“There you have it,” Lionel went on. “My American contacts said they’d investigate further, but even with the modern marvel of trans-Atlantic telegraph cables, the best I was able to discover was what we more or less already know. I have a wealth of uneasy feelings about Mr. Bartholomew Swan, though. He strikes me as—”
Lionel’s speech was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Were you expecting company?” Phin asked with a teasing arch of one eyebrow.
“You know full well I’ve embarked on a vow of celibacy,” Lionel answered, heading for the door with an intrigued and hopeful look all the same.
A second knock came just as Lionel opened it to reveal Det. Gleason. Phin’s heart dropped like a rock into his gut, and he stood. In his worry and hurt over Lenore, he’d forgotten about Lady Hamilton and her quest for vengeance yet again. But that didn’t explain why her bulldog was standing in Lionel’s doorway, eyeing him and Lionel with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Mr. Mercer,” Det. Gleason said, though it wasn’t clear which Mr. Mercer he was addressing. “If you don’t mind, I have some questions for you.” As soon as he stepped into the flat, his sharp gaze fixed on Phin, proving Phin was the one he’d come to see.
“How quaint,” Lionel said, shutting the door behind Det. Gleason and raking the rather short man with a grin. “I do love a man who is direct and to the point.”
Det. Gleason glanced over his shoulder at Lionel, assessing him the same way Lionel was scrutinizing him. Phin swallowed, fighting the wariness that slithered down his back. If Gleason wasn’t intimidated by Lionel’s flirtation, chances were he wouldn’t be easy to dismiss and get rid of.
“Good evening, sir,” Phin greeted him, doing his best to look as innocent as possible. “Would you care to explain why you are calling on me at my brother’s flat instead of my home?”
“You’ve been out of town, in Yorkshire, these past few days,” Gleason explained with a banal smile. “You only just returned home this evening. The train from York arrived at seven-fifteen. You dropped Miss Garrett off at the home of Lord Howsden, returned to your own home, spent thirty-seven minutes there, then proceeded directly to your brother’s flat.”
They were fucked. Completely and utterly.
All the same, Phin put on a congenial smile. “What questions can I answer for you, Det. Gleason?”
“Could I get you a cup of tea?” Lionel asked at the same time.
Gleason turned to stare at Lionel as if considering it, as if considering him. “No, thank you. I’m only here to ask a few questions. It won’t take long.” He turned back to Phin. “Mr. Mercer, forgive the bluntness of the question, but from where do you receive your income?”
Cold prickles raced down Phin’s back. Gleason already knew the truth.
“My family has an estate in Yorkshire,” he said, knowing that answer wouldn’t satisfy the man.
Lionel walked slowly around Gleason, watching him as he moved, until he came to stand on the other side of the sofa, behind Phin. Phin assumed it was so that Lionel could study the man as he went about his interrogation.
“It is my understanding,” Gleason went on, stroking the day’s worth of stubble on his chin, “that your family’s circumstances were reduced.”
“They are,” Phin admitted in a dark voice, offended that anyone would disparage his family, or even come close to disparaging them. “But we get by.”
“With additional income from the two of you, I would assume,” Gleason said, meeting Phin’s eyes, then nodding past him to Lionel.
Phin pivoted slightly to include Lionel in the conversation, even though he hung back, judging Gleason as though he were a scientific specimen. “We both contribute to the family’s income in our own ways,” Phin said, as vaguely as possible.
He should have known Gleason would go on to ask, “And how do you contribute, sir?”
Phin took a breath and clasped his hands behind his back, scrambling for an answer that would be plausible. “I have investments,” he said. It was the best answer he could come up with and one that was common to most members of the gentry and aristocracy.
Gleason nodded, continuing to stroke his chin. His gaze traveled past Phin to Lionel for a moment before he went on. “Do you know a man by the name of Chester Jameson?”
Phin fought to look innocent. He shrugged and shook his head, all while his stomach roiled. This was exactly what Jameson had feared, what Phin had feared himself. If Jameson was implicated in whatever libel suit Lady Hamilton seemed intent to bring on the publisher of Nocturne, he and his family would suffer far more than Phin would.
“I don’t believe I know anyone by that name,” he answered, praying Gleason believed him.
It was clear that he didn’t. “Not even a passing acquaintance?” Gleason asked.
“No.” Phin shrugged again as sweat poured down his back. At the rate his face was heating, his glasses would fog up in no time.
“I was under the impression that—”
“Det. Gleason, are you certain you wouldn’t care for a bit of refreshment?” Lionel interrupted.
Phin frowned at his brother, but that expression melted away into curiosity. Lionel smiled fetchingly at Gleason, looking far too soft for his own good. As he did, he brushed his fingertips over the back of his hand in a particular way that Phin knew to be a signal amongst a certain sort of men. So help him, if Lionel was attempting to divert Gleason’s investigative instincts and get himself caught and brought to justice as an invert in order to save Phin, Phin would murder him the same way Swan had threatened to murder Lenore and the ranchers.
He was in no way prepared to have Gleason answer the signal with a corresponding one, touching his fingertips to the back of his hand, before clearing his throat and saying, “I think I have what I came here for.” He squared his shoulders and nodded to Phin. “Good evening, Mr. Mercer.”
Phin’s brow shot all the way up to his hairline as Gleason turned to go.
“One moment.” Lionel jumped out from behind the sofa, dashed to fetch something from a table at the end of the sofa, then met Gleason at the door. “I am employed by the Law Offices of Dandie & Wirth,” he said, presenting Gleason with what must have been a business card. “If we find that we might require the services of a detective, could we call on you?”
“Certainly,” Gleason said, his expression betraying nothing. Phin would have thought the man would at least wink or rake Lionel with a look, now that the two had, apparently, identified themselves to the other. If was decidedly odd that Lionel would give the man his card then ask if he could call on him.
“Perfect.” Lionel was the one to wink as he opened the door to show Gleason out. “I’m so pleased we met this evening.”
All Gleason did in return was touch the brim of his hat before stepping out into the hall.
Lionel shut the door behind him with a satisfied smile. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“You are unbelievable.” Phin shook his head, too stunned by the turn of events to chuckle. “I cannot believe you’re going to sleep with him to get me off the hook where Lady Hamilton is concerned.”