A Beautiful Blue Death

blood on the upper stairs was already cleared away.

A hand fell on his shoulder as he came out into the upstairs hallway again. Lenox looked around and saw it was the footman, James.

“Tell me anything,” said the young man.

“I’m sorry,” said Lenox. “I’m still working, though.”

“Anything, anything,” he moaned.

“As soon as I discover anything,” Lenox said, patting him on the back. He walked into the center of the hallway, where he stopped and looked around.

Was there anything else to do that evening? No, he thought. The body would be removed soon. He would speak with Exeter in the morning. So after going downstairs to tell McConnell that he would be in touch the next day, he went upstairs and walked to the front door, wearily, to leave. There he heard a familiar voice.

“Charles!”

He turned around and smiled, both inwardly and outwardly. “Oh, Jane,” he said. “You needn’t have stayed.” She was sitting in a chair by the front door.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Have you your coat? We’ll go back together.”

He smiled again. “Yes, yes.” And he held out his arm, which she took, and they walked out through the snow together, to find their carriage home.

Chapter 36

Lenox woke up the next day with a terrific hunger, despite the previous night’s banquet. He was instantly sad about Soames, when it came back to mind, but he had slept well nonetheless. For the first time he felt recovered from his back-alley skirmish. The cuts and bruises were still there, but they were faded and didn’t hurt.

He ate a breakfast of eggs, toast, dark coffee, and a large orange. He read the final chapters of The Small House at Allington in bed as he ate, going through both the food and the book with great relish, and when he laid the book down he felt satisfied. After feeling more and more depleted in recent days, he felt that he had taken his small break, now, and had a great deal of energy again.

He rang the bell, and Graham entered his bedroom.

“Sir?”

“Hullo, Graham. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

The sun was pouring richly through the windows.

“Indeed, sir.”

“I’ll need all the papers, if you don’t mind. The regular three and then all the ones I don’t read as well. Even the Post and the Daily Standard, if you please.”

“Very good, sir. I shall bring them back in just a moment.”

“Thank you. Oh—and would you send round a note asking my brother to come visit me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Only if he’s not in the House this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I’ll want my carriage just before lunch. I’m to eat with Dr. McConnell.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Thank you, Graham.”

The butler left, and Lenox stretched his arms behind his head for a good long think. He puzzled through the recent events and came to some tentative solutions. Only after Graham had returned and left the newspapers on his bedside table did he break out of his reverie. He had an idea. If only he could be sure, he thought.… Well, there was plenty of time to test it out. He did feel that there would be no further deaths.

In turn, he examined each of the articles on Soames. Primarily they were sketchy and quick, because the murder had been late at night, but he knew he should read them anyway. They were by and large redundant, with few if any details altered between them. They all emphasized the victim’s athletic glory, his military service, his consistent work on the Liberal side, and his popularity among friends and acquaintances, and all of them expressed shock and anger at the recent trend of violence in England but ended by assuring readers that Inspector Exeter was on the trail of the murderer and he would soon bring the criminal to justice.

The note in The Times summarized these accounts as well as any:

Late last night, the distinguished MP for Renton and former Oxford Blue, Jack Soames, was murdered in cold blood at the annual ball hosted by George Barnard. Guests at the event, which is generally considered one of the high points of the London season, were shocked to hear a piercing scream in the hallway of Mr. Barnard’s house, and moments later Mr. Soames was discovered at the head of a stairwell leading to the servants’ quarters. The police would not reveal the manner of the death but acknowledged that it was not natural. Inspector Exeter, who has taken the case in hand, said only, “We’re well on the track of the criminal, and anybody with any knowledge should step forward immediately.”

A junior constable admitted to The Times that there were copious amounts of blood at the scene. Society gentleman Thomas McConnell, husband of Lady Victoria McConnell, nee Phillips, who happens to have medical training, performed the immediate postmortem, but declined to comment.

Readers of The Times will observe that this is the second act of violence in a very short period of time at Mr. Barnard’s house, following the poisoning of the housemaid Prudence Smith; the two events seem to be linked. Mr. Barnard commented, “It’s a terrible thing. Soames was a good fellow. And it was a wonderful evening, before the whole mess.” He went on to say that he had no idea who was committing the crimes, but he felt safe in his house under the protection of Inspector Exeter.

Meanwhile, of course, fashionable London is in shock. “He was such a good sort,” said Lord Stearns, and others echoed this sentiment throughout the evening. Soames first came to public prominence on the oars for Oxford, leading them to three consecutive wins in the boat race during his time at university. Some readers may recall how he seemed single-handedly to pull them back into the race in his final year, after the team had been overtaken by the Cambridge eight. He also earned a blue in rugby, which he only played recreationally but at which he nevertheless excelled, and boxed as an amateur at Oxford.

After coming down from university, Soames entered the army, where he became a captain. Within his regiment, said Colonel James Waring, he was well-liked and well-respected. He behaved heroically in a minor skirmish in the East and was discharged because of a wound earned in battle. Almost immediately after leaving the military he was elected to Parliament as the Member from Renton. In that governing body he has had a long and distinguished career, advising Party leaders on manners of finance, reform, and trade, and though he never held office he would no doubt eventually have ascended to some position in a Liberal government.

Soames was a bachelor who lived in the West End. Friends said he was an affable man, well liked by all. Lord Stearns echoed this general opinion, saying, “Soames could no more have an enemy than I could. It must have been a mistake—a horrible mistake—as I see it.”

Soames, in addition to his Parliamentary duties, sat on several boards, most notably that of the Pacific Trust. His name has been in the newspaper lately because of his work for that company. Readers will remember that he represented the deciding vote on the matter of reinvestment; he voted against releasing a large amount of capital to shareholders. While this angered individual investors in the company, who would have realized an instant windfall, many in the financial world agreed that the board’s decision would pay out in the long run and that any loss of immediate wealth would be compensated in the future. Insiders fear that Soames’s death will mean an overturn of the vote, which is set to be reaffirmed two weeks from now, after discussion, because it is generally thought that the conservative Sir James Maitland will fill the vacant spot on the board. Maitland has made it known that he would have voted differently from Soames.

Soames was also an excellent horseman and traveled among the best country houses for the shooting and the riding. “He will be missed,” said Lord Stearns. “He made any shooting party better.”

Until the police release a report, his friends will have to wait for consolation. As is customary, Parliament will conduct a tribute to him on both sides of the aisle, and the Speaker will offer a eulogy.