Page 12 of Infernal Vices

“Very well. Forgive me, I need to deal with this blasted headache first or I’ll get nothing done today,” I grumbled. I opened my desk drawer and retrieved the small green bottle of Laudanum I kept in there.

“Brandy would be welcome to warm the cock…les, but I’ll pass on the Laudanum!” he grinned boyishly.

I stood; grateful to have something to do that would remove me from his grasping hands. He seemed to reach out and touch me without thought, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. But it was only with one man such touches felt appropriate.

I moved to my credenza and poured two tumblers of Napoleon Brandy. My eyesight blurred a little. I put the bottle down and steadied myself, fingers gripping the dark timber sideboard. I rubbed my temples again before I collected my wits and added ten drops of Laudanum to my brandy. I turned to see Ashe slouched on my couch as if he were attending a bohemian soirée.

I collected the drinks and carried them to my seating area, then passed a glass to Ashe before easing myself in the armchair to his right. I took a swallow welcoming the taste of candied fruits and spice that disguised the bitterness of the Laudanum. As the liquor and pain reliever rested in my stomach I felt warmth radiate and flow into my blood. Finally I began to relax, my limbs easing into the comfort of my armchair. I looked up from my glass to see Ashe was watching me, a mixture of humour and lust in his eyes.

“Well…” he said seductively as he took a sip of brandy and licked his lips. I spoke again to cut off his train of thought, “Before you ask, no, I did not see the thief!”

Ashe sat up like a spotter dog, alert and keen. “Damn your eyes!” he harrumphed. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll tell you exactly the same as I told the Old Bill. I was in bed when the theft occurred. My valet, Mr. Troy saw the blaggard escaping through a rear window into the garden but he didn’t see his face. I have no idea what the reprobate looks like.”

Ashe absently twirled the ends of his waxed moustache, “Damn it. This is most vexing.”

“Indeed. Now what can I do for you Charles? Forgive my impertinence but I’ve already lost the morning to this debacle and I need to inspect a delivery of paintings that has just arrived on a ship from the continent.”

“Very well, I won’t beat around the bush. My editor would be delighted if our publication was center stage in the revelation of the facts of this most exciting story. Could I call on you at home later this afternoon? I wish to interview the member of your household who saw the thief, get a first-hand account, and draw the scene of the robbery from life.”

I put my tumbler on the side table, steepled my fingers, and took the pose of a man deep in thought. I did not want Ashe in my house, nor did I want him speaking to my servants without my presence.

Ashe continued without waiting for my acquiescence. “My editor wants an exclusive for the Friday edition, so you mustn’t speak to anyone else from the press about this!”

I knew that journalists were an underhand lot and would pinch Ashe’s words for their own articles. Maybe then they would leave me alone.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said haltingly.

“Why ever not? Do you not trust me, brother?”

“Of course I trust you,” I lied. God forgive me, but the lies now fell from my lips as easy as my next breath.

“So give me the story,” Ashe sat forward and faced me, beseeching, “Allow me to do a piece for The Illustrated Police News. I will ensure that the truth will out. If you speak to any of the other chaunter-coves they’ll twist your words and make you a laughing stock.”

“And you won’t?”

“No, brother, of course I won’t.” he sounded a tad wounded and slumped back into the couch, winded.

“I promise. I’ll endeavour to paint a picture of truth with my words and illustrations. I’ll tell the readers that a rogue broke into the house of a true gentleman, and a devilishly handsome one at that!”

I glared at him, unimpressed by his attempt at flattery.

“—a pillar of society, a kind, and charitable man,” he continued. “You are a victim, my dear friend. You deserve nothing but sympathy and justice.” Ashe narrated this speech as if he were a politician, then he paused before asking, “So. What exactly did he steal?”

I remained silent for a moment as the Laudanum continued to work its magic, untangling the knots in my mind. “My silver collection,” I admitted finally. “All items were small enough to be pocketed. Vesta cases, stamp boxes—he even stole the exquisite silver fish spice box I purchased from Brother Lawrence just last week.”

Ashe sat up then and looked at me quizzically.

“A fish shaped spice box?”

“Yes, Dutch silver, ruby eyes, it was the new prize of my collection. Lawrence asked me to auction a group of silver items that his followers gifted to the cause, but I purchased the pieces for my collection instead,” I explained.

“Is that so?” Ashe said in a slow, perplexed tone. He stared at me for a moment too long, then tossed back the tumbler and drained it. I got the distinct impression I’d just said something wrong.

“What else did you purchase from him?”

“A monogrammed silver stamp case, the fish shaped spice box and a snuff box.”

Ashe’s eyes narrowed and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was unhappy at hearing this. I waited on his response for a long moment before he said,

“How very beastly that they were stolen from you not a week after purchase.” If I wasn’t mistaken there was a tone of suspicion as Ashe said that.

“Indeed, it’s the damndest luck. I’m hoping the police can locate at least some of the items. I have photographs of everything that was stolen.”

“You do!”

“Indeed. I employ a photographer here and he ensures my insurance agent receives photographs of all items that pass through my auction house.”

“You are most wise, dear man. So, back to business. Do we have an agreement? May I call on you this afternoon?”

“Fine,” I agreed resignedly, “I’ll be home just after five o’clock.”