Peter Lovesey - The Detective Wore Silk Drawers

Then he was beside the suit of armour at the head of the stairs. It gleamed dully, a quite misplaced piece of ostentation; at home they consigned better examples to the cellars.

He even doubted, now that he was near, whether the helmet matched the rest.

A grim thought crossed Jago’s mind.

It was his duty to look inside the helmet. He reached for the visor and lifted it. Empty! If he was honest with himself, it was a relief. He took his hand away.

The visor dropped back into place with a metallic snap, loud enough to waken anyone in that part of the house. Jago froze momentarily, as though if he moved, the whole suit of armour might topple over and clatter nightmarishly down the stairs.

Then he started rapidly back towards his room, floorboards protesting at every step. He reached the door and turned the handle. Too late.

“What in hell is going on?”

D’Estin stood ahead of him in the corridor, naked to the waist.

“I knocked against the armour coming upstairs,” Jago improvised. “I’m sorry you were disturbed.”

The trainer approached, his head crooked forward menacingly.

“What are you up to, man, moving about the bloody house in the night?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was going for a drink.” It sounded so feeble that he was already thinking of a second excuse.

D’Estin came unpleasantly close and pushed his arm aggressively past Jago’s right ear to lean on the doorjamb.

The smell of sleep hovered about him.

“You weren’t going anywhere else, then?”

“What do you mean?” Jago asked.

“It wouldn’t have occurred to your generous and cultivated mind that a certain lady might feel-how shall I put it-desolate and in need of company on a warm summer night?” Sarcasm oozed from D’Estin like the sweat glistening on his chest hair.

This was unexpected. Jago looked as affronted as a man could in his nightshirt. “That is a detestable implication, sir!

I thoroughly repudiate it! I suggest that you-”

“I suggest,” echoed D’Estin, “that you were groping in the darkness for the door of her bedroom and knocked against the armour. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Jago was genuinely embarrassed. For a moment he actually wished D’Estin had guessed he was searching the house for evidence. That at least would be an honourable charge.

Detective work was debasing. Confound it!

He controlled his fury. “You had better return to bed, D’Estin, before I have this out with you. I shall put these ridiculous insinuations down to your sudden awakening from deep sleep. I apologize for disturbing you.”

In answer, D’Estin jutted his face to within six inches of Jago’s and laughed lewdly. His breath was nauseous.

“What is happening?” Isabel’s voice, from along the corridor. She was looking out from her room, only her head visible, a long plait dangling beneath it.

D’Estin reacted quickly. “It’s quite all right. You can go back to sleep. I’ve caught the prowler. He won’t be blundering around your door again tonight-unless you invite him, of course.”

Isabel’s door slammed.

It was a significant moment in Jago’s career. Every instinct urged him to attack D’Estin. Sheer professionalism held him back. For he saw clearly that D’Estin’s suggestion, for all its base imputations, gave him a clear excuse for moving furtively about the house at night.

Like a guilty man, he shrugged, sighed and looked at his feet.

Smirking, D’Estin walked away.

My dearest Lydia [read Sergeant Cribb],

I do thank you for your letter which reached me yesterday, tho’ I must ask that you do not write again.

My present choice of occupation is, you will understand, not entirely proper in the eyes of the law, and my advisers here suggest that we should keep my presence at Radstock Hall a closely guarded secret.

For the same reason this must be my last letter to you. I am sure I may rely upon you to dispose of it when you have read it.

I am well looked after here, and have never felt so fit in my life. I even have hopes of becoming a celebrity of the ring, as I am now, by default (of a kind which I cannot explain here), the star of this particular school of arms. With luck, and good fist work, I may soon have sufficient capital to advance my claims with your father.

I was pleased to learn that you have had a communication from Roberta. She, I feel sure, has more of interest to write to you than ever I could. Very little happens here except the daily routine of training.

Be assured that my thoughts are often with you. I shall return as soon as I am able.

Until then I remain

Yr. most affectionate

Henry

“What’s happened to the Ebony then, Sarge?” Thackeray asked. “Has he gone the way of Quinton, do you think?”

Cribb was sceptical. “More likely to have walked out,” he said. “And if he’s done that, it must have been for a better offer. Pretty obvious where that came from.”

“Is it, Sarge?” It was obviously not, to everyone.

“The gang that handled Meanix,” Cribb explained with unaccustomed patience. “Who else could have known where the Ebony was, to say nothing of getting in touch with him? When Meanix kissed the turf, it was obvious they needed a new bruiser!”

Thackeray’s face lit up. “Of course!”

“So you can go off sharp to Shoreditch and listen to the chat in the fighting pubs. There’s five of ’em, so watch your liquor intake. Johnny Gill’s pub, Jane Shore; Mr. Parrott’s place-the Duke’s Head in Norton Folgate; the Sportsman in Boundary Street; the Blue Anchor in Church Street, and the Five Inkhorns in New Nicholl Street. If the Ebony’s back in the East End, someone there will have wind of it.

We can’t afford to lose him.”

Long after Thackeray had departed, Cribb sat alone in the office with Jago’s letter in front of him, troubling him more than he cared to say.

There was champagne with dinner that evening. Edmund Vibart was unusually sociable; it appeared he had been to London that day and returned in a four-wheeler. He arrived for dinner in a new suit.

“Flash as Newgate Knocker, eh? Not often you see me in nobby-looking clothes, so feast your eyes for once.” He danced across the room to a chair with two wrapped objects on it. “This is for you, Isabel. The very latest from Maples.”

She unwrapped the parcel.

“Cretonne chintz,” explained Vibart, as she held out the material to examine it. “You can brighten your rooms with it. And this, D’Estin, is for you. I nearly bought some Eau Figaro-miraculous stuff that restores grey hair to its original colour, what?”

D’Estin, unappreciative, took the object from Vibart and gave it to Isabel to untie for him. It was a revolver.

“Six-shooter, old man. Got it at Holland and Holland’s in New Bond Street. You can keep the bloody roughs at bay with it.”

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t know what to bring you, Jago, not knowing you so well, but Isabel will tell you what your gift is in a few minutes.”

She, too, was radiant that evening. She wore black silk and diamente brilliants, the cut of her bodice refuting any suggestion that she was still in mourning. She offered Jago the fruit bowl.

“Yes. In effect, Henry, you are the most favoured of us all.

Edmund has been able to negotiate a contract for you.”

“Really,” said Jago, interested. “A fight?”

Isabel hesitated a fraction. “Yes. It will be worth a great deal of money. You can see now why Edmund has taken a premature opportunity to spend some of it.”

“Who is to be my antagonist?”

Nobody answered.

Jago smiled nervously. “Well, tell me, please. Who am I to meet?”