A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [13]
Lenox grinned. “Was it as pompous as all that?”
“Pompous—never. Justly well attended, I would say. I swallowed two buckets of champagne at the breakfast and asked Lady Jane to elope with me. She said no, which was probably wise of her.”
“She told me. You said something about letting the better detective win?” Lenox chuckled. “Have you surpassed me already?”
“Never. Still, I was intrigued by your note.”
“Yes, thanks for coming. Drink?”
“Rum and soda if you’ve got it.”
Lenox went to the drinks table and poured them each a tumbler. “It happened down by Curzon Street. Did you ever hear of someone called Ludovic Starling?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He’s in Parliament, a genial cove, quite sociable. One of his footmen went missing last night.”
“I call that careless of Starling.”
Lenox frowned. “It would be funnier if this unfortunate lad, Frederick Clarke, hadn’t been found dead in a nearby alley.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Quite. I was just over at the scene.”
“Oh?”
Lenox described Constable Johnson, Ludo’s strange behavior, and finding the murder weapon.
“Well spotted,” said Dallington at the conclusion of the story. “The brick, I mean. Does it really help us, though?”
“In a sense, yes. As I just said, I believe it means the murderer is local. Impatient, too—or in hot temper, though that’s a debatable point. It also means that the Yard won’t waste time searching for a weapon.”
There was a knock at the door, and Graham entered, followed by Thomas McConnell.
“Hullo, Charles!” said the doctor. “Welcome back to England. And Dallington, excellent to see you.”
“The baby is imminent?” Lenox asked.
“It’s all very close,” answered McConnell. He looked, as ever, slightly worn, with his battered heather coat and lined eyes, but he seemed happy as well. The two worst moods of his past—manic amiability and morose depression—were neither of them to be seen.
“Do you have time to look at something for me? It’s why I wrote you.”
“With all the pleasure in the world.”
Lenox ran over the details of the case for McConnell’s benefit, and then the three men sat and discussed how to handle things. In the end they concluded that Dallington would delve into matters on Curzon Street and McConnell would go have a look at the body. This left Lenox with the rather dry task of sending a note to Grayson Fowler and asking him to share information, always a tricky business. They agreed to reconvene the next evening with their findings.
Though Lenox had a day full of meetings tomorrow to look forward to, he felt a slight pang. Was this as close as he would get, from now on? What about the midnight chase and the hot trail? Were they left to Dallington now?
Little did Lenox know how involved he would soon become, and how close to home danger would strike.
Chapter Six
Lady Jane returned that evening at half past eight. At nearly the same time, so did her butler, Kirk. He had been visiting a sister in York for two weeks (“Who knew that butlers had sisters?” Dallington had said when he heard the news) but had come back by the evening train. With him and Graham both below stairs, it was critical that the issue of who would be the house’s butler be resolved once and for all. Doubly so, Lenox felt, because of how unprotected he had felt at the day’s meeting without a personal secretary.
He and Lady Jane discussed this, and their respective days, over lamb and preserves, and afterward retired into the cozy sitting room in what had been Jane’s house before the merger. It seemed funny to walk to it without leaving his own house—but then, Charles realized even as he thought that, it was all his own house now. How strange.
“Do you find yourself still going to your own door?” asked Lenox.
“Sometimes. I came to yours so often anyway that the change isn’t so great.”
Despite the fusion, this room had retained entirely