A Beautiful Blue Death by Charles Finch Read Free Book Online

easier time than you in finding out more about Miss Smith, sir.”
    “The same sort of task, only here on Hampden Lane?”
    “Exactly, sir.”
    “Dashed good idea, that. Wish I’d thought of it. Jane says she was provocative, and you say she was exotic. What does that mean?”
    “I shall try to find out, sir.”
    “Ask the girls in both houses—at any rate, it was your idea and you’ll know how to handle it.”
    “Hopefully, sir.”
    “Good work. All right then, take the day off tomorrow to do those things. Oh,” he said. “Here are a few pounds to do them with.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Good night, Graham.”
    “Good night, sir.”
    He sighed. “Villefranche, Graham.”
    “Yes, sir,” he said.
    The butler walked out of the room, though Lenox knew that he would sit in the hallway until Lenox himself had gone to bed. Which would be wonderfully soon, he thought.
    The fire was dying but warm, and once again he took off his boots and his socks and warmed his feet, which were again wet and cold, by the embers. He picked up The Small House at Alling-ton and read a chapter, sipping the last of his warm wine while he did. What a long day it had been!
    And oh, how he had been looking forward to the seaside! Well, well, he thought. It will all turn out right. He dropped the book to his side, placed his hands on the top of his stomach, and stared, for a few moments, into the fire. Poor Jane, he thought. Bella indigo, whatever that was. He would have to visit a chemist on his own.…
    His eyes began to close, and he knew it was time to wander up to his bedroom and put on his nightcap. He heaved his body from the chair and said, as he walked into the hallway, “Oh, andGraham? You had better cancel the trip with Mr. Kerr in the morning.”
    Graham was, of course, seated in the hall, reading his newspaper and eating an oat cake. “Yes, sir,” he said.
    “And you’d better give him fifty pounds as good-faith money for the next trip.” Lenox yawned. “He’ll be terribly cross, you know. I keep canceling.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Now really, Graham, go to bed. I’m only going to have a bath and fall asleep.”
    The butler stood up, and Lenox smiled at him.
    “Good night,” he said. “And good luck tomorrow.”
    Graham nodded. “Good night, sir,” he said, and sat down again in his chair, pulling the newspaper from his pocket.

Chapter 8
    L enox’s stationery was plain white, with his address printed at the top in dark blue. When he woke up the next morning, he took a piece of it from his bedside table, wrote in a quick hand, Prudence Smith could neither read nor write, and put it in an envelope without signing it. On the envelope he printed the name MCCONNELL and then rang a bell to fetch a servant, whom he asked to take the letter to his friend’s house on Bond Street.
    That done, he lay back in bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the time: seven-thirty He would have to hurry to make breakfast with Barnard.
    He thought as he dressed about the shocking moment when Jane’s maid had discredited the suicide note entirely. The idea of murder had clicked from probability to truth. At the same time, he thought, there was a closed household to deal with. Five guests; even more servants. Although there was the open window. And the unused candle, which troubled him. How often were candles changed? He should ask Graham. Or better yet, ask Graham to find out from one of the servants at Barnard’s house.
    It was funny, he thought; his first case had revolved around a candle, too. He had been only twenty-two and had gone to visita family friend, Lady Deborah Marbury, to pay his respects after her son’s violent murder. John Marbury had been discovered shot, slumped over the table at his club, and Deborah had been sure it was his friend Hawkins, whom she thought rather a bad influence.
    The details from the paper, mixed with the sorrow of his father’s friend, had rankled Lenox. Slowly he had begun to nibble around the