Lessons in Power (7 page)
on the door. The sort of butler who obviously regards himself as second in importance only to his master and the king, in that order, opened the portal and eyed the visitors with suspicion.
“We’ve come to see Mr. Taylor.” Jonty fixed the man with his piercing blue gaze, one which
reminded Orlando of Mrs. Stewart at her most loud and domineering, a side of him that was, thank
goodness, rarely on display.
“Mr. Taylor is not at home, sir.” The last word sounded as close to an insult as the butler could
manage.
“He may not be ‘at home’ yet he is at home, I saw him at the window. Please be so good as to tell him that Jonty Stewart is here and that he
will
see me.”
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Lessons in Power
There was something in Jonty’s tone that was redolent of his dear mama, and even the superior
servant had to accede to his will. Jonty and Orlando were left on the doorstep for a few minutes, hearing raised voices inside, before the butler returned to lead them towards the drawing room.
“Mr. Taylor can spare ten minutes.” He opened the door and let them into the lion’s den.
At least, Orlando had been expecting a lion—some huge man built like a lock forward who could
have overpowered Jonty with a single hand. What he met was more like a hyena, a stringy and unsavoury-looking individual who appeared to be built more for cunning than for strength. Even if he hadn’t been predisposed to hating the man, Orlando would have taken an instant dislike to him. A peculiar, epicene creature, not at all healthy in appearance, Timothy Taylor was in some odd way a disappointment.
“Mr. Stewart.” Taylor rose and held out his hand in an uneasy gesture. The man was clearly worried,
as if
his
nemesis had finally caught up with him, rather than the reverse.
Jonty shook the hand perfunctorily. “
Dr.
Stewart. And this is Dr. Coppersmith. We have some
questions to ask you.”
Taylor’s eyes flicked nervously from one to the other. Orlando began to wonder if he thought they’d
come to exact a hideous revenge for what he’d done to Jonty. It was an appealing idea, to crush his
wretched skull. Or would have been had Taylor been sixteen stone and not such a pathetic specimen of
humanity.
“You took dinner with Lord Christopher Jardine at Platt’s some days before he was killed. You
argued. What was the argument about?” Jonty’s voice was hard, unemotional.
Taylor looked shocked, as if this was the last thing he expected Stewart to ask him. He began to relax, re-gather his composure. “That was an entirely private matter and I can’t be expected to divulge it.”
“You might have to, in a court of law,” Orlando chipped in, earning himself a frown from Jonty. He
should have realised he was present for moral support—his lover had to be in total charge of this encounter.
“Mr. Taylor, I don’t give a fig whether it was a private matter.” Jonty resumed the offensive. “You
argued and I want to know what the cause was. You will tell me now.”
Orlando suddenly saw a strength of character in his friend which was above and beyond any fortitude
Jonty had already demonstrated over the last year or so. There was a moral authority about him so imposing it made the man he was interrogating tremble.
“I had a crisis of conscience. I’d done something in the past I was ashamed of and I wanted to make a clean breast of it. His lordship didn’t agree with me—I’m afraid we had words over it, to the extent that we were rather ignominiously ejected from the club and made to carry on our disagreement on the pavement.
We parted on the worst of terms with the matter unresolved. I didn’t meet him again.”
“You didn’t see fit to visit him in Dorking?”
“Indeed not. It was he who picked the quarrel with me, I had no need to go and plead with him to
change his mind.” Taylor picked restlessly at his sleeve.
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Charlie Cochrane
“And this matter, over which you say you had a disagreement, concerned what?”
The silence which descended on the room was broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. Orlando
was convinced that he’d counted at least one hundred and eighty-five
tocks
before Taylor spoke.
“You know very well what it concerns, Dr. Stewart. And you have my sincerest apologies, even if I
was unable to make Jardine see reason enough to feel remorse over what happened…back then.” Taylor
raised a handkerchief to his mouth then began to cough. “You will excuse me, I am rather unwell. Is there any more?”
Jonty shook his head. “Not for now. If you’ve told me the truth then perhaps there will never be more.
If not, I’ll be back.” He turned, an action which Orlando immediately copied. They made their own way out, not waiting for the supercilious butler. They were through the front door, down the steps and halfway along the road before Jonty began to wilt. Orlando grabbed hold of his elbow and, spotting a cab on the other side of the street, hailed it.
“I’d rather get some fresh air.” Jonty’s pale face certainly looked as if he might benefit from a walk, but Orlando shook his head.
“No arguments. You look like you’re about to collapse.” He helped Jonty into the carriage, giving
their hotel’s name to the cabman then taking his rightful place at his lover’s side. “And I can’t do this while we’re walking, out in broad daylight.” He slipped his hand into Jonty’s, surreptitiously caressing it until a glimmer of a smile appeared on the man’s face. “You were magnificent.”
“Was I? I felt like a jellyfish. Screwed the old courage up so far, and now I feel absolutely
exhausted.”
“Then it’s as well we get back to the Grosvenor as soon as possible. You can have a bath and I’ll have a pot of tea sent up to the room. With treacle tart.”
Jonty’s wan smile began to increase in wattage. “Treacle tart. My goodness, you know the way to a
man’s heart, Dr. Coppersmith. A hot soak and tea. You wouldn’t consider bringing me a cup while I’m in there, would you?”
“I’ll put on my dinner jacket and pretend I’m the waiter if you wish.” Orlando was heartened by the
banter, always a sign that his friend was regaining his spirits. He dropped his voice—the trapdoor was shut but he suspected cab drivers had ears like bats. “Although I won’t play any stupid games like hunt the soap.”
By the time Jonty had been treated to three cups of tea while in the tub and two slices of tart
afterwards, his mood was much lightened. He slipped on a red quilted dressing gown and ranged himself along the sofa, holding court. “Do you know, I’ve been terribly rude. I haven’t asked once how you and Papa got on.”
Orlando smiled. “Sergeant Cuff, do you mean? He was very keen to be off sleuthing.”
“Was any of it successful?”
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Lessons in Power
“Indeed it was. I’ve a dozen new pairs of socks, all of which will pass muster with Mrs. Ward, and am being fitted for my new suit in a fortnight.”
Jonty picked up a cushion and launched it at his friend’s head. “You’re being deliberately obtuse.
What happened vis-à-vis the case? We’re short of time, don’t forget, and we must make the most of this weekend. Alistair Stafford’s solicitor will have men eager to do some legwork, so we need to set them off in the right direction.”
“I’m sorry.” Orlando adopted his most serious face, although he guessed it no longer fooled his lover.
He felt strangely elated, unsettled, and it all dated from their visit to Taylor. He would need to discuss that too, soon. At present he explained all that they’d gleaned at Waite’s and Trimbles, offering his and Mr.
Stewart’s interpretation of it.
“It would fit in with what Taylor said. If he was keen to make a clean breast of things, then Jardine might have felt the need to make a bolt for the continent, rather like all those men did when the Wilde trial came up.”
Orlando became even more unsettled. “But that would affect you, wouldn’t it? If Taylor made some
sort of public admission—and his lordship must have anticipated that the confession would come into
general knowledge if he felt the need to flee before it was spoken abroad—it would mean your name being dragged through the mud, too.”
Jonty shrugged and looked rueful. “I knew that was a risk I’d be running as soon as we chose to delve into this case. I didn’t realise that the wheels might already have been set in motion.”
Orlando left his chair and snuggled beside his lover. “I’ll stand by you, whatever the outcome.”
“I know you will, noodle head. And Mama and Papa. I’m really very lucky. Anyway, does any of this
information get us any closer to the real killer?”
“It seems the wrong way round to me. If Taylor was threatening to tell all, then Jardine would have
been likely to kill him, not vice versa.”
“That’s my reaction, too. What’s more, if the argument at the club had been overheard and someone
fancied chancing their arm at a bit of blackmail, then the same conditions would apply. You wouldn’t kill the goose if you could keep the golden eggs in steady supply.” Jonty found a stray piece of pastry on his sleeve and consumed it with a sort of schoolboy glee.
“I’d still like to know if Taylor can account for himself on the night the murder occurred. We should put that to Mr. Collingwood and his team of hounds.”
“Collingwood is as sound a solicitor as any in the City and he’s not afraid of using some slightly less respectable help. He’s got some friends of my brother Sheridan off the hook more than once.” Jonty smiled, like a child with a secret. “If there’s stuff to be found out, he’s the man to get to the bottom of it, as long as we can point him in the right direction.”
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Charlie Cochrane
Orlando rubbed his lover’s leg. “I was really proud of you today. Couldn’t have been at all easy, yet you handled it with such aplomb.”
“It turned out a lot easier than I thought, you know. When I saw Taylor, all the thoughts I’d been
restraining about beating his head to a pulp just disappeared. He was such a pathetic specimen, I was almost sorry for him.”
“Had he changed very much?” Orlando tightened his grip on Jonty’s knee.
“He was never built like a barn door, but he was much stronger and athletic back…back then. He
seems emaciated now. I believe him when he says he’s ill.”
“Consumption, do you suppose?”
“Perhaps. Or what my father might describe as
a visitation wrought by the sins of the flesh
.” Jonty grinned again. “Well don’t look so puzzled. However will you develop your detecting skills if you don’t understand how the world works? I mean a venereal disease, caught off some poor boy he’d hired, I dare say.” Jonty may have been sorry for Taylor, but the rancour in his voice remained.
Orlando nodded, trying to appear wise but secretly determined to go off and find a dictionary and
delve into the
V
section. Sometime when Jonty wasn’t present. “He doesn’t frighten you any more?”
“No, Orlando. Best part of fifteen years I’ve had him as some sort of bogey man in my mind and
when I eventually met him, well, I felt rather superior to him. Not just morally, socially as well, if you catch my drift. Look at me, I’m fit and healthy. He’s only four years older than I am yet he looked like a man in his late forties. And I have something that I’m sure he’s never found.” Jonty took his lover’s hand.
“If I could make what happened at school disappear, never have occurred, but the ultimate cost was losing you, I have no doubt what my decision would be.”
Orlando’s eyes began to well but, both hands being occupied, he could neither dry nor hide them. “Do
you really mean that?”
“Do you doubt me?” Jonty stroked the hands which held his.
“No, never. Not my Jonty.”
Bustling sounds filtered up from the street, voices, hooves and wheels. Somewhere a peal of bells
rang out, London at her lively best. It couldn’t spoil the atmosphere within the room, the sense of difficult waters navigated and the safe passage ensured. Orlando shifted closer, placed a gentle kiss on his lover’s brow.
“You kiss me so beautifully.” Jonty curled into his friend’s embrace. “Like you do everything. My
Orlando.”
At any other time it would have been right and proper for the embraces to go further. Orlando would
have breathed into his lover’s ear, Jonty would have giggled, and things would have gone to their natural conclusion. Not now, not with this shadow hanging over them. Orlando was sure he could feel a reticence in his friend’s touch, a hint of reluctance and regret. The sooner this wretched case was solved, the better.
38
Chapter Five
Matthew Ainslie watched the contrasting pair of figures meander down the road to the hotel where
they were lunching. Tall, dark, saturnine—Orlando’s looks only did themselves justice when he smiled, when no one could deny he was handsome. Different in both appearance and attitudes, somehow they
formed a perfect pair. Jonty was shorter, stockier, a bright little figure almost dancing along the pavement.
Matthew waved as they approached. “And how have you gentlemen been spending your Sunday
morning?”
“Church, a leisurely stroll through Green Park and admiration of the waterfowl.” Jonty doffed his hat to the girl at Matthew’s side. She was neatly turned out, her checked coat and skirt trimmed with green—
young Mr. Waite would have been delighted at its quality. Her hat was topped off with a huge spray of feathers, their artificially bright emerald hue suggesting they’d encountered the dyer’s room between bird and milliner. “Miss Stafford, I presume?”
Matthew led them to a small, private room, with a view over the park. The sunshine had raised