Serpent in the Heather by Kay Kenyon

Author:Kay Kenyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Saga Press

22

A LONDON PUB

TUESDAY, AUGUST 25. Ed Gardiner clutched his beer and regarded Lloyd with a fishy stare. “Bum luck, getting sacked.”

“Don’t worry, I got prospects.” Lloyd hoisted his glass in a toast to something, didn’t matter what. He took a long pull. “Got a big piece coming out in the East End Express.” His own earth mysteries article. “Mind you, if you hear anything, I’m willin’ to consider other offers.” Gardiner was still on with the Register, lucky sod.

“Right-o.”

Gardiner didn’t give a rat’s ass about Lloyd, of course. Just the same, he didn’t seem to like the way Lloyd got fired. In favor of a Yank, a woman, who nosed in on a story, and not even on the London Register.

“Ever see this Tavistock girl at the office?” Lloyd asked, picking at the sore.

Gardiner shook his head. “She’s going to do another in the series, too.”

“Series? What series?”

“On spiritualism.”

Lloyd felt sick.

“Same as you were doin’,” Gardiner added, as though it needed saying. Lloyd thought maybe Gardiner was enjoying this.

“Purloined it, she did,” Lloyd muttered. “Purloined.”

It was odd how you could hate someone you hardly knew. Kim Tavistock, lately of Uxley, Yorkshire. But the injustice was almost too much to bear. Where was he going to find another position, with three million able-bodied men out of work? Come to that, how was he going to pay his rent? And he knew that Maxwell had given her his idea for earth mysteries, and his contact with Lord Ellesmere, as well. He’d be happy if the twit had a run-in with a bus.

“I know a shop that needs some help cleaning up. Evenings,” Gardiner said, avoiding his gaze. “Until your prospects pan out.”

Lloyd struggled with himself whether to answer. Truth was, he needed a job, any job. Gritting his teeth, he said, “I might pass a name on. Lots of people in my predicament.”

Gardiner wrote down a name and telephone number on a scrap of paper, pushing it across the table.

Lloyd slid it into his pocket. “You ever heard Maxwell mention someone named Galbraith?” That was the name, underlined twice, written on Maxwell’s tablet along with Tavistock and Coslett.

“Why?”

“Just, did you? I’m runnin’ down some leads on a story to sell.”

“Well, you know about the medal, right? Max used to know this toff, a Galbraith, in the war. Colonel Galbraith, the one in the picture.”

“Picture?”

“Right. Max was his batman, and got a citation out of it. Has that picture on his wall, from when he got his medal pinned on. Don’t tell me you never heard about the sodding medal?”

“Can’t say as I did. Colonel, was it?”

“A regular toff, and Maxwell dug his latrine holes for him.”

“Where’s he now?”

Gardiner shrugged. “Don’t know. I could ask Max.”

“No, this is a private matter.” The urge to follow a lead reared its head. Galbraith. R. Galbraith. The one time in his life where Maxwell Slater’s path had evidently crossed that of gentry. He might have been on the telephone with Galbraith that day he scrawled his doodles.

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