Independent by Means of Magic

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Park Lane neighborhood wasn’t nearly as opulent as the Mallorys’ in Mayfair, but Mr. Haversham’s study was nearly a mirror image. McDuff wondered if he was keeping his disdain to himself as he mentally catalogued the shelves packed full of exotic souvenirs and keepsakes from the man’s world travels. The unfortunate Cheryl Mallory with her girlish fluff and clutter had a far more serious collection of books than this adult man.

Nothing in the collection or the carved wooden desk or the thick-cushioned leather chairs or even an incongruous little brass vase with a spray of sweet-scented blue flowers that cut through the air of tobacco and wealth had anything to offer McDuff’s investigation.

He doubted the man who enjoyed spending time here would add anything of value. This entire detour would likely bring him only time wasted that could have been spent on useful pursuits.

Haversham even kept silly clockwork toys too modern to have been from his or even his daughter’s childhood. So much money wasted on baubles. Money that could have done so much good to help real, suffering people.

“Please, Inspector, do have a seat,” Mr. Haversham said, walking in and bustling about like a nervous hen. “What will you have to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you, unless you’re getting something for yourself.”

Mr. Haversham stopped, hands on the dark wood and elaborately carved back of his desk chair. His brown hair lay smooth where it remained on his head, but McDuff had the distinct impression he wanted very much to run his fingers though it.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Inspector,” he said, then sighed heavily. “I was thinking of rum myself, even before you arrived. This has been a difficult business. Terribly upsetting to all of us.”

“In that case, I’ll join you,” McDuff said, allowing himself a small smile.

He watched as the older man visibly relaxed, calmed by his own routine of fetching sparkling glasses with deep, twisting grooves and a cut glass bottle filled with dark amber liquid.

For the first time, McDuff hoped one of the people involved in this whole mess spared no expense.

“Here you go. Our own brand. I hope you’ll find the time and attention to detail as worthwhile as I do.” Mr. Haversham handed the glass over with a quick nod. He walked back around the desk, unbuttoned his black jacket to reveal a blue paisley-patterned vest, and sat heavily before he held up the glass. “To swift resolution of an unpleasant situation.”

“Indeed,” McDuff said, then sipped his drink.

His estimation of the soft, overly pampered man across from him rose a good bit. Fine, expensive alcohol freely shared had that effect on him. The rum was rich and surprisingly smooth, with a lingering touch of sweet molasses.

“Now, how can I help, Inspector? I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t know the man particularly well, and apparently I misjudged him quite badly as a suitable match for my daughter.”

“Such things are challenging at the best of times. How did you meet Mr. Abernathy?”

“We did business together a few times, before I went to the Caribbean and after I returned. He always seemed a decent sort.”

McDuff knew something so common knowledge as to be boring among people like this could give him the essential clue. He had little to no knowledge or understanding of the colonies, or expectation that colonial matters would ever affect his small life in London.

But hesitating to ask obvious questions had never done him any favors.

“What took you to the Caribbean?”

Mr. Haversham shrugged. “I own a plantation island there, one that needed direct oversight to get it through challenging times with the local population well enough to trust to a manager. Sugar, a bit of tobacco for personal use. Our rum distillery as a most pleasant added bonus. We lived there for almost twenty-five years, finally making use of the grand manor house that had been in my family for generations but useless to me for too long. I rather think my wife and daughter preferred it to this place, but duty called.”

“Anyone there or here want to do your family harm? Likely to want to stir up trouble this bad?”

Mr. Haversham put his elbow on the desk, head in his hand.

“I’m certain there are, Inspector. That seems to go along with the territory in this line of work, especially with unrest in the older colonies that I prefer to keep my family away from. I can’t imagine why one of them would go after my daughter’s fiancé in such a cowardly manner.”

“Still, it might help if I had their information available,” McDuff said. “If I make a connection between Mr. Abernathy and one of your other colleagues, that could give us the pieces we’re missing. And possibly warn of who to keep your daughter and wife away from.”

Mr. Haversham leaned over and pulled out a floor-level desk drawer. When he sat back he had a thick stack of white calling cards clutched in his hand.

“I’m glad to cooperate in every possible manner if I can help bring this nightmare to an end.”

McDuff took the stack and flipped through them. He’d heard the absurd rules and customs about these things, but he’d never seen reason to worry about it for himself. Most as large as playing cards, some smaller, all nothing more than stiff white paper with names on them. Several had writing on the back or a certain corner turned down.

The clever little markers of more games for people with too much time to waste.

He recognized many of the names, and some of them hadn’t ever been suspected of a crime. They were merely men who moved in Mr. Haversham’s circle, far too wealthy to ever stop fighting to earn more. A festering drain on society to be sure—despite their imported goods—but one that would come in handy in trying to track down whoever did this.

“May I keep these long enough to copy?” McDuff said.

“Certainly. I have notes on the cards, but I can tell you anything you need to know about every person.”

“Thank you, I’ll let you know,” McDuff said, dropping the cards into his scuffed brown leather case. “I’ll return them by courier as soon as possible.”

Several minutes later, McDuff knew the cards were by far the most useful thing he’d get from Mr. Haversham. His family’s acquaintance with Mr. Abernathy had been brief, and designed to serve the simple purpose of marrying off and marrying well.

Mr. Haversham simply didn’t know what had happened to his disgraced near-son-in-law, nor why.

Mr. Abernathy in his unusually posh jail cell had been no better, too shocked and frightened to speak much. McDuff would have almost bet that man didn’t understand what had happened himself, as if someone had borrowed his brain and body for a few weeks.

Long enough to get a young girl who was not his fiancé pregnant, anyway.

McDuff stood as Mr. Haversham continued prattling on about his other wealthy colleagues, walking around the study, watching for details much like he had in that unfortunate girl’s room. He didn’t have much else to go on, so it was worth taking every chance he had to learn more.

“I’d like to speak to your daughter if that’s acceptable to you,” he said. “She may remember something strange from her own limited time with Mr. Abernathy.”

“Certainly.” Haversham got slowly to his feet. “Victoria is a remarkably sensible and mature young woman. We made certain she received a top-rate education here in London, right through college. Sometimes I suspect she may be more intelligent than I. I’ve already spoken with her to let her know to expect you.”

“I’m sure that will be a great help to me, Mr. Haversham,” McDuff said, the fake smile on his face hiding his true feelings.

The great fool had likely ruined any chance he had of getting honest information out of the girl with his ill-advised warning. No matter.

Despite Mr. Haversham’s carrying on about his daughter’s great intelligence, McDuff doubted anyone in this house knew much that went on outside their own expensive wallpaper.