A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [60]
“My son,” answered the man.
“Is he here?”
“He’s in York for the week, which he’s visiting his wife’s parents there.”
“I see—thank you.”
Then it occurred to Lenox that he might easily ask Ludo who the family butcher was—perhaps that would be the man.
He knocked at the front door, and as Elizabeth Starling opened it he remembered that of course their butler was gone.
“Hello, Charles,” she said. “I would have had the housemaid open the door for you, but she’s busy in the kitchen, I’m afraid. At any rate Ludo is out.”
“Perhaps you can answer my question, in that case.”
“Oh?”
“Do you know what butcher Collingwood employed?”
With a deep, sorrowful sigh, she said, “Does your meddling reach no end? Would you not leave us to our lives? Our footman is dead—our butler in prison—my husband attacked—and still you annoy us with your impertinences! Have you heard nothing of the honor which may shortly be bestowed upon my husband, and the very real danger of losing it by indiscretion?” Again she sighed. “I’m not a hard-worded woman, you know. It pains me to be so vehement. Please forgive me.”
Lenox felt unchivalrous. “I’m exceedingly sorry,” he said. “Your son Paul—whom I met accidentally—was insistent that Mr. Collingwood must be innocent.”
“Paul’s no longer here.”
“Excuse me? Where has he gone? To Cambridge, so early?”
“He has gone to Africa for a year, it pains me to say. Downing College insisted upon a year’s deferral because he was so inebriated at the visitors’ weekend.”
“My goodness.”
“He left this morning.”
“So quickly!”
“I have a cousin very well placed within a large shipping concern. Paul will make his fortune and be at a perfectly normal age to enter Cambridge as a fresher; since of course the Starling money will go to Alfred, it will do Paul good to have a foundation when eventually he begins in the world.”
This was frankly specious; to have gone into business before Cambridge was unheard of. Her anger had seemed to subside, however, so Lenox ventured another question. “Are you sure you cannot tell me who does your butchery, which shop?”
“I don’t know that information, no. Good day, Mr. Lenox.”
As he walked away, what surprised him most was how instantly Paul was gone. Lenox had seen him two days ago. Elizabeth Starling had by Ludo’s own account been a doting, even smothering parent, sorrowful to see her children leave for university, much less the other side of the world. What on earth was happening in that family?
“Psst! Chappie!”
Lenox whirled around. He was some four houses down the block now. He saw that it was Tiberius Starling, the old uncle. The cat was in his arms.
“Hello,” said Lenox.
“It’s Schott and Son. That’s our butcher. He’s up a couple of streets, green building. Always leaves too much fat on, if you ask me, the blighter. Try that on your stomach when you’re as old as I am.”
“Thank you—thanks extremely.”
Tiberius swatted an invisible fly and said grumpily, “I don’t know what in damnation is happening. That Collingwood was as decent a chap as I ever met.”
“So people seem to believe.”
“Eh? Say it again, I’m a bit deaf.”
“I’d heard the same, I said!”
“Ah, yes.” He grew conspiratorial. “One more thing.”
“Oh?”
“Look up as you pass by our house again.”
“Up?”
“Just look up! There’s something worth seeing.”
He hustled away, slipping through a side door of the house (which was set ten feet apart from its neighbor). Lenox waited a few beats to let Tiberius get indoors.
As he passed the house he did look up, and there was something worth seeing. Pressed against the glass of a fourth-floor window was Paul’s unhappy face.
Chapter Thirty
His mind swarming with doubts and possibilities, Lenox decided to seek relief. He knew that perhaps he should worry about the butcher flying from London; on the other hand, the butcher would probably have known that nobody in the boxing club could identify him by name. There was perhaps little to gain from haste. In any event it was nearly time for lunch, and he hadn’t seen for several days any of the (now