I would keep my eyes and ears open while I was with Snoad. Now that I knew him for a villain, I might pick up something I had overlooked before.
The loft was unchanged, so far as I could tell at a glance. Snoad still wore his jacket and cravat, which looked out of place as he was sweeping the floor. He looked up when he heard the door close.
“I was just preparing for your visit,” he said, lifting the broom. I thought he was embarrassed to be caught at such a low job. But then, it was one of his regular duties, so there was no reason he should be.
“It looks very tidy.”
He set the broom aside and came to meet me. “You were going to tell me how things went in Brighton,” he said.
The seating arrangements in the loft were primitive. Two abandoned kitchen chairs and a deal table had been brought up. They were discolored from exposure to the damp, so I avoided them. We walked back and forth along the parapet as we talked.
“It was very curious,” I said. “The police were not at all helpful. No one saw the murder.”
“Where was the body found? In the hotel, or in some back alley?”
I hesitated a moment, and decided against the hotel. To add a touch of veracity, I chose a specific location. “At the fish market. Perhaps he was going to bring us home some fresh fish.”
Snoad listened, tension in every line of his body. “So he was killed in Brighton then.”
Now, too late, I wondered if I should have opted for London. “Yes,” I said.
“He wasn’t buying fish. More likely it was an assignation. He was not planning to return till the next afternoon. He wouldn’t buy fish so early in his visit. What time of day was he killed? Evening, I assume.”
“Yes, the body was found around dinnertime.”
“Did the constable tell you why it was taken to London?”
“No.”
“He must have given
some
excuse,” Snoad persisted. He was a close questioner!
“They—there was no identification on him. They thought he was a Londoner, just down for a visit, and took his body there.”
“But his wallet was returned with his body. He carried his calling cards in it.”
“It must have been at the hotel.”
“He wouldn’t go out without it. If the police knew he was staying at the Royal Crescent, then they would have no trouble discovering who he was. There’s something havey cavey about this.”
I was becoming annoyed at Snoad’s curiosity and spoke sharply. “The constable was not very helpful. The man who actually handled the case was not working yesterday. The other one, the one who attended us, had only the report to go by.”
“And you’re going to leave it like this?” he demanded angrily. “Your father is murdered, and you stay only half a day, without even speaking to the constable who found him?”
“We put notices in the journals. If anyone saw anything, they will be in touch with us. What do you expect of me? He’s dead. Prying into it is not going to bring him back.”
“By God, if it were my father who had been shot, I would make more effort than this to find his assassin, and kill him.”
“Well, he was
not
your father. He was mine, and if there were any evidence, you may be sure I would follow it up. I would stop at nothing to get revenge on whoever harmed him. That poor, innocent man. Someone ought to pay. I am satisfied, however, that it was a senseless slaying. Some footpad got hold of him and shot him and disappeared into the night without leaving a trace.”
“A footpad shot him in the back? Without removing his watch and wallet? I had not thought you were so gullible, or so disinterested in your father.”
The ferocity of his attack astonished me. Shock soon gave way to anger. “You are forgetting your place, Snoad. He was my father. How I handle his death is no concern of yours.”
“It ought to be someone’s concern. Next you will tell me you plan to set the birds free, or have them shot.”
“Certainly not,” I replied smugly. “Lord Fairfield will be coming to look them over tomorrow, and take those that he wants for his own collection. He is particularly interested in Caesar and Cleo, for breeding purposes. Where is Caesar?”
An angry spark flared in his black eyes. “I see! So that explains it. It is the dashing Lord Fairfield who has put your father’s death out of your mind.”
A pigeon, interested in our talk, flew down from a roost and perched on Snoad’s shoulder. He brushed it away impatiently. I noticed a small metal ring just above its foot. The sort of ring that a message might be attached to. It registered in the back of my mind, without interrupting the flow of argument.
“You are impertinent, sir! Remember you are here at my pleasure. If you wish to continue in this position, you will behave yourself properly.”
Anger warred with necessity. Snoad swallowed his anger, and his pride, and apologized, because he was determined not to be ousted from this loft. “I’m sorry. You are quite right, Miss Hume. I let myself be carried away by my concern for Mr. Hume.” His smoldering eyes were a reminder of my lack of concern. I was sorry to give him such a poor opinion of me, and annoyed with myself for caring a groat what he thought.
“I expect Lord Fairfield tomorrow. He will want to see what you are doing here. He is very interested in my father’s work. I will expect you to show him what he wishes to see. I’ll just have a look around and see that everything is tidy.”
This was a mere pretext for snooping. I don’t know what I expected to find. If he had stolen the pistol, it was unlikely he had stashed it in a pigeon’s nest. Snoad forced himself to civility and accompanied me, to prevent me from finding anything.
The loft had rows of boxes built one on top of the other, rather like a bookcase with compartments. The nesting birds had built extremely insubstantial-looking nests in them with twigs and straw and weeds. Snoad lifted one to show me a clutch of two white eggs. The brooding bird attacked with the angry vigor of a swan, and I leapt away in fright. “She did not like our prying,” I said.
“Actually, that was a he. I told you the males incubate by day. They’re touchy when they’re nesting,” Snoad explained.
Other birds had already hatched. I had a fairly gross exhibition of a parent feeding its young. The chick stuck its head right into the parent’s mouth, and looked as if it were being swallowed alive and whole. Snoad assured me it was merely taking pigeon’s milk from the crop.
As we came to the end of the nests, we discovered a little commotion. A group of birds, about a dozen in all, were strutting around, not in circles, but as if examining each other. They were cooing in a deep, throaty way, more loudly than the pigeons usually do. Some of them were raising their wings, and others were pecking angrily at one another. I would have taken it for a mating ritual, except that so many of the birds were angry, and fighting the advancer off.
“Is this some territorial war?” I asked. “Is the loft overcrowded?” I had seen something similar when we had too many hens in the yard.
Snoad’s smirk told me I had asked the wrong question. “I am surprised a farmer’s daughter does not recognize the mating ritual of birds,” he said.
“It did occur to me, but why are so many of the females rejecting their would-be suitors?”
“Is that so unusual?” he inquired, with a laughing eye. I gave him a glacial stare that brought him back to propriety.
“The fact is, what you are calling females are males,” he explained. “Unlike many species, the males have no physical embellishment. The pigeons cannot tell by appearance whether they are dealing with a male or a female. They must go by trial and error, and have to take many a peck before they find a mate. When you see a bird edging shyly away from another’s advances, and acting as if she could not care less, then you know that is a female. The males of the species are more forthright. They give the fellow a sharp peck, take a flying leap at him, and he leaves them alone.”
I found this talk slightly broad, and turned my gaze seaward.
“Folks have a peculiarly personal reaction to animals’ mating,” Snoad said pensively. “It is a natural function, like eating or walking. Odd that we should feel embarrassed.”
I did not wish to appear a prude, though it was obvious to me that there is a difference between eating and mating. I took an unconcerned glance at the performing birds. One male had found an acquiescent female, and was, I feared, about to have his way with her. I hastily averted my eyes and began to walk away. Snoad remained behind, studying them.
“I think even birds would like privacy at a time like this, Snoad,” I said sharply.
“I want to see this.”
“Voyeur!”
“I must check to see who Queenie is mating with” was his excuse. “These are valuable birds. I think
–
yes, by God, she’s chosen Alphonse. Now, that surprises me. I was sure the Captain had the inner track. He’s been wooing her all week.”
“If they mate for life, you will soon know which she has chosen.”
“I must also record the date and time of mating. Your father kept strict, accurate records. I plan to continue his method. Ah, look at the poor Captain, dragging his tail behind him. Cut to the quick by Queenie’s fickleness.”
I just glanced at the birds, making sure to avoid the mating pair.
“The Captain was the better man—er, bird.” He finally pulled himself away from the spectacle and joined me. “There is no accounting for ladies’ taste. When did you say Lord Fairfield is coming?”
I gave him a sharp look, wondering if the sudden mention of Fairfield was intentional. His eyes were brimming with laughter.
“Tomorrow,” I said, refusing to recognize any ulterior meaning in the question. “Everything seems in order here. You’ll remember to give me the bill for the feed you mentioned the other day.”
“It was evening when we first
...
became friends,” he said, just hesitating over the last words. I gave him another icy look. “I’ll take it to your office this evening, Miss Hume.”
“I shan’t be in my office this evening, but you may leave it there.”
“Surely you could arrange to be there for a few minutes. Say, about eight-thirty?” He peered down at me with a conning look.
“I have company this evening.”
“I thought Fairfield was coming tomorrow.”
“Lord Fairfield is coming tomorrow. Mr. Smythe is spending a few days with us.”
“Is there a special reason?” he asked.
It was none of his business, but I did not wish to arouse his curiosity and said, “After the break-in, my aunt feels we require a man about the house. Thumm is getting on, you know.”
“But you have a younger man, Miss Hume. I would be happy to sleep downstairs—if it would make you feel safer.” He kept his lips steady during this studied piece of impertinence.
“That is very kind, but unnecessary. Good day, Snoad.”
He gave his forelock a playful tug and bobbed his head. “I was honored by your visit, your ladyship. I hope you will come again.” Then his grin dwindled to a nice smile, and he added, “Soon—and often.”
“I shouldn’t think that will be necessary,” I said grandly, and regretted it as soon as I had strode away. Because my duty
would
bring me back soon, and often. It was not an unpleasant duty either. Snoad was an accomplished flirt. I decided that a lady might enjoy a small flirtation with her servant without wounding her dignity.
While I was in my room, checking that my unpacking had been executed to my satisfaction, I reviewed that visit with Snoad. “The dashing Lord Fairfield,” he had said. How did Snoad know what Fairfield was like?
Was Depew correct in his suspicions of Lord Fairfield? Were he and Snoad working together? I remembered that bird with the ring around its ankle, too, but there had been no message attached to it. Like a ninny, I never gave another thought to one question I had asked, and failed to get answered. Caesar had not been in his tree, nor had he been in Cleo’s nest. He had not been in the loft the other day either. But I did not think of that at all. I had been too diverted by Snoad’s expert flirtation.
Chapter Nine
Nothing of great interest happened during the remainder of the day and evening. Bunny returned with his pistol. We had the servants set a truckle bed up for him in Papa’s office, and hid the pistol under the pillow for easy access, if it should prove necessary. Bunny went up to keep an eye on Snoad and returned to inform me Snoad was awake on all suits. “Asked a hundred questions, but I fooled him. Didn’t answer anything to the point.”
I did not return to the loft again, nor did I visit Papa’s office at eight-thirty. Now that Bunny and I were spies, we took a keener interest in the war, and studied the journals to learn in detail how matters were progressing abroad. We learned that since Napoleon’s defeat in Moscow the year before, he had had to withdraw troops home from the Peninsula. It seemed the Spanish guerrillas were keeping, four French divisions busy in Biscay and Navarre. Wellington had marched from Portugal. The French were falling back to the Ebro.
There was a suggestion that Napoleon must send more forces to Spain. Bunny thought this was a clue that the English would attack before they could arrive. We both thought that my father’s birds were carrying messages on this weighty matter back and forth along the postal relay route.
“The duke will run those Frenchies right back over the Pyrenees,” Bunny said, eyes gleaming. “And we’ll help him, by jingo.” I gave him a warning glare.
“How will you do that, Mr. Smythe?” my aunt asked indulgently, and fortunately did not wait for a reply. “What has caused this sudden interest in the war?”
I answered swiftly, before Bunny revealed more than he ought. “Why, because of Papa’s work, of course,” I said. It is always best to stick to the truth when possible.
“That is what I thought.” She nodded, satisfied. “It all seems more relevant, somehow, when a loved one is involved.”
Later Bunny announced that he was going up to the loft to blow a cloud with Snoad. He narrowed his eyes at me in a meaningful way, but I didn’t know what he meant. When he returned, he managed a moment’s privacy to tell me his real motive had been to search Snoad’s rooms. “Keeps his rooms locked. Looks pretty suspicious, eh? Where could we find a key?”