Free Death by Silver by Melissa Scott Page B

Lynes.”
    He could see that it took Victor a moment to place Julian, but eventually recognition dawned. “Not little Lynes?”
    “The same.”
    Victor snorted. “It’s odd meeting old schoolmates, isn’t it? I remember him a mewling little brat, but I expect he’s entirely presentable now.”
    “I’ve always found him entirely reliable,” Ned said after only a brief pause. “He specializes in cases requiring delicate handling. Detective work, you understand, but not the common sort.”
    Victor shrugged. “If you think it’ll help. I suppose it’ll mean an extra fee. Never mind, though, it’s worth it if you can sort this out. Whatever the usual rates are, and of course your expenses to be paid.”
    “I’m going to have to bill by the hour,” Ned said. “I’m afraid I haven’t a set fee for murder investigations.”
    “I don’t suppose you would.” Victor stood, offered his hand again for another bone-crushing handshake, and handed over one of his cards. “I imagine you’ll want to come round and see the house.”
    “And talk to the household. I’m afraid so.”
    “The lesser of two evils,” Victor said. “You’re better than the police. Not that I expect we’ll get rid of them soon. Can you come this afternoon?”
    “It’s a bit short notice,” Ned said, although he knew full well there was nothing on his schedule.
    “We may be living with a murderer,” Victor said, and Ned had to admit that provided a certain sense of urgency. If nothing else, the longer he delayed, the less chance there was of anyone being able to tell him their story of the night of Nevett’s death without it being colored by long hours of gossip and speculation.
    “I’ll find out what I can for you,” Ned said, and Victor reclaimed his hat with an admiring glance at Miss Frost and went out.
    Ned turned the card over in his fingers, trying to settle his nerves. Miss Frost frowned at him. “Mr Mathey, are you feeling quite well?”
    “Perfectly,” he said, even more unsettled by the idea that he might not look completely at ease. “Why ever not?”
    “You just look a bit green,” she said. “And so many things are going off, in this weather. I bought a ham pie the other day that turned out not to be fit to eat. Even the cat wouldn’t touch it.”
    “I haven’t been eating ham pie, so I think I’m safe,” Ned said. “Mrs Clewett hasn’t poisoned me yet, although she will keep talking about fattening me up, as if I’m a sheep too scrawny to be turned into mutton.”
    “I expect that’s just as well for the sheep.”
    “Undoubtedly.” The room still felt too close, stifling despite the open window. “I’m going to go see what I can do about some of this,” he said, gathering up his working case and his hat. “If I’m not back by three, consider yourself at leisure for the day.”
    “Yes, Mr Mathey,” she said, and he made his escape out into the hallway.
    Out in the Commons square, the air smelled of lavender from the herb garden, which at the moment was merely bending in the warm breeze; the more mobile plants tended to be active at twilight and dawn. He took the long way through the garden toward the back gate by the omnibus stop, hoping to settle his nerves.
    It was unreasonable to hold schoolboy grudges, he knew, and yet the old sentiments still crept in; unreasonable or not, he found himself with the urge to once again punch Victor Nevett in the face.

    It had been their second year at Toms’, which by all rights should have been easier than the first. It hadn’t seemed so, though. James the Less had gone up to Oxford, and he’d been the best of the prefects; Staniforth was in his place, and encouraged the others to punish the slightest infraction with a heavy hand. They hounded Julian particularly, far beyond what Ned thought was reasonable or fair, stealing his things or tripping him in the hallways, tipping ink over his books and getting in a dig with elbows or fists every chance