Read Online Murder on High Holborn by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Gregory
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see what he could learn about a man who clearly meant Clarendon harm.
Lambe smiled serenely. ‘Yes, my sire served his sire, and now I serve the son.’ He made a sudden gesture with his hand and for one shocking instant Chaloner thought he saw sparks on Lambe’s fingertips. ‘But dawn approaches, and I am a creature of the night. I must be away.’
He spun around so abruptly that his coat billowed behind him, accentuating his height and commanding mien. Chaloner stared after him for a moment, then followed, aiming to finish the discussion, but when he reached the door, the courtyard and the lane beyond were empty. He turned to see Hill lounging nearby, smoking a pipe.
‘Did Lambe just come out?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied the preacher. ‘Only Admiral Lawson and John Scott. Why?’
Supposing the sorcerer must possess a very stealthy tread if he could slip past Hill, Chaloner returned to the parlour, where Temperance was waiting for him.
‘Lambe is a sinister fellow,’ she whispered. ‘Especially given that so many of his predictions come true. However, I hope he is right about Dunkirk House. It will serve that fat old villain right for taking bribes from the French.’
Chaloner knew there was no point in telling her that Clarendon was innocent, and they stood in silence until she nodded towards a bald, bony, middle-aged man who was enjoying a final paw at the ladies.
‘That is John Duncombe, Ferine’s particular friend. You can question him if you like. He will not remember any impertinences later, because he is too drunk.’
Chaloner recalled Hannah’s remark about Ferine and Duncombe’s friendship. ‘Who is the man with him?’ he asked. ‘The fat, grave fellow.’
‘Edward Manning, who says it is his chilblains that make him limp so badly. I hope he is telling the truth – that he does not have some nasty disease he will pass to my girls.’
Chaloner blinked. ‘Why on Earth would you think that? And why let him stay if you fear—’
‘Because we had so few guests tonight that I told Hill to admit anyone, just to make the place look less empty. Not that it worked. But you can see why I dislike Manning. He is a sly, slovenly creature, not the kind of person who should keep company with admirals and princes.’
From what Chaloner had seen of Lawson and Rupert, he suspected it was Manning who had lowered his standards. He took her at her word and went to sit with Duncombe.
‘You knew Ferine,’ he said, taking one look at the courtier and deciding that the man was far too inebriated for a subtler approach.
Duncombe promptly burst into tears. ‘He was the best friend who ever lived! He said something vile would happen to him on the thirteenth, but neither of us imagined it would be his murder. If only he had watched the time!’
‘It would have made no difference,’ said Manning, laying a kindly hand on the courtier’s shoulder. His fingers were fat, dimpled and not very clean. ‘Not if it was ordained.’
‘That is not what Ferine believed,’ sobbed Duncombe. ‘He calculated horoscopes so that people could
avoid
trouble – he always said that nothing was inevitable. But he thought his own bad luck would be minor. A stumble, perhaps, or a loss of money. Neither of us imagined…’
‘So who killed him?’ asked Chaloner baldly.
‘Some beastly robber who wanted his purse,’ wept Duncombe. ‘There are a lot of strange people in London at the moment. They flock here from the provinces, for Lady Day.’
‘Ferine made a horoscope for me,’ put in Manning. ‘It cost me a pretty penny.’
‘Money well spent,’ sniffed Duncombe. ‘Lambe is good, but Ferine was better.’
‘I hope you are right,’ said Manning. ‘He told me that a certain business venture I intend to pursue will be successful, and I have invested everything I own on his advice.’
Chaloner would have liked to question Duncombe further, but the man chose that moment to pass out. With the assistance of
Lambe smiled serenely. ‘Yes, my sire served his sire, and now I serve the son.’ He made a sudden gesture with his hand and for one shocking instant Chaloner thought he saw sparks on Lambe’s fingertips. ‘But dawn approaches, and I am a creature of the night. I must be away.’
He spun around so abruptly that his coat billowed behind him, accentuating his height and commanding mien. Chaloner stared after him for a moment, then followed, aiming to finish the discussion, but when he reached the door, the courtyard and the lane beyond were empty. He turned to see Hill lounging nearby, smoking a pipe.
‘Did Lambe just come out?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied the preacher. ‘Only Admiral Lawson and John Scott. Why?’
Supposing the sorcerer must possess a very stealthy tread if he could slip past Hill, Chaloner returned to the parlour, where Temperance was waiting for him.
‘Lambe is a sinister fellow,’ she whispered. ‘Especially given that so many of his predictions come true. However, I hope he is right about Dunkirk House. It will serve that fat old villain right for taking bribes from the French.’
Chaloner knew there was no point in telling her that Clarendon was innocent, and they stood in silence until she nodded towards a bald, bony, middle-aged man who was enjoying a final paw at the ladies.
‘That is John Duncombe, Ferine’s particular friend. You can question him if you like. He will not remember any impertinences later, because he is too drunk.’
Chaloner recalled Hannah’s remark about Ferine and Duncombe’s friendship. ‘Who is the man with him?’ he asked. ‘The fat, grave fellow.’
‘Edward Manning, who says it is his chilblains that make him limp so badly. I hope he is telling the truth – that he does not have some nasty disease he will pass to my girls.’
Chaloner blinked. ‘Why on Earth would you think that? And why let him stay if you fear—’
‘Because we had so few guests tonight that I told Hill to admit anyone, just to make the place look less empty. Not that it worked. But you can see why I dislike Manning. He is a sly, slovenly creature, not the kind of person who should keep company with admirals and princes.’
From what Chaloner had seen of Lawson and Rupert, he suspected it was Manning who had lowered his standards. He took her at her word and went to sit with Duncombe.
‘You knew Ferine,’ he said, taking one look at the courtier and deciding that the man was far too inebriated for a subtler approach.
Duncombe promptly burst into tears. ‘He was the best friend who ever lived! He said something vile would happen to him on the thirteenth, but neither of us imagined it would be his murder. If only he had watched the time!’
‘It would have made no difference,’ said Manning, laying a kindly hand on the courtier’s shoulder. His fingers were fat, dimpled and not very clean. ‘Not if it was ordained.’
‘That is not what Ferine believed,’ sobbed Duncombe. ‘He calculated horoscopes so that people could
avoid
trouble – he always said that nothing was inevitable. But he thought his own bad luck would be minor. A stumble, perhaps, or a loss of money. Neither of us imagined…’
‘So who killed him?’ asked Chaloner baldly.
‘Some beastly robber who wanted his purse,’ wept Duncombe. ‘There are a lot of strange people in London at the moment. They flock here from the provinces, for Lady Day.’
‘Ferine made a horoscope for me,’ put in Manning. ‘It cost me a pretty penny.’
‘Money well spent,’ sniffed Duncombe. ‘Lambe is good, but Ferine was better.’
‘I hope you are right,’ said Manning. ‘He told me that a certain business venture I intend to pursue will be successful, and I have invested everything I own on his advice.’
Chaloner would have liked to question Duncombe further, but the man chose that moment to pass out. With the assistance of
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