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.
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
“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
