I walked with Patricia until we reached her street, after which she insisted on going alone. Apparently strangers were not welcome in the residence where she stayed, and she did not want to cause trouble with the landlord. Still, I waited until she was safely within her front gate before I started back toward my own bed.
A glance at my watch told me that I had one last task for the day before I could reach that coveted goal. I nearly cursed my decision to choose tonight for the meeting with Howard Pevensley, but it could not be helped, and it would hopefully not be a prolonged detour in any case. With a sigh of resignation I made my way toward the Pevensley estate, making sure to avoid the alleys and darker side streets that surely would have hidden pickpockets and other individuals intent on harm.
Fortunately, my preparations for the night had not been in vain. When I arrived, I immediately walked past the front gate and made my way along the wall until I had located the spot where Howard usually climbed into the servants’ quarters. There I found a young woman in a plain dress and cloak, obviously waiting for someone else to arrive. It was obvious that she was rather anxious about the meeting; every so often, she wrung her hands, and the cowl of the hood she wore swiveled wildly at the slightest noise.
I did not approach her, and retreated slightly into the shadows to wait. Though I was interested in discovering the identity of the woman, I already had my suspicions, and if Howard saw me standing alongside her in the night, he would very likely flee before I could make his acquaintance. The night wore on, but I knew he would soon arrive.
At exactly one minute before the appointed hour, another figure in a cloak and top hat scurried out from one of the nearby side streets. He approached the place where the woman stood, and then stopped when he saw that she waited for him. Her notice had been drawn by his arrival, and she stepped toward him quickly with a hand outstretched. It was obvious that she meant to warn him. I could not allow my quarry to escape, however, so I left the concealing shadows behind and made my approach.
The man must have seen me almost immediately, for the instant I began to move, he broke into a run toward his conspirator. The woman, for her part, glanced over her shoulder and froze in surprise. By the time she had turned back to her partner, he was already beside her. A cane appeared in his hand, which he brandished at me as if it had been a sword. She ducked around behind him, her hands clutching at the edges of her cloak. When he spoke, his voice was low and threatening. “Who are you? What do you want?”
I held up my hand as I walked toward them. “I merely wish to discuss things, Mr. Pevensley.” Howard stiffened as I said his name, and I smiled. The woman behind him had taken an uncertain step back, but I glanced in her direction and nodded. “Ms. Buxley, I presume?”
She likewise stiffened as her name was mentioned, and Howard took a menacing step toward me. His cane was still ready to strike, and the moonlight showed his narrowed, hostile eyes. “I asked you a question, sir. Who are you, and what do you want?”
Ms. Buxley did me the favor of answering for me. “He’s a detective of some kind, Howard. He works for your brother.”
Howard’s face grew still more ugly, and he took another step forward. “You work for Danforth, do you? Well, tell him that I have no intention of being blackmailed, coerced, or anything else. You can take your pictures or whatever other threats and leave.” He brandished the cane as if to demonstrate what would happen if I did not heed his advice, and I halted just out of striking distance. I regarded him steadily.
“I did not come on such an errand, and if you believe your brother capable of such a thing, I find myself dismayed to be in his employ.” Howard blinked, and uncertainty crept onto his face. I continued before he could say anything further. “My name is Hector Kingsley. I have not come to interfere in any way with your relationship with Ms. Buxley. Though I am sure your brother continues to have a dim view of it, your personal relations are only a passing concern to more pressing matters.”
Howard straightened up out of the crouch. His face betrayed a certain level of confusion, though he still seemed quite wary of me. “So, you are not here about our intention to elope?”
“No.” I shook my head to emphasize the word, and he relaxed still further. “In fact, I was not aware of that situation until I stumbled upon your meeting place. Your brother was less than willing to speak with me on the matter, and Lady Pevensley likely still remains completely unaware of it.”
Ms. Buxley broke in upon the conversation, her voice terse. “Then how did you find out if they did not tell you anything? We’ve been very careful.”
I inclined my head. “You are correct, Ms. Buxley, but in using a code derived from the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet, you gave more away of the situation than you might have guessed.” Ms. Buxley flushed dark in the moonlight, and Howard shifted uncomfortably. “Nevertheless, I suggest we move somewhere so we might discuss a few matters. Perhaps by doing so, we can avoid the tragedy of their tale repeating itself here.”
Howard thought about the offer, the indecision plain on his face. Finally, he nodded. “If you think it best, we will return to my quarters. They are not far away.” The tip of his cane hit the cobblestones with a definite sound. “If I detect any treachery from you, Mr. Kingsley, then rest assured, I will make you pay for it tenfold.”
“Then I will strive not to give you cause for concern in that matter, Mr. Pevensley. Let us be off.” Howard and Ms. Buxley turned to lead the way, and I followed after them. I hoped Howard was correct about the short distance to his lodgings. So far I had managed to keep fatigue from my stride as I walked, but I could tell that the trials of the day were steadily catching up to me. It would be best to finish my business here once and for all and return in the morning to resolve the situation entirely.
To my overwhelming gratitude, it appeared that Howard had not been exaggerating the nearness of his lodgings. It was a small boarding house that served traveling relatives of noble families who did not wish to stay with their hosts. Howard and Ms. Buxley led me to a room on the second floor, where we then took our seats to discuss the matter at hand.
It soon became clear why Howard had been so hostile. Apparently Lord Pevensley objected to the arrangement between Ms. Buxley and Mr. Pevensley so fervently that he had resorted to various tactics in an attempt to discourage the young couple. Other, less scrupulous investigators and agents had been employed, and the arguments between the two brothers had grown ever more serious and violent.
Howard Pevensley broke off our discussion for a moment to look back in the direction of the estate. “I could have understood if it was a matter of his own principles or out of concern for my well-being, but Danforth seems more influenced by the fear of his wife and the reaction of his political allies. He said they would consider it a scandal, that his influence would be reduced in Parliament, that Ophelia would be enraged beyond reason…” His voice trailed off, and his hand tightened over Ms. Buxley’s. “It is not like him, and I do not trust that this change has happened for the better. And you may be sure, Mr. Kingsley, that no matter what happens, I will not give in to his wishes. Laura and I are in love, and we do not intend to abandon that for anything under the stars.”
He ended with a fond glance at Ms. Buxley, who returned the look with a shy smile. I fought the urge to remind them of propriety, to say nothing of the difference in their social standing and backgrounds, and focused on the problem at hand. “So this romance is what has caused the recent rift between you and your brother? There were no external issues aside from it?”
With a slight frown, Howard turned his attention back to me. “Not that I have heard. May I ask why you are so curious about it?”
“Your sister-in-law is remarkably convinced that you have far more conflict with Lord Pevensley than you have given me reason to believe. Though perhaps her view is somewhat prejudiced by her assumptions, I still expected to find more than a mere dalliance with a maid and a few political arguments.”
He bristled at my description of his situation, but Ms. Buxley laid a calming hand over his. She fixed me with a suddenly determined look. “Why would you be asking such questions about Howard’s conflict with his brother? Surely you do not suspect him of what happened the other day.”
“My career has been made in never excluding anyone from a list of suspects, Ms. Buxley. Even Lady Pevensley has found herself a subject of my investigation; you should hardly be surprised that Mr. Pevensley would as well.”
Howard looked from me to his lover and back. A slight twist of confusion warped his features. “Will someone please tell me what is going on? I do not like being kept in the dark.”
Ms. Buxley turned to him, her face still serious and calm. “Mr. Kingsley suspects that you are behind the attack on Lord Pevensley a few days ago.” For a moment, the room fell silent, and then the young lordling turned his incredulous gaze back to me.
“You mean the bomb? Are you truly serious?” I merely remained silent, and after a moment, Howard stood up from the table with a violent motion. “You must be insane, Mr. Kingsley. Totally and completely insane. Why would I ever, in any circumstance, seek to assassinate my brother?”
“Love denied, or even merely love frustrated, has often provided the motive for such an attack, Mr. Pevensley.” I leaned back in my chair and watched him. Unseen by either the nobleman or his lady love, I slipped a hand toward my own cane in case the young fool attempted anything untoward while I accused him.
Fortunately, he seemed more than content to simply hurl verbal assaults. “This is completely ridiculous. Laura, this man must be an idiot, a fool, or a madman, if not all three together.” He stalked back and forth, and then came to a stop. “Did Ophelia tell you this?”
“Lady Pevensley did express some concerns, though I was ready to discard many of them until she provided evidence of your possible involvement.”
He threw up his hands at this report. “She hunts me even when I leave! While I stayed at the manor, that witch was constantly the bane of my existence, the malicious odor in my nostrils, and even here she hounds me.” Howard struck the table with one hand. “But now! It has gone too far. Accusing me of such a thing, in such serious times. Who would betray family so?”
I frowned. “I am surprised to hear such a question after receiving your letter, Mr. Pevensley. It would seem that you only take offense to such actions when you are not doing them yourself.”
Howard came to a halt. He turned, and his eyes fixed on me as if he were aiming a field gun. “Why would you say that, Mr. Kingsley? I would never have accused Lady Pevensley of this crime, not once in a thousand years. Though she is a continual pest, a noxious vexation that burns my eyes and sickens my stomach, I would not have leveled so serious a charge without proof. Not when it involves the life of my brother, and certainly not concerning my brother’s wife.” For a moment he was silent, and then he glanced back at Ms. Buxley. “You see, Mr. Kingsley, I know for myself how bitter such accusations can be.”
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Unease filled me as I heard the painful sincerity in his voice. I slowly drew out the letter I had received at my apartment and laid it carefully on the table. With one hand, I slid it toward him. “Mr. Pevensley, this letter was sent to my apartment only three days ago. Are you telling me, in all honesty, that you did not send it?”
Incredulous, Howard picked up the letter and began to pace with it, his eyes flitting over the pages. Disbelief at first dominated his expression, but as he walked, confusion, anger, and finally bitter hatred swept across his youthful features. His pacing slowed to a measured tread, and then stopped completely as he continued to read beside his chair. When he finished, Howard looked up at me and stared. “I have never seen these words in my life.”
What followed was a rather frank discussion on the virtues of honesty, trust, and the need for openness in any sort of relationship, professional or otherwise. I left the boarding house quite convinced that neither Mr. Howard Pevensley nor Ms. Laura Buxley had written the letter I had received near the beginning of the investigation. It was rather obvious. While the moral outrage Howard had expressed could be easily faked or pretended, the sheer frustration and self-centered romanticism was more telling. He believed himself to be honorable, virtuous, and above all, constantly conspired against by morally bankrupt plotters. Such people were unlikely to embark on schemes of their own, if only because of the sheer contradictions it would present to their own conscience.
These facts were nicely reinforced as each of them demonstrated their handwriting. Howard’s was far more refined, and far more harshly written than the letters scribbled on the page. He wrote as if he had been attacking the paper; the writer of the original letter had been far more calm and collected. Of Ms. Buxley’s handwriting, nothing needs to be said. It was so unrefined, I knew in an instant that she had not been the culprit either.
All of which left me in the dark as to who had communicated with me about the evidence against Lady Pevensley. It was obviously someone who was no friend of hers; it would be an odd sort of friendship that would drive someone to incriminate her in such an investigation as this one. I would have wondered what possible bitterness could have motivated someone to write such an accusation against Lady Pevensley, but then again, I had met her. The list of possible suspects for that crime would likely be a mile long. In addition to the near-impossible task of finding the fabricator of the letter, I was also faced with a new problem. The fact that the letter had been written under a false name made it fantastically unlikely that Lady Pevensley was the culprit I sought.
At the same time, it was incredibly implausible that Howard Pevensley was the would-be assassin. While passionate and irritatingly ignorant of the rules of society, the young lordling would not have had the mettle to plot the death of his brother. It was certainly not the maid either, though she did admit to some small skills at modifying toys, such as the mechanical rat, to do her bidding. The situation seemed more than likely to end with a tragic dagger and poison problem after a mere miscommunication, but a bomb did not fit into the picture at all.
I had gone from two very likely suspects to none in the space of an hour. My only hope in solving the case by tomorrow was in discovering the identity of the person who had written the letter in Howard’s name. Yet all I had were clues pointing to Howard and Lady Pevensley, neither of whom seemed to be a definite suspect any longer.
As I walked along the streets, pondering the problem, I found myself returning again and again to that evidence. I reviewed what had been presented to my mind, the meticulous attention to detail, an almost obsessive mountain of records all pointing to the conclusion that Lady Pevensley was guilty. Written accounts of conversations, receipts of suspicious purchases, even illicit photographs of Lady Pevensley in meetings with what must have been her network of agents. There was something odd about that evidence, something that haunted me nearly until I reached the door to my apartment.
Then the realization struck me, and I stood there stunned for a moment. It was not a surprise, exactly; it was more that it had been so obvious that I should have seen it before.
Still, all would be revealed in the morning, and that was what truly mattered. I smiled, turned the keys in the lock, and made my way inside.
My last trial for the day was to wind my way through the almost-silent apartment to my bed. I heard snores echoing from the kitchen; they seemed to be the familiar eruptions of sound Francis had taught me to be familiar with when we had attended school together. Occasionally he would snore loud enough to startle himself in his sleep, and then a faint spray of sparks would burst to life before fading away.
Benjamin, likely the dark form draped on the couch, was silent as the grave.
The office door was closed, but I could easily surmise that it concealed the sleeping forms of Daniel and Audrey. I wondered what they had thought of their evening with my old friends. Given what I knew of Benjamin and Francis, it would have been a night to remember. At least the apartment had not been burnt to ash, so my friends had remembered to contain themselves somewhat. It was a bit beyond hope that my reputation with the young professor and his sister had survived the night intact, but anything was possible.
I stalked quietly past the sleeping visitors and turned to head upstairs. It was there that I came to a dead stop. A man was sitting in a chair at the top of the darkened stairway, his head tilted back against the wooden planks that made up the back wall. For a moment, my mind was filled with an adrenaline-soaked burst of fear and alertness; images of my intruders the other night flashed through my mind, and the horrifying nightmare of a vengeful Rook roared out at me from a shadowed corner of my heart.
Then I heard a rhythmic breathing from the man, and I realized he was about the same height and build as Daniel. The fact that he had made no move to attack me also helped to provide some measure of calm and security, though it was difficult for the next few minutes to regain my composure. Edging my hand away from my gun, I stood for a few moments and breathed slowly until my heart no longer raced and my hands were steady. Then I ascended the stairs.
Daniel was waiting for me; his eyes glinted darkly in the faint traces of moonlight that managed to penetrate my shuttered windows. He smiled, there in the shadows. “Good evening, Kingsley. Welcome home.”
It was impossible for me to avoid a quiet snort of laughter. I quickly responded, using that same quiet whisper he had. “Thank you, Mr. Summervale. Your diligence in welcoming me could have waited until tomorrow, if I might say so.”
The young professor nodded. “True enough. I’m sorry to have startled you here, Kingsley. Your hospitality and efforts on my behalf have warranted better than that.” He glanced down the stairs. Francis’ snores were still more than audible even at a distance. Only a well-placed pillow or a solid door could muffle them, which I knew from sad, extensive experience.
“Your friends told us many stories tonight, Kingsley. We learned a lot about you. You have been friends with them a long time; it seems you went everywhere together.” He paused. “May I ask a question of you, Kingsley?”
I tilted my head to one side. “I am at your service, Mr. Summervale. You may ask anything you need.”
Daniel’s weary gaze traveled back to me. “I’m afraid it’s quite a personal question, Kingsley. I do not wish to offend you.”
Half a dozen horrendously embarrassing stories ran through my head. I mentally swore vengeance on Benjamin and Francis both. “Do not worry, Mr. Summervale. I am able to stand a fair bit of shame. What is it?”
He regarded me seriously. “Were you there when they were exposed to the Distillation?”
I tensed. Of all the questions he could have asked, why had the young professor decided to broach this topic? The silence between us stretched as I struggled to find the words I needed. “May I ask you why you are curious about that subject, Mr. Summervale?”
Daniel continued to watch me carefully, his dark eyes still focused on me. “Of all the stories they told, your friends never spoke of that incident. They have mentioned many times before they were Changed and many times after, but they never gave one clue as to how they encountered the Distillation, or who might have been with them at the time.” He pulled his eyes away, as if with an effort. “I knew it was a sensitive subject, and I am very sorry to have offended you if that is what I have done. But I found myself compelled to ask.”
He fell silent, and I watched him with a truly confusing mixture of feelings. I did not want to talk of such things, but at the same time, it was clear that my refusal to speak of them had discomforted my guest. A guest that I had, though in ignorance, encouraged to ask the question in the first place. Duty and compassion pulled in one direction while habit and pride crawled stubbornly in another, and between them I was caught.
Then I looked away from Daniel, back down toward the stairs where our friends and family slept. Perhaps the necessary thing would be easier if I did not stare directly at him as I spoke. “It is a difficult thing for me to speak about, Mr. Summervale, but it is not any fault of yours.” I paused in silent struggle again, and then continued. “I was there with them on the day they Changed.”
Another pause followed, and when Daniel spoke, it was an even softer whisper than before. “How did it happen? Was it an accident of some kind?”
A bitter kind of smile twisted my lips. “Worse, Mr. Summervale, worse by far. It was a bet.”
Daniel made a confused noise, halfway between a grunt and an exclamation, and I turned back to him. “Do not be so surprised, Mr. Summervale. We were very young, and the Distillation was everything the fairy tales and adventure books promised young men our age. The opportunity to become the monsters and wondrous creatures we’d read about was far too incredible to just ignore.”
The professor spoke slowly, with odd little pauses infusing his words. “I have heard of that practice. People would mix a bit of the crystal in with a draught of something, sometimes just plain water. Then they would drink it and see what the Distillation made of them.”
“Or what it brought out of the small, dark corners of the soul.” I shook my head. “It was different in those times. We still weren’t sure it was a permanent change, and in any case, none of us thought it would do anything bad to us. After all, the worst that could happen is that we would see what we were on the inside, and surely that something was special and unique somehow.”
The bitterness in my voice was clear, and Daniel hesitated before he spoke again. “But how could you have gained access to the crystal? Even then, it was heavily guarded and sealed away behind brass.” When I remained silent, he began to muse aloud. “Benjamin is a clever fellow, I can see that easily, but it seems his specialty lies in words, not objects. Francis is brave enough, to be certain, but too rash to carry out such a theft. Neither of them would have been able to…” His words trailed off, and his gaze returned to me. I turned away and remained silent. To admit it out loud would be foolish; by now I did not trust the steadiness of my voice.
After another long moment, Daniel spoke again. “So all three took the bet, and Benjamin and Francis Changed.” I could feel his eyes on me, heavy with a kind of cautious curiosity every true explorer of science soon learns. “What happened? Did you refuse the draught?”
A thread of dark humor swept through me. “You doubt my courage, Mr. Summervale? I took it along with them, foolish and proud. I wanted to see what lay inside me that only the Distillation could bring out, just as they did.”
Confusion now colored his hushed tone. “Then the Change…you must have seen something happen.”
Anger stirred at the edge of my sadness. “No, Daniel. I did not.” I turned to face him, and I could feel my face harden. “It brought me nothing. No Change, no enlightenment, simply nothing. What does that mean to a man looking for the hidden truth of his soul? There was nothing!”
With an effort I restrained myself, and once again there was silence. The anger and frustration I had released quickly cooled, slowly retreating beneath the ebb and flow of my thoughts. A profound melancholy filled its place, but I shrugged it aside. “In any case, it does not matter anymore. Things are the way they are, and there is little point in dwelling on them. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Summervale?”
Daniel remained silent for a long moment longer. When he spoke, his voice had a wistful air to it. “I suppose you are right, Kingsley. Again, I apologize for having disturbed you. I merely cannot help a certain fascination with such things. Ever since Audrey Changed…” He shook his head, and I saw his shoulders slump. “I hope you will forgive a fool his folly.”
The simple earnestness of his words wiped away the last of my ill temper, and a good deal of the sadness I felt as well. It was replaced in turn with a certain kind of weariness that follows a day of long trials and a conversation of great difficulty. I laid a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and sighed, feeling the need to rest for at least a little while before I faced more of the world. “No, Mr. Summervale, you are far from a fool, and every man is entitled to a little folly.”
He looked up at me, and I saw the ghost of a smile flit across his face. I clapped him once on the shoulder and turned to my bedroom door. “It would be wise to rest a while, Mr. Summervale. Soon Francis and the rest will be up, and then it would be a sound sleeper indeed who could remain in bed!” He chuckled, and as I closed the door, I heard the chair shift under him as he stood. His footsteps sounded on the stairs as he descended to the office, and the soft closing of the door announced that he had joined his sister in the impromptu quarters there.
For my part I remained at my door, leaning back against the solid wood. My head rested against the boards as well, and I stared up into the darkness of my ceiling as old memories assailed me. They were bright memories, of a wonderful sunny day when I held the Distillation in my hands and looked forward to a glorious future with my friends at my side. After a while, I pushed myself away from the door and fell into my bed. Such things could wait for a less busy time. After all, they so rarely leave us in the end.