“Mr. Sedgwyck never paid me that kind of attention,” Noreen said.
“I’ll bet he didn’t,” I said, thinking of Clyde with his angular jaw and pimpled arse. He was what piqued Sedgewyck’s interest. But Sedgewyck also seemed interested in Olivia Wright. Why?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Noreen asked.
“Shut up. Never mind.” I pulled out of her and spun her around. “Bend over, and put your hands on the floor. No. Flat. Yes, like that.”
“My God!”
“Indeed, I am. And you will worship me.”
“My mother told me when I came to work for him to watch out for myself. She said rich men didn’t know what it was like to be told they couldn’t have something. She said he’d take advantage. But he never did.”
“It was me she was warning you about. I’m what all mothers warn their daughters about. Here, put your arms around my neck and your ankles on my shoulders.”
“Can you support me?” I still had my boots on, but I knew she was talking about my clubfoot. Sedgewyck must have told her about it.
“I can, if I want to,” I said. But I braced my leg against the bedpost.
“Ooh. How did you learn to do this?”
“I’m a Trinity man; a recipient of a world-class education. If you want to have it better, you’ll have to go to Oxford. Did you know Felicity Whippleby?”
“She came around sometimes. Mr. Sedgewyck’s affections always seemed polite rather than passionate. She seemed to like him very much, or at least I think she hoped he’d marry her. When Mr. Sedgewyck’s parents came to visit, they seemed very keen on the match as well.”
“Would he have killed her to avoid being pushed into the marriage?”
“You’d know better than I. He told me yesterday that he expects he’ll just be pushed into another marriage, though.”
“Have you seen him carrying any strange buckets or pots? Perhaps at night?”
“I don’t think so.”
If Sedgewyck was guilty, there was nothing in his rooms that appeared to link him to the murder. I’d pretty well torn the place apart, and the Professor had done quite a bit of damage as well. And despite a thorough examination, Noreen had revealed no evidence of her employer’s guilt.
I flipped her over, put her on the bed, and climbed on top of her to finish off my line of inquiry.
“Is he the killer?”
“I don’t think so. He thinks you are.”
Did he really think that? Or was he just clever enough to lie to his servant? No way to tell. But there was no evidence here to corroborate my suspicions, and my theory regarding Sedgewyck’s guilt was looking weak. I supposed I would have to go find Knifing and see if I could pry information out of him. I didn’t expect that would be fun. I was of the opinion that all the witnesses should look like Noreen, and that they should all be susceptible to the same interrogation tactics.
“It was some stranger, probably,” Noreen said. “A vagrant. A drifter. Some lunatic who came out of the woods and climbed into her window.”
“Stop talking. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Concentrate on what? Oh-Oh!”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Chapter 19
The languages, especially the dead;
The sciences, and most of all the abstruse;
The arts, at least all such as could be said
To be the most remote from common use,
In all these he was much and deeply read;
But not a page of anything that’s loose
Members of the Trinity faculty made a habit of convening after hours at a tavern near the College called the Modest Proposal, an establishment known for above-average ale and a rather dubious stew. The service alley next to the bar was wide enough for a horse-cart to enter, and curved around the back of the building. This was where the local brewer delivered kegs twice a week. It was also where Cyrus Pendleton-Professor Fat Cheeks-had met his end. Angus the volunteer constable guarded the wrought iron gate at the mouth of the alley to keep curious types away from the scene.
“Hello, Angus,” I said. “You look civilized today.”
He was wearing a new uniform; one that was not frayed at the elbows and did not strain around his belly. Someone had taken the time to comb the tangles and gnarls from his hair. He even appeared to have bathed, for he had no smudges on his cheeks and no dirt caked beneath his fingernails. To Angus, involvement in this investigation was a source of pride and accomplishment, a chance to socialize with knights and to scold impudent young lords. I was not one to judge him for this, however, since my own reasons for interjecting myself into these matters were difficult to explain.
“Thank you, Lord Byron. You look drunk.” Angus didn’t miss a step.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I said.
“But, I think, not in this case.” He pushed a finger at his red-webbed nose. “I lack Sir Archibald’s sort of knowledge, but I ain’t one to miss the stink of booze.”
The Professor grunted assent; Angus was right.
“A bit of brandy serves as a fine lubricant for the creative processes,” I said.
“Well, being so well lubricated, why don’t you go ahead and slide off down the street.” His lower lip twitched as he spoke, and I could tell that one had taken some effort for him to think up.
“Will you deny me entry to this alley?” I asked him.
“I’ll warn you away, because I think you should leave,” he said. “But if you persist, I’ll let you pass, as was Sir Archibald’s instruction.”
It was my turn to fall silent as I digested this new bit of information and tried not to take offense at Angus’s unconcealed amusement at my speechlessness. “He told you I would be coming?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, and then he lowered his voice so Knifing, who was behind the building, could not hear. “And that’s as good a reason as any to flee. The gentleman is not somebody you ought to trifle with. I doubt you committed these crimes, but you’re getting yourself into trouble here, nonetheless. I’ve encountered a lot of the fellows and a fair few of the old dons in my rounds here in Cambridge, and none of them ever seemed so quick as Mr. Knifing. I know you take a measure of pride in your own cleverness, Lord Byron, but you can’t think your way around a man like this. I don’t know what he can see, with that white eye he’s got.”
Angus had a point. Knifing had anticipated my arrival at this murder scene, even as he’d warned me to stay away from the investigation. We might both be playing the same game, but I had to concede that he was several moves ahead of me, and I could not figure out what sort of strategy he was unfolding.
How had he known I would come here? Perhaps he’d sensed the curiosity or morbid fascination that had drawn me to Felicity Whippleby and guessed that it had not been fully satisfied. I had no problems with being morbid or curious; these were traits I’d come to embrace. But I didn’t like being predictable, and I didn’t like being manipulated.
“Let me pass,” I told Angus. “I will see Mr. Knifing.”
“I can’t see how this turns out well for you,” he replied as he shifted his bulk away from the gate. “Consider yourself warned.”
I left the bear with the constable, who took the chain leash without hesitation and rubbed the animal behind its ears. The Professor settled upon his haunches and yawned, contented. It was unusual to see him warm so quickly to a stranger, and my estimation of Angus improved somewhat. Bears are excellent judges of character.
The iron gate groaned in protest as it closed behind me, and I followed the alleyway around the side of the building, stepping carefully on the uneven stones for fear of turning my weak foot. Behind the tavern, Knifing paced in tight circles around the corpse of Professor Fat Cheeks, which was flayed open and spread across the alley like jam on a slice of bread. The killer had not, this time, collected much of his victim’s blood, for the body was surrounded by a huge, gummy pool of the stuff, with more splattered on the back wall of the building.