the other one. I bet they all three did it together, just to be awful.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Lenox, laughing.

“Must it have been one of them, though?” she asked.

“Or Potts, or Soames. Or indeed Barnard.”

“Nobody else?”

“I grow less sure by the moment. But I am beginning to think that it may have been Soames.”

“Not Jack Soames? He’s so gentle!”

“It seems possible.”

She looked at him wide-eyed.

“Oh, but you’re right,” he said, “it seems impossible as well, of course. Duff seems more likely.” He murmured this last thought.

“No,” she said. “You know what you’re doing, Charles.”

“It’s only that it’s maddening.”

“But you have to solve the case—I know you can—and your getting hurt makes me want it even more.”

“I thought you said you’d rather I quit.”

“Not anymore. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“Thank you, Jane.”

“What will you do next?”

“I’m waiting for word of Potts, and I ought to interview Claude Barnard again. And then I will have to wait for the ball, to see if I can have a look at the people.”

Barnard’s ball was in two days, and Lenox had firm ideas about what he would do there, but he decided not to share them with Lady Jane—which was, indeed, a good decision, because when she remembered that it was nearly time for the ball, she began to speak about another set of subjects entirely, including the possible attire of one Lady Wendall; the prospects of a young girl with great beauty and birth, but without fortune; and the possibility that Lenox, who preferred to stay off to the sides, might be persuaded for once to dance.