His voice had gradually grown in volume and timbre as he’d delivered his carefully practised speech. Now he was grinning wolfishly at Veronica. “It is not often that we have a lady on the premises, Miss Hobbes. Please forgive me if I seem a trifle overzealous. I believe wholeheartedly in our cause.”
“I can see that you do,” she said, mindful to keep any judgement out of her tone. She’d already decided that she heartily disliked the man, but it clearly wouldn’t do to broadcast the fact.
Bainbridge, however, was less tactful. “All laudable stuff, I’m sure-” He broke off to cough into his handkerchief, and Veronica couldn’t help thinking he was disguising a laugh. “-but tell me, if all of that’s true, all that stuff about chivalry and order, why would you associate yourselves with a criminal such as Edwin Sykes?”
Graves tried but failed to repress a scowl. “Direct and to the point, Sir Charles. Let me tell you something about Mr. Edwin Sykes. He’s one of those newly made men, not born of good breeding stock. I’m sure you understand what I mean-” He looked pointedly at Bainbridge. “-but he’s a gentleman all the same, and I understand he has been convicted of no crime. He supports and champions our cause. I have no hesitation in recommending the fellow, and whilst he may not be my first choice for a dinner companion, he is a fine and upstanding member of our society.”
Bainbridge nodded. “When did you last see him here at Packwood, Sir Enoch?”
Graves looked thoughtful. “I’m not really sure, to be honest, Sir Charles. A few weeks ago, perhaps? I’m terribly sorry I can’t be more specific. I’ve had so much on my mind. I’m running for government, you see. And what with the party last night… I suppose I haven’t really been paying attention. Sykes moves in different circles.”
“If I may, sir?” All four of them turned to see one of the butlers, an older man dressed in a smart black suit and white gloves, who had been clearing a table just to the left of their small circle. He looked incredibly nervous.
“Go on,” said Bainbridge, leaning on his cane.
“I believe I saw Mr. Sykes here last night, at the party. He arrived late, after dinner had already been served. He joined some others by the fire for drinks.” The man’s voice wavered as he realised Graves was glaring at him. “Um, although it was only the most fleeting of glimpses. I could, of course, be wrong.”
There was a warning in the delivery of Graves’s response that was impossible to miss. “Thank you, Edwards, but I fear you are mistaken. Please carry on.” He watched the butler scuttle away with an armful of napkin rings clutched tightly to his chest, then turned back to the others. “Edwards is getting on a bit. Not the most reliable memory, but a stalwart all the same. One of the fixtures and fittings around here, really.” A moment’s pause. “I can absolutely assure you that Edwin Sykes was not here at the clubhouse last night. We haven’t seen him for some time.”
Newbury seemed to take this in. “That would be entirely consistent with our findings, Sir Enoch. We’re currently holding Edwin Sykes’s body in the police morgue.”
The colour seemed to drain suddenly out of Graves’s face. He appeared to momentarily lose his composure. “Oh… oh dear…,” he stammered, as if unable to order his thoughts. “What… what happened?”
“As yet we’re not entirely sure. But we suspect foul play,” Newbury answered, clearly choosing to omit any details. Veronica had the impression he might be attempting to lead Graves into a trap, or at least find out if the premier knew something pertinent that he was trying to hide.
“Foul play?” Graves sounded deeply concerned by this eventuality.
“Yes. Murder.” Newbury kept his voice level, calm.
“When?”
“Three days ago, or thereabouts.”
“Good God.” Graves looked genuinely appalled. “Good God.” He glanced at Bainbridge. “Have you any notion who’s responsible?”
“We’re following up a number of leads.” Bainbridge lied in response, and again Veronica realised her two companions were playing a clever game with Graves, trying to get him to trip himself up, circling him like hunters closing in on prey. It was fascinating to watch. “Perhaps you could help us. Do you know of anyone who might have had a quarrel with Sykes, or a reason to want him dead?”
Graves shook his head. His voice hardened. “The only quarrel I’m aware of was with you, Sir Charles. Is there any reason Scotland Yard would want him dead?”
Veronica winced. That wouldn’t sit well with Bainbridge, and clearly Graves was not beyond playing his own game, trying to rile the chief inspector and lead the conversation in a different direction.
To his credit, Bainbridge allowed the comment to wash over him and continued with his questions. “Did he ever keep a room here at Packworth House?”
Graves shrugged. “We all do, on occasion. But certainly not in recent months. As I say, he moved in different circles. We hadn’t seen a lot of him about. But I’m sure he was working to further our cause, whatever he was up to.”
The conversation lapsed into a strained silence. The only sound was the clinking of the empty wineglasses that the waiting staff were clearing away at the other end of the room.
“Have you ever used your sword in anger, Sir Enoch?” Newbury indicated the rapier hanging from the other man’s belt.
Graves seemed flustered by this sudden turn in the conversation. “I’m not sure I like the implication behind that question, Sir Maurice.”
“It’s a simple enough question. I’d be obliged if you’d answer it.”
“Then the answer is no, I have not.” Graves was clearly fuming now. His top lip quivered in anger. “Are you saying Sykes was murdered with a rapier?”
“No.”
Graves looked close to exploding. “Then I fail to see the relevance…” He trailed off, leaving his sentence hanging.
Veronica took this as her cue to intercede. She moved a step closer to Graves, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “Sir Enoch, we do appreciate your help in this matter. We’re keen not to see a scandal develop, or to cause the members of your society any concern or inconvenience. It would be particularly disheartening if the Bastion Society were to become associated with the matter, especially as you’re running for government. It wouldn’t look at all good in the press.” She smiled sweetly. Graves shifted uneasily but didn’t respond. “We’re keen to bring the whole affair to a swift conclusion. You mentioned earlier that Sykes moved in ‘other circles.’ Perhaps you could point us at some of his associates so we could continue our investigations elsewhere?”
Graves took a sharp intake of breath. “As much as I would like to assist you further in this matter, Miss Hobbes, my hands are, alas, tied. When I spoke of other circles, I meant just that: Sykes has friends and associates outside of the Bastion Society. If you wish to know who they are, you’ll have to find some other means of obtaining the information. I’m afraid I don’t know the man well enough to be privy to his life outside the clubhouse.”
“Had,” Newbury said firmly. “You said he ‘has’ friends and associates outside of the society.”
“Ah, yes. A slip of the tongue. Hasn’t quite sunk in yet, I’m afraid.” Graves reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead in a nervous gesture. He was clearly growing uncomfortable with the conversation. He turned to look at the waiting staff, who were still buzzing around behind him, clearing the tables in preparation for afternoon visitors. “Look, I really must be getting on. I’m dreadfully sorry to hear the news about poor Sykes. But duty calls.”