A Stranger in Mayfair

Chapter Twenty-One

“It could be-and I don’t say it is, mind-it could be a madman. Someone who lives or works quite near here.”

This was Inspector Fowler speaking. It was an hour later. Ludo, pale but well, sat in his own drawing room, a roll of bandage around the thick part of the thigh where he had been stabbed. He had insisted Lenox stay when Grayson Fowler arrived. There was also a young constable in the room, the one Lenox had fetched. Ludo had rejected his initial instinct and said he felt well enough to let his wife and son stay in Cambridge overnight. He told Lenox this privately, perhaps ashamed of his neediness in the alley. Lenox could hardly blame him, however; his own thoughts had flown to Jane when the masked man was barreling toward them.

“I very much doubt it,” he said in reply to Fowler’s proposition.

The inspector gave him a poisonous look. It was already a matter of some discomfort to Lenox that Fowler had been so rude at Scotland Yard, and apparently his anger hadn’t abated. “Oh?”

“Ten houses’ worth of people use that alley, but the two men who have been attacked both live here. It could be a coincidence, I suppose.”

Fowler sighed and took his note pad out again. “Tell me one more time what you saw, both of you.”

Ludo said, “Almost nothing. A black mask made of wool or perhaps some other kind of cloth. It was a man, I feel sure of that.”

“Do you recall any particular odor?” asked Lenox, earning another dirty look from Fowler, though it was the right question. “I don’t, but you were closer to him.”

“None. He was about my height, a few inches under six foot. Strong.”

“Mr. Lenox?”

He furrowed his brow. “All I can remember in addition to that is the color green, either his trousers or his shirt. I’m trying to remember-I think he must have worn boots, because his footfall was very heavy, and they didn’t make that click of dress shoes. More of a thud.”

“I’m skeptical of that sort of analysis, taken in the heat of the moment, but I thank you. Mr. Starling, I’ll stop by again in the morning, and we’ll post our man in the alleyway again. We took him from his place too early. Constable, you may resume your beat.”

“Nobody could have known this would happen,” said Ludo bravely.

“I must be going, too,” said Lenox.

“Oh-but really?”

“Unless you’re unwell?”

“Oh no, quite well, thank you.”

“Is Alfred in this evening?”

“He should be, yes.” Ludo tried a weak smile. Even apart from the exonerating circumstances of the attack an hour before, Lenox when he saw this smile had trouble believing that the man on the sofa, a ginger hand on his leg, was any kind of murderer. “We never did speak.”

“I only had some elementary questions, nothing you need to be worried with just now. Do you feel safe?”

“Of course-Collingwood is here, and two or three others. I shall be quite safe if I stick to the house and the larger streets. It will be a relief to have a constable stationed in the alley again.”

“Indeed. Good-bye, then. I’ll be by to check on your health tomorrow, if I may.”

“Thank you,” said Ludo, and looked genuinely grateful.

On the walk home, Lenox wondered if he himself felt as secure. It had been a jarring, horrifying moment, and the sight of that silver blade had raised every animal instinct in him to flee.

The house on Hampden Lane was empty, and seemed twice as empty because it was twice as large now. Lenox sat in his study, reading Cranford again, struggling to focus after the evening’s intensity. Gradually the story absorbed him, however, and he relaxed.

When Household Words had published Cranford he would have been…what, twenty-three or twenty-four? He hadn’t read it as it was serialized, and in a way he was glad. He often envied people who hadn’t read his favorite books. They had such happiness before them.

The front door opened, and he went out into the hallway prepared to see Jane. In fact it was Graham, home late from Parliament.

He looked sheepish. “I scarcely like to take the liberty of using the front door, sir, but I hoped to visit you in your study.”

Lenox waved a dismissive hand. “You should use it as if it were your own.”

“No, sir, I continue to live in the same quarters, and I will continue to use the servants’ door.”

The detective frowned. “That hadn’t occurred to me. These secretaries have their own rooms, don’t they? What do you have-two rooms to yourself?” It was a fact that no matter how close Graham and Lenox had been as butler and master, there was some final estrangement; it would have been deeply embarrassing for Lenox to see Graham’s rooms.

“Yes, sir.”

“You should have your own rooms, I fear, in some building down Whitehall.”

“Oh, no, sir-”

“For that matter, we still need to settle your wages. What do these bold young secretaries make?”

Rather miserably, Graham said, “Rather less than an experienced butler, sir. Many of these gentleman are highborn, with private fortunes.”

The briefest look of fleeting pain crossed Graham’s face, and Lenox knew in an instant that he had failed to recognize his friend’s position; Graham was a former servant, forced to deal on equal terms with those he might have served in other circumstances. Had someone mentioned something?

Lenox couldn’t say any of this, or even inquire after Graham’s happiness in his new position, so he said, “Damn ’em all, you’re twice as useful. We’ll put you on an extra ten pounds a year. And,” he went on awkwardly, “you must come to our next party.”

“I couldn’t, sir-”

“You must. It will be wonderful. Did I tell you how delighted McConnell was about your rise in the world?” Lenox laughed. “He said you’d be Prime Minister one day, which really I wouldn’t put past you. Has anything gone on today?”

Grateful to fall back on work, Graham said, “Oh, a great-”

Lenox interrupted him. “But I’ve forgotten!”

“Sir?”

“Cholera!”

“I-”

“You look puzzled. I don’t have cholera, you needn’t worry about that. But the blue book on the subject, my God!”

Lenox spent the next five minutes telling Graham about the failings of the current sewage system, then recounted the conversation with Hilary.

“That was profoundly inadvisable, sir.”

“Why?”

“I’ve studied the other clerks and secretaries, and in general it seems the safest policy is to gather several backbenchers before approaching a frontbencher.”

“James Hilary and I are friends. I sponsored him for the SPQR club, as you know.”

“That’s precisely the problem, sir. He would have been confused as to whether you were approaching him as a friend or colleague. To cloud the issue in that way risks making you seem unserious.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Percy Field is the person I’ve been watching most closely, sir, the Prime Minister’s secretary. If there’s an issue he supports, he links several Members who might be interested in it and schedules them an appointment. It gives him tremendous power, and it helps the Prime Minister to no end by giving him a sense of the feeling within the party.”

“You want to speak to other MPs, then?”

“No, sir! I mean that you must behave as he does, using Mr. Hilary or Mr. Brick as your Prime Minister. You must convoke a group who agree with you on the subject and approach someone with greater power as a forceful unit.”

Smiling, Lenox said, “You’re far wiser than I am. Let’s do it your way.”

The front door opened, and Lenox stood. Since he had returned from Ludo’s he had felt an indefinable tug of uncertainty, even unhappiness, and now he remembered why: Lady Jane. They had seen so little of each other over the past few days, and what conversation they’d had had been disconcerting.

Graham stood up, nodded to Lenox, and left. Lady Jane spoke a word to the butler-former butler-in the hallway and then breezed into the room, pink from the chill, smiling, and lovely.