The Strings of Murder (5 page)

‘Good evening, family!’ he said in his deep, loud voice.

‘We thought you would be detained,’ Father said, smiling for the first time that evening. ‘But it is good to have you here.’

Laurence poured himself a glass of cognac. ‘I almost did not come, but some incredible news forced me, Father.’ The corners of his mouth were slightly tilted in a scornful smile. I could see his attack coming. ‘Ian,’ he said, turning to me, ‘I heard from James Swanson that you have been thrown out of Scotland Yard … in a quite shocking manner … Is that true?’

Catherine gasped, but that was the only noise besides the fire crackling. I felt the colour leaving my face.

‘Why do you ask if you already know the answer?’ I snapped.

‘Dear Lord!’ Father let out, covering his brow.

‘Ian, it cannot be true,’ said Catherine. ‘Your father will be
so disappointed
!’

‘I can see he is bloody disappointed!’ I cried. ‘He is sitting right next to you!’

‘Do not speak to your stepmother like that!’ Father roared. From the corner of my eye I saw Oliver crouching in his seat and Elgie gripping his violin with shaking hands. ‘What disgrace you have brought upon the Freys!’

‘Indeed,’ Laurence said. ‘And you have not heard the best part; the bit everybody is talking about. Your dear son was dismissed in front of Lord Salisbury himself!
Not content with that, he also called James Monro a dirty Lothian dweller.’

Catherine clasped my father’s hand. ‘Oh, Ian, pray, pray tell us it is not true.’

‘I was not dismissed
right
in front of the prime minister …’ I said warily. ‘Rather a few seconds before he entered the room, and
then
Monro had to brief him.’

‘How can you even joke about it?’ Laurence hissed. ‘Do you believe that any respectable institution … or person … will take you on after this? You should have never joined the CID if you lacked the stomach to –’

I hurled myself towards Laurence and seized him by the collar, my eyes blazing.

‘
Ian, don’t!
’ Catherine yelled.

‘Stop it, you imbecile!’ I whispered to Laurence, soft enough for only him to hear. ‘You would have cracked on your first week of duty.’

‘Ian, let go of your brother!
Now!
’ Father ordered, and I tossed Laurence away. ‘What would people say if they knew that the Frey brothers jump on each other like wild cats?’

Then we heard the butler clearing his throat. He’d come to announce dinner a while ago, and had been looking at the scene in composed amusement.

‘Very well,’ said my father. ‘We can discuss this over dinner.’

‘I am not hungry,’ I replied immediately, making my way to the door.

‘Oh, but you should stay,’ Elgie jumped in, pulling my arm, and then whispered in my ear. ‘I have some big news too!’

I sighed in resignation. Somehow I could never say no to that rogue. ‘Very well, I will stay. But I will sit next to you.’

We ate in an uncomfortable silence. Elgie, trying to ease the general mood, was telling us his funniest stories from the Lyceum Theatre, where he was a resident musician.

‘… and then Mr Sullivan said we would all be impressed by how accomplished his niece is at the harpsichord – I had to bite my lip not to say that the harpsichord sounds like two skeletons copulating on a tin roof!’

‘Elgie!’ cried his mother, ‘I will not have such foul language at the table! Neither will your father!’

The old man, however, was laughing under his napkin. Elgie saw the perfect moment to strike.

‘Talking about Mr Sullivan, he composed a fantastic score for the new
Macbeth
. Mama heard it.’

‘Oh, indeed. Mr Sullivan invited me to a rehearsal; marvellous music. It only annoys me that they’ll have that old trollop Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth. Then again, one does need a vixen for that part.’

‘Being “The Scottish Play”,’ Elgie went on, ‘they want to take it on tour to Edinburgh next summer …’ His eyes fell on me, and I knew at once where he was going. ‘The Scottish Theatre Company is short of musicians, so – well, they offered me a place there.’

Catherine and my father looked at him blankly, as if they had heard an unfinished sentence. Elgie had to spell it out for them, not a trace of humour in his face.

‘I want to go.’

Their stares progressed from vacant to disturbed.
Catherine carefully put down her cutlery. ‘Elgie, my dear, you cannot be serious.’

‘I am. It is a great opportunity. I will be first violin!’

Father snorted. ‘
First violin in Scotland!
My, oh my, what an achievement! I’d rather you played third triangle in the bloody Whitechapel parish.’

‘Father!’

‘Think of the practicalities,’ said Laurence, as condescending as always. ‘Where would you stay? We have no relatives or acquaintances up there.’

‘I could rent a room,’ said Elgie, making his mother gasp. ‘Well, Ian does it.’

I sank in my seat.

‘We are not discussing Ian,’ said my father. ‘You are far too young to live on your own in a different country!’

Elgie let out the expected: ‘I’m not too young, Father. I’m eighteen years old!’ and then threw in some salt: ‘Do you want me to live here for ever and become another Oliver?’

Catherine protested at that remark, but our dear brother was too engaged with his venison to take offence.

Father’s voice came out low, in that ominous tone we’d all learned to fear in our childhoods. ‘You are really irritating me now, Elgie. The entire matter is out of the question and I won’t hear another word. Have you heard me?’

Elgie threw his napkin on the table and rose so quickly his chair fell backwards. As he stormed away he nearly collided with a servant who was coming in.

‘He is beginning to show the Freys’ temper,’ said Laurence as his wine glass was refilled.

Catherine glared at me. ‘This is your fault! See what an
example you’ve set for my child, leaving our house for your flea-ridden lodgings!’

I took a deep breath, and instead of arguing I looked at the servant, who had brought a letter on a silver tray. ‘Yes?’

‘There is a message for you, sir.’

‘Perhaps they are offering you the post back!’ Catherine ventured, sarcastic to her very core.

I took the note and recognized the hand of my dear fiancée.

‘It is from Eugenia,’ I said. My spirits lifted even more as I tore the envelope open.

Dearest Ian,

I have just looked for you in Suffolk Street. Your maid told me that you could be found at your parents’ house. May I please speak with you this evening? I must see you. It is a matter of urgency. I shall wait for you all night if I must.

E.

‘Well, delightful as the evening has been, I must leave!’ I said with a triumphant grin. ‘Eugenia needs to see me without delay.’

‘I wonder what for …’ Laurence mumbled.

Within a few minutes I was already in a carriage, heading happily to the Ferrars’ house. All of a sudden the cool, fouled air of London felt surprisingly invigorating.

4

Eugenia was waiting for me in her parlour. When I walked in she was accompanied only by a young maid serving tea.

Seeing her waiting all by herself made me feel a wave of warmth. Everything in that face was sweet and beautiful; the wide blue eyes, the snow-white skin, the childish lips and the golden curls. That evening she was wearing a pink muslin dress, perfectly fitted to her tiny waist. A white kitten was playing on her lap, meowing as she caressed its bright fur. Suddenly all my quarrels and tribulations seemed a small price to pay for being with her.

Eugenia had only turned twenty a couple of months earlier, so I liked to think of her as a young girl whom I might spoil. Her frequent whims, and the way she wrinkled her nose and stamped her feet when cross only made her sweeter.

Reginald Ferrars, her father, was a much respected barrister in Chancery Lane. The man was a business associate of my brother Laurence, and would attend Catherine’s parties quite frequently. I had met Eugenia for the first time at one such occasion, and it was not long before we were engaged.

‘Good evening, my love,’ I said with a grin. ‘Why you are all alone? Is your father not at home?’

As I sat next to her, I thought of how frequently it was remarked what a nice couple we were: she was short, sweet and demure, I tall and protective.

‘He is busy,’ was all she said. Then I had the chance to study her face. The warm glow of the fireplace and the gaslight partly concealed how pale her cheeks really were. A tiny frown marked her pretty face.

‘Eugenia … is there anything wrong?’

She waved a hand to dispatch both the maid who was serving tea and the one who had announced my arrival. The women left us alone at once, but Eugenia would not speak immediately. She ran her hand over the cat’s back; it was only for a second, but a quiver of her fingers told me how anxious she was.

‘Pray tell me what is wrong,’ I said soothingly.

She fixed her eyes on her lap, inhaled deeply, swallowed, and then spoke hastily, as if the words burned her mouth and she had to spit them out.

‘Ian, I cannot marry you.’

The kitten meowed and twisted in her nervous hands before jumping onto the floor. We both fell silent.

I was expecting her to say something else …
anything
. Despite the torrent of bad news I had received during the day, Eugenia was the first one to make me stammer.

‘Wha – wha … Y-you’re not serious!’ I laughed nervously and looked for her hand. ‘Eugenia, this has not been the best of days and I am not …’

As soon as my fingers touched hers she drew her hand away. ‘Ian, I have never been more serious in my life. I am breaking our engagement.’

Then it was Eugenia who looked for my hand, but only to push a tasteful diamond ring onto my palm.

I stared at the shining gem while she looked for her cat. The five golden tips of a tiny maple leaf enveloped the
perfectly cut diamond. I had commissioned that ring from Giuliano especially for her.

‘So is that it?’ I asked. ‘What silly matter made you change like this all of a sudden? Have you heard of my dismissal? Is that what troubles you?’

‘Oh, Ian, I did hear, but it is not that … It’s –’

Again she could speak no more. I caressed her chin tenderly. ‘Whatever is wrong you can tell me. You know I will understand. I promise.’

Sobbing, she managed to speak.

‘I … I have received another proposal …’

‘
You have what!
’

‘A-and I … I have accepted.’

Her blue eyes, usually angelic, were unexpectedly glowing with sheer trenchancy. I blinked, inhaled, surveyed the room and only after a moment realized that the gears in my brain had stopped turning. Once the words had fully sunk in, my mouth exploded in a torrent of injured abuse that flowed freely like spurts of acid.

‘You – you sharp-clawed, treacherous, little harpy!’

‘
Ian!
You promised you would understand!’

‘And you promised you would marry me, dear! We are not very good at keeping our word, it seems.’

‘Ian –’

‘My career and my professional reputation are possibly ruined for ever – perhaps even before the eyes of Lord Salisbury himself –
and now you tell me that you have accepted another bloody man’s proposal!
’

Through the window I saw passers-by turn to peer inside, for my last sentence had been an open roar. I
walked around in circles like a trapped lion, trying to control my rage.

‘Ian, you should leave,’ she said, her lip trembling.

Very soon I’d regret my shameful display, but at that moment I could not think.

‘What about your honour?’ I sputtered, not listening to her. ‘What do you think people will say about you when they hear what you have done?’

‘They will probably praise my good sense,’ she snapped. ‘Have you not just said it is
you
who has little honour left?’

I could take those words from anyone else, even from my father, but coming from her they were like knives.

‘Please, Ian.
Go
,’ she insisted.

On any other day I would have retorted, stayed and fought her until she regained her senses. My heart, however, had never felt so heavy. The preceding hours had drained my spirit and I was tired, too tired for even one more battle.

She was right in one thing: I’d better leave before I lost what little dignity I had left.

My fingers closed around the ring as I turned to the door. Before leaving the room I cast a last glance at my former sweetheart. She was holding the kitten, her eyes staring hard through the window, as if she were no longer there.

Despite my weariness, I managed to utter one last question. ‘May I at least know the name of this noble gentleman who declares his love to an already engaged woman?’

Eugenia did not reply. She simply stood still by the window, the cat in her arms.