Subtle Blood by KJ Charles

Author:KJ Charles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: KJC Books
Published: 2021-06-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Maisie’s visit was a tonic, as well as a valuable distraction from wondering how things were going for Kim with DS and the Private Bureau. That became harder after she left. Will did some unnecessary sweeping, made himself an early lunch for something to do, and snatched up the phone as soon as it rang. “Kim?”

“Is that Darling’s?”

“Yes. Sorry. Darling’s Used and Antiquarian, can I help you?”

“Ah, Mr. Darling. I’m calling—behalf—” It was a dreadful line, crackly and faint. Will caught ‘Aveston’, and managed to decipher that there was some sort of issue with the library sale, and could he come to see Lord Aveston at the Beresford Hotel as quickly as possible, because his lordship had to catch a train.

“Of course. With you as soon as possible.”

At least it was something to do. Will headed to the Beresford on foot, since it was just up on Southampton Row, wondering what the problem was. Probably Deansbrook hadn’t paid up yet: it was like getting blood out of a stone with book dealers.

He asked at the desk for Lord Aveston, and was greeted with a blank look. “I’m afraid his lordship isn’t staying here.”

“His man just called me. Told me to come here.”

“There must be a mistake. We have no gentleman of that name here, sir. Might you mean the Belgravia Hotel? Or the Berkeley? Or the Perivale, perhaps? We get that sometimes. I suppose it sounds a bit like over the telephone, doesn’t it? Beresford, Perivale—”

Will put a polite end to what was shaping up into a lengthy meditation on consonants, and went back to the bookshop with frustration buzzing through his nerves. He could have sworn he’d heard Beresford, and hadn’t checked further. A stupid and needless error, considering the value of the Aveston business. Now he’d have to call a lot of hotels to find the viscount and explain himself, if he wasn’t already leaving to catch his train.

He’d just hung up his coat and sat down with a directory when the telephone rang. With luck, it would be Aveston’s man wondering where he was. “Darling here.”

“Mr. William Darling?” A quavery male voice he didn’t recognise.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Darling, it’s Quiller. John Quiller, from the Symposium Club. I’m the Chief Steward.”

Will sat up straight. “Mr. Quiller? What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to someone about what I know. About the murder.”

Will was barely breathing, as if that would prevent the man on the other end from being frightened off. “You know something?”

“I can’t go to the police or the Club. He’ll find out if I do.” The words were low and hurried, and fearful. “You aren’t one of them. You weren’t afraid of them, and you wanted to know what happened. Will you help me? Please!”

“Of course,” Will said. There was terror in the old man’s voice, and every hair he had was standing on end. “Where are you?”

“My rooms. Goodge Street.” He gave the address. “Please come quickly. I’m afraid he knows.”

“Who—?”

Quiller rang off. Will

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