Fanfics (7 ajouts)
Dossier: Le monde de FMA
Mp3 divers
Lyrics (HSF et film)
DVDS (anime et film)

Chapitre 1

It would be a lie to say Roy was expecting the phonecall, but then again, you couldn’t really say it was unexpected either. The clock over the fireplace of the retired Colonel’s London apartment had just struck half eleven, and Roy toasted it with a bitter -- and not entirely steady -- salute.

“Here’s to women!” he proclaimed. “Here’s to their beauty, their pretty lies and their much-vaunted fidelity!”

The phone rang just as he threw back the drink so he choked, grabbing the receiver as he spluttered for breath.

“Mustang here--”

“Hard breaks, old chap,” a familiar voice drawled on the other end of the phone. “Still, Josephine was never the right woman for you.”

“Hughes,” Roy was not at all surprised to find his friend on the other end of the phone. “You already knew?”

“I could see it coming,” his friend confessed. “Believe me, you’re better off well out of it.”

Roy held up his port glass to the light. Half full, when you looked through it you could see a kinder world, blurred around the edges and gently rose tinted . . . a world he wanted to be in, a world where lovers didn’t cheat and a promise was a promise . . . “Is there a reason for this phonecall Maes?”

“I’m stopping you from drinking yourself into oblivion, am I?” Hughes guessed with uncanny precision. “She’s not worth it, Roy. Put the vodka away and go to bed. You’ll thank yourself for it in the morning.”

“It’s not vodka,” Roy answered mutinously. So, it was childish, but Hughes needed taking down a peg and Roy wasn’t that easily predictable. “It’s port.”

“Port,” Hughes repeated slowly. “What, not your grandfather’s best?”

“The same.” Even though Hughes on the other end of the phoneline could not possibly see him, Roy saluted him with the half empty bottle. Or was that half full? Either way, the port that was practically an heirloom was rapidly disappearing.

“Your grandfather’s port,” Hughes repeated slowly. “I had no idea you were that serious about her. I’m sorry, Roy.”

The honesty and the understanding in his friend’s reply was enough to cut through Roy’s pleasantly drunk haze. “Maes--”

“Chin up, old man,” Hughes assured him. “Somewhere out there’s the right woman for you. You’ll know her when you find her.”

“Easy for you to say.” Either it was late, or the drink had worn him down enough that the bitterness was audible in his tone. “Look at you, happily married and with a kid -- and look at me. Leading the merry life of a bachelor. Ha!”

“I think,” Hughes said carefully, “that it is a very good thing I rang you when I did. Now, listen up, Mustang.” He’d suddenly adopted the crisp tones he’d used in their army days and Roy found himself straightening unconsciously through sheer habit. “Put the port away and go to bed. I’m sending a car round to collect you at 8:30. We’ll meet at the station, and take the 9:15 Express.”

“Where are we going?”

“Lincolnshire. The country will do you some good, I think. I’ve an invitation from some friends of Doctor Marcoh’s -- he’ll be there too. We can catch up on old times, maybe get a spot of fishing in or whatever it is they do in the countryside. You’ve probably heard of the owner of the house; Professor Elric?”

“One of Marcoh’s scientific crowd, isn’t he? I think I remember seeing his name in the paper a while back. Something about molecules--”

“Atoms, Roy. They’re called atoms. Professor Elric is the leading scientist in this field--”

“Going to the country is dull enough without adding scientists to the mix,” Roy complained, leaning back in the velvet upholstered easy chair that stood near the fireplace. Balancing the phone receiver with his shoulder he poured himself another glass. “I don’t see why you don’t just take Gracia and make it a romantic little getaway for yourselves --”

“Ah, but you’re much better with a revolver than Gracia.”

It was the second time this evening that Hughes had caused Roy to choke on his drink. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was going to tell you to bring your revolver. Possibly the air gun as well -- I don’t anticipate we’ll need something with that much distance but you never know.”

“But--why? Correct me if I’m wrong, Maes, but Lincolnshire is not an area generally known for its hunting --”

“Or at least not for deer or game hunting.”

Roy set his glass aside, interested now. Something in his friend’s tone -- “What’s this about then?”

“Now you sound like the Mustang I know,” Hughes approved. “Murder, Roy. We’re hunting a murderer.”

--oOo--

Hughes had secured a private carriage. He took one side of it, stretching out along the entire bench, leafing through a newspaper. He was enjoying this, flipping through the papers in search of --

Well, Roy could only guess what his goal was. Hughes could be damnably secretive when he chose, and he certainly chose so now -- not one word of the murderer they were supposed to find, or even of the murder itself had crossed Hughes’ lips. He was doing it on purpose. Roy would have done better to stay in London, tempting as the promise of a bit of action had been--

“Ah-hah! Here it is!” Hughes straightened up. “It was a stroke of luck finding this -- not many libraries hang onto newspapers three years old.”

“Amazing.” Roy was feeling irritable. The early morning wake-up and the headache that was the product of his activities the night before had not combined well.

Hughes ignored him. “Woman’s death ruled as accident: Grieving family requests privacy.” He proceeded to read aloud the bits of the following article. “Trisha Elric, 34, wife of noted scientist Professor Holmheim Elric, formerly of Rizenburg, Germany -- sorely missed by friends and family. Death was caused by accident -- found with her neck broken by a friend of the family in the early hours of the morning -- presumed she fell from the top of the stairs. No history of sleep walking or restlessness, prompted concern among neighbours . . . question of suicide. No evidence of premeditated nature of death --jury ruled in favour of accidental death.” Hughes folded the paper and handed it over to myself. “There you have it.”

“This is the murdered then?”

“If she was murdered. That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Roy snorted, glancing down at the article. There was a photo next to it, a family portrait of the fashionably sentimental kind. It had been trimmed to focus solely on Mrs. Elric, but husband and sons were visible around her. She looked happy, a sweet smile on her face. The sort of woman who was born to be wife and mother -- “She doesn’t look like the sort of person to ever be murdered.”

“No,” Hughes said and his tone was sharp. “That’s the thing -- by all accounts she was an ordinary woman, not a very smart or outstanding one . . . but definitely one that did not get murdered. If she was beautiful, if she was cruel or jealous, then one might understand but she seemed to be a quiet woman, devoted to her sons, and tolerant of her husband’s eccentricities.”

“She was English, then? Not from Germany?”

“No, she was English all right. Her family was from the Midlands. She was staying with friends of her parents and Holmheim was invited to stay and --” Hughes shrugged. “To cut a long story short, they had two sons, a country house in Lincolnshire and by all accounts a happy and stable marriage. This worries me.”

Roy glanced up at his friend, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you more than anyone else would claim that being happy in marriage is not such an impossibility?”

“Ah, Roy, a single man such as yourself has no understanding of what it is like to be wedded. My beautiful Gracia -- But that’s not the point.”

Roy let go of Hughes’s collar. “And the point is?”

Hughes leant back, looking not at Roy but at something beyond him. “The point,” he said slowly. “Is that if Marcoh is right, and there is something in her death . . . we’re looking for someone who killed a woman, defenceless and entirely innocent, in cold blood. I won’t say that one kind of murder is better than another but this . . . No one had reason to hate her. No one benefited financially from her death. That kind of killer . . . “ He looked at me, his eyes focusing again. “You see why we have to act?”

“When you put it that way--” Roy conceeded. “But it does seem improbable. You promised me a murderer, but are you so sure that it was no accident?”

Hughes was wearing the ‘I know something that you don’t’ smile. Roy sighed.

“Do I have to guess or just spend the rest of the train ride listening to you drop hints?”

“I told you that you’d regret the port in the morning.” Hughes pulled a letter out of this jacket pocket.

Two letters actually, Roy realised, as Hughes spread them out. One of them was written on good quality paper with what looked like a fountain pen, the neat and elegant lilt of the handwriting speaking of a good education and a tidy personality. The other resembled nothing so much as a childish scrawl.

“I got this letter a few weeks ago from Marcoh. He said that he’d been working closely on a project that had finally been completed. Honemheim was his partner in this, planning the experiments and researching the theory from Lincolnshire while Marcoh oversaw the development in the labs here in London. Professor Elric came down to London to oversee the experiments, and invited Marcoh to stay with him to discuss their findings. Marcoh writes that this was the first time that he’d been back to Lincolnshire since Trisha’s death -- he was staying with the family when it took place. At the time he’d had no reason to suspect that her death was anything but a tragic accident but now . . . He asked me to come down and investigate, put his mind at rest as it were.”

“He knows something then?”

“He suspects. He doesn’t tell me more -- but then Marcoh’s a scientist. He’s not the type to allow his own perceptions to interfere with the experiment.”

“And we’re the experiment? I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

“Where’s your courage? Besides, I don’t know if we’re the experiment so much as the control group if you will -- the litmus paper to his suspicions.”

Roy had to snort at Hughes’s declaration. “And here I’d thought your analogies couldn’t get anymore overblown.”

Hughes shook his head sadly. “My good man, you simply have no feel for the dramatic. You need to cultivate an appreciation for the arts--”

“So Marcoh wants us to tell him if he’s imagining things,” Roy cut him off. “I can see that as not the sort of thing he would do lightly, but even so . . . he’s not the sort of person to keep quiet if he thinks something isn’t right. The fact that he’s unsure -- well, doesn’t that suggest that this business is just an accident?”

“Marcoh doesn’t know about this.” Hughes pushed the other letter across the table. “Take a look.”

The edge of the paper was slightly ripped; obviously it had been torn from the notebook it was written on hurriedly. The note likewise seemed to have been written in haste, the letters large and school-bookish.

“Marcoh says that you solved a crime in Suffolk that no one else could and that you have a way of ferreting out secrets like no one’s business. We’ve got too many secrets here. Everyone’s afraid . . . this entire family has gone mad. Please, you must find out who killed Trisha. If you don’t--”

Roy turned the page over but was not surprised to find there was nothing on the back. “Well.”

“Interesting, wouldn’t you say?” Hughes was smirking slightly, pleased with the reaction the letter had provoked.

Roy refused to be drawn. “Nicely dramatic,” he replied. “If a little cliche for my tastes. It’s all rather puerile -- Though the use of ‘Trisha’ would suggest--”

“Close friend or family member?” Hughes shrugged, leaning back against the trainseat and letting his feet rest on the seat. “Or more specifically husband -- from what Marco has told me of Holmenheim I have to say this seems remarkably out of character for him. And they’re obviously familiar with Marcoh if they’ve dropped his title.”

“Then again, aren’t anonymous letters supposed to be out of character? Whoever wrote this didn’t wish to be recognised.”

“Mmm.”

Roy knew that reaction well. Hughes was busy plotting something. “I suppose you’re going to announce the culprit on the basis of the paper being less than standard quality? I suppose the colour of the ink also plays an important role in this mystery.”

“Roy --” Hughes sighed dramatically. “People writing anonymous letters making accusations of murder are usually not murderers themselves. And all that can be deduced from this letter is that the writer had a good public school education and wrote this on the sort of notebook bought in bulk and favoured by scientists.”

The former Army Colonel stared, then reached across to snatch the letter. He turned it over in his hands, searching for any clue but -- “Damnit, Maes. I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t, old boy. It takes a trained eye.”

Roy looked at him.

“. . . although this did help,” Hughes drew another letter from his jacket pocket.

The handwriting was precise, sharp and angular, and the language of the letter similarly correct and free of unnecessary ornamentation. It stated quite simply, that at the behest of Dr. Marcoh, it would please Professor Elric and his family if Hughes and a friend would join them for a weekend of quiet entertainment, and was signed by the distinguished man himself.

There was absolutely no similarity between it and the rushed scrawl of the anonymous letter -- except for the paper.

“It could have been taken from the same notepad.”

“Quite likely was.” Hughes gathered all the letters and tucked them back inside his jacket pocket. “You realise the implications, of course? The family are the ones who will be least likely to make something like this up -- and they’re also the most likely to know what really happened.”

Chapitre 2

Little River, Lincolnshire, appeared to be all that could be expected of a country town. It consisted of a train station, a row of shops, some of which had seen better days, a stolid country pub that doubled as an inn and a cluster of houses. There was a car waiting to collect them with a briskly efficient chauffeur to take them to the Elric house, a short distance out of the town.

The chauffeur was capable and business-like and introduced herself as Ross. Something about her seemed familiar, and Roy was trying to put his finger on it until Hughes leaned over the passenger seat and asked “What unit?”

“Transport and Supplies, Division 12,” Ross answered crisply, not missing a beat. “I’d have known you two were military even without the titles.” She smiled and Roy caught a glimpse of a wry grin in the rear view mirror. “Driving ranked officers around like a personal taxi service -- this really takes me back, sir.”

Not his type -- efficiency in a relationship was always off putting. A woman like that would send you a memo letting you know what days were suitable for marriage proposals. Definitely unconducive to romance. Still, Roy found himself approving of Ross’s no-nonsense attitude and skillful handling of the vehicle.

“Must have been hard finding this job?” Hughes asked. “I can’t imagine there’d be much openings of this sort for women.”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been turned down in favour of a man -- you’d think the government would offer something, with the way they recruited and used women in the war, but no. It’s all ‘we only offer jobs to returned servicemen -- a woman will be supported by her husband but a man needs to work.’” She frowned at the road ahead. “There’s no earthly reason a woman shouldn’t be allowed to work if she sees fit. I’m a good driver too, more than equal to a man.”

“You were lucky with your employer then,” Hughes stated casually. “But then I suppose it’s not that unusual for a revolutionary scientist to be revolutionary in other respects as well.”

To Roy’s surprise, Ross laughed. “Professor Elric? Hardly. He’s not in favour of equal rights for women. I’m willing to bet a month’s paycheck that he’s never even considered the matter. No, the Professor doesn’t see anything that’s not related to his work.”

“Well then how--”

“Very simply, I was the candidate with the best qualifications. It wouldn’t matter if I was male, female, a talking baboon; as long as I got the job done in an efficient manner, the Professor could care less.”

Roy smiled at the analogy but didn’t have time to comment; they were pulling up in front of a grand country manor house. Obviously a Georgian relic; the house was set at the end of a long driveway, framed by two rows of crisp birch trees.

“The manorhouse,” Ross announced, parking neatly in front of the row of steps that led up to the grand front door. “Don’t worry about your bags, I’ll bring them in later.”

A giant was waiting for them at the top of the stairs; or at least that was Roy’s first impression. Upon reaching the doorway however, it became apparent that the person waiting was merely the Elric’s butler.

“You must be Colonel Mustang and Brigadier Hughes,” the man greeted them. He had a surly expression on his face, and there was something slightly . . . Slavic about his appearance? Foreign? Still, Holmenheim himself was German, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. “I’m Curtis, Professor Elric’s butler. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the sitting room.”

Not the most welcoming of manners . . . still, any house with Mr. Curtis in it was bound to be secure if only because of the sheer size of the man. He looked like he would be much more at home in a boxing ring than the uniform of a butler. The hugely muscled man looked extremely out of place among the assorted Victorian knick-nacks that decorated the house, and Roy found himself catching his breath once or twice as the great arms passed dangerously close to a vase or cabinet as Curtis guided them down a corridor.

“The sitting room,” he announced, opening the door carefully.

It was a polished room, with something of the air of a museum piece. The furniture was arranged comfortably and with taste but it lacked a certain something -- the pleasant disorder of a home, perhaps? Not that Roy’s bachelor pad gave him any experience in that respect.

“I’m afraid that Professor Elric is caught up in some research and cannot meet you at present,” Curtis explained. “He wishes that you would make yourselves at home and he’ll meet you at dinner. I’ll let everyone know that you’re here.”

“Chatty, isn’t he?” Hughes observed as Curtis disappeared. “Definitely not butler material.”

“Maybe he has other uses,” Roy suggested, making use of the easy chairs. “And I imagine he gets the job done.”

“If you say so,” Hughes helped himself to the other armchair. An easy table was set beside it with a tray of glasses and a bottle of whine. “Our host certainly doesn’t stint on home comforts. This is authentic Rhinish wine -- look at the vintage!”

“A taste of home?”

“A pricey taste if it is --” The door opened suddenly and both men stood hastily as the giant of a butler ushered in a slip of a boy -- young man, Roy corrected himself hastily. Anyone would look minute compared to Curtis.

“Brigadier Hughes, Colonel Mustang?” The boy -- young man -- held out his hand. He had a confidence in his manner that indicated he was well used to greeting people. “Welcome to Lincolnshire.”

He was definitely striking; eyes almost golden and fair hair that would be the envy of any girl gathered in a short plait down his back. Like the prince in a fairy-tale -- It would have to be a German tale, Swan Lake perhaps -- Roy took the hand offered. “It was very good of Professor Elric to extend his invitation to two old friends of Doctor Marcoh. I’m Roy Mustang, formerly of the East Division, and my companion --”

“Brigadier Maes Hughes of the Central Intelligence Office. Your reputation has preceeded you, sir.” Their young host offered his hand politely but there was a note of challenge -- or was that wariness in his voice? “I’m Edward Elric, at your service.”

“A pleasure.” Hughes was at his charming best. Roy wished him luck. He could charm and work adults to his will, but he’d always found children daunting. And this child -- adult like manner, set within a face still youthfully round, but somehow too old for its owner -- Roy shook himself sternly. This is an investigation, he told himself sternly. There’s no room for fancies . . .

“We seem to have arrived at a bad moment,” Hughes apologised. “I hope we’re not too disruptive.”

“Father’s always busy,” Edward said, pouring them both glasses of the wine. “There’s no time you could have arrived that he wouldn’t be. Although,” he paused to cork the wine bottle. “One wonders why you came at all.”

Now that was definite challenge.

“There’s no mystery in that,” Hughes answered, taking the offered wine glass. “Marcoh was good enough to invite us--”

“He’s never invited anyone here before,” Edward argued. “Not once. Why now -- and why of all people does he ask someone famous as an amateur detective?”

Hughes shrugged airily. “I hate to speak well of myself,” he said, “but as I’m sure Mustang will confirm, I have no small talents as a story teller and my after dinner conversation is said to be quite amusing--”

Roy snorted, taking the remaining wine glass from Edward before he could be tempted to say something. It was rather entertaining, watching his friend be interrogated by this unreal character.

Edward eyed Hughes squarely and then shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Marcoh doesn’t like his after dinner conversation to be witty and entertaining. He likes to mull over the day’s events and perhaps play cards. I ask again, Brigadier Hughes; why are you here?”

“Surely it’s not against the law to pay a visit to an old friend --” Roy started but Hughes held up a hand to stop him.

“You’re an intelligent boy, Edward. Very perceptive.”

“I’m fifteen. I’m not a child.”

“So I see. Very well then, Mr. Elric. This is why we’re here.” Hughes very gravely drew the letter from his jacket pocket and handed it to him with a solemnity that made Roy want to roll his eyes -- dramatic sense indeed! He wasn’t sure what his friend was playing at but taking a any child into their confidence, even this child was surely a mistake. He braced himself for the inevitable outrage.

It never came.

Edward appeared concerned, but not surprised. He read the letter through twice and then folded it decisively. “I should have expected something like this.”

“You’re not surprised then?” Hughes was alert, watching Edward closely for any reaction. Roy had to admit he himself was puzzled. This was hardly the reception he’d expected. He was impressed despite himself as Edward handed the letter back to Hughes with all apparent calm.

“I wish I could say I was,” he answered slowly. “Al -- that’s Alphonse, my brother -- has never really managed to reconcile himself to our mother’s death. I can’t blame him. It’s not easy, especially with that woman here.” A touch of bitterness marred his calm for a moment then was gone. “I’m sorry that you’ve wasted your time. There is nothing to investigate here.”

“That woman?” Hughes wondered but Roy found himself interrupting.

“That’s the only reaction you have to the suggestion your mother was murdered?” he asked. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time?” A cruel question to ask a child but somehow Edward was not very childlike.

He certainly rose to the question like an adult. “My reactions,” he said, looking hard at Mustang, “are no one’s business but my own. I will say this much however; that there is no question of my mother’s death being anything but accidental, and that, gentlemen, is a fact.”

This statement was punctuated by the sitting room door flying open.

“Brother! You haven’t finished your Latin yet --” The sudden arrival halted in the doorway, an expression of comical surprise on his face. This was clearly Alphonse. Although he was nearly the same height as his brother, he was clearly the younger -- his face was young, if seriously inclined, and lacked the intensity of his older sibling. At the moment his face was alight with excitement and fixed on Hughes. “Are you really --”

“Colonel Mustang and Brigadier Hughes, Al.” Edward elbowed his brother in the ribs. “Say how’d you do.”

Alphonse held out his hand to Hughes eagerly. “I’m really glad you’re here! I’ve been waiting for your visit --”

“I can see that.” Instead of answering Alphonse’s hand shake, Hughes struck a thoughtful pose. “You’ve been wondering what I’ll make of the letter you sent me, have you not?”

Alphonse’s face was so full of awe, Roy found it was hard not to laugh. “How did you know?” he asked as Hughes preened. “You really are as clever as they say -- if anyone can help us, it will be you!”

“Al!”

Edward was clearly unimpressed. “That’s enough. You won’t trouble the gentleman with this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense!” Alphonse argued immediately and hotly, turning to glare at his brother. “Brother, why won’t you believe me --”

“Because I know it’s impossible, Al. There’s absolutely no way --” Edward broke off sharply as the door opened once again.

A young girl in a black and white maid’s uniform curtisied, holding the door open for a regal looking woman, clad in furs, exspensive velvet and heavy perfume. She was by no stretch of the imagination a woman in her youth, or even second youth -- a lady in what was politely termed her prime. She had a distinct brow and elegant features and you could see that in her youth she would have been a magnetic, attractive woman. Even now the force of her personality made itself known.

Roy found himself standing to attention automatically; the two Elric brothers immediately fell into sullen silence.

“I thought I heard an argument,” the extraordinary woman remarked. “Don’t tell me it was the two of you? And here I was given to believe that there was absolutely no subject that could come between you.”

Edward answered politely. “It was nothing. We were entertaining our guests. Colonel Mustang, Brigadier Hughes? This is Lady Dante.”

No further introduction was necessary.

Roy was naturally fluent with all circles of London society; but even if he hadn’t been it would have been hard to miss someone of Dante’s notoriety. She was infamous throughout London society for a number of reasons, among which was her reputation for being a woman of almost revolutionary principles. She disdained society’s dictates, argued against marriage and held views on religion that were frankly scandalous. Not that the Lady was any stranger to scandal, of course; not only had she divorced her last husband but it widely rumoured that her son was born out of wedlock. Then there was the not so little matter of the Lady’s past.

There had been many refugees to come to live in England after the war, and many of them desired to start anew, making a total break from their old lives. But even these came with their name and some history -- not Lady Dante. The only name she ever used was Dante, and she had openly admitted it was not her real name. She had wealth; that was enough for London society, she declared.

“Colonel Mustang,” Dante held out her hand. “We meet at last. I have heard many things about you. I’m curious to see how you measure up to your reputation.”

Roy bowed in his most charming manner. “I’m afraid I shall fail miserably, Lady Dante -- I think we’re both familiar enough with society rumours to know that no one’s word can be taken for granted these days. But on the other hand, fiction is always more entertaining than fact.”

“And more more uplifting,” Dante agreed. “I can’t abide this old fashioned horror of honestly. When everyone is too delicate to speak the truth, the only thing worth listening to are lies.”

“But if you don’t speak truth and only hear lies, what does one believe?”

“Your reputation did not include your being a philosopher, Brigadier Hughes.” Date turned her attention to Hughes with interest. “I wonder what else you have up your sleeves?”

“You’re getting mixed up,” Roy was startled as Edward spoke up suddenly. He’d forgotten the boys were in the room, so strong was the Lady’s presence. “Magicians keep things up their sleeves; Brigadier Hughes is a detective.” There was malicious emphasis on the last word.

There was a definite coolness in Dante’s reply. “Children should be seen, Edward, and not heard. Shouldn’t the two of you be with your tutor?”

“We have to greet the guests,” Alphonse protested. “They’re here by our Father’s invitation--”

“And your Father pays Mr. Tucker a generous allowance to see to your education. I’ll take care of these gentlemen, you two return to your studies.”

“But --” Alphonse clearly wanted to protest but a sharp look from Edward stopped him. Roy wondered at the gesture. It was so slight, yet there clearly a deeper understanding between the brothers.

“Colonel Mustang, Brigadier Hughes,” Edward bowed politely, his brother following his example. “It was a pleasure to meet you. We’ll see you again at dinner no doubt.” They left silently, Edward without looking back, Alphonse casting a hopeful look at Hughes.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind them that Dante broke the silence. “I find children vastly overrated,” she remarked, the maid fluffing the sofa cushions as she seated herself. “I understand that you’ve been blessed in that respect, Brigadier?”

“Alicia,” Hughes said, Dante’s disapproving tone not preventing him from speaking rapturously. “She’ll be two next month. A perfect angel --”

“That may as well be,” Dante settled back. “For my own part I think that children should grow up as early as possible. All this childhood nonsense -- it may be fashionable but its not practical.”

“If they are such trouble, surely finding them a good school would be no problem?” Roy found himself angered by Dante’s cool dismission of the brothers. From what he’d seen neither of them were insufferable children; both were polite and seemed intelligent enough.

“It’s not that simple. We -- that is, the boy’s father and I -- have discussed the possibility more than once. It was on the advice of a London doctor that Mr. Tucker was retained and the boys educated from home.”

“A doctor?” Roy was suspicious. “They both seem active, healthy boys --”

“There are more diseases than those that assail the body,” Dante answered vaguely. “Lila, I’d like my embroidery. For heaven’s sakes, girl, what are the curtains still doing drawn?”

The maid hastened to make amends.

“I must say,” Hughes said casually, pouring a glass of wine for Dante and extending the glass to her with practiced urbaneness, “that you are exceedingly well acquainted with the affairs of this household.”

“Naturally,” Dante accepted the glass and the suggestion agreeably. “I’m an old family friend. I’ve known Holmenheim since before his marriage, and after the tragic loss of his wife -- very sad for him -- he’s come to rely on my judgement in womanly matters, such as the housekeeping arrangements and the care of the boys. I’m practically a member of the family.”

If that was true, Roy pitied the boys immensely.

Curtis held the door open as a group of people entered, busily discussing something extremely scientific sounding. There were three of them and Roy knew at once that the first was Holmenheim.

The giant of a butler overtowered all of them, but somehow Holmenheim himself was not overshadowed by his presence. He was a tall man himself, sturdily built and with an air of control and command. He was handsome, his intelligent face framed by a healthy beard and hair worn long in an old fashioned style. If it wasn’t for his clothing, rich waistcoat and well made suit in muted, respectable hues, he would have resembled nothing so much as a Nordic warrior of old. He certainly did not look like a dry scientist.

“I see our guests have arrived,” He said, interrupting the scientific discussion and stepping forward to greet Roy and Hughes with a hearty handshake. “Welcome, Colonel Mustang, Brigadier Hughes.”

His grip was strong -- Roy decided he really could have made a Viking warrior. “We appreciate your hospitality, Professor. There are few people who would extend such a welcome to strangers.”

“Not at all,” Holmenheim said, turning to give Hughes the same greeting. “You are friends of Marcoh, you are friends of mine. Please make yourself at home here during your stay.” He ushered forward the people with him. “May I present my research assistant, Miss. Shezchka, and my secretary, Mr. Envy Dante.”

Shezchka, for all her Russian sounding name, was a very awkward English girl, easily flustered and with large, unflattering glasses. Bookish, and not Roy’s type by any stretch of the imagination. Her hesitant greeting was quickly lost amid the other conversation.

Envy, on the other hand, resembled his mother, having force of personality to spare. However, where Dante’s colouring was dark, Envy obviously took after his father. Roy glanced at Hughes to see if he’d noticed and his friend nodded; the connection might not have been so obvious had they not already met Holmenheim’s sons. As it was, the relationship was clear.

“We don’t often have such distinguished visitors,” the secretary said, going to sit on the arm of the sofa beside his mother. “I hope that you’re not too bored by Lincolnshire.” Roy disliked him already. He was handsome, yes, long elegant face well suited to the long hair that hung loosely to his shoulders. But there was a faintly arrogant tone to his voice that showed he was well aware of his advantages. Urbane, but not . . . not cricket.

“I’m entertained already,” Hughes said, offering his hand. “Marcoh promised us a quiet visit with old friends -- he said nothing about such an illustrious persons as your mother and yourself being present.”

“We don’t shake hands, Brigadier,” Dante said, as Envy smiled but didn’t take the offered handshake. “I don’t believe in such trivialities.”

“My apologies.”

“None necessary.” Holmenheim took charge of the conversation again, pouring himself and his colleagues glasses of the sweet German wine. “There is no stand on formality in this household, gentlemen. I value efficiency above all else. Thus, my staff and I prefer to go by our first names. It is simpler.”

“So we should call you Holmenheim then? It seems very familiar.”

The man shrugged. “I don’t mind. I suppose that for all the years I’ve spent in England, I am still German at heart . . . not in any partisian sense, mind you. But in the sense that matters -- I would like to walk once more in the lanes of my childhood . . . but Germany would not welcome me, and at any rate, I couldn’t leave the experiments.”

“Shezchka is my first name,” the research assistant announced suddenly. “But I’ve always been called it, if only because no one can pronouce my last.”

“Oh?” Roy asked. “And what is your surname, Miss Shezchka?”

She told him.

“I can see that we shall be joining the majority,” Hughes said, while Roy still struggled with the impossible amount of consonants. “Not a very British name?”

“No, my father was a Polish shipping merchant who settled in England. He married an English woman, and I’ve been entirely brought up here.”

“In terms of interesting names, I can see I’m well out-classed,” Roy had recovered himself and turned to Dante and her son. “I think Mr. Envy has the most unusual name of anyone present.”

“My son’s name must be striking,” Dante said with obvious pride. “Striking and unique -- nothing less would suit him.”

“You flatter me too highly,” Envy remarked, not sounding at all bothered by this. “Although as names go, it is certainly commanding.”

No, not arrogant at all. Roy reminded himself that it would be impolite to bait the young man. “While it isn’t uncommon for a child to be named after an ideal or even a virtue, the names Ernest and Prudence immediately springing to mind, I’m surprised by the choice of Envy. I mean, it’s not exactly a positive association -- ware green-eyed envy and all of that?”

“Ah, but Mustang -- may I call you Mustang? -- that is the point. It’s unexpected, and defies convention. And why shouldn’t it? When you think about the so-called Christian virtues, humility, temperence and so on, too often they’re designed to keep people in check. Religion as social control, as it were.” Dante set aside her wine glass, growing involved in her answer. “If everyone is taught to be content with their lot and to desire nothing -- well, where is the passion for life? The struggle for greatness? The discoveries? It is ambition, the want for better things that fuels great men and great discoveries. Envy is not something to be feared.”

“You argue well,” Hughes noted. “And how does your son live up to his name?”

“Envy has the makings of a fine scientist,” Holmenheim answered. “He certainly makes an excellent secretary. The rest I leave up to him.”

It was a father’s answer. Roy kept his expression neutral, sipping the wine he held. He liked to think of himself as a man of progressive ideals, but still that Holmenheim would acknowledge the relationship so clearly . . . Well, he was foreign. And, when you thought about it, acknowledging the child was only decent -- but having him in his house alongside his legitimate children! That was something else entirely . . . He wondered what Mrs. Elric would have thought of that.

It appeared Hughes was thinking along similar lines. “How long have you been secretary to Mr. Holmenheim?”

“It would be four years now,” Envy answered thoughtfully. “But in a way it seems much longer. Like I’ve always been here.” There was something in the way he said that, something in the glance that crossed between him and Dante --

Cats who have got the cream.

Still four years -- Roy thought back to the woman in the newspaper photo of three years ago. Sweet, charitable and loving -- but how forgiving would she have been of her husband’s bastard living in her house?

“We named my little precious after my wife’s mother. Alicia is every bit as gorgeous as her name sounds! And my dear Gracia is gracious indeed!” Hughes mooned over his absent family a few moments then continued. “It was her choice of name -- then she has always been good at making decisions. Such sensibility! So refined -- but what else can you expect from a mother?” He turned suddenly to Holmenheim. “I expect it was your wife who named your sons -- Edward seems very prosaic after the conversation we’ve been having.”

Roy happened to be studying the painting behind Dante -- if he watched Hughes go stupid over his wife he’d end up strangling him -- so he didn’t miss the sudden bitterness that crossed Lady Dante’s face or the slight curl to her lip. It was gone in a second but it was jarring -- Roy was broken out of these reflections as Holmenheim laughed.

“Yes, they’re hardly the names I would have chosen . . . Trisha -- that is, my wife -- was something of a romantic. She insisted on naming Edward after his Majesty -- and as your Foreign Affairs people were looking into my application for a residence permit at the time, I thought such an English gesture a prudent choice. We wanted something with Classical connotations for his brother, and originally had Alexander in mind. But when he was born he turned out to be such a round baby. All smiles and happiness and really, Alexander didn’t suit him at all. So Alphonse.” Holmenheim set his wine glass down. “I take it you’ve met the boys then?”

“Yes, they were good enough to greet us upon our arrival. They’re remarkably polite for their years.”

“There is very little by way of childish amusements around here,” Holmenheim explained. “They’re both used to the company of their elders. Compared to English children their age, my sons are years ahead, not just socially but academically as well.”

This display of fatherly pride did not seem to endear itself to Dante. “I sent them back to their studies,” she said shortly. “Polite as they are there is a place for children.”

“Boys must be boys. As a matter of fact, I wanted to have a word with Tucker. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you all at dinner -- ah, Curtis. What’s the matter?”

The giant loomed as inconspicuously as possible and announced there had been a phonecall from Doctor Marcoh. Due to an unforeseen complication he would be unable to make his way to Lincolnshire until tomorrow.

“Well, that is a pity,” Holmenheim said. “Still, it can’t be helped. Have our guests been shown to their rooms yet?”

Curtis answered in the negative. “They’re ready. I was on my way to inform you when the phone rang.”

“Then I’ll take them upstairs myself. Gentleman, if you will . . . ?”

Roy hastily put his wine glass aside and followed Holmenheim and Hughes along the corridor and up the eleaborately carved wooden staircase. This must have been where it happened, he thought, pausing a moment at the top of the stairs. If she fell here -- or was pushed . . . He shivered.

Hughes had asked a question and Holmenheim was answering it, leading the way down another corridor. Roy hastened to catch up.

“-- entirely original, I believe, but architecture isn’t my speciality. You’re over here in the East Wing. I thought you’d like adjoining rooms. The school room is at the end of the hall, and the boys and Tucker are on either side of it.”

“You seem to be remarkably blessed with regards to your sons,” Hughes remarked idly. “All three of them.”

Roy was startled. What the Dickens did Hughes mean by making such a forward remark?

Holmenheim met his gaze coolly. “Your forthrightness is not what one expects from an Englishman. Still, I suppose it does make sense to get this out of the way at the start. Envy is my son, I’m not ashamed of the fact, not will I try to hide it. I know Society at large will not approve of this fact, but I have little use for Society.” And, his tone implied, I have little use for those who do not share my opinion.

“It would be good for Society if more fathers were to make such a stand,” Hughes agreed. “But far be it from us to judge. I know Roy has come damnably close to finding himself inadvertantly blessed in the family way more than once--”

Roy spluttered angrily. “Maes! That’s neither here nor there--”

“Don’t worry, Roy. We all know that would it happen, you’d do the gentlemanly thing and marry the girl--”

“That’s where we differ then,” Holmheim said gravely. “I would not marry because it was the right thing -- never.” He shook his head, giving Roy and Hughes an almost wry smile. “It must seem strange to hear a thoroughly scientific soul such as myself speak of love, but I can think of only one reason to marry, and having married once I will never marry again.” He bowed formally to his guests. “I’ll leave you to settle in.”

Roy watched him go. He was definitely a remarkable man. Great, even -- he had that aura. “He’s certainly an interesting study,” he remarked quietly to Hughes. “Maes?”

His friend was already investigating their rooms. “I claim the one with the biggest bed!”

Chapitre 3

Roy rapped on the door that joined his room to Hughes’s. “What do you think, old man? Suit and tie?” he asked as he opened the door.

Hughes was midway through buttoning up his shirt. “Hard to say. Dressing for dinner is commonly expected but they definitely don’t stand on ceremony here.”

“Yes, they’ve made a point of that. For that matter, we don’t even know when dinner is.”

Roy’s statement was punctuated by a knock at the door. Raising an eyebrow at him, Hughes called out “Come in.”

Edward did not appear entirely happy to be there. “Father asked me to take you down to dinner and see if you had any questions. He also advised that a tie and jacket would be enough for dinner.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Edward,” Hughes began throwing clothes out of his suitcase in hunt of a tie. “I know I packed it --”

Roy’s jacket was neatly folded over the back of his chair. He pulled it on, studying Edward thoughtfully as he did so. The boy was sitting in the chair by the end of the bed. He looked not wary now, but bored.

“You’re studying Latin?” Roy found himself making conversation out of pity. “A full classical education then?”

“Yes,” Edward looked surprised to find himself spoken to. “Although I’d much rather be studying Greek. But Mr. Tucker specialised in Latin so . . .” He shrugged.

“You don’t have a scientific leaning then?” Roy was interested despite himself. “I imagine Latin would be useful for all the scientific names and that--”

“Oh yes, Latin’s very useful for biology and medicine,” Edward answered seriously and with obvious relish. “But what I want to know is how things began. What makes things happen.”

“And for that you need Greek?”

“Archimedes, Pythagoras -- they’re famed as mathmaticians but they did more. They were the first scientists, you know. And then there’s Plato --”

“You obviously know your stuff,” Hughes remarked, dumping the contents of his suitcase onto his bed and rifling through them. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to read the works of more recent scientists?”

“Father says we’re not allowed in his study,” Edward said resentfully. “All we have is the library. Still, the Renaissance writers were all right. Some of them had good ideas. They believed that you should start with the Greeks. I’ve been teaching myself some Greek, and so far it’s really interesting--”

His enthusiastic explanation was suddenly interrupted by a tweed jacket to his head.

“I can only find the crimson tie,” Hughes fretted. “Surely Gracia didn’t forget the navy -- oh, my love, how could I say such a thing? My sweet would never make such a mistake --”

“Maes,” Roy interrupted. “Put your crimson tie on before you make us late for dinner.” He smiled as he helped Edward untangle himself from the jacket. “Forgive my friend, he’s married.”

“This is a common symptom of marriage then?” Edward smirked, and Roy was pleased to see that the boy did after all possess a sense of humour. There was still hope for him then.

“Not a common symptom, except where the sufferer is already in possession of a weak intellect --” Roy stopped suddenly, his attention arrested by a discoloured patch at Edward’s wrist. He reached over to hold it up to the light. “That’s an unusual place to have a bruise.”

Edward tugged his hand away and retreated. He straightened his own jacket looking for all the world like a turtle retreating into its shell. “Not really,” he said the wariness in his voice back full force. “I expect I caught it on something.”

“In that case you’d expect the bruise to be on the outside of your wrist surely? I don’t see how you’d managed to hit the inside--”

“I don’t remember how it happened,” Edward said shortly. “I think it’s time we went downstairs.” Without waiting for them to respond he walked out into the corridor.

“Well,” Hughes remarked, fingers busy with the knot of his navy tie. “That was an interesting reaction.”

“What was all this rigamarole in aid of?” Roy eyed the ‘missing’ tie sourly. “If you knew where that thing was the entire time --”

“Would you have had the same opportunity to talk to Edward? We’re investigating, Roy. If we want people to talk to us, we have to win them over first. You’re much better than me at charming people so that is your role in this puzzle.”

“I see,” Roy held the door open for Hughes. “At least you acknowledge I’m good for something.”

“You open doors, don’t you?”

Edward was waiting at the head of the stairs, and he led them to the dining room without any further words. It was a grand room, its main feature a large oak table. Alphonse was already sitting there waiting, along with a thin, anemic looking man who stood and offered his hand as they approached.

“This is an unexpected honour,” he said. “How do you do. I’m Shou Tucker, delighted to make your acquaintance. Really, this is most unexpected --”

Even if he hadn’t known Tucker to be the boys’s tutor, Roy would known him at once for a man who made a living by books. He had the paleness of one who seldom left a library, and matched this with the traditional disdain of a scholar for fashionable, or even, matching clothes. His dinner suit was obviously well worn.

Roy and Hughes made polite replies and Curtis opened the door to usher in the rest of the party.

Dinner would not make Roy’s list of most entertaining dining experiences. Not only was there a distinct shortage of attractive and marriageable women, but discussion tended heavily towards the academic. Hughes had somehow ended up near Holmenheim who sat at the head of the table, Shezchka at his side, and Roy did not envy his friend. At least he could sort of follow the conversation that went on around him. Dante held forth on modern methods of education from the hostesses’ seat at the end of the table. Tucker humbly agreed on her left, Edward and Alphonse sitting beside him. Roy sat next to Envy on Dante’s right.

Since he couldn’t follow the conversation, Roy concentrated instead on his dinner companions. Hughes and he had both agreed that there seemed to be no reason for Trisha Elric to be murdered, but they’d assumed that, as Marcoh had written, she had been a happy and contented wife and mother. They’d been in the Elric residence mere hours and already it was clear that this was not a happy family.

Dante was the most obvious reason for that. She was voicing, with great confidence in her judgement, the argument that her choice of educational system was clearly the best. Tucker was barely managing to put together a sentence in his defence.

“Many great thinkers were educated from home,” Tucker was saying. “Think of--”

“But there is simply no way to teach social interaction, how to get along with one’s peers, or any chance to make the social links that will be so useful in later life. A friend of mine is headmaster of a really modern boy’s school in the South, apparently most satisfactory. It would be most advantageous for dear Alphonse -- Don’t you agree, Holmenheim?”

That ‘dear’ was laying it on a bit thick, Roy thought, especially in light of her earlier comments about not having any time for children.

Holmenheim looked up from the other end of the table. “I’m sorry, Dante. I wasn’t listening?”

Dante explained the school and her reasoning at length. Tucker fidgeted and Alphonse glared mutinously at Dante. He seemed on the point of interrupting several times but apparently thought the better of it. Edward picked at his food and waited.

“Thank your friend for the offer,” Holmenheim replied. “But Alphonse will stay at home.”

“And pass up such a great opportunity? Surely --”

“I have made my opinion on the matter clear,” Holmenheim stated, calmly but firmly. “Unless both boys can attend, neither of them will leave this house.”

That was clearly not the answer Dante wanted to hear. “And when the time comes for Alphonse to attend University, what will you do then? Surely you don’t intend to deprive him of his own life just because his brother --”

“Dante, that is enough. We will speak no more on this subject.” There was just a hint of warning in Holmenheim’s voice. Dante subsided angrily. “By the time Alphonse is of an age to attend University, Edward will be of an age to make his own choices. Neither will be held back.”

“Indeed,” Tucker agreed suddenly. “If I may be so bold, I might say that I consider both of them able to attend any University they want. They have already far outstripped me mathematically, and they take after their father in the sciences.” He fiddled nervously with his glasses. “In fact, I uh, took the liberty of sending a discourse Edward wrote to my former Physics Master for his opinion. I was very impressed by it and thought it merited examination by someone more expert in the field.”

“Something Edward wrote?” Holmenheim looked down the table with an expression that looked, to Roy, curiously as though he were seeing his son for the first time. “Is that so.”

Edward took this as permission to speak. “Al and I have been looking at the practical applications of aerodynamics.”

“Aerodynamics?” Envy laughed. “Don’t tell me the two of you are still working on that childish project--”

“It’s not childish!” Alphonse replied immediately. “We’ve been doing a lot of research--”

Holmenheim held up his hand. “No quarreling at the dinner table, Alphonse. Now, why don’t you tell me about this project?”

Edward explained in technical terms that had Roy quickly baffled. From the looks of things he wasn’t the only one. Envy was yawning theatrically, Dante looked long suffering, and Tucker indulgent.

“You’ve certainly put a lot of effort into this,” Holmenheim said. “What’s your purpose with all this?” He had set aside his meal to listen closely.

Edward took a deep breath. “We want to design and build airplanes.”

“You must know that’s impossible,” Dante said with patronising kindness. “Surely you realise that would take years of testing, of flight trials -- and there’s simply no way that you could ever pilot, Edward.”

“I’ll be the pilot,” Alphonse said firmly. “We’ve got a codebook from an RAF pilot, and I already know most of it by heart. I should be able to get a pilot’s license easily --”

“You’d need a plane first,” Envy pointed out. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Even providing you had a test pilot, I’m afraid that there would be no chance of you being allowed to operate the sort of machinery used to build a plane. You must realise, Edward, that were you to have an episode while working --”

“I’ll have Alphonse there, or someone else,” Edward said firmly. “We’ll think of a way around this.”

“Be more polite when addressing an elder, Edward,” Holmenheim said. “I’m sure you and your brother will figure something out. You certainly seem to have everything planned neatly.”

Edward looked startled at this announcement, but Alphonse fairly glowed at the praise. “We will! We’ve been restoring the old car to practice.”

“Restoring?”

“Ross showed us how to remove the engine,” Alphonse explained happily. He was, as Holmenheim had described him, a child meant to be smiling. Roy couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “And we took it apart and cleaned it and we finished putting it back together last week. We’re working on the rest of it now--”

“You don’t mean the old wreck they pulled out of the river?” Holmenheim was surprised. “You’ve managed to restore the engine?”

Hughes spoke up suddenly. He’d been observing like Roy, allowing himself to fall into the background. “Now that is an accomplishment. I don’t suppose I’d be allowed to take a look? I have a fondness for tinkering about with machines --”

“It would be very kind of you to take a look,” Edward replied.

Alphonse looked hopefully at Holmenheim. “Father, do you think that--”

“I’ll see if I have time tomorrow,” Holmenheim said. “After we’ve wrapped up the experiments for the day.”

By the way Alphonse’s face fell this was clearly a ‘no.’

“We’ve been neglecting our guests,” Dante announced sharply. “Come on, gentlemen, you must tell us all the news from London.”

News from London managed to occupy the conversation until dessert was served.

“I must say I didn’t expect to find a cook this capable in Lincolnshire,” Hughes observed. “This pudding is divine! I must take the recipe back to my Gracia.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Curtis won’t mind giving you the recipe,” Shezchka said. “She’s lovely.”

This was the first statement unconnected with the project that Shezchka had uttered all dinner. Roy had forgotten she was present and blinked at her, even as he tried to imagine the giant with a wife. She’d never fit in a kitchen, surely --

“She is good in the kitchen, undoubtedly,” Dante agreed. “But in my view rather lax in her housekeeping. If this were my house --”

“Tell Curtis we’ll have coffee in the drawing room.” Holmenheim told the housemaid. “And ask him to send in some chocolate for the boys.”

Alphonse brightened at this announcement. “We get to sit up?”

“Only if you’re good,” their Father cautioned. “Tucker, will you join us?”

“I’ll come down later,” the tutor said, flustered by the invitation. “I must put Nina to bed.”

Dante’s mouth was set in disapproval. “Are you sure that encouraging the boys to stay up is wise? Soon they’ll expect it all the time.”

Her habit of continually talking of the children as if they weren’t present was really grating on Roy’s nerves. She was not an unintelligent woman, surely she was aware of the effect her words might have. Yet she simply didn’t care --

“It’s just this once,” Holmenheim said. “As we have visitors. The boys will behave, won’t you?”

“Perfectly, father.”

They did too, sitting around an easy table to the side of the room with the pieces of a model plane they were assembling. They didn’t disrupt the conversation, demand attention or spill drinks at all. Model children, Roy thought, wandering over to see what they were working on.

“Is that a SPAD XIII?” he asked impressed. “I had no idea they were that well known out of the Corps.”

“We found the specifics in a piloting magazine,” Alphonse told him. “And the rest has been quite easy to construct. Mrs. Curtis let us cut up an old flour bag for the canvas, and we cut the wood ourselves --”

“It’s a fragile looking thing, isn’t it?” Envy asked, reaching over the table. “I can’t imagine that people actually go up in these things --”

“Don’t touch it!” Alphonse hastily reached out to stop him. “You’ll break it--”

Their hands connected at the same time. There was a sharp snap.

“Sorry.”

“Our plane!” Alphonse rounded on Envy angrily. “You did that on purpose!”

“It was an accident,” Envy shrugged. “I said sorry.”

“Al,” Edward said quietly. “We can fix it.”

“But -- it’s not fair!” Al turned to Holmenheim beseechingly. “Father, look what Envy did--”

“It was an accident, Alphonse. You should apologise to Envy.”

“But--”

“Now.”

Alphonse clutched the broken plane tightly. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a voice so low it was barely distinct.

“That’s better. Now, rejoin your brother. Edward will put it right.”

Roy judged it best to leave the brothers time to regain their good mood. He turned back to the main group just in time to catch Envy’s slow smirk -- somehow he wasn’t surprised that there had been no accident.

“You see,” Dante said. “You need to take a firm hand with the boys.”

“No harm done,” Holmenheim shrugged. “Shezchka, do you want to put a gramaphone on? I quite fancy some Bach.”

Hughes was studying the portrait hung over the fireplace. “What a splendid photo -- this would be your late wife, I imagine?”

“Trisha,” Holmenheim said. “Yes, it was taken while on our honeymoon.”

His voice was carefully neutral -- expressionless or hiding pain? With Holmenheim it was impossible to tell. Still, Roy reflected, glancing around the room, it was the only personal ornamentation in the entire room. A few nondescript landscape paintings hung on the walls, and there was the book case and gramaphone but nothing else. Holmenheim was clearly not a person who bothered with knick-knacks.

“She was a lovely woman,” Shezchka said thoughtfully, holding a book on her lap. “Always kind. She made this house feel like a home -- oh, I’m sorry! It’s not my place to comment --” She hid hastily behind her book.

An unexpected statement from the quiet researcher. Hughes caught Roy’s eye and waggled his eyebrows in an alarming manner -- clearly Roy was meant to exert his masculine charms to find out more. Roy gave his friend a sour look. It would be like Hughes if this murder rigamarole turned out to be an elaborate plan to set him up with a suitable girl --

“Trisha was a kind woman,” Dante said with distaste. “But you can’t say she was an efficient house keeper or manager. Why, since I’ve been here, you wouldn’t believe how much dear Holmenheim has saved in household costs.”

It must be great indeed, Roy thought acidly, if it’s enough to compell him to put up with you. He took the chair beside Shezchka. “You’ve been Holmenheim’s research assistant some time then?”

“Oh, yes -- it would be almost eight years now. I was barely out of school when I took this position and well, I’ve been here ever since.”

“That long? You must be very dedicated to the project then. I imagine that most girls your age would find the country life very dull.”

“Oh, but it’s such interesting work! And, really, the chance to work alongside Professor Holmenheim --” Shezchka glanced up to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. As Envy was reading aloud from The Times, Holmenheim and Dante listening to him and making comments, and Hughes was busy helping the boys with their plane, she continued. “He really is a genius. A mind like his comes along only once or twice in a century -- and the project we’re working on has amazing potential. The professor believes he can harvest the power of the atoms--”

“Fascinating,” Roy said hastily, hoping to forestall another barrage of scientific jargon. “So, the three of you work on project?”

“Well, it’s really the Professor that does most of the work. He comes up with the theory and plans the experiments. I record the results, and help him carry them out. I’m not nearly clever enough to help with any of the actual theorising. All I’m good at is reading.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Roy said pleasantly. “I’m sure Professor Holmenheim wouldn’t have kept you on for so long if he didn’t value your input.”

“Well -- my memory has helped out on more than one occasion,” Shezchka admitted. “About three years ago a very important document went missing -- the project might have been cancelled without it. I was able to recreate it from memory -- I’ve always been good at remembering things I’ve read.”

“Amazing.” Roy was bored stupid. Hughes was going to pay for this. “And what does Mr. Envy contribute to the project?”

Shezchka looked startled. “Mr. Envy? Well, he’s Holmenheim’s secretary.”

“Yes,” Roy said. “But that doesn’t tell me what he does.”

“Oh, I see.” Shezchka frowned thoughtfully. “Well, mostly he takes calls and messages on the Professor’s behalf -- so he’s free to work on the project, you see. And he edits and proofs the Professor’s manuscripts. He’s preparing a new book on our findings -- it’s going to be revolutionary.” Shezchka’s eyes were shining behind her over-thick glasses. “A masterwork.”

“But he doesn’t actually take part in the experiments?”

“He helps out when we need another pair of hands, but Mr. Envy doesn’t have a background in science. He’s very clever, but the kind of work we do really requires an expert --”

“Such as Doctor Marcoh?”

“Yes, indeed. Doctor Marcoh is very clever in this field, and very kind. Not as brilliant perhaps as the Professor, but an astute researcher. I don’t think there could be anyone more suitable than him to manage the project in London.”

“Indeed.” What the hell was he supposed to say to the girl now? May as well ask questions pertaining to the murder -- “What was Mrs. Elric like?”

“Oh -- Trisha?” Shezchka looked bewildered. “Why would you ask about her?”

Roy nodded in Holmenheim’s direction. “Like you said he is a remarkable man. I can’t help but wonder what sort of woman he would chose to marry.”

“Well, Trisha wasn’t what you’d expect. You’d think a man like him should have someone driven, someone that would devote herself to his work, share his vision,” Shezchka took the wine glass Roy gave her unthinkingly. “The last person you’d have chosen was Trisha. She wasn’t interested in science at all, except for how it affected Holmenheim, and she’d have been equally happy if he’d been a farmer or a lawyer, I think. She just loved him.”

“And that was enough?”

“Oh, yes.” Shezchka nodded. “I expect it sounds stupid but they were one of the happiest couples I’ve seen. He had his work, and she left him to it, bringing up the boys and supporting him as best she could -- It was really very sweet to see them together. Very much the Victorian ideal of man and wife . . . of course, the Professor could get a bit distracted.”

“I can imagine that,” Roy agreed.

“Do you know, Trisha had to take a cab to her Doctor’s when Edward was born? Holmenheim had looked himself in the attic to work on an experiment and didn’t notice. He was really apologetic afterwards, of course, and when she was pregnant with Alphonse, he made sure there was a doctor in the house the entire time.”

“Good heavens,” Roy said. “And Trisha didn’t complain?”

“Oh, no, she never complained. She understood.”

“Understood?”

“Well, no matter how busy Holmenheim got with his work, she was his wife. She knew he loved her. That was all she needed.”

“A remarkable woman,” Roy murmured politely. “Still, I can’t imagine the arrival of Lady Dante pleased her?”

Shezchka looked bewildered. “Lady Dante? What would she have to do with anything?”

“Well, what with her prior connections to Holmenheim . . . and her son . . .” Roy’s vague hints were met with a blank stare. Shezchka was clearly not a keen observer of her fellow mankind.

Roy was saved an awkward explanation by a remark of Lady Dante’s, loud enough to be heard throughout the drawing room. “Really, Edward! Be more careful! You might have upset that glass over me.”

Edward retrieved the glass carefully. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was reaching for the scissors --”

“There’s no excuse for carelessness, young man. I think it’s high time you learnt --”

“Go easy on him,” Envy said, surprisingly. He touched his mother’s arm as he joined the two of them. “Edward apologised, didn’t he? If you ask me, he’s looking a bit pale . . .”

Dante was instantly solicitious. “You’d better go and lie down, Edward. I’ll have Lila take up your tonic.”

“I’m fine, really,” Edward protested.

“Best not to take chances,” Envy patted his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you upstairs.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Mr. Envy!” Alphonse latched onto his brother’s arm with determined politeness. “I’ll go with Edward. We have a Latin passage Mr. Tucker set us for study tomorrow. I can read it aloud while Ed rests.”

“But you’re having such a good time with your model plane --”

“I think,” Edward said quietly. “That I would like Al to read to me. He has a soothing voice, and it’s near our bedtime anyway.”

“A good point,” Dante approved. “Well, say goodnight to your father then, boys.”

Roy watched the boys leave with bafflement. No one else present seemed to find it strange that Envy would show such sudden concern for his half-brother. Maybe he was reading too much into it.

“Poor Edward,” Shezchka said. “And he was doing so well at dinner too.”

Roy had completely forgotten about the girl. She’d opened her book, but she was looking at the door the boys had just departed through. “Does this happen often?”

Shezchka seemed confused by the question. “I suppose it must,” she said vaguely. “We don’t see much of the boys and Edward doesn’t -- well, make a show of it.”

Roy thought about that.

“Dear Edward,” Dante said, obviously for Holmenheim’s sake. “Such a brave child. Much like his father in that respect. Such a pity -- and he is the heir to this place too,” she added, turning to Roy and Hughes. “Really very sad.”

“The law of primogeniture?” Hughes whistled. “I’m surprised to find such a prosaic law in amongst such revolutionary people.”

Holmenheim smiled faintly. “Society would contest any will I made that didn’t leave the bulk of my estate to the boys,” he said. “But I’m content that Edward should inherit the house. It was as much his mother’s as it is mine, and I know I can trust him to see to his brother’s wellbeing.”

Roy could guess how well that went down with Envy and his imperious mother.

The conversation that followed was desultory at best, and Roy couldn’t say that he was disappointed when Holmenheim set down the book he’d been reading and announced that he was retiring for the night.

“I’m afraid you’ll find that early nights are rather the norm here, gentleman,” He informed Roy and Hughes. “But when you’re hard at work --”

“We quite understand,” Hughes answered. “As a matter of fact, we had an early start this morning. I dare say it would do us well to turn in now.” What he really meant is that he wanted to talk to Roy.

“Quite good going for the first day, I think,” Hughes said, leaning in the doorway that connected their bedrooms as he undid his tie and dinner jacket. “We’ve learnt a lot.”

“Really?” Roy was not as impressed. “Please enlighten me then. I must have missed it.”

“Roy,” Maes said fondly. “Really, you can’t expect a clue to put out it’s hand and introduce itself to you.” He carelessly let his jacket slide to the floor. “Let’s review what we’ve learnt, shall we? As far as I see it we now have two suspects.”

“The husband or the mistress? I suppose Holmenheim is the most likely. If his wife had found out about his affair --”

“It’s a possibility,” Hughes acknowledged. “Although . . . I rather get the impression that Dante isn’t his mistress at all.”

“But you’ve seen the way she acts around him --”

“Rather too zealous, even for such a revolutionary personage as herself, don’t you think, old chap? I think she’s staking her claim -- trying to convince old Holmenheim that she’s what’s best for him.”

“And he’s not buying it? Why doesn’t he just toss her out then?”

“I suspect that’s where the son comes into it. An old flame is one thing, your own child quite another . . . and Holmenheim seems to take familial duties seriously in theory, even if in practice he leaves something lacking --”

“Not the world’s greatest father, is he?” Roy said opening the wardrobe to put his dinner jacket away. “The boys seem to have the worst side of this whole mess --” he trailed off in some surprise. There was an extra pair of shoes in his wardrobe. Attached to them was an extra pair of legs that travelled up and ended amongst Roy’s smoking jacket.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing in my wardrobe?” Roy demanded of the legs.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the owner of the legs said, pushing the smoking jacket aside to blink up at Roy, his round face radiating great earnestness. “You see, I thought this was the Brigadier’s room.”

“Is that so,” Hughes leaned on the wardrobe door. “And what business did you have in mind with my wardrobe, then?”

“I have to talk with you,” Alphonse said seriously. “You see, I know who did the murder.”

Chapitre 4

“So then, Mr. Alphonse,” Hughes said, once the boy had been removed from Roy’s wardrobe and offered the comfortable chair by the door. “Why don’t you start by telling us why you had to hide in my closet?”

“None of the others would want me to talk to you,” Alphonse explained eagerly. “They all try to pretend it didn’t happen. But I know the truth.”

Roy found it very hard not to smile at his enthusiasm. Clearly, this was a great adventure for the boy. “And that relates to my wardrobe how?”

“Ed would be angry if he knew I was in here,” Alphonse said frankly. “He’s sort of funny about the whole thing. He thinks that we shouldn’t say anything about it to you.”

“Why would that be?”

“I don’t know. He never tells me anything any more.” The boy’s round face was uncharacteristically concerned. “I’m worried about him. He’s almost always quiet now --if they’d just leave, everything would be all right.”

“They being Dante and her son?”

“Just say my half-brother. It’s not like it’s a secret,” Alphonse’s tone was resentful. “Everything was fine before they came.”

“That sounds rather like a fairy-tale,” Hughes remarked lightly. “Cinderella-like -- complete with wicked stepmother and half-brother.”

“She’s not my step-mother,” Alphonse said. “And she won’t be. Father’s not going to marry her. I asked.”

“Really?” Roy couldn’t help but smile at the child’s straightforwardness. “And what did your father say to that?”

“He said I was talking nonsense,” Alphonse reported. “And that he intended to do nothing of the sort.” He frowned. “I hate her,” he admitted candidly. “I wish she would go away.”

“And you think,” Hughes suggested carefully, “that if she were found guilty of murder --”

“No, you’re wrong! It wasn’t her,” Alphonse said. “It was Envy.”

“Envy?” Roy hadn’t expected that. If Envy wanted to murder someone, it made more sense surely to focus on those that had stolen his place in his father’s family, his inheritance -- namely the two brothers. Why would he want to murder Mrs. Elric? Unless -- perhaps he thought that if she were out of the way, his mother might -- Roy’s thoughts were broken into by Alphonse’s quiet explanation.

“She was afraid of him. I don’t know why -- she wouldn’t tell me. But I was the last person to see her on the night that she died. I haven’t even told Edward this.” Alphonse looked gravely at them to make sure they understood the importance of this. “I was sleeping, I think and she woke me up. She had her nightdress on and a robe around her and she asked me where Ed was. Said she’d had a funny dream and wanted to check up on him.”

“And he wasn’t there?”

“He told me he couldn’t sleep, and wanted to walk in the gardens for a bit. He was allowed to then,” Alphonse explained. “And she sat on the end of my bed with her candle and we talked for a bit. I asked her about her dream but she wouldn’t tell me about it . . . all she did was make me promise to look after Ed. That worried me a little, because she and Father had argued that morning, and I was worried she might go away. And she said no, she had no intention of leaving. Then she asked how I felt about going to school with my brother.”

“Boarding school? I was under the impression that was impossible. Your brother’s health --”

“This was before he got sick,” Alphonse explained. He glared fiercely. “You know, I bet he’d be all right if they’d just stayed away.”

Roy coughed. Intolerable as Dante was, surely she couldn’t be held accountable for illness. “Go on. What else did say?”

“Well -- that was it really. She kissed me goodnight, and went to the door. I asked her if she hated Envy. I did. She said --” He frowned, trying to get the memory straight. “She said she didn’t hate anyone. But she was afraid -- she was afraid of what he might do.” Alphonse straightened triumphantly. “So you see! It must have been him.”

Hughes coughed. “I’m afraid that’s not enough for a police trial, Alphonse.”

“But if you know he did it, you’ll be able to find proof, won’t you?”

“Alphonse,” Hughes put both his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked at him squarely. “As of this moment, everyone who was in the house when your mother died three years ago is a suspect. While your evidence naturally puts events in a different light, as detectives, we must investigate objectively, leaving no stone unturned.” He paused dramatically. “Will you help us?”

Alphonse was captivated. “Of course!”

“Then I want you to tell me anything you can of the events of that day -- and not a word to your brother or anyone else, mind. This investigation is top secret.”

The boy nodded eagerly. “I won’t tell -- cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Excellent,” Hughes clapped his shoulder. “Why don’t you start with this argument that your parents had, then?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” Alphonse said. “Anyway, I didn’t hear much. I wouldn’t know they argued at all except that the study window was open and we were outside.”

“We?”

“Me and Ed. We were looking for our paraglider -- we were looking at hangliders at the time. We got these little metal soldiers for Christmas, and we’d made a sort of plane out of card-- the problem is, when we dropped it off the roof, it didn’t glide so much as dive. We were looking for the soldier when we heard them -- he must have fallen into the garden --”

“Quite understandable then,” Hughes said smoothly. “No need to explain further.”

Reassured he wasn’t going to be scolded for eavesdropping, Alphonse continued. “Anyway, they were arguing so much as -- well, father was using his big heavy voice, the one you can’t argue with. He said ‘I really think you’re being ludicrous. There is no reason to suggest that he is anything but fond of the boys.’ And mother was very very quiet -- she always was when she was upset -- and well, we didn’t hear what she said exactly. But Father said ‘I’ll thank you to remember that I am master of this house. If you’re not happy with my arrangements, you’re welcome to leave.’ I was really upset then and wanted to go in and stop them but Edward dragged me away before I could. I don’t think she meant it though. I mean, she would never ever leave us.”

“She may have been unhappy,” Roy suggested. “I can’t imagine she liked having Envy here.”

“Oh, she didn’t mind Envy at first,” Alphonse explained. “But Dante was horrid. She kept harping on about how everything was wrong and really, the house could be so better kept.”

“What -- Dante was here while your mother --” Roy was startled. Surely even a scientific mind such as Holmenheim’s could see that bringing your former lover and your wife together under the same roof was not a recipe for comfort.

“She came by often to visit Envy,” Alphonse explained. “She took a house in the neighbourhood. It was close enough that she walked over here most afternoons. She said it was for her health but it was really because she was jealous.” He added, “My mother was much prettier than she was. Everybody thought so.”

Roy smirked. There would be no argument from him on that point.

“And did anything else happen that day?” Hughes pressed. “Anything unusual?”

“Well, no.” Alphonse considered. “Doctor Marcoh arrived later that morning, and my mother spent most of the rest of the day talking to him. Father was grumpy and yelled at Edward for taking a book out of his study. Dante was smug -- I think she was happy that my parents fought. She probably thought that it was about her. As if.” Alphonse snorted. “She has to have Lila tie her into her dresses, she’s so fat. And she has really awful breath. That’s why she uses so much perfume.”

“Indeed,” Roy remarked, managing only through supreme application of will to keep the smile from off his face. “And what was Envy doing while all this talk place?”

“I don’t much remember,” Alphonse said. “Edward and I were talking about the argument. Edward said that we would probably be sent to a boarding school. I think he would have liked that except that Mother would have been here on her own. Oh, I remember now. Envy heard us talking about it. He wasn’t very pleased. He said it would be a waste of money to send the two of us to an expensive school. I really hate him. I know he broke the plane on purpose, but father always takes his side.”

“Your father seems very distracted by his work.”

“Is he? He’s always been that way.”

“Well, Alphonse, you’ve been very helpful.” Hughes patted his shoulder. “You should probably go now before you’re missed. Now, we’ll be sure and let you know if there’s anything you can do to help us but for now, just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious --”

He had Alphonse wrapped around his finger, Roy thought wryly. The boy would have done anything Hughes asked. Then again, boys of a certain age were crazy about certain things. In his case, it had been cars.

“Do you really think --” Alphonse was suddenly interrupted by the sound of breaking glass down the hall. “Ed!”

He was out the door and down the hall faster than Hughes and Roy could follow. By the time they reached the boy’s bedroom, Alphonse was hovering nervously in the doorway.

“What happened? Brother, are you all right?”

“Just had one of his turns.” It was Envy that answered. “I was passing and I heard the noise. For god’s sake, Alphonse, don’t come closer or you’ll cut yourself on the glass. Go fetch the housemaid or something.”

“It’s all right, Al,” Edward’s voice sounded unsteady. As Roy reached the doorway, he could see that the boy was pale, leaning heavily against Envy. As they watched, he regained his balance, putting as much distance between himself and his half-brother as he could with Envy still holding him. “I’m not hurt. You’d better go.” He was very carefully not looking at anyone.

Alphonse hesitated a moment longer before jogging down the corridor. “I’ll be back soon!”

Envy let go of Edward’s wrists, giving him a push toward one of the two twin beds that made up the room. “It’s all right, gentlemen,” he said. “As you can see, everything is perfectly under control.”

“Quite,” Hughes leaned back in the doorway with the attitude of someone who wasn’t budging. “And what exactly happened?”

Roy wanted to drag him out of the room. It was clear what had happened -- the hinting throughout dinner, Edward’s obvious embarrassment now. Really, the boy must feel awful -- and here was Maes, labouring the point --

“I was passing by and I heard a noise,” Envy explained airily. “Edward had taken ill. I got to him before he could really do anything serious, but the vase is a lost cause.”

The vase was now a sad puddle on the floor and a mess of splintered glass and flowers.

Edward cradled his wrist, sitting on the bed. “I suppose I knocked it over,” he said, slowly. “I don’t quite remember.” He was looking at the vase fragments.

“Brother! Izumi made us chocolate,” Alphonse re-entered the room carrying a tray. “And she’s going to tuck us in and everything --”

“Wait in the corridor, Alphonse,” the woman behind him nodded to Roy and Hughes in a way that was respectful but not overly deferential. She was wearing a worn dressing gown over frilly undergarments of some kind and appeared to be in her thirties. Another no-nonsense practical type -- really, Roy thought, were there any marriageable women in Lincolnshire? “I need to sweep up first.” She ushered the men out of the room firmly. “If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, you’ll only be in my way as I sweep up.”

Roy and Hughes accompanied Envy down the corridor.

“Mrs. Curtis,” the young man explained carelessly. “She’s by way of our cook although she does most of the house keeping too. Rather a rum sort. She and her husband are Romanian, I believe. They came here two years ago. Old friends of the Professor’s.”

“Really,” Hughes said. “And as for what happened before?”

Envy paused at the head of the stairs. “Is it necessary to dwell on such painful things? Very well, if I must be blunt. Edward has . . . episodes in which he is not entirely himself. We’ve had doctors here, of course, specialists of all kinds and none of them have been able to offer a treatment -- you can imagine what a blow this was to Holmenheim.” There was a faintly satisfied note in his voice as he continued. “Up until then Edward was the perfect son -- took after Father in every thing.”

“When we reached the room,” Hughes continued, “I may be mistaken, but it looked to me very much like you were subduing the boy.”

Envy’s smile was wide. “During Edward’s spells, he is quite unware of his surroundings. It is necessary to restrain him, to prevent him from causing harm to himself. Regrettable, but necessary.”

Roy frowned but kept silent. Maes knew what he was doing, but . . . the composed young man in front of them sent chills down his spine.

“I wonder, how necessary is it?” Hughes asked, eyes narrowed. “There seems to be little love lost between you and your siblings --”

“Oh, we quarrel,” Envy said with another charming smile. “All brothers do.” He paused meaningfully before continuing lightly. “I can’t deny, Alphonse is fun to tease. He never fails to take the bait. But Edward -- Edward is entirely different. I know you gentleman will have difficulty believing it, but I would never let anyone harm Edward.” He nodded to them, turning to take the passage to the West Wing. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

“The more I see of him, the less I like him,” Roy said in a low voice to Hughes once Envy was out of hearing distance. “Wouldn’t hurt the boy, indeed. Lying bully --”

“I’m not so sure,” Hughes said thoughtfully.

“What, you don’t think he’s telling the truth?” Roy protested. “You saw the bruise Edward has --”

“I saw,” Hughes agreed. “But all the same . . . I’m rather given to believe that he meant what he said. There’s a certain type that are like that, you know? All smug and giving you answers that are true enough, but mean quite a different thing. Smug because they’re so pleased by their own cleverness . . . I think, Roy, that we shall have to keep an eye on him.”

Roy nodded. No argument there.

--oOo--

The night passed without interest, but that was not to say the morning did. When Roy was ushered into the morning room by the housemaid, Lila, it was to find Hughes, leafing through The Times, and sipping a cup of tea.

“You’ve missed the rush completely,” his friend informed him. “Everyone else in this household has been up for hours.”

Roy snorted and helped himself to the tea. “In polite society, no one rises before ten. Such early activity is unnatural.”

“The early bird catches the worm,” Hughes smirked. “As it is, I’ve made plans.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Lady Dante has agreed to show me the surrounding countryside, and I’ll accompany her on her morning constitutional -- a good opportunity to find out what she really thinks of the darling boys and their dearly departed mother. Then, after lunch, the boys are going to show me the wreck that they’re working on, and I’m hoping to get Edward to warm to me a bit. Late afternoon, Holmenheim has kindly consented to give me a tour of his laboratory, and if all goes well --”

“Sounds like hell,” Roy said sourly. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a morning person. “Look, Maes, we have a problem.” He looked around to check that the housemaid wasn’t present then leaned across the table. “My airgun was taken out of my room.”

His friend was astonished. “What -- you mean --”

“Someone’s taken it.”

“And the revolver?”

Roy opened his jacket just slightly so that the holster was visible. “I’m not letting it out of my sight.”

Hughes nodded. “Very wise. This doesn’t bode well, old chap. How did it happen anyway? You’re so careful.”

“First thing I did when I unpacked was to put it safely out of sight in the closet. I don’t see how it could have happened. I didn’t notice anything was amiss until I went to oil it this morning --”

“Alphonse!” Hughes said. “He was in your closet last night -- it would be pretty hard to miss. I’ll have a word with him about it. If he didn’t see it, then it’s a pretty sure bet that it wasn’t there which means the only people who could have taken it were those that weren’t at dinner --”

“The staff,” Roy said slowly. “And what if Alphonse did see it?”

“Do I have to do all your thinking for you? If Alphonse did see it then whoever took it must have entered your room while you slept.”

Roy shivered. That thought did not rest easily with him. “And what if Alphonse took it?”

“I really a doubt a child like that could smuggle your air gun out of the room under both our noses, old boy.” Hughes shrugged. “Now, until we know more let’s keep this matter to ourselves.”

Roy nodded grimly. “Anything of yours missing?”

“No. Well -- you know, I might go and check.”

The kitchen door swung open to admit the woman they’d encountered in the corridor the previous night. The bathrobe and frills had been replaced by a serviceable full length apron and a plain brown dress, and she wore a white cap attached to her thick ponytail. For all that, she did not look anything like a maid. Roy found himself wondering at the complete lack of servitude in her manner as she thunked a heavy tray down onto the table and announced “Breakfast.”

Some people were never intended to have a career as a domestic servant.

“Well, old boy I’ll see you later.” Hughes thumped him on the back, leaning in to whisper “Work your magic, Romeo.” He waggled his eyebrows encouragingly.

Roy wished there wasn’t a lady present; he could have quite happily shot Hughes at that point. “Rot in hell.”

“Pip pip.” Hughes waved goodbye cheerfully, sailing out the door. Roy sent a dark look after him, before turning to study his assignment. He got a rather unpleasant shock.

Mrs. Curtis was studying him just as intently and with all the hostility of a militant nation. “You’re a late riser, Colonel Roy Mustang.”

“So I’ve been told,” Roy said, with what he hoped was a charmingly boyish shrug. “It’s only one of my many bad habits.”

“You’re a bachelor?” From her tone, it was clear that fact only accounted for everything. “You need a good woman to put you into shape.”

“You’re offering?” Roy asked, somewhat dazed by the turn of the conversation.

She snorted. “Hardly. I’m a happily married woman.”

Happily married? Wait -- to the giant? Roy’s brain launched an immediate protest. That couldn’t be right! The giant was well -- a giant -- and this woman was only slightly shorter than Roy himself. How on earth did they --

On second thought, there were some mysteries never meant to be solved.

“Your breakfast is getting cold.”

“My apologies.” Roy hastily reached for the breakfast tray, somehow feeling like he was five years old. “This is a far cry from the kipper and toast I’m used to,” he joked, starting on the scrambled eggs. His plate was piled high with ham, sausage, egg, fried tomatoes -- it went on.

“The professor is a firm believer in a stout German breakfast,” the cook explained. “Good thing too. I don’t hold truck with the English rot you lot call food. Absolutely nothing to it.”

Roy saw an opportunity. “You’re from the continent then? What part?”

“None of your business.”

Well that was an over reaction. “I hope I did not offend,” Roy said carefully. “It was not my intention to pry --”
“I have grave difficulty believing that,” Mrs. Curtis observed. “All you and your friend have done since you arrived in this house has been to ask questions. What is your purpose?”

“I hardly think that’s a polite question,” Roy was alarmed. “You’re awfully impertinent for a Cook.”

“And you’re awfully cagey for a guest with nothing to hide,” Mrs. Curtis folded her arms. “If you don’t want me to let Holmenheim know about the gun you’re carrying in your jacket now, you had better answer my question.”

Roy loathed strong-willed women.

“If you must know,” he admitted reluctantly. “Hughes has some foolish notion that he can solve a murder that may or may not have happened three years ago and he’s dragged me into this mess so that he can have someone to amaze and provide applause.”

“A murder?” Clearly that wasn’t what this stern woman was expecting. “You mean you’re not -- well,” she said briskly, standing. “I imagine that this would be the late Mrs. Elric’s death you’re investigating then?”

Roy nodded. “You guess rightly. Tell me, is it that likely to have been murder?”

“Hers is the only violent death that took place in this community, and it took place three years ago. It wasn’t hard to guess that was what you meant.”

“Touche,” Roy admitted.

“I had considered the possibility of foul play,” the housekeeper admitted practically. “But only in passing -- she died a year before my husband and I took our posts here, so there was never any chance to confirm or deny the fact. All the same -- I’d be careful in your investigation. There are many secrets in this house.”

“You’re the second person to have said that,” Roy said. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. There are so many secrets in this house it’s not a question of finding out who’s guilty -- it’s working out which person had the motive strong enough to overcome their morals.” Mrs. Curtis leaned back, counting off on her fingers in a very business like manner. “Tucker’s been on the brink of financial ruin for years -- he’s struggling to pay off his debtors even with the generous salary the Professor gives him. Shezcka’s a thoroughly English girl, but her brother is a Polish patriot who’s been missing since taking part in a protest in Russia two years ago. Either of them could be easily influenced.”

“I see. And if Mrs Elric suspected they had interfered with her husband’s research whether through blackmail or bribery . . .”

“Exactly.” Mrs Curtis’s dark eyes glittered. “Then there is the Professor’s circumstances.”

“Dante and Envy?”

“Ah, so you noticed that. No. The Professor’s sordid affairs are out of my line of work. I mean his research. It’s not common knowledge but Holmenheim had to leave Germany under very urgent circumstances. He was extradited from France, and only allowed into England on the condition that he make his research open to the English government -- and the English government alone.”

“You certainly know a lot about the affairs of this household.”

“I’m a housekeeper, it’s my business to know them.”
“True, though I hardly think that this level of detail is necessary. But then again -- you are hardly what I’d call an ordinary house-keeper.” Roy leaned over the table to face Izumi squarely. “I notice that though vocal on the secrets of the other members of this household you have yet to tell me anything about yourself and your equally extraodinary husband.”

She smiled. “That, Colonel Roy Mustang, is for me to know -- and for you and your friend to try and find out.”

Not an entirely unexpected answer, but her smile was as strong as he words and Roy found himself somewhat intrigued. “At least tell us where you were at the time of the murder?”

“My secrets have no bearing on that matter. You forget, Trisha died before my husband and I even came to this place. When the murder took place I rather imagine that the two of us were vacationing in the south of France.” She gave him an ironic bow. “Now, if you’re quite done with your interrogation I’d like to start the washing up.”

Roy let her go. Conversation with Mrs Curtis was rather like going one on one in a boxing ring. He needed some time to recover.

“Ah, the famous Mustang charm,” Hughes purred, sliding open the adjoining door to the drawing room. “You never fail to produce the goods, my friend.”

Roy was pleased that he managed to keep himself from displaying shock at Hughes’s sudden appearance. “I thought that went rather poorly, myself.”

“On the contrary, we now know some very important facts, foremost of which is the housekeeper herself. She gave away far more about herself than she intended to.” Hughes sounded very self-satisfied indeed as he leaned against the table beside .

“Like the fact that she is even scarier than her monstrous husband?”

“That she is a woman of no ordinary intellect,” his friend said. “She’s wasted in the position of a housekeeper. Whatever her business in this house is, you can bet that she isn’t in it for the job.”

“And what news did your little expedition bring?” Roy turned back to his breakfast and set to work finishing it. He had the feeling he could do with the strength to get through what promised to be a torturous day.

Hughes’s tone was unexpectedly serious. “My pistol’s gone, and so have my knives. All I’ve got left is my shaving razor.”

Roy whistled. “So that means--”

“Someone deliberately went through our rooms last night.”

“We should --”

Hughes put a hand up. “Not a word to anyone, old boy. Trust me on this. I suspect --”

Lady Dante opened the door, clad in her walking dress. “Ah, Brigadier. There you are. Are you ready for our expedition?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” Hughes thumped Roy’s arm leaning in to whisper ‘Not a word!’ before going to offer his arm to Lady Dante.

“Nothing like a nice brisk tramp to start the day,” Dante approved. “You won’t join us, Mustang?”

“I must decline,” Roy said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Your loss.” Lady Dante dismissed him, leading Hughes towards the garden. “Did you see the article in yesterday’s Times about the state of public education? Most distressing I thought --”

As the Lady’s tones finally faded into the distrance, Roy breather out a fervent sigh of relief. At last he could relax. He sipped the tea in front of him, grimacing as he realised that it had become cold. With all the interruptions his breakfast had undergone that was no surprise.

The door opened again, and the maid, Lila, entered. Her uniform was crisp and unlike Mrs Curtis she looked very becoming in it. A quiet girl, with large eyes, a rather delicate face somewhat like a gothic heroine of popular fiction, and now that she wasn’t being overshadowed by her alarming Mistress, Roy realised she was actually pretty.
“Good morning,” Roy greeted her. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She smiled. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve spent rather a long time on your breakfast.” She leaned over the table, giving Roy an interesting view of a rather ample bosom. “I’d be perfectly happy to heat things up for you . . . if you want.”

--oOo--

The linen closet was certainly not the first place Roy would have chosen for a rendez-vous, but time in the army had accustomed him to making do with what was at hand. If the closeness of the closet restricted more, ahem, interesting activities, that just meant more time was spent on simpler matters. Roy was a firm believer that you should at least know the woman’s name before you kissed her; Miss Lila White was from London, and was a most proficient kisser.

“That’s the 11 o’clock bell,” Lila said as a clock sounded further down the hall way. “I’ve got to get to the kitchen.”

“A pity,” Roy reluctantly let her go. “I was enjoying this interlude immensely.”

“As was I,” Lila gave him a sharp smile. Her mouth didn’t quite fit the fineness of the rest of her face. It was just a touch too wide, too pointed. “It makes a real difference to have a red-blooded man in the house, I must say.”

“You flatter me,” Roy helped her straighten her collar. “I’m an old man compared to your tender years. Mister Envy on the other hand is handsome and of your years --”

Lila’s laugh was hearteningly natural. “Mr. Envy? I rather think not.”

“Not your type?”

“Oh, he’s certainly good-looking.”

“Only good-looking?” Roy held the door open for her and she ducked under his arm with a smile. “I’ve seen the effect that Renaissance angel type has on women.” And Envy would not be out of place amidst a Botticelli or Last Supper scene -- Roy had to admit that no small part of his dislike for the young man stemmed from the fact that he was very attractive.

“Well, very good looking then. But all the same -- he thinks too much of himself, in my opinion.” Lila’s dislike was clear. “And he’s cheap. Very quick with a nice word or two when he wants something, but in a pinch? He’d just as soon as laugh in your face and slam the door.” Her lip curled. “He and his mother both -- they’re not real gentry. They have the money, but they have no class -- and I’m not even sure they have the money any more.”

Interesting. This torrent of venom had been building a while. Roy thought he could detect a familiar trace amongst the bitterness. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned--

“You’d certainly be in a position to know,” he said smoothly. “An intelligent young woman like yourself would pick up a lot.”

Lila was evidently receptive to flattery. Or perhaps she just wanted the chance to vent about her employers. “You wouldn’t believe half of what I could tell you about Dante and her brat. All her modern speeches and revolutionary actions? Her attempt to justify her own selfish actions. She can’t have Holmenheim because he’s married? She rejects Christian principles and demounces the church as reactionary. Please.” Lila snorted. “The real reason she left London society was that people were starting to notice that her brave new theories coincided remarkably with her own selfish wishes.”

“I have to admit a certain lack of surprise.”

“I thought you were a man of some intellect.”

Roy was not entirely certain he’d been complimented. “You were Dante’s maid before you came here, weren’t you?”

“Convenient, that, don’t you think? She fires all the staff and then convinces Holmenheim to hire me because god forbid she waits on herself. I do the same job as before only this time the Professor foots the bill.”

“How did she manage that?”

“Well, you can’t say that she’s not persistent. I think the Professor decided that paying my wages would be less painful than putting up with her complaints. In fact, my salary is slightly higher now -- and it’s paid regularly, which is more than I could say for the High and Mighty Lady.”

“Indeed.” Roy glanced at the clock in the hall. “I should let you go -- I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for you with Mrs. Curtis.”

“She’s a regular tyrant isn’t she? Still, she and her husband were the only ones to withstand Lady Dante. Oh, her ladyship was not pleased about that.” Lila’s grin was wide with venom. “I’d put up with any amount of bossiness from Mrs. Curtis just for the look Dante gets on her face whenever she’s around. She hates being defied.”

“I can imagine that. How did the redoubtable Curtis’s survive the exodus?”

Lila shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly. Dante pulled out all the stops, even accused Mrs. Curtis of stealing. Holmenheim just dismissed it and said that he knew Izumi was above such things. That went down real well.”

Roy could empathise with her satisfaction. “Still, strange that he would take the word of a domestic servant -- even one as fearsome as Mrs. Curtis -- over a friend he’s known many years.”

“I think he knew the Curtis’s before they came to England. It certainly seems like they have some sort of connection.”

“Surely not --”

“Oh, no fear of that!” Lila laughed. “Holmenheim is . . . well, if it wasn’t for his superfluity of sons, you’d think the man was entirely sexless. It amazes me that he managed to get a wife at all -- then again considering his taste in women . . . and Mrs. Curtis is only too happily married. I’m really glad I got permission to move to a room in the attic, it was getting hard to keep any food down.”

“They’re still at the nauseatingly cute newly wed-stage?” Roy knew that feeling only too well. “Hughes has been in that for five years now.”

“The Curtis’s have been married twice that. It’s disgusting.” Lila shuddered. “Happily married people should keep it to themselves. That’s not something the rest of the world wants to see.”

Roy was frozen by the thought of another five years of Hughes being cute. God no--

“Ah, I really have go,” Lila had spotted the hall clock, anxiously using the glass panel laid over the clock face to check her reflection. She patted her white cap back into place and turned to Roy. “Do I look mussed?”

Roy took her shoulders and pulled her into him before she could protest. He kissed her, lingering pleasantly over her lips before pulling back with a smug grin. “Now you do.”

“You army types are all the same,” Lila elbowed him without any real malice. “I might see you later.”

Roy watched her walk down the hall. She definitely knew how to fill a uniform -- and she knew it too. The way she walked -- she knew he was watching and was putting it on for his benefit. Ah, well -- she was no Josephine, and thank god for that! Too catty for him to even want to consider something long term, but amenable enough in the short term -- Roy turned around to return to his room and got the shock of his life.

A child of eight or so beamed up at him with impossibly large and innocent eyes from the middle of the corridor. She wore a large faded pinafore, with ribbons of matching colour tying off two long braids. How long she had been standing there Roy didn’t know.

Battle honed reflexes kicked in. “Ah, hello, Miss. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Roy smiled in what he hoped was a charming way and knelt to her level. “What’s your name?”

She dimpled at him cutely. “You were kissing Lila. I saw.”

Roy’s charming smile froze in place.

The little girl took his hand. “Come on. I want to see Alexander and I can’t reach the gate by myself.”

Chapitre 5

Roy wasn’t entirely sure how he found himself in what had once been a stable, but was now home to a large and very enthusiastic English sheepdog - and at the mercy of a schoolgirl, no less. He watched the pair sourly, trying to wipe the dog slobber off his formerly pristine suit - oh, Hughes would be hearing about this.

“Mister,” the girl - she’d introduced herself as Nina - said happily, hugging the sheepdog. “Isn’t Alexander the nicest dog you ever met?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Roy glared at the dog, warning it to keep its distance. Alexander gave him a hopeful look in return, mouth lolling open to reveal a long pink tongue. That was the rum thing about dogs, they were always hopeful, always loyal - the perfect subordinate. In spite of himself, Roy bent down to scratch the sheepdog’s ears. “Is Alexander your dog?”

“Kind of. I share him with Ed and Al. But we’re not really supposed to have him. See, he got into the Professor’s study once and did some damage. Mr. Curtis was supposed to shoot him but we smuggled him in here instead. Didn’t we, Alexander?” Nina paused to poke the dog and giggled when he snuffled at her. “And Mr. Envy found out and told and there was a big fuss and I cried lots and we were allowed to keep him as long as he stays out of the house.”

“So he lives here in the stables?” Roy considered their surroundings.

The building still smelt strongly of hay and here and there a few bales were in evidence. For the most part it had been swept clean. There was another scent mingling with the hay, just as strong - oil and grease and maybe metal.

The open space at the end of the neat row of stalls was mostly taken up by the wreck of a car and a long table with a sheet spread over it stood behind it covered by a sheet.
“Would this be the boys workroom?”

“Yes. You’re not allowed to touch anything. They get cross if you do.” Nina pointed to a mechanical bear sitting on a shelf in the corner. “That’s mine. Alphonse is going to fix it when he has time.” She paused then, with the air of someone divulging a great secret, confided, “ I like Alphonse. I’m going to marry him one day.”

“Oh?” Roy found himself amused. “And when did you decide that?”

“At Christmas last year. My scarf blew into a tree and he climbed up to get it down for me.”

“A perfect gentleman.”

“I think so. Father says I’m being foolish though. I don’t see why I can’t marry Alphonse if I want.”

“Well I suppose social class will come into it -“

“Oh, that’s no problem. By the time I’m sixteen, we’ll be rich. Father said so. And I can marry whoever I want.”

“Your father is sure about that?” Far be it from Roy to bring down a young girl’s dreams, but he couldn’t help but remember Tucker’s shabby attire or notice that Nina’s pinafore was faded and patched.

“Oh yes. Long term investments,” Nina explained vaguely, patting Alexander. “Be a good doggy, Alexander. I’ll come visit after lunch.”

Alexander took a lot of getting back into his stable and it was a considerably worse for the wear Roy that arrived back at the house, Nina riding on his shoulders.

“Well, old boy,” Hughes drawled as he entered the drawing room. “I can see you’ve been in the wars.”

“Oh dear,” Tucker said, fretting as Roy swung Nina down from his back. “I hope she wasn’t any trouble - Nina what did I tell you about bothering the Professor’s guests?”

“She was no bother at all,” Roy said before the child could get scolded. “I found her company most refreshing.” He began to dust off his coat sleeves. “I trust you’ll excuse me if I freshen up before lunch.”

“By all means,” Hughes shrugged. “Believe me, you could do with it.”

“Nina, you’d better wash up too.” Tucker patted his daughter on the head. “Go upstairs and see if the boys have finished their Latin. Tell them it’s about time to come downstairs.”

“Can I eat downstairs too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tucker shooed his small daughter out the door. “Lila will take a tray up for you.”

Nina pouted, trailing out the door reluctantly.

“Usually we eat lunch with the boys in the school room,” Tucker explained, taking off his glasses to polish them. “The professor and his staff take lunch in the laboratory and rarely join us, Lady Dante finds it tiring to lunch with the children and usually has a tray in her rooms.”

“I hope we’re not creating too much of a fuss,” Hughes said. “The last thing we want is to be a bother to anyone.”

“Oh, not at all,” Tucker protested. “A change in routine is appreciated. It’s just a shame that Doctor Marcoh isn’t here to keep you better company than I.” His eyes were curiously flat, without almost any animation at all. He was a curious sort of chap, hardly any sign of personality or backbone. Roy wasn’t sure what to make of him.

He nodded to Tucker and Hughes. “I’ll be on my way then. See you at lunch.”

Roy passed Edward and Alphonse on their way downstairs. “Good day,” he greeted them, eyeing Edward interestedly. His colour had returned and the the boy did not appear affected for the worse by the previous evening’s episode -- whatever that had been. He nodded politely to Roy but didn’t break the conversation he was having with his brother. “You can say what you like about German precision, Al, but the Italian aviators clearly have the edge --”

“You’re not listening!” Alphonse argued. “Good day, Colonel Mustang. When you consider the cost of building the place and the wages of those involved and add that to the equation --”

“That doesn’t sound like a very patriotic discussion,” Roy commented as they drew close. “Or have you two forgotten? Those flying fascists came damnably near to wiping us out.”

The brothers exchanged a look. “A military man would certainly consider the matter in that light,” Edward admitted. “But in science only the facts remain. When you disregard the relative pluck of the individual pilots, which admittedly is highly subjective and unable to be measured exactly, you’re left with only one conclusion; that the construction of British airplanes is distinctly inferior to those on the continent.”

“Steady on,” Roy protested. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“Science is science,” Alphonse said with the simplicity of someone who believes utterly in what he says. “And in science there are no borders, no ties of affection, no assumptions that haven’t been tested; only reason and reason alone. It’s like what Sophocles said. “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.”’

“No, it’s not, you egg.” Edward said, nudging his brother down the stairs. “It was Socrates, and what he meant was --”

Roy had no interest in whatever whoever it was had said. He continued up the stairs to his room.

The bed had been made and his laundry removed. Although lacking in the homelieness usually expected of a housekeeper, it appeared that Mrs. Curtis fulfilled her duties capably. Even so, Roy was forced to wonder again, as he changed out off his soiled morning suit just how she and her equally unlikely husband had found their way into Holmenheim’s employ.

Freshly attired, Roy heard the lunch bell ring and returned downstairs. He met Lady Dante at the top of the stairs.

“I’m surprised,” he said, offering her his hand as they descended the stairs together. “I was given to understand that you preferred to lunch alone.”

“That is my usual habit,” Dante agreed. “My opinion is sought by so many in London -- I’m on a lot of committees, you know, active in my own small way in the area of social reform. If I didn’t write letters and articles while I lunched, I just wouldn’t have the time. As it is, between managing Holmenheim and taking care of my son, I barely have a moment to myself.”

My heart bleeds, Roy thought acidly. “It is good of you to put yourself out on our behalf. We appreciate it,” he lied.

“Well someone has to be present to keep the boys in order,” Dante said as they reached the dining room. “Tucker is much too lax with them. He doesn’t seem to realise that you must take a firm hand with children or they’ll end up controlling you.”

“How was your walk?” Roy asked before Dante could get started on her favourite subject.

“Very bracing. You should have come. The Brigadier was kind enough to say that he found my remarks most informative.”

“Did he now?” Roy caught his friend’s smirk as he entered the dining room. Seemed that Hughes had found the Lady’s remarks more informative than she might have wished - he was a master at deduction and knew how to read people.

Fortunately, Dante had no suspicion of Hughes’s true intentions. “You know, I have literature on a wide range of social issues -“

“I’ll pass,” Roy said hastily, drawing Dante’s chair for her. “What’s on the menu today?”

The first course was broccoli and stilton soup, accompanied by fresh bread and a light salad, and served by a glowering Curtis. It was first-rate grub, but Roy found it difficult to appreciate the meal with the butler lurking in the background. It was rather like what he imagined dinner with one’s executioner might be like.

It appeared he was the only member of the party with misgivings. Hughes had seated himself between Alphonse and Edward and was engaging the two brothers in lively conversation - or at least attempting to. While Aphonse had happily warmed to the topic, and was eagerly answering Hughes’s questions, Edward was rather less sanguine. He answered politely, but with the bare minimum of information, and refused to be drawn into elaborating on his ideas. Roy caught the boy frowning in his direction more than once during the meal. Evidently, their intrusion into the Elric household was no more welcome that morning.

Lady Dante appeared to be in an unusually good humour. Rather than scolding the boys, she merely ignored them. Tucker was content to melt into the background, as Dante addressed her remarks solely to Hughes and Roy.

Lunch might have passed smoothly had it not been for a sudden arrival.

“Is that the car?” Edward demanded suddenly, straightening in his chair to listen intently.

His brother immediately hushed. “I think so -“

The sound of an engine pulling up outside was now readily apparent.

Roy glanced at the boys. They both seemed tense with barely contained excitement. What was all this in aid of?

“Boys, you will stay seated,” Lady Dante said with a theatrical sigh as Curtis went to the front door. Her manner clearly said ‘Children! How wearisome.’ Roy didn’t pay her more than a moment’s attention. He was curious as to what the big event could be.

Curtis’ voice could be heard in the hall, an indistinct murmur. Then a very familiar voice was heard.

‘-already eaten but I’d like to catch up with my godsons -“

“Marcoh!” Alphonse and Edward pronounced in unison, scrambling for the door.

“Boys! What did I just tell you?”

Dante’s remonstration was as effective as scolding a hurricane - and the effect was the same. Alphonse had dropped his soup spoon, and Edward’s chair might have toppled over if Hughes hadn’t had the foresight to catch it. The brothers struggled to be first out the door. Edward eventually managed this honour, catching his brother in the stomach and making his way out the door while Alphonse protested, following hard on his heels.

“Brother, that was mean!”

“Well,” Hughes said.

Roy shook his head. “That’s the first time I’ve seen either of them acting like regular boys.”

“More like hooligans!” Dante glared at Tucker. “I’ve told you again and again that you are far too lax with them. I insist you go out there and restrain them immediately, Mr. Tucker.”

“No need, Lady Dante,” Hughes stood, nodding at Roy to follow his example. “We want to pay our respects to Marcoh, we’ll make sure the boys are kept in line.”

Marcoh had not managed to progress any further than the entrance hall. Edward and Alphonse were talking over the top of each other, greeting Marcoh or strangling him; it was hard to tell. Either way they were doing a very effective job.

“Boys, boys!” Marcoh said, eventually freeing himself. “Stand back and let me look at you.”

The boys obeyed, and Roy and Hughes were able to get a clear view of their friend.

Roy’s first reaction was shock. Surely it had not been that long since he’d seen Marcoh? He looked like he’d aged a decade or so. His face was lined and there were grey streaks through his hair -

“Edward! Just look at you - so grown up! You’re really taking after your father. And Alphonse, you’ve really gotten taller!” Marcoh patted the boys’ shoulders with an almost grandfatherly air. “My word - what happened to your hair? Don’t tell me your Father let you cut it.”

That was something Roy had been curious about too. Given Holmenheim’s insistence on his native customs, it seemed reasonable to suppose that the long hair style worn by Edward, Envy and the Professor himself was a tribute to their German heritage. That Alphonse should be the only member of the family with short hair was surprising to say the least.

The boys’ reactions were interesting. Alphonse glanced at his brother, Edward looked very studiously at the floor.

“Father didn’t exactly give permission,”Alphonse admitted.

“But -- surely, you didn’t--”

“It was me,” Edward said. He set his shoulders, and looked up at Marcoh squarely. “I cut Alphonse’s hair.”

“You?” Marcoh sounded astonished.

Alphonse nodded. “Scared me half to death, too.” He gave his brother a faintly reproachful look. “You could have asked you know.”

Edward looked worriedly at him. “Are you still mad?”

His brother shook his head earnestly. “I said I forgave you, didn’t I? Anyway, Father was angry enough for the both of us.”

“Edward, I’m disappointed. This isn’t like you,” Marcoh said solemnly, and both boys immediately quietened. The doctor’s words obviously meant much to them. “However, as it appears you’ve been scolded already and Alphonse has forgiven you, I won’t add my complaints. I will however say that short hair suits you very well, Alphonse. You look very dashing.”

Alphonse glowed. Edward smiled faintly, but there was a hint of sadness to it, that struck Roy once again as very out of place on someone so young.

“I like it. It takes hardly any time to brush now and it’s a lot more practical for the machinery and everything. Of course, I miss the way Father used to say it reminded him of Mother --” Alphonse paused reflecting on that.

Marcoh suddenly pulled both boys into a hug. “Boys,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve missed you.”

“You shouldn’t stay away so long.” Was that really Edward’s voice? Roy had never heard him sound so young. He had his face buried in Marcoh’s shoulder, maybe Roy had imagined it --

Hughes coughed lightly, and Marcoh released the boys, letting his hands rest instead on their shoulders, Edward on one side of him, Alphonse on the other. The three of them didn’t look anything alike in colouring or build, but somehow . . . they seemed more like family than anything Roy had so far seen in this house.

“Roy,” Marcoh said with a smile that was sincere, but worried. “It’s been a while.”

“Far too long, old chap,” Roy told him honestly. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, bits and pieces. I’ve kept myself busy,” Marcoh answered. “As you have been, I hear. I was sorry to learn about your latest girl --”

The thought of Jospephine was bitter still. “Least said, soonest mended, old chap,” Roy said, taking Marcoh’s hand in a firm handshake. “Hughes was kind enough to suggest this jaunt as a distraction.”

“I rather fancy things will get a good deal more distracting soon,” Marcoh said, his face grave. “I have news from London.” He looked over to where Hughes leaned against the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. “You were right, Maes. Everything was exactly as you said.”

“Tough luck, old bean,” Hughes said, coming over to clap Marcoh’s shoulder. “I rather hoped I was mistaken but --”

“What’s this about?” Alphonse asked. “Did something happen?”

Marcoh patted his head, his smile sad. “You’ll find out about it soon enough, I imagine, boys. Edward, would you do me a favour? Tell your Father I need to speak with him at his earliest convenience.”

Edward gave the three of them a speculative glance, but nodded. “Curtis, I think the study would be appropriate . . . ?”

The butler nodded, and Marcoh clapped Edward on the shoulder. “Thank you, Ed. We’ll talk this evening.”

Edward bowed briefly to him, walking in the direction of the laboratory.

Marcoh frowned as he watched him go. “Been looking after your brother, Al?”

“Yes. I did everything you said.”

“Good chap. How’s he been?”

“Not good. There’s been three, counting last night.”

“I don’t like that,” Marcoh said, patting Alphonse’s shoulder. “The old dragon still here?”

“She’s having lunch,” Alphonse said resentfully as if this was the worst thing she could be doing. “She’s sitting in Mother’s chair.”

“Chin up, lad. I’ll see if I can’t persuade your Father to let the two of you stay with me in London for a bit.”

To Alphonse this was clearly a treat on the scale of Christmas. “Stay with you -- could we really?”

“It’s up to your father, of course. Run along and finish your lunch, Al. Give Dante my regards and explain I must talk to Holmenheim immediately.”

The boy was clearly unenthused as this prospect. “Do I have to?”

“You need to finish your lunch.” Marcoh reminded him. “A growing boy like you needs to keep his strength up. Besides, there just might be something in my luggage for you.”

“You brought us presents?” Alphonse cheered up immediately.

“Only if you’re good.”

The boy reluctantly returned to the drawing room.

“What do you make of my godsons?” Marcoh asked, turning to Roy and Hughes with a paternal air of pride. “Likely boys, are they not?”

“Indeed,” Roy answered. “They’re certainly something.”

Hughes agreed. “You have every reason to be proud of them. Alphonse is charm personified and his brother is undoubtedly the most knowledgeable person of his years that I’ve ever encountered.”

Marcoh’s expression turned pensive. “I’m worried about Edward. His current behavior -- it’s almost a complete reversal of the child I knew three years ago. Things have been difficult for him, it’s true -- but the more time I spend here the more certain I become that there is something at the bottom of this.”

“I won’t say you’re wrong there,” Hughes said. “Shall we take this conversation to the study?”

Curtis was just unlocking the door as they approached. “It’s the Professor’s custom to keep this door locked at all times,” he explained. “Since Doctor Marcoh is with you, I’m sure he won’t mind if you wait for him here -- but touch nothing.”

Where had he heard that admonition recently? Roy wondered, taking one half of a velvet upholstered sofa as they waited. Ah, yes, the stables. Like father, like sons indeed.Holmenheim’s study was a far cry from the boy’s workbench at first glance, but on closer inspection there were similarities. There was no hay, but the room smelt strongly of ink and paper, and there was a certain similarity between the books laid out half open and in piles, with pages of notes scattered about them, to the disarray of the boy’s tools and books. There was a further difference to the room, and Roy struggled to put his finger on just what it might be.

An empty winebottle with a glass next to it stood on a side table with a half eaten sandwich, surrounded by books and papers. There was a collection of tea cups in a corner, almost buried under a stack of newspapers, and an ash tray, full to overflowing. That was it, Roy smiled, as he solved the puzzle. That was it; and that was what was missing in every other room in this house. The study had the feel of being a room that was actually lived in --

“Gentlemen,” Holmenheim greeted them, shutting the door behind him. “Marcoh. I hope your journey was pleasant?”

“If only my errand were so,” Marcoh said. “Holmenheim, old chap, I think you’d better sit down.”

The professor’s smile of greeting turning to an expression of apprehension and he took Marcoh’s advice. “Bad news? But -- the experiments were going so well last time we talked --”

“Holmenheim.” Marcoh took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself to give new obviously as painful to himself as to his audience. “Our reasearch, our theories our results -- there’s a laboratory in Vienna doing the exact same thing.”

“A competitor? I didn’t expect the Austrians to be interested, but surely that’s --”

“You don’t understand. They’re using our methods. Ours. There’s no mistake about it.”

“Our methods?” Holmenheim looked about as bewildered as Roy felt. “But that would mean --”

“You have a leak,” Hughes said. He had seated himself casually on the edge of Holmenheim’s desk. “About two weeks ago a foreign agent was picked up under a fake passport. He was carrying on him papers of a scientific nature, that although obviously important, were unrecognisable. The work you lot are doing is so hush hush, even we don’t know about it -- It was pure luck that I happened to think of running it by Marcoh --”

Pure luck? Roy thought acidly, folding his arms. Hughes had told him that he had taken up a minor secretarial position with an old army friend, in order to cover the costs of suddenly becoming a family of three. He certainly hadn’t mentioned anything involving foreign agents -- although Roy had a sudden suspicion why.

“You can imagine how I felt when Hughes handed me notes in what I knew was your handwriting and informed me they’d been found on a spy!” Marcoh paused, bitterly. “How dare they -- we’ve put so much time and effort into this and to have it stolen from under our noses --” He shook his head. “At any rate, once we were aware of the possible link between our reasearch and the labratory in Vienna, Hughes arranged for me to see the infomation they’d already collected on it --” He shook his head in bewilderment. “They’ve been using our methods, and obviously for some time now.”

“The laboratory started a little under three years ago,” Hughes added softly. “A few months after a small fire in which you lost a lot of notebooks and research materials.”

“But that was clearly an accident,” Holmenheim protested. He was coping with the shock well, marshalling himself to put up a good defence -- which meant he’d come to the same conclusion the other’s had and was trying to convince himself otherwise. “The books were destroyed, a good part of the laboratory as well -- I’m sure that no one on my staff would have --”

Marcoh drew a bundle of papers out from his jacket and handed them to Holmenheim. To Roy, they appeared like nothing so much as an incomprehensible mess of formulas, but they obviously had greater significance to Holmenheim. He had paled, glancing through the papers quickly, then flinging them away from himself roughly. “They’re mine,” he admitted, dragging a head across his forehead. “God -- that it would come to this. Betrayed by one of my own household.”

“There’s no possibility of it being an outside job?” Roy felt he had to make some contribution to the conversation. If Hughes thought he was going to just sit there and be amazed at the currently unfolding events -- and his friend would really be hearing about this later -- he was gravely mistaken. “The laboratory in London that Marcoh’s been overseeing -- isn’t that a possibility?”

Marcoh shook his head. “We’ve been over every aspect of the security there. It’s impossible. Besides --”

Holmenheim laughed. It was by no means a happy sound. “These notes could only have come from here. We found the dog in the study, the tattered remains of the notebook around him -- it was only too clear what had happened. And now here they are, safe and sound.” The acid tone to his voice indicated just how happy he was at this development. “Well, at least the boys will be happy that their bloody pet can come back in the house now.”

“I don’t think it wise to inform the boys -- or anyone -- just yet,” Hughes said. “In fact, I would strongly advise against it.”

There was something in his tone of command, something of authority, that Roy recognised, and that made Holmenheim sit up with narrowed eyes.

“This is peacetime,” he said sharply. “Although you still have your military title, you’ll need more of a reason that that to give orders, Brigadier.”

“Hughes is acting in His Majesty’s service,” Marcoh said softly. “I’ve seen his credentials and I know him well --”

“Meaning it is in my best interests to do everything you say,” Holmenheim’s tone was bitter. “And the Colonel?”

Good question, Roy thought, raising an eyebrow. Yes, and the Colonel?

“Mustang is here in the capacity of a private individual,” Hughes said without even having the grace to look embarrassed. “He is under no orders or restrictions and is, as such, free to pursue any course of action he sees fit, while his experience and standing as a Colonel give him, shall we say, more leeway than most of His Majesty’s citizens.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m sure his assistance will be of great use in the matter at hand.”

Roy eyed his friend sourly. If Hughes thought a half-hearted compliment was going to make up for being dragged down to Lincolnshire under false pretences --

Holmenheim appeared equally unimpressed. “I see. Well then, as I seem to have no choice in the manner, what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“We need you to think back and see if you can remember anything odd, in say, the period since the house fire until now. Any instances of say, your research being tampered with, like the incident with the dog.”

Holmenheim shook his head. “Not off hand. While we’re working in the laboratory, Shezcka has the notebooks with her -- she does most of the recording and note taking during the experiments. I collect the books from her, to collate and read over before I retire and I keep them here. The only people with keys to this room are myself and Mrs. Curtis.”

“Interesting that she should be the only other person with acess to this room,” Hughes said idly.

“She’s not.”

“But you said --”

“We have the keys, but you don’t need a key even if the door is locked. Edward has managed to get in here on more than one occasion. I’m always finding books out of place and --” Holmenheim paused. “Or I assumed that it was Edward having caught him at it once already.”

“That’s the sort of assumption we can’t afford to make,” Hughes said. “What does Edward say about it?”

“That’s just it,” Holmenheim said, thoughtfully. “I’ve spoken to him about this numerous times . . . At first he would argue with me hotly and deny he’d been in here at all, but lately . . . well, lately he just doesn’t say anything.” Holmenheim frowned. “I’d thought that he was finally growing out of childish tantrums but --”

“It’s not like Edward to lie,” Marcoh said. “I’ll have a word with him later, if you like.”

Holmenheim nodded. “Anything else?”

“Just how acessible are your notes to say, the average person?” Hughes asked. “Without going into too much technical detail, say, would it be possible for someone who knew nothing to copy the notes or would understanding be needed --”

“Merely copying would be impossible,” the Professor said promptly. “You’d need to have an in-depth knowledge of the procedures used and atomic science to be able to work out the abbreviations --”

“And even then you’d have problems,” Marcoh added. “I struggle, sometimes, with the Professor’s notes and I’m his partner.”

“I suppose that explains why the notes were stolen then, when they could have been copied more discreetly?” Roy suggested.

“Not necessarily, old man,” Hughes shook his head. “It’s highly likely that the notes were stolen for reasons of sabotage as for their worth. After all, wouldn’t it be a setback for the project if the notes were gone?”

“It would have set us back months,” Holmenheim said. “If not for Shezcka’s memory.”

Hughes nodded. “Shezcka, you say?”

“She’s got what is termed a ‘picture-perfect’ memory -- for text only,” Marcoh explained. “You can imagine she makes a first rate researcher. Unfortunately, she just doesn’t have the drive, the natural curiousity to go ahead with it. She’ll never really make a scientist.”

But could she make a thief? Roy saw Hughes’s eyes on him and nodded; this was his assignment.

“And what of Mr. Envy?” Hughes asked. “Does he have the technical understanding necessary?”

“Envy is completely out of the question,” Holmenheim said promptly.

That was a very strong response. “What makes you so sure?” Roy asked carefully. “We can understand a father’s feelings --”

Holmenheim laughed, the edge of bitterness back in his voice. “Oh, it’s not fatherly pride that makes me so certain that Envy could not have done this, such as fatherly disappointment. I suppose that every father wants his sons to take after him, and I’ve given him every opportunity I could. But if I must be clear, I’ll state that although an adequate secretary, Envy will never follow in my footsteps. The work we do is quite beyond him.”

“Which brings us then to Mrs. Curtis,” Hughes continued after a short pause, respect for Holmenheim’s fatherly feelings. “How exactly did she and her husband find employment with you?”

“They’re old friends,” the Professor explained. “Izumi was in England and she looked me up. She was having trouble finding a position due to her health and well -- I owe her. I offered her and Sieg the position here until such time as something better developed. I didn’t expect them to stay quite this long but the countryside is beneficial to Izumi’s health, and there is a specialist in London she can visit. It works out satisfactorily for all of us.”

“Very convenient that.”

Holmenheim snorted. “If you think Izumi would sell my research to a foregn agent, you’re gravely mistaken. She would sooner destroy my work and everything connected with it then see it in another’s hands.”

Roy sat up a little straighter. “You sound very sure about that.”

The Professor smiled the thin, bitter smile. “I have every reason to be. She was my research partner in Frankfurt. I know her well, I know what she’s capable of. Believe me, gentlemen, Izumi Curtis would have no need to take my notes -- she’s more than capable of recreating them on her own.”

Hughes nodded. “That explains a lot that I’ve wondered about. And her husband?”

“Sieg is not an intellectual by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I didn’t think so.” Hughes nodded, as if this all agreed with a plan he had worked out in his mind. “So, you’d say that in this household, only yourself, Marcoh and Mrs. Curtis are capable of understanding and developing this research.”

“Yes. Well--”

“Well?”

“There may be one other.” Holmenheim frowned. “I suspect Edward knows far more about this project then I want him too.”

Edward? Roy raised an eyebrow at Hughes. Everything in this household seemed to come back to that one boy --

“Marcoh, can you tell the others that I will not be continuing with the work this afternoon? I don’t think I could manage -- not after this.”

“I understand perfectly old man,” Marcoh patted Holmenheim’s shoulder in passing, looking to Hughes and Roy. “You’ll want some time to think this over.”

Hughes took the hint, sliding off the desk and standing. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news,” he said. “But we’ll have this matter cleared up as soon as we can.”

Holmenheim nodded absently. Roy wondered if he’d heard the words at all. Clearly this was a great blow to him. Roy added his own goodbyes, and followed Marcoh and Hughes into the corridor.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you two weren’t here,” Marcoh said, as the door shut behind him. “I must confess, my reaction is similar to Holmenheim’s. I simply can’t believe that a member of this household would be capable of this . . .”

“Chin up,” Hughes said. “That’s why you have me at your service. I’ll make short work of this problem, you’ll see.” He added as an afterthought. “And Roy, of course, will help too.”

Oh, would Roy? He was very glad that Hughes had let him in on that; he simply didn’t know what he’d do without Hughes to inform him of such facts.

“I’d better pass the message on,” Marcoh said. “I’ll see you two later.” He nodded, setting off down the corridor to the laboratory.

“I’m glad he’s here,” Hughes said. “Rather mucks up my plans for the afternoon, but I think that what we learned from Holmenheim more than makes up for it. What do you think, old chap?”

Roy just glared at him.

Hughes held up his hands in a self-depreceating fashion. “Ah, I can see that you’d be a bit miffed that I didn’t let you in on everything --”

“Lied to me, you mean. I could be a Lady Wintergreen’s society dinner, you know, meeting this season’s debutantes --”

“You should be thanking me then,” Hughes said. “Lady Wintergreen is Gracia’s great Aunt. I’ve met some of her protoges.”

“That’s not the point.” Roy crossed his arms. “You promised me a murder, not a lot of stinking secret-service mucking about.”

“We’re counter-espionage now, old man. Same job, but the hours are better.”

“You’re being annoying on purpose now.” Roy accused. “You’re my best friend, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with this kind of rot.”

“Steady on,” Hughes protested, sporting a wounded look. “Would I really purposefully mislead you?” At Roy’s expression he added hastily, “About important things. Look, there is still in all probability a murder at the heart of this.”

“Oh yes?”

“I think we’ve solved the mystery of why all the girls go for you, old man. You’ve put so much of your mental faculties into looking good that there simply isn’t any room left for thinking -- you wouldn’t punch your best friend, would you Roy?”

“I might if said ‘best friend’ doesn’t elaborate. What makes you think that Trisha’s death ties into this missing notes business?”

“The fire in which the first notes were stolen happened a few days before Trisha’s death. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Roy was chagrined to admit that it hadn’t occured to him that Trisha’s death might be related to the fire. “So you suspect she knew something then? Or saw something to do with that--”

“Careful old chap, you don’t want to give yourself a wrinkle or something with all that brainwork.” Hughes ducked Roy’s grab merrily, escaping unscathed down the hallway. “I’ll see you later -- I have some serious sleuthing underway.”

Roy snorted, watching him go. “Serious busybodying, you mean.”

“Toodle pip!” Hughes waved goodbye to him. “By the way, Roy, I think you’ve really let your standards slip.”

“I beg your pardon?” Roy was flummoxed.

Hughes waggled a finger at him. “Your latest bird -- rather a cut below your usual fare, don’t you think? I wouldn’t get too attached if I were you. I rather fancy Lila’s pretty exterior is vastly superior to the interior.”

And before Roy could demand what he meant by that, or even how he knew, Hughes had vanished into the dining room.

Chapitre 6

Holmenheim spent the afternoon in his study, and, when he did appear at dinner, his distraction was clear. He agreed absently to contradictory opinions put forward by Dante, and picked at his meal. This behavior passed without comment, although not without notice: Roy felt the change in his dinner companions. Dante was not so brash in her opinions as she normally was, and Shezckha and Envy rarely spoke. Tucker fidgeted nervously, glancing towards Marcoh often as if he’d divined that their visitor was the source of Holmenheim’s melancholy.

A not unreasonable assumption, Roy thought, and it would not take him, or indeed, the other members of the household long to make the next logical inference; that since Marcoh handled the London end of the project, whatever had put Holmenheim into such a bad mood was connected to his research.

Indeed it would appear that such a conclusion had already been made.

Roy watched as Edward talked aimably with Marcoh, occasionally glancing towards his father as if to judge what was permissable. It may have been Roy’s imagination, but it appeared that anytime the conversation neared science or experiments of any sort, the boy changed the subject. He was talking earnestly with Marcoh and his brother now, making an effort to be personable -- or maybe he just liked Marcoh. It was damned hard to tell with that boy.

Roy had the feeling that Holmenheim would have preferred to retire to his study rather than join the group in the drawing room after dinner, but as it was Marcoh’s first night among them such an action would have been a clear signal something was wrong. Instead he took a solitary armchair and a collection of modern poetry and refused to be drawn into conversation, watching instead as Edward and Alphonse set up an elaborate system of railway tracks, the better to test the two model train engines that were their presents from their godfather.

Marcoh himself was acting as the overseer of this project. “I think you’re getting a bit too close to the china cabinet Alphonse -- a tunnel there, Edward? Well, if you must --”

“It’s hard to tell which of them is deriving the greater amusement from the engines,” Hughes remarked. “The children or Marcoh.”

Roy smiled at the statement. “How does the saying go? There’s no child like a grown child .”

Envy smiled faintly. “Rather makes one wish to be a child, does it not? To be able to take amusement in such simple past-times -- it must be nice.”

He spoke wistfully, and Roy was startled enough to glance at him and see that the tone was mirrored in his expression -- softly sad and pensive. It had not occurred to him to think that Envy was capable of emotion beyond disdain and smug superiority --

“I did not raise my son to share such weak sentiments,” Dante said imperiously from her sofa near the fire. “I’m ashamed of you, Envy.”

Dante could not have been an easy mother to live with; she certainly was not an easy mother now. Roy could envisage a long, lonely childhood as Envy nodded his head to her. “I spoke without reflection. I assure you, it is not my opinion that we should desire to be as easily satisfied as children.”

“Ah, let the boys have their fun,” Marcoh said, catching the end of the conversation as he stood, preparing to help the boys launch their engines. “There’s no harm in it. Right, let’s see if these engines are worth their metal.”

Judging from the amount of excitement that followed this announcement, the trains were no disappointment. Roy smiled, standing to fill his glass from the bottle of liquor on the table beside Dante’s sofa. A german spirit of some sort -- Apfelkorn? It was smooth and sweet without being too sweet, and had the taste of apple. Not Roy’s choice of poison, but an acceptable substitute.

“I say, Colonel,” Dante leaned in as he refilled his glass. “Would you happen to know what has dear Holmenheim so distracted this evening?”

Roy glanced towards the Professor, apparently considering this query. “He does seem a little off colour this evening , now that you mention it . . . But, you would be in a far better position to know his mood than I.”

Pleased at the compliment, the Lady was diverted.“Poor Holmenheim has had much on his mind of late. It’s not easy to raise two sons without a mother, especially when one of them is as delicate as Edward,” Dante nodded, satisfied that her understanding of the situation was correct. “I rather fancy I have hit on a scheme to set his mind at rest in that respect.”

“Oh?” Roy said, making himself comfortable on the other end of the sofa. “And what might this be?”

“I may as well make the announcement now,” Dante raised her voice, addressing the entire room. “A specialist of nervous disorders with whom I have been in correspondance with -- a specialist of international reknown, mark you -- will be in London tomorrow.”

That created a stir of interest. Marcoh looked up from the trains, while Edward studiously examined a piece of coupling, only the tensing of his shoulders indicating his attention. Envy looked at his Mother, startled, and Holmenheim set aside his book. “Is that so? A man like that is likely to be fully booked --”

“Ah, but that’s the thing. I have through the course of our correspondence managed to interest him in dear Edward’s condition and he’s agreed to give him an appointment.”Dante smiled, evidently well pleased with herself. “This is such an opportunity for Edward. I’d be perfectly happy to accompany him to London myself -- it would be an honor to finally meet M. Gran at last.”

“Basque Grand?”Marcoh asked. “I’d heard he was coming to London, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

“You’ve heard of him, Marcoh?”

“Only briefly. He’s supposed to be very effective in what he does. Although I rather fancy that I heard his name connected with research into a new type of theraphy --”

“Electric shock treatment?” Dante was pleased that her doctor was recognised. “As I said, he is known internationally.”

“I’m not going,” Edward said abruptly. “I don’t need treatment.”

It was the most emotional statement Edward had made in Roy’s hearing. It was rather a surprise to see him drop the tight politeness and speak feelingly, although one could hardly blame the boy.

“Edward, really. You know nothing about the circumstances,” Dante told him. “M. Gran has graciously made time in his scedule to see you -- it’s not everyone who gets that chance. And it is a great chance! Just think -- this could be the chance that leads to a cure --”

“I don’t need a cure.”

Dante smiled a rather helpless, ‘we all know better’ smile, and shrugged her shoulders in a way Roy would have found insufferable directed at him.

Holmenheim set his book aside. “Edward, come here.” As his son reluctantly obeyed, standing in front of Holmenheim’s chair, he let his hands rest on Edward’s shoulders. “A consultation couldn’t hurt,” he pointed out sensibly. “As Dante has said, this isn’t a chance that comes along every day. She’s done a lot of work on your behalf to make this happen, you should be thankful.”

Edward’s expression showed how plainly he disagreed. “I don’t see why I have to take her advice. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t even care --”

“Don’t be rude. You’re fifteen, you should act like a grown-up. What kind of example are you setting for Alphonse?” Holmenheim paused to look severely at his son. “I’m really disappointed by your attitude, Edward. I can imagine that this is hard for you, but you don’t seem to understand your position. All the doctors we’ve spoken to have described you as being surly and uncooperative. Surely you must see that if you want to be cured, you must put aside your stubborness. The first step to a cure is admitting that you have a problem. There is no shame --”

Roy had been studiously examining the finish of the armchair, trying to give the pair of them some privacy -- It felt very arkward to be the inadverdent witness to such a scene. However, Edward’s next statement made him look up sharply.

“I don’t need a cure!”the boy wasn’t quite yelling, but with the anger in his voice he didn’t need to be. “There is nothing wrong with me -- nothing! Unless, of course, being related to you and your resident freak collection counts in which case cure me immediately!”

“Edward!” Holmenheim roared, jumping to his own feet. “Apologise at once!”

“Why should I?”Edward yelled back. “As far as I’m concerned the entire lot of you can go to hell!” He glared defiantly at everyone watching, with expressions that ranged from shocked to angry to furious. “Al excluded, of course,” he added hastily.

“That is it! Go to your room now young man!”

“With pleasure!” Edward slammed the door after him so hard the pictures on the walls rattled.

Holmenheim opened the door to yell after him, “Ask Izumi to pack you an overnight bag! You’re going to London, young man, and you will behave!”

“Shocking,” Dante said, blocking out whatever Edward’s reply had been -- judging from Holmenheim’s countenance as he returned to his seat, it was neither contrite nor respectful. “I knew that letting the boys stay up late would lead to this sort of rude behavior.”

“Steady on --” Roy protested, but Holmenheim was shaking his head.

“I really don’t understand what’s got into him these days. He was never this difficult when Trisha was alive.”

“If you’ll pardon me saying so, I’ve long been of the opinion that Trisha was too soft with them. An indulged and complacent child seldom complains -- until the source of the spoiling and attention is removed. And then --”

“We’re not spoilt!” Alphonse protested hotly. “Our mother was a kind woman -- not like--”

“Alphonse,” Envy cut in hastily, kneeling beside the railway track. “Shouldn’t you go see to your brother?”

It was almost comical, watching the abrupt transition from angry to conflicted on the boy’s face. “Yes, but the trains --”

“They’ll still be here in the morning,” Envy said. “Look, I’ll help Doctor Marcoh pack up the tracks. Go on.”

Alphonse still looked uncertain, eying his new engine with misgivings. Roy remembered the incident with the plane the previous night and took pity on the child. “I’ll help as well,” he said, kneeling beside the toy track and lifting Alphonse’s engine into its box. “This takes me back a few years -- it’s been a long time since I played with an engine.”

Alphonse brightened, obviously relieved, and bowed goodnight to everyone, hurrying upstairs after his brother.

Holmenheim made a desultory attempt to read his book, then announced he would retire early as well. “I trust you will excuse me, Marcoh,” he said. “It’s been a long afternoon.”

“Think nothing of it,” Marcoh assured him. “It’s been a while since I have caught up with Roy, I’m sure we’ll keep each other occupied.”

Holmenheim nodded, and bowed goodnight; gloating, Dante did the same thing a quarter of an hour later.

“I don’t like this at all,” Marcoh said, helping Roy and Envy pack up the train tracks. “Edward was always prone to be impetuous, but I’ve never seen him lose his temper quite so badly before. This is most unlike him.”

“He’s growing up,” Envy explained simply. “He and Holmenheim are both beginning to realise that he isn’t the little boy who used to play under Holmenheim’s desk as he worked. Edward wants to be treated like an adult and Holmenheim doesn’t have any idea of what to make of him -- I think he still regards us all as children.”

It wasn’t the sort of statement Roy expected from Envy, and he regarded the young man with some surprise. In the absence of his redoutable Mother, he was more relaxed certainly -- but even now Roy didn’t trust this sudden display of concern. An act to win over their sympathies?

“Your concern for your half-brothers is remarkable,” he said, pointedly. “Especially in light of your behaviour earlier.”He met Envy’s eyes challengingly -- he was not going to be misled.

Envy smiled, the wide urbane smile that always put Roy’s hackles up. “What else are brothers for?”

“You’re not so brotherly in your regard for Alphonse.”

“Alphonse hardly needs another older brother. Edward is always taking care of him.”

There was something in his tone -- “And you take care of Edward?”

Envy smiled again, a flat smile of hidden amusement. “I say, Colonel, whatever has become of Brigadier Hughes? He seems to have disappeared -- I don’t recall seeing him beyond our conversation earlier.”

“That is true,” Marcoh said. “What is he up to, Roy?”

“Beats me,” Roy set the train tracks he’d gathered in their box and stood. “I’ll go and make sure he’s not getting into too much mischeif.”

The search for his missing friend took him to the kitchen where Lila and the huge giant of a butler were finishing the washing up. Curtis grunted in greeting, busy with his task. Roy winced as he caught sight of the delicate china, slippery with soap, between the man’s rough hands, but Curtis was careful in his task, and nothing was broken.

Lila paused in drying the dishes to greet Roy. “If you want to use the telephone, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

One mystery solved. “Hughes?”

“He’s been using it for an hour now and shows no sign of finishing any time soon. Is there some sort of emergency?”

“No, this is normal for him. I’m only surprised he held out this long before finding the telephone. I say, could you point me to where he is? I should at least look in on him and say goodnight.”

“Of course,” Lila set down her dish cloth. “This way.”

Roy admired her ample figure as she led the way through the back corridors. Not half bad.“I’m surprised -- I didn’t think washing up was usually part of a butler’s duty.”

“Mr. Curtis doesn’t strike you as the domestic type then? You’d be surprised. I’m almost always free in the evenings, as he helps Izumi with the dishes and they bond or whatever they call it.” She shuddered delicately. “I’m just as glad Edward came down tonight and Izumi went to see to him.”

“Edward came to the kitchen?”

“He stormed in and announced that he’d had enough of this house, and could Izumi please pack a bag for him? He was running away to South America.”Lila paused to look back at Roy. “Izumi managed to get some of what happened out of him but he wasn’t very clear . . . ?”

In common with most of the fairer sex, it would appear that Lila had a weakness for gossip. Roy thought there was no harm in indulging her. “Lady Dante has hit upon a new scheme for ‘curing’ him, and wishes to take him to London tomorrow to meet a specialist in electric shock treatment. Edward was unimpressed. When Holmenheim tried to reason with him, Edward told the entire lot of us we could go to hell for all he cared.”

“Edward told Holmenheim and Dante to go to hell?” Lila sounded impressed. “I wish I’d seen that. I can’t imagine she took it well.”

“Holmenheim wasn’t very happy either.”

“I can imagine. Poor Edward.”

They’d reached a small back room in what seemed to have once been the servants’ quarters. Roy could recognise Hughes’s voice within. “The telephone?”

“Yes. I’ll leave you to it . . . although, I might be free tonight. If you’re interested, the linen closet, after the family has gone to bed.”She swayed down the corridor, returning to the kitchen before Roy could respond.

He watched her go with mixed feelings. Yes, her figure was nice, and the way she walked very intriguing -- still, she was damnably forward. It may have been old fashioned, but Roy liked to have a bit of a chase. It was the lady’s role to demure, prettily, while the gentleman pursued -- and he loathed to admit it, but the memory of Hughes’s words that afternoon had dampened his ardour somewhat. Damned unsporting that. Roy knocked on the door and went in.

Hughes was wrapped around the phone and didn’t pause in his coversation as Roy entered. “Does Alicia miss her Daddy? She does? Aww! Don’t worry, Alicia, Daddy will be home soon! Daddy misses you sooooooooooooooo much! Eh? What’s that?”Hughes put his hand over the receiver to turn to Roy. “My daughter has such intelligence! She wants me to bring her back a present! Did you ever hear of anything so adorable in your life?”

“Hughes--” Roy started but it was too late.

“Of course Daddy will bring Alicia any present she wants! What do you want sweetheart? Another teddy bear?”Hughes clutched the phone to his heart in what Roy guessed was an outpouring of fatherly pride. “Alicia is so creative! Other children would settle for a teddy bear, but no! My daughter is unique! She wants a panda!”

“Thrilling,” Roy said. “Look Hughes--”

“Daddy will bring you the best toy panda he can find, sweetheart! Eh? A real panda? But Alicia, my love, real pandas are rather rare in Lincolnshire --ah, excuse me, my precious, boring old Uncle Roy wants to talk to me. I’ll phone you back.”

Roy didn’t let go of Hughes’s neck until the phone receiver was safely on its rest. “One word from you about your daughter, even one, and I’m going back to London. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, old chap,” Hughes said, massaging his neck. “But you know, I do believe Gracia sounds even more beautiful over the phone. Of course, my wife is always beautiful, but when I hear her voice even after a few days absence --”

“Goodnight, Hughes.”

When Roy climbed the stairs to his room, the house seemed very quiet -- it would appear that the family had retired. He hesitated at the landing. The East Wing and bed, or the West Wing and the linen closet? Hughes was right about Lila, she was a designing minx but -- Hughes could go to hell, Roy decided. It was his life.

At least the linen closet was comfortable. Roy lent back against the shelves, and wished it were possible to smoke there -- he had no way of knowing how long Lila would be, if she came at all.

He may have dozed off in the confined space of the cupboard, all Roy knew was that when he suddenly heard voices, it gave him the shock of his life. He started, hitting his head against the shelf behind him. Immediately a deluge of sheets fell on him. He managed to stop most of them from falling, and listened anxiously to see if he’d been detected.

“--probably nothing. An old house like this makes a lot of noise, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about Mother.”

Roy’s relief was quickly curtailed by the realisation that it was Dante and Envy talking outside -- he could not imagine anyone he least wanted to be discovered hiding in a closet by. He carefully balanced the sheets, remaining as still as he could. It wasn’t his habit to eavesdrop on private conversations, but in the confined space of the closet, he could hardly manage it.

“I see you’re upset I didn’t let you in on my plans? I thought it better if it were a surprise -- more natural.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” Envy said, his tone appreciative. “But what is your grand design here? Edward has had consultations before. This seems like a lot of trouble to go to for just one more.”

“Ah, but this is no ordinary consultation. M. Gran and I have been in correspondence a while now, and -- Lila! Perfect timing. I need a suitcase packed -- I will be travelling tomorrow and need clothes for three or four days. Now, goodnight sweetheart. Hold the fort in my absence -- it won’t be long now until Holmenheim sees your worth. You will be Master of this house -- I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Mother. Goodnight.”

Roy waited until he heard Envy’s bedroom door shut further down the corridor before he expressed his feelings. Damned interfering woman! Not only was she taking shameless advantage of her position in Holmenheim’s household, but her scheming had wrecked Roy’s chances of a romantic rendez-vous that evening. Damn, curse and blast her.

--oOo--

The victim of a unintentionally early night, Roy found himself downstairs at a reasonable hour the next morning. Breakfast was glum; Alphonse pushing food around his plate, Edward making no pretense of eating. Roy recollected the fragment of conversation he’d heard the previous night and pitied the two boys. Whatever Dante was scheming, it was clear their best interests were not considered.

Envy, in direct comparison to his half brothers, was so smartly attired and sharp that his presence at breakfast had an almost jarring effect. Roy couldn’t help giving him a baleful glare as he finished his first cup of tea -- no one had the right to be that chipper at such an ungodly hour.

Still, Envy’s effort was wasted -- Holmenheim did not come down to breakfast to appreciate the contrast between his sons.

Mrs. Curtis poured Roy another cup of tea. “This is a marked improvement on yesterday. Will you come out to see Edward off?”

“Of course,” Roy said, glancing towards the boy. He was pale, and the rims of his eyes faintly pink -- he didn’t look as though he’d had a restful night. “Must be tough, being shipped from doctor to doctor. Don’t know that I’d stick it.”

Edward smiled faintly. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Alphonse pouted. “I don’t see why I can’t come to. I never get to go to London --”

“You don’t want to go to London,” Edward said flatly. “Believe me.”

Marcoh patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Chin up, Edward. It’s only a consultation, how bad can it be?”

“You’re not the one getting your head picked apart.” Edward stabbed his scrambled eggs balefully. “I’m not crazy.”

Ross stuck her head in the door. “Either of you boys want to help me check the oil? Give me a hand and I’ll let you ride with me in the front on the way to the station.”

“Can we really?” Alphonse was delighted and Edward managed a wan smile -- seemed he recognised Ross’s attempt to cheer him up and appreciated it.

“Come on, Al. I’ll race you.”

“You haven’t finished your breakfast,” Mrs Curtis complained.

Edward grinned at her. “Don’t you think I have enough to worry about without adding stomachache to the mix?”

“Little brat! Get out of here, you pair of hoodlums!” Mrs Curtis shoved the two boys out the door, the pair of them laughing all the while. She was smiling as she returned to the table. “Their humour has improved since your arrival, Doctor. It’s good to have you here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Curtis. It feels good to see the boys again,” Marcoh accepted another cup of tea. “I must say, it’s very quiet this morning. Where is everyone?”

“The professor asked for a tray to be sent to his room. He said he’s feeling poorly, and did not want to be disturbed. Lady Dante usually rings for a breakfast tray when she wakes. I’m not sure about Shezckha --”

“Oh, Shezchka won’t make it out of bed before noon at least, I’d say,” Ross said with a grin, helping herself to a crumpet. “Which leaves Tucker and the Brigadier.”

“You called?” Hughes leaned over Ross’s shoulder, snagging a crumpet. “Smashing grub, Mrs Curtis. Absolutely top hole.”

“Thank you, Brigadier,” the housekeeper answered wryly. “So glad you approve.”

“How could I not? The warm taste of muffin, fresh from the oven; the sweet scent of wholesome food prepared lovingly -- it’s almost as if I were home and my dear Gracia were cooking --”

Breakfast had suddenly lost its appeal for Roy. “I’m done,” he announced. “Think I’ll have enough time to shave before Edward leaves?”

“I imagine so,” Ross said. “I’m surprised there’s been no sign of Dante, but we’ll have to wait for her before we leave.”

Roy nodded, leaving the drawing room.

There was a sharp click around the corner of the corridor to his right, as if a door had shut. Roy turned towards the sound, bracing himself for Dante’s self congratulatory manner or a grim and hostile Holmenheim.

He wasn’t expecting Tucker -- and it appeared the tutor wasn’t expecting him either.

“I say, good morning, Colonel -- I didn’t hear you.”

Roy must have really startled the man; Tucker was clearly nervous, his skin pale and glassy looking and his movements sharp and rapid. “You gave me quite a surprise yourself,” Roy joked, hoping to put him at ease. “These corridors aren’t very well lit.”

“True, true.” Tucker twisted his hands in his tie nervously. He looked rather haggard up close, Roy realised. Like he’d hardly slept. “I say, is breakfast still on? I could do with a stout cup of tea.”

“Go right ahead,” Roy held the door for him. Turning around, he got the second surprise of the morning.

Curtis had loomed out of the shadows and was standing there, practically on top of Roy. His huge form towered over Roy and the metal of a sharp razor edge glittered in one immense fist. Time seemed to slow as it swung unerringly towards Roy.

Bloody hell, Roy’d mind informed him helpfully. He fills up the entire corridor! There’s absolutely no way round him -- and this close quarters you’ve got no chance of dodging. This looks like the end --

“Your razor.”

Roy blinked.

The kinfe had come to a rest in front of his face and now that it wasn’t travelling towards him at speed he could, indeed, recognise it as his razor. “So it is,” he managed shakily.

“Izumi noticed it needed sharpening,” The butler rumbled. “So I sharpened it.” He brought the razor a little closer.

Roy fought the urge to jump backwards and instead took the knife. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Curtis merely shrugged, lumbering back down the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, Roy lent back against the corridor wall with relief. His knees felt like they’d been replaced with jelly and he was in need of a stout cup of tea. A few deep breaths later and he felt ready to tackle the stairs.

“This house will be the death of me,” he muttered to himself, reaching his room. He didn’t feel completely safe until after he’d checked his closet for intruders.

After a much needed and completely uneventful shave, Roy made his way back downstairs, sharply attired and feeling much more lively. The adrenaline kick, such as it was, had been just what he needed. Roy was all set to assist in any mad scheme Hughes concocted, and was even prepared to be civil to Lady Dante.

Nina greeted him happily at the doorway. “Mr. Roy! You’re coming to say goodbye to Edward too?”

“Of course I am.” Roy let himself be climbed over. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Nina tugged his trousers to get Roy to kneel and whispered carefully in his ear. “Mrs. Curtis went to tell Holmenheim that Ed was ready to go. He’s not coming down.”

“What -- really?”That had been a spirited argument the previous night, but surely that was no reason not to see your son off.

Nina nodded solemnly. “Shezchka’s not up yet either. She said she didn’t even want to think about walking before noon -- do you think she’s sick?”

“I suppose she must be.” Roy said absently. His mind was still on Holmenheim. Great scientist he might be, but as a father -- it wasn’t Roy’s place to interfere, but if it had been --

“Seen any sign of Dante?” Mrs. Curtis asked Roy. As he shook his head, she frowned. “That’s very odd. I’ll go and see if she needs help. Edward, don’t sit on the damp steps, it’s bad for you.”

Edward ignored her, watching glumly as his brother and Nina played chase with Alexander.

Envy lent against one of the marble pillars behind him, with Marcoh and Hughes to one side. “Chin up, Edward. It mightn’t be so bad.”

The boy didn’t respond. Roy might have thought he hadn’t heard, except for the slight tightening of the boy’s mouth.

“What’s the matter?” he asked quietly, sitting on the steps beside Edward. “You’re very glum, even for someone who has to spend the next 24 hours or so in the company of Lady Dante.”

Edward was startled by his action, but managed a wary smile at Roy’s words. “I’ve got this odd feeling -- like something very bad is growing.”

“Something very bad?”

“I know it sounds daft. But I can’t explain it more than that. Just a feeling that something is wrong or is about to go wrong -- I’ve got this odd feeling that if I go to London today, I will never come back.”

It was on the tip of Roy’s tongue to make a flippant comment about travel nerves, but something in Edward’s expression -- skin still pale from lack of sleep, eyes serious and somehow very sad -- made any words impossible.

Edward smiled faintly and scornfully. “You probably think I’m crazy now too.”

“Not at all,” Roy protested. “I think--”

Mrs. Curtis opened the front door. “Mr. Envy, would you mind checking your mother’s rooms, please? She’s not answering her door.”

“Certainly,” Envy said. “Though I must say, it’s unlike Mother to still be abed at this hour. Have you checked the drawing room?”

“I’ll look,” Edward said. “I’m getting sick of sitting outside anyway.”

“We’ll all look for her,” Marcoh decided. “Al, Nina and I will check upstairs. If this continues, you two will miss your train.”

“And what a disaster that would be,” Edward muttered under his breath, stomping inside.

Roy accompanied Edward to the drawing room and along that corridor. “Do they really think you’re --well, you know --”

“Insane?” Edward gave him an ironic look, as they checked the drawing room -- the breakfast dishes were still on the table, but no Dante was in evidence. “They prefer to say ‘weak-minded’ or ‘prone to nervous fits’ but it amounts to the same thing.”

“And what do you think?”

“What I think is the last thing anyone in this house cares about,” Edward said, not turning around as he led the way back down the corridor.

“But I’m asking. What do you think, Edward?”

The boy stopped. “You really want to know?”

Roy nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Edward looked to one side. “I -- it’s so hard to be sure anymore. If there was nothing the matter there wouldn’t be all this fuss, surely, but -- I get so tired of explaining, and I’m not even sure now. I don’t see what I did --”

He looked so lost, that Roy couldn’t help patting his shoulder. “Hang in there,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, I have yet to see anything that makes me doubt your sanity.” Feeling abruptly sentimental, he withdrew his hand and pressed onwards down the corridor. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

“There’s no point in looking down this way,” Edward said, even as he followed. “The only rooms down this corridor are locked -- Father’s study and the laboratory.”

“I was given to understand that the study door could be opened without a lock,” Roy said, and Edward scowled.

“If you want to look, go ahead.”

It had been a stupid thing to say, Roy reflected, as he tested the study door handle and knocked. Perfect way to alienate Edward, and just when the boy was beginning to be civil to him. “Hello?” he called, feeling like an idiot. He could think of no one less likely to snoop around Holmenheim’s study than the venerable Lady, malevolent as she might be. Snooping simply wasn’t her style. She demanded, she bullied, she exploited but sifting through private papers on the sly didn’t seem somehow in keeping with Dante’s character.

To Roy’s immense shock, the study door was swung open roughly.

“Well? What is it?” Holmenheim demanded.

“Uh, good morning,” Roy managed by pure reflex. Thank god his mother had insisted on drilling good manners into him. “I’m surprised to see you here, I understood you intended to rest this morning.”

The professor glared at him murderously. “Then why the devil are you knocking on my study door?”

“I was looking for Lady Dante,” Roy felt even more of a fool now. “She’s nowhere to be found.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be here.” Some of Holmenheim’s glare was now directed at Edward, standing silently behind Roy. “I won’t permit anyone in here to disturb my work.”

“Quite so,” Roy said hastily, hoping to forestall further disagreement. “It was foolish of me to even consider the possibility. We’ll keep looking.”

“See that you do.” Holmenheim paused on the brink of shutting the door, looking at his son. It seemed he was about to say something, then obviously thought the better of it. “Behave yourself, Edward. I don’t want to hear of you being unco-operative again.”

“You won’t, sir.”

That was a most unlike-Edward answer, and Roy raised an eyebrow at the boy. Holmenheim too appeared surprised, but evidently decided not to question this sudden appearance of good manners.

“Glad to hear it. Have a good journey.”

There was the faintest scent of apple as the Professor shut the door, apple and something else -- after a moment’s thought Roy recognised it as the German spirit from the previous night. It would appear that the Professor intended to address his problems the old-fashioned way.

“You want to check the laboratory?”

“Might as well,” Roy said. “We’ve come this far.”

Edward led the way down the corridor. “It’s always locked as well. There’s really no --”

He stopped so suddenly, Roy trod on the back of his heels. “What was that in aid of?” he asked and then he spotted it too -- the laboratory door was ajar. “Always locked?”

“It’s like the study,” Edward said. “No one’s allowed in here unless Father is here as well.” He’d recovered himself, striding forward angrily. “No one interferes with Father’s work.”

Roy permitted himself a smirk even as he pitied whoever had been foolish enough to stray into the laboratory. It seemed Edward was prepared to give them what for.

But as the seconds passed and there was no explosion from Edward, Roy grew concerned. He stepped cautiously into the lab. “I say, Edward -- everything all right in here?”

There was a strong smell of chemicals, and something underneath, something dark and rancid that took him back to the war -- Roy quickened his step, searching between the long rows of shelves and equipment urgently. That was blood -- “Edward! Where are you?”

The reply was faint and came from somewhere to the side. “Here. I’ve . . . I’ve found Dante.”

There were two open doors. Roy stuck his head through the first. A table had been upended and the air was thick with some kind of chemical -- notebooks were scattered every which way, but the room was empty of either Dante or Edward. “Are you all right?”

“Yes but she isn’t. I think she’s dead.”

The last door. Roy almost tripped over Edward in the doorway. He’d sunk to the floor, skin ashen -- shock, Roy decided, kneeling to his side. “Edward--”

“I mean, she can’t be alive,” the boy continued, voice shaking just slightly, eyes fixed straight ahead. “We did human anatomy last year, and it’s pretty hard to be alive when your head is splattered across the floor like that --” His voice hitched hysterically.

Roy couldn’t blame him. He’d had time to take in the second form sprawled across the floor and the unnatural angle that it lay it only confirmed what Edward said. He stepped forward cautiously.

He’d seen many things during the war, and he credited that as the only reason he didn’t lose Mrs. Curtis’s fine breakfast. Even so, he had to look away very quickly. There was a white labcoat hanging on a hook on the side of the room, he grabbed that and lay it across her -- what was left of her -- gently.

Edward watched the proceedings with wide eyes. “She’s really --”

He looked like a child now. Frightened and small. “Yes,” Roy said. “She’s really dead.”

Chapitre 7

His uncle had promised him that service in the British Army would equip him for any situation life could throw at him. It seemed he was right; Roy had never ddealt with the discovery of the corpse of an obvious murder victim before, but his army training came to the fore nonetheless. He found himself feeling curiously distant as he mechanically performed the sensible things, noting the temperature of the body and the time.

“9:22” he said out loud.

“Should -- should you check for a pulse?”

Roy glanced towards Edward, still sitting against the door frame, pale and shaken. There wasn’t much that could be done for Dante right now, but the boy needed attention. “No need,” he said, coming over to Edward’s side.

“Oh. Of course.” Edward took the hand Roy offered and allowed himself to be pulled unsteadily to his feet. This begged the question of what to do with him -- obviously, the boy couldn’t remain here.

“Let’s get some air,” Roy said, guiding him back to the main room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Roy guided him towards a stool beside the desk in the corner. “You can sit here, and I’ll open a window.”

Edward sat obediently. He was still pale, somewhat unsteady in his movements. Roy had thought to send him to alert the others, but it seemed that he would not get that far.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone?” Edward asked. He was breathing a little more easily now, bearing up like a proper trooper.

“I’ll take care of that,” Roy decided, leaving the window he’d just opened. “Do you think you can remain here and make sure the room is undisturbed? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Edward nodded. “I can do that, Colonel.”

“Good lad.” Roy patted his shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

He hesitated outside Holmenheim’s door. As Master of the House, the professor was the obvious choice, but Roy flinched at interrupting his drinking to tell him a former lover had been brutally killed in his own laboratory. It was with utmost relief that he saw Mrs. Curtis and Envy making their way down the corridor.

“Mr. Envy,” Roy said. “Ask Hughes and Marcoh to join me in the laboratory, will you?”

Envy paused mid-greeting. “The laboratory? But that’s kept locked --”

“It’s open now,” Roy said, rather brusquely. “Hurry, please, it’s a matter of some importance.”

The look Envy gave him was startled and perhaps a bit resentful; Envy was not one to meekly take orders. However, the authority in Roy’s tone won out and he nodded, hurrying back down the corridor.

Mrs. Curtis had obviously picked up on Roy’s tone because she waited until Envy was out of earshot to ask “What’s the matter, Colonel?”

“Edward and I found Lady Dante,” Roy said. “Dead. Phone the police. Get them to send a team round -- she’s been murdered.”

“Murdered?” Mrs Curtis repeated. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t seemed shocked or even skeptical. Her manner was more of someone ascertaining the facts so that appropriate action could be taken. “Very sure.”

“How’s Edward?”

“As well as could be expected.”

“Send him to the kitchen. I’ll make the call and put the kettle on.” She looked closely at Roy. “Are you sure you don’t need something --”

“I rather fancy something with more bite than tea,” Roy admitted. “But I’m fine. I’ve seen worse.”

“I imagine you have.” Mrs Curtis nodded to him absently, making her way down the passage.

It was funny the way people reacted differently in times of stress, Roy reflected. Edward looked nauseous, Mrs Curtis as though this were just another household emergency, on a level perhaps as the wrong cut of meat being delivered. Roy suspected that he himself was taking it far too coolly, but after seeing men under his command killed in action . . . well, the unexpectedness of Dante’s death had startled him, but he couldn’t really say it shocked him. At any rate, Hughes and Marcoh should be on their way shortly, and they could decide the best course of action.

And Mrs Curtis had made a very good point; Edward could use a cup of tea. Roy swung the laboratory door open. “Edward?”

The boy straightened hastily, still pale, one hand slipping into a pocket. He had not yet recovered from their discovery, his movements clearly nervous. Roy couldn’t blame him.

“I was feeling better,” the boy said, voice quick and somewhat unsteady. “So I thought I should have a look around, see if there was anything useful about. You know, like clues.”

“Good thinking,” Roy said, joining him at the side of the desk. “Did you find anything?”

Edward stared at him a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nothing.”

Roy patted his shoulder. “It was a good thought,” he told him kindly. “Your housekeeper instructed me to send you to the kitchen. I think she has a cup of tea with your name on it.” The boy smiled faintly and Roy let go of his shoulder. “You’ll be all right on your own?”

Edward nodded. He was still pale, but his voice was firmer. “I’m not a baby.”

“Didn’t think you were.” Roy watched Edward make his way to the door. “Edward? One more thing. It’s not a good idea to say much about this at present.”

The boy looked back then, from the expression in his eyes understanding not just that, but the implications behing it. Too knowing for his own good. “I see.” He slipped into the corridor without any further words.

It was with relief that Roy heard Marcoh and Hughes coming down the corridor a few minutes later.

“What’s all this about then?” Hughes asked breezing airily into the room. “I didn’t fancy you as the scientific type, old bean.”

It may have been wrong, but it was somehow immensely satisfying to know something that Hughes didn’t. “Something’s come up that I thought you should know about.”

“Oh?” Hughes lent against one of the desks while Marcoh tutted about the condition of the lab. “A new development?”

“You could say that. A corpse.”

--oOo--

The village police quickly arrived and were hard at work in the laboratory. This gave Roy and Hughes the chance to take a much needed cigarette in the garden. Marcoh was still with Holmenheim, having gone to break the news to the rest of the household.

“You can stop smirking, you know.” Hughes said. He’d been sulking sometime. “I can’t be expected to know everything.”

“You don’t say.”

“Confound it, Roy. I never claimed to be omniscient.”

Roy shook the ash from his cigarette. He couldn’t shake the faint sense of deja-vu, the sharp smell of the tobacco, the way their words felt false and hollow yet at the same time, beguilingly normal. The quality of the cigarette had improved since his army days, but the rest of it, sharing a smoke with a fellow soldier, resorting to dark humour and petty squabbles to keep from thinking about the dead body not 50 yards away. And he’d thought those days had ended with the war . . . “Really.”

Hughes eyed him with sourly. “You aren’t funny.”

“Gentlemen,” a polite yet business-like voice greeted them. Roy turned to see a sensible looking man in the uniform of a police-inspector salute them. “I’m Inspector Farman. I was wondering if I could have a
minute?”

“Of course,” Hughes stubbed out his smoke and Roy followed suit. “How can we be of service?”

“Mrs. Curtis has informed me that you’re friends of Doctor Marcoh’s, and that it was -“ He paused to
consult a notebook -“ Colonel Mustang who discovered the body and raised the alert?”

Roy nodded. “That’s correct.”

“We’ll want to interview you, of course, Colonel. We’ll also need a statement from you Brigadier -“ the
officer did a double-take. “Not the Brigadier Hughes?”

“You’ve heard of me?” Hughes preened. Roy rolled his eyes - Hughes couldn’t even do fake-modest properly.

“Have I heard of you? But of course! What you’ve done is amazing -- but what are you doing here? Surely, a quiet country town like Little River is no place for -“

Hughes unfolded a letter from his jacket pocket and handed it to the officer. Farman glanced at it
quickly, then straightened, reading it again. Roy tried to get a look at it, but before he could, the
officer whistled, folding up the paper and giving it solemnly back to Hughes. “I see. Well, if there’s
anything we can do to help?”

“Continue your investigations as normal, my man,” Hughes was once again in charge of the situation, breezily giving orders. “Roy and I would like to sit in on the interviews -- you haven’t begun questioning the household yet?”

“Not yet. I was going to start with the Colonel.”

“Ready when you are,” Roy said.

Farman nodded. “The professor has been good enough to grant us his study for the interviews. If you’d mind waiting in the drawing room with the rest of the household until we’ve finished with the crime scene?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go over the scene with you,” Hughes said. “Roy, you coming?”

“I’ll pass,” Roy said, with a slight grimace. “I saw quite enough of the crime scene earlier.”

Hughes patted his arm. “Later, old man.”

“Later.”

Roy made his way towards the drawing room slowly -- he was in no hurry to encounter any of the others. What Roy needed was a couple of hours solitude to reflect on it and a stiff drink.

Solitude was what Roy wanted; it was not what he got. He’d barely set a foot inside the house before he was hailed.

“Colonel! I must know!” Envy blocked his path. Roy had a moment of shock before he recognised him -- for the first time in their acquaintance, the secretary did not look calm or collected -- or even superior. If he looked anything right now, it was panicked. “They won’t let me in there -- there has to be some mistake!”

In all the fuss of finding the body and the police, it hadn’t really sunk in that Dante was dead -- or even how her death would effect those closest to her -- until now. Faced with perhaps the only person who could honestly mourn her, Roy found it hard to remain dispassionate. “The police have to do their job.”

“No -- it can’t be true, it can’t! She’s not dead--” Envy took a step back. “She can’t be,” he insisted, looking at the hallway panelling as if it could tell him otherwise. “I don’t believe it --”

There was nothing Roy could do or say; he hardly knew the young man, to intrude on his grief was too much. It was with relief then that he heard Holmenheim clear his throat behind them.

“Envy --” Holmenheim’s voice was also thick with emotion, although rather than sounding grief-stricken or desperate, he just sounded . . . old. He stepped forward to place his hands on Envy’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

That was it. Envy crumbled, falling into his father’s waiting embrace.

Roy made his way for the stairs as quietly as he could. His presence amongst such grief wasn’t necessary. A sudden movement caught his eye and he caught a glimpse of Edward turning away from the bannister. Mere seconds later he’d disappeared down the West Wing corridor but the glimpse was enough that Roy had stopped in his tracks, arrested by the boy’s expression. Baleful, almost dark --

The morning’s getting to me, Roy decided, making his way to his room. Soon, I’ll be finding sinister implications in everything.

--oOo--

Lucky he’d decided to pack his black tie after all. Roy straightened it, eyeing himself in the mirror as he adjusted his jacket and braced himself for joining the rest of the household in the drawing room. Death, death he could manage. Hysteria on the other hand . . . He was not looking forward to the reactions of the rest of the household.

Once again, Roy was surprised. He was hailed almost immediately he opened the drawing room door.

“Colonel! Is it really true?” The words were almost exactly what his half brother’s had been, but Alphonse’s obvious excitement could not have been more of a contrast. “The police are here for the murder?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Alphonse’s grin was wide. “A real murder -- right here! Smashing!”

Smashing was hardly Roy’s choice of adjective. “A murder isn’t usually celebrated,” he said, glancing around the drawing room, and taking a seat on the sofa. Edward was curled morosely on the window seat, Marcoh frowning anxiously in Alphonse’s direction from the seat nearest the gramaphone, and Tucker fidgeted frantically in the background.

“Do you think the police will let me help?” Alphonse continued, climbing onto the sofa beside Roy undaunted. “Are they going to interview us for clues? Do you think they’ll make an arrest today?”

“Alphonse,” Marcoh cautioned gently. “Don’t pester Roy with questions -- and try to be a little more respectful. Lady Dante is dead, you know.”

“I know.” This fact did not seem to deter the boy’s cheerfullness any. “It’s not fair. I wanted to go into the laboratory but they wouldn’t let me.” He added with a touch of resentment, “Ed gets all the fun.”

Edward eyed his brother darkly from the window seat. “Al, you ninny. Shut up.”

“Why should I? Everything always happens to you. I never get to do anything exciting --”

“I don’t think that finding Dante’s body could really be termed exciting, Alphonse,” Roy said as firmly as he could. “In fact, it’s excitement I could have done without.”

“Really?” The thought of Dante’s death as anything but an opportunity for him to play detective had evidently not occurred to Alphonse. “But --”

“But nothing, Al. She’s dead.” Edward had uncurled from the window seat and made his way over to the sofa. “You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead,” he said, letting his hand rest on Alphonse’s shoulder.

Alphonse looked up at his brother, plainly confused. “Why would you care? You hated her too.”

“Alphonse! Really! Such uncharitable language -- I know that Lady Dante was not an easy person to live with, but I had hoped that you’d been brought up better than to use such vulgar expressions --”

“Sorry, Doctor.” Edward’s smile was thin. “But it’s true. We didn’t like her . . . all the same, Al.” Edward lent towards his brother and if Roy hadn’t been so close he would have missed the whispered words. “She was his mother.”

Of all their admonitions, that was the one that finally seemed to sink in. Alphonse looked at the arm of the sofa, contemplating a loss he could clearly understand. Just in time too -- the door opened and Holmenheim ushered Envy into the drawing room. The young man’s eyes were rimmed with red, but he appeared composed, if withdrawn and listless. He nodded to everyone, and took the window seat Edward had vacated.

Marcoh made polite conversation, trying to act as though everything were normal. Roy and Holmenheim took him up on that, but it was akward, forced, and Roy had the impression they were fooling no one. He glanced at Tucker still fussing in the background -- really, the man made him so impatient! The boys’s tutor, and yet he was the only one present who hadn’t tried to remonstrate with Alphonse, and even now he wasn’t doing anything to reassure the children or improve the situation. The man was as effective a child-minder as a damp dish cloth.

There was a knock at the door. “Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen,” Inspector Farman said with a bow. “We’re ready to start the interviews. Colonel, would you mind accompanying me to the study? And Doctor Marcoh, I hope you won’t mind if we asked you to act in place of a police surgeon?”

“Of course not.” Marcoh accompanied Farman and Roy to the door.

As they walked down the corridor, Roy asked “How long has Tucker been tutor here?”

“Tucker? Oh, a good five or so years I think -- yes, it would be five now.”

“That long?”

“I admit that he isn’t perhaps, the most charismatic of men, or even a very firm disciplinarian,” Marcoh agreed. “But he has very impressive credentials, and I believe he was related to Trisha. A cousin, I think.”

“In here, if you don’t mind, Colonel. Doctor, if I could ask you to proceed to the laboratory, my deputy is waiting. Very good.”

Hughes had proceeded to make himself at home in Holmenheim’s leather upholstered chair. “Roy, how good of you to join us.”

“Come off it. You’re not going to be like that this whole time, are you?”

Hughes shrugged. “No, I’ll just be observing. Inspector Farman here will handle the interviews.”

Farman nodded to Roy, indicated a comfortable armchair. “If you’ll be so good?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been interviewed by the police,” Roy observed, as Hughes surrendered the desk and chair to Farman. “I must say, this is much more pleasant than my last such experience.”

“Oh?” Farman asked politely, getting his notebook out. “I can’t imagine that police station furniture would be on a level with the Professor’s chairs.”

“Quite,” Hughes leaned against a bookcase with a smirk. “Roy was behind bars at the time.”

Roy scowled at his friend. “Do you always have to bring that up?”

“Farman would find out anyway. It’s on your files, old man. Attempted murder and all --”

“But it wasn’t attempted murder--”

“Quite. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I know, remember? I got you off.”

“This would be the Bradley affair. I remember reading about it -- an amazing piece of deduction, if I may say so Brigadier Hughes. Truly outstanding. Indeed, I had all but forgotten about the Colonel’s involvement in that case.”

“Most people have,” Roy said, giving Hughes a pointed look. That was one incident that he was keen to live down.

Farman at least got the hint. “Very well. Now, if you could give us, in your own words, a brief summary of the events of the morning, particularly those that led up to your discovery of Lady Dante’s body?”

It was strange feeling, going over the events of just a few hours ago from an entirely different perspective. Had anything seemed out of place at all? Roy had felt no premonitions that anything untoward had occurred. True, there was tension but he’d attributed that to the argument that Holmenheim and Edward had the previous night. Was civilian life getting to him?

“That’s all,” Roy finished, spreading his hands helplessly. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“Not at all, Colonel. I’m sure the infomation you’ve given us will prove most useful, and we are indebted to you for your actions upon discovering the crime. Calm and reason are traits not usually encountered by the police -- and we are especially grateful that the crime scene was preserved intact.”

“Almost entirely intact,” Hughes corrected. “Did you happen to pick up anything from the room, Roy? I imagine it would be a flat, fairly thin object with a straight edge.”

“An object?”

“That’s as specific as we can be.”

Roy shook his head. “The only thing I did was to take a jacket to place over her.”

“And no one entered the room between your discovery and our arrival?”

“No. Well, Edward was there.”

“Ah, yes, the boy. 15 years old, is he not?” Farman made a note. “It is possible that the murderer took the object with him.”

“Something’s missing then?”

“It may have no bearing on the matter at all --”

“Come now, Inspector. It was deliberately removed from a room where a murder was committed -- I should say that it has bearing on the matter.” Hughes straightened as there was a knock at the door. “That must be Marcoh.”

“If there was any doubt in your mind about Dante’s death being murder, gentlemen,” Marcoh greeted them, “then I can assure you that this can be nothing but homicide.”

Roy couldn’t say that he was at all surprised.

“Cause of death?”

“Let me sit down first, will you?” Marcoh made himself comfortable on the sofa in the corner. “My examination was fairly straightforward. I can’t imagine that there is much I can tell you gentlemen that you haven’t already worked out for yourselves.”

“For the record?”

“Death occurred as the result of repeated blows to the head with a blunt instrument, and was, if not instantaneous, pretty close. It is unlikely that the subject ever had the chance to defend herself. The attack came from behind, at close quarters.”

“The weapon?”

“There was a microscope lying on the ground beside her with . . . residue traces that indicate it was the object used. It has been removed for fingerprinting.”

“Excellent,” Farman made a note. “Any idea of the time of death?”

“This is only a rough estimate you understand. It will need to be confirmed by a police surgeon of course, but I’d say death occurred four to six hours previous to her discovery, which fits in with what I know of Dante -- the subject’s -- habits.”

“She was an early riser then?”

“Yes, she preferred to rise and take a short walk around the gardens before joining everyone for breakfast.”

As Farman jotted this down, Hughes leaned forward. “How long had you known Dante?”

“Well, I first met her four years ago, when Mr. Envy became Holmenheim’s secretary. Dante moved to Little River soon after and she was a frequent visitor at the house -- at least, that was the impression I gathered during my visits.”

Farman asked Marcoh a few more questions about his knowledge of the Elric household affairs, giving Roy time to think. Struck from behind . . . he hadn’t liked Dante, but even so, that was a pretty damn poor way to be killed.

“Well, I can’t say that she had any enemies that I knew of, although I admit that her presence in this house was often the cause of tension . . . even so, that someone here would kill her!” Marcoh shook his head. “I’m afraid that I have no idea who the murderer might be.”

“Thank you, Doctor, your assistance has been most valuable.” Farman glanced at his notebook. “Who is in your opinion most likely to have seen Lady Dante this morning?”

“Well, the maid, Lila, usually waited on Dante. I imagine she would be the best person to ask. Of course, Mr Envy and his mother were very close. It is possible he may have seen her this morning.”

“He’s not taking this well,” Roy added. “It might be difficult to get anything useful out of him.”

“I see.” Farman looked to Hughes. “Might be as well to send for Miss White then?”

“And then Edward I think..”

“Is that necessary?” Roy protested. “The boy’s had a big shock. Besides, it’s unlikely he could tell you anything that I haven’t already told you.”

“There’s always the chance that he noticed something you overlooked,” Hughes pointed out.

“I’m not convinced --”

“Edward’s a lot more capable than you realise, old man,” Hughes said. “You’re doing him a disservice if you think he needs to be protected.” He nodded to Farman. “We’ll have Lila first, then Edward.”

Farman looked from Hughes to Marcoh and Roy and shrugged. “I suppose it is better to be thorough about this. Marcoh, would you send for Miss White now and the boy know that I’ll want to interview him next.”

Marcoh nodded, heading for the door. “I’ll inform them at once.”

Roy watched him go, debating whether or not he should follow. It felt very unsporting to just spring an interview on the child --

“You’re an admirable solider, Roy.” Hughes spoke softly, leaning over the back of his chair. “But Edward is not one of your men.”

Roy gave his friend a hard look. “What are you implying?”

“That you’re a better commander than a detective. I’m not trying to insult you, old man. Merely making an observation.” Hughes let his hand rest on Roy’s shoulder. “You have a strong instinct to protect people, Roy. It does you credit, but you can’t afford to take sides in a criminal investigation.”

He’d deal with the suggestion of partisianship later. Now, Roy was more concerned about the implications of Hughes’s words. “Surely you don’t think that Edward --” He was careful to keep his voice low.

“I’m not saying anything just yet. But consider this.” Hughes also spoke softly, keeping their conversation from Farman’s hearing. “If he has nothing to hide, then he has no need of your protection -- and if you believe he has no need of protection then why are you trying to make excuses for him?”

“Steady on,” Roy protested.

“Quiet, old boy. Your piece of fluff is here.”

Roy glared at Hughes, but didn’t have time to properly give him a piece of his mind before Lila entered.

Lila was politely downcast, but neat as ever. She blushed demurely as Roy pulled the chair out for her, but did not seem overly upset by the sudden turn of events. Her eyes glittered as she sized up her audience, and Roy suspected that she was enjoying this.

“This must be very distressing for you,” Farman said. He was straightening his tie self consciously. Hughes was smirking. Roy ignored him.

“Oh, indeed. I don’t know what to do with myself at all --” Lila complained prettily.

Having ascertaining that Lila was comfortable and not pertubed by the police presence, Farman began the interview. Roy paid only scant attention as she explained her role as Dante’s maid, and her history of employment -- he’d heard all this before. Instead, he studied her reactions to the questions. Her answers were prompt and clear, although delivered in a manner intended to make a favourable impression on her audience. Roy recognised the technique for what it was -- he’d used similar strategies himself. Hughes had complimented him as a commander, but Roy wasn’t sure that manipulator wasn’t the better term. Of course, he liked to think he was more subtle than Lila . . . and that he showed more discretion in choosing his targets. Farman seemed a nice enough man, but really -- that tie with that shirt?

“Well, I can’t say that I knew of anyone with a particular motive for killing my mistress,” Lila said, managing to put stress on ‘particular.’ “But I wouldn’t say she was a much liked woman either.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Hughes asked.

Lila demured. “I’d rather not. It seems so disrespectful, seeing that she is dead and all --”

Roy approved. It was a clever move. By appearing hesitant, she displayed expected feminine sensibility and decorum, clearing the way for herself to tear into Dante without any remorse -- all she lacked was an invitation.

Polite gentleman that he was, Roy gave it to her. “In cases such as these frankness is of the utmost importance,” he assured Lila. “Your long years of service with Dante will have given you a unique appreciation for her qualites -- good and otherwise. For the purposes of this investigation, we need to know everything -- no matter how unflattering -- that may have a bearing on her death.”

“Well, if that’s the case . . . I don’t like to bring up such matters, but --”

Roy sincerely hoped that Lila would never be called upon to give an opinion of him after his death. Some of this vitriol had to have been building up for years! At least, one had to admit that she was equal opportunity in her abuse -- not only did Dante and her son come in for sound criticism, but Holmenheim and his staff were treated equally. Roy had not cared to know so much about Holmenheim’s fondness for strong spirits (which in Lila’s opinion bordered on dependence), Shezchka’s slovenly appearance and preoccupation with books and science (‘distinctly unfeminine if you get my meaning’), or Tucker’s erratic behavior and nervous fits (‘one doesn’t like to speculate but he does keep very odd hours . . . and it’s no secret that he hadn’t been able to hold down a steady job before this one’).

“I think that covers everyone in the household,” Hughes noted idly as Lila finished a vicious attack on Mrs Curtis highly suspicious ‘sickness’. “With the exception of the boys.”

“Well, you can’t say that Dante was overly fond of them, or they of her. I fancy she saw herself as the rightful mistress of this place, and Mr. Envy as its rightful heir. Edward and Alphonse were in her way.” Lila shrugged. “You can’t really blame them for resenting her. She was never an easy woman to please, and she didn’t even try to be considerate of them.”

“Would you say their father was aware of this?”

“Not him. I’m surprised he even remembers they’re present half the time.”

Hughes leaned forward. “Why would you suppose Holmenheim put up with her then?”

This was something Lila had evidently pondered herself. “The only possibility that I’ve come up with is that he endured her for Envy’s sake.”

“Envy?”

“She was his mother and they were close. Also, she could make life very difficult for him if she chose.” Lila nodded. “I think Holmenheim was prepared to put up with any amount of Dante’s vindictiveness, if it meant that Mr. Envy could live here. After all, it’s not as if he keeps him around for his skill as a secretary.”

“I see.” Farman evidently felt they were getting off track. “Now, could you tell us about the events of this morning?”

“I rose at 6:00 am, as is my usual custom, to assist Mrs. Curtis with breakfast. At 7, I brought Lady Dante her tray.”

“Did she normally rise so early?”

“Yes, she did. Usually, she sends me away and eats in bed but this morning she had me dress her and told me she wished to breakfast downstairs.” There was faint resentment in Lila’s tone. “We had to set the dining room just for her.”

“I understand she was making a journey?”

“Yes, she was heading to London. She sent me upstairs to pack her things immediately after I served breakfast and I was busy with her trunk after that.”

“Was there anyone else up at that time?”

For the first time during the entire interview there was a short pause before Lila answered. “No. No one at all.”

“No one?” Hughes said sharply.

Lila shook her head. “Not apart from myself and Mrs. Curtis. Mr. Curtis and Ross had breakfast with us in the kitchen, but they went outside immediately afterwards to ready the car.”

“I see.” Farman put his pen down. “Thank you very kindly, Miss White. I hope this wasn’t too arduous for you.”

“One last question if I may?” Hughes interposed himself quickly. “Miss White, I know this is an unusual question but what is your opinion of Edward’s condition?”

“His condition?” Lila blinked, obviously not expecting this. “Well, it’s very sad of course. I mean, for the family.”

“You have no other comments?”

“Well, naturally, the family wishes to be as discreet about it as possible,” Lila said, carefully. “We are allowed to know very little.” She paused, then continued softly. “I will say that it strikes me as very convenient.”

“Convenient?” Roy questioned. “For who?”

Lila shook her head. “I really couldn’t say. Edward’s a nice boy, and I wish him all the best but all the same . . . it happens, from time to time. Even in the best families, and well . . . a prolonged illness seems infinitely preferable in comparison.” She smiled brightly at them. “If that’s all, gentlemen?”

“Infinitely preferable to what exactly?” Roy whispered to Hughes as Farman accompanied Lila to the door.

Hughes shook his head. “For someone with so much to say, she provided very little in terms of facts,” he said softly. “She’s willing to talk about anything . . . except for what she knows.”

So Hughes had seen that as well? Roy smirked. “That reminds me of someone . . . very fond of their own voice, but never says anything useful . . . who could it possibly be?”

“Come off it.” Hughes caught him in the ribs. “Seriously, Roy, why do you think she lied?”

“It’s certainly not to protect someone. Plain to see that there is no love lost between Miss White and her employers.”

“No,” Hughes agreed. “Which suggests to me that Miss White has a rather more mercenary motive at heart.”

“Bribery?”

“Or blackmail. You’ll have to watch her, Roy.”

Chapitre 8

Lila had exerted her charm on her interviewers; Edward didn’t need to.

Roy would probably not have noticed it had it not been for the conversation with Hughes, but Farman’s tone softened as he greeted Edward and his manner as he showed him to his chair was vaguely patronising.

It was exactly what Roy had been doing; treating Edward as a child. Roy studied the boy, watching as he nodded his understanding of the interview process. He’d regained his colour, and he was taking the situation with all the gravity of an adult. If Roy hadn’t seen him so pale in the labratory --

“I’m not nervous,” Edward said, echoing Roy’s thoughts. “I’m ready to begin the interview.”

“We’ll try to keep this brief. Dante was a very old friend of your father’s, yes?”

“His former lover,” Edward corrected. “That part is true.”

Roy couldn’t help a smile at the confused expression on Farman’s face; clearly he was having trouble reconciling that answer with the child sitting calmly in front of them. Score one for Edward. “Would you tell us about the last time you saw her, Edward?”

“Alive, you mean? That would be last night. The Brigadier and the Colonel already know this, but there was an argument. I left rather early.”

Hughes was waggling his eyebrows at Roy, probably wondering why he had not been told about this. Roy gave him a look that said ‘this is what you get for being on the phone for three hours.’

“I see. And what were your actions this morning?” Farman was busy with his notebook again.

“Mrs Curtis woke Al and I for breakfast and we came downstairs to eat. Marcoh came downstairs shortly afterwards, with Envy and the Colonel following not long after that. Ross let us help with the car and then we watched while my bags were loaded into the car.”

“You did not see Lady Dante at all?”

“I didn’t exactly want to see her,” Edward admitted. “I didn’t want to go to London, so I wasn’t exactly going to go and look for her.”

“But you did.”Hughes pointed out.

“Only because everyone else was. I didn’t really want to . . . to find her.” Edward’s voice faltered slightly. As strong as the boy was, he was still recovering from a shock.

Farman’s reaction was equally sympathetic. “The colonel has already described how she was found. We won’t dwell on that. Just a few questions. Did anything strike you as odd about the laboratory when you entered?”

“I can’t say that I know the room very well. Father doesn’t let us in there,”Edward explained. “But there was a strong smell of chemicals -- something had been broken very recently.”

“By recently you mean . . . ?” Hughes sounded interested.

“Well, there were no windows open when we arrived, so the smell didn’t dissipate but even so . . . maybe half an hour before we arrived?”

That couldn’t be right. Marcoh had estimated the time of her death at least an hour before she was found -- but now Roy considered it, the smell had been very strong.

“You have experience with chemicals then?”

“Well, yes. Al and I were both given chemistry sets for Christmas last year, and we’ve done our fair share of experiments, in the course of which we’ve become well acquainted with spilling chemicals.”

“Playing with a chemical set is very different from the kind of thing your father does in his laboratory,” Farman said kindly, but firmly. “Was there anything else?”

Roy rather fancied that Edward looked annoyed that his observation was overlooked. “Not that I can think of. The door was open and I just went in and she was . . .”

“Quite. Well, thank you Edward. I hope this hasn’t been too distressing for you,” Farman stood to end the interview.

“One more thing, if I may?” Hughes cut in. “Did you remove anything from the laboratory, Edward? Anything at all.”

This time there was no hesitation before Edward answered. “No.”

“If you think of anything else later, let us know.” Hughes said, patting Edward’s shoulder. “Anything at all no matter how slight or unrelated it might seem.”

“I think we should send for Holmenheim next,” Farman decided. “Edward, would you ask your father to join us?”

“I’ll do it,” Roy said. “I could use the opportunity to stretch my legs.”

Hughes threw him a questioning look but didn’t protest. Neither did Edward. He was carefully not showing any emotion -- something that only confirmed Roy’s suspicion. He waited until they were alone in the corridor before turning to Edward. “So --”

“You’re in charge of the interviews?”

Roy was startled to find himself on defence. “Hardly. Merely assisting.”

Edward snorted. “Some social visit. What is really behind all of this?”

“You tell me.” Now Roy was back in command. “What did you take from the laboratory, Edward?”

The boy’s expression of shock was quickly masked. “Nothing,” Edward said, turning back down the corridor.

“Is that so?”Roy caught his arm. “Then you won’t mind showing me your pockets?”

That got a response. Edward didn’t tug his hand away, just glared at him. Roy met his gaze firmly. He was right about this, he knew it.

“Fine then,” Edward said eventually, tugging his arm free. “If I must.” He glared at Roy once more before tugging his jacket pockets out.

Nothing.

Edward raised an eyebrow at him. “Satisfied?”

If anything, Roy was even more convinced that Edward was lying. “Whatever it was, I highly suggest that you return it--”

“I hope the Colonel’s not bothering you, Edward.”

In hindsight, the hallway had been a poor choice of location for their conversation, Roy thought, turning to face Envy. The young man was still a far cry from his usual dapper self, although he’d regained enough self control to be chillingly polite.

“Not at all,” Edward said, moving away from Roy towards the staircase. “He’s merely doing his job.”

“His job?”Envy made room so that Edward could slip past him, frowning at Roy. His half-brother’s words clearly had him puzzled. “And what would that entail, Colonel?”

It would have to be brought up sooner or later, Roy knew, but he didn’t know how much Hughes was willing to give away. Before he could come up with a suitably non-commital answer, Edward leaned over the bannister to answer.

“He’s with the police. They both are.”

“Not exactly --” Roy’s protest went ignored.

“The police?” Envy looked sharply at him. Evidently, he’d had no suspicions that Roy and Hughes were anything but guests of their father’s friend. “But then why are you here -- do you know who did this?”

“Hughes will most likely tell everyone the full story later,” Roy said, holding up his hands placatingly. “Right now, all I’ll say is that we were investigating a matter that is very likely related to Lady Dante’s death, and will do our best to solve it --”

“See that you do.” There was such anger in Envy’s eyes, such fury, that it would not have been much of an exaggeration to say they burned. Roy thought about taking a step back but didn’t have a chance as Envy stepped forward, desperation making his words brittle. “Find the person responsible for her death and punish them -- they must pay for this!”

“What’s going on out here” Hoenheim opened the drawing room door. “Edward, Envy, you’re not quarrelling, are you?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Envy answered, managing an unconvincing smile. Edward said nothing, watching as his father joined Roy and Envy in the hall way. “The Colonel was just talking with us about --” Envy trailed off.

Holmenheim patted his son’s arm. “The police are doing all they can.”

Roy cleared his throat slightly. “On that note, I believe Inspector Farman would like to interview you next, Professor.”

“Of course. I’ll be on my way immediately.” Holmenheim squeezed Envy’s arm a final time, turning to Roy. “Shall we then?”

Roy nodded. “Mr Envy, I believe that you’re next to be interviewed. Do you think you’re up for it?”

“If it will help find the one responsible for this I will do whatever it takes,” Envy bowed to them, re-entering the drawing room with more spirit then politeness.

“I must apologise for my son’s indiscretion,” Holmenheim remarked, leading the way towards the study. “He’s not a bad sort but he is extremely fervent in his likes and dislikes.”

“I can see that,” Roy agree. “This must be a difficult time for him.”

Farman stood to greet Holmenheim politely but with none of the sympathy he’d addressed Lila or Edward with; evidently Nordic warriors weren’t his cup of tea. The more likely reason, however, was the fact that Holmenheim had openly acknowledged Dante as his misstress. This was the country, after all; people were inclined to be moral.

Polite remarks were made and the interview began. Holmenheim confirmed he had resided in Little River for well over a decade. “The nature of the interest my experiments received made me uneasy, frankly, and I thought it expedient to relocate.”

“So you moved here from Germany?” There was just a touch of hostility in Farman’s voice. Rou wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the words ‘Damned hun’ accompanying it. Was Farman former military as well?

“That is correct,” Holmenheim replied stiffly. “I was granted residency and England has been my home ever since.”

Hughes brought the interview back on topic. “Was it in Germany that you first met Lady Dante?”

“I believe so. It was during one of my earliest projects, while I was still a student.”

“She was also a student?”

“Yes.”

The resulting pause was broken by Farman’s polite cough. “We don’t wish to bring up painful memories but --”

“You won’t be content until the entire sordid affair is dragged out into the open?” Holmenheim didn’t bother to disguise the contempt in his voice. “If I must.”

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Hughes murmured. “So Dante was a student of the same University?”

“Same department, in fact. We were developing a process for refining certain chemicals for scientific and industrial use, and Dante took an interest in my work. She had connections with the University, and managed to get my work brought to the attention of the head of the department. I was granted a scholarship and a research budget, Dante became my assistant, and in time my partner.” Holmenheim stood abruptly, leaving his chair to stand by the window. Roy didn’t blame him, this couldn’t be easy. “She -- I was younger then, we both were, and for a while our goals coincided.”He rested one arm against the window frame, leanin against it as he looked out over the countryside. “I can honestly say I was happy, that it was one of the high points of my life. My project had every chance of success, and we could take our pick of investors. I think I could be forgiven for believing that life was perfect at that point. Dante and I had been together two years when it happened.”

He paused. Roy watched with interest as Holmenheim took a moment to push his glasses up, the memories obviously painful. What had happened that was powerful enough to have such effect on the man, even after so long?

“During the final stages of our project, when we were preparing our findings for publication, there was a rash of illnesses in the facility. I was among those effected. Migraines, lack of appetite, dizziness, loss of memory -- no one could explain it.”Holmenheim’s mouth twitched bitterly. “It was only gradually that we learnt the cause -- and the full extent of our disease.”

“You’ve no record of any serious illness,” Hughes said, a note of challenge in his voice.

Holmenheim’s smile was harsh. “I know better than to ask how you know that, Brigadier. Or even what else you know,” he replied, his fingers loosening his tie.

Hughes shrugged airily. “I did my homework.”

“Then perhaps you already know the rest of the story?”

“We know you lost the scholarship and had to leave the University. We don’t know why.”

“The University did a very good job of covering it up. They had to. The investors would have cut the funding altogether had they known.” Holmenheim shrugged out of his jacket.

“Known what?”

“That one of the byproducts of our refination process was a chemical poison.” Holmenheim undid his shirt, revealing the rows of bandages that covered his chest.“Look well, gentlemen; this is the result of my folly.”He pulled back the bandages.

Roy had seen many things in the war. This ranked up there with the worst. “Good god.”
The flesh was blackened and twisted -- was it burnt or decaying? Roy swallowed, forcing the bile back down his throat. He’d seen what happened to a wound left untreated, he’d seen soldiers with gangrene and he’d seen the effects of gas on a man. This was like an awful combination of all of those. “God,” he repeated. “You’re --”

“Dying. Yes.” Holmenheim calmly redid the bandages with practiced ease. “I find sympathy tedious, gentlemen. We shall dispense with it; this is my fault and mine alone.”

“Who knows about this?”Hughes had recovered from his shock. He was a tad pale, not that Roy could blame him. Working in Intelligence had shielded Hughes from the harsher aspects of the war. Farman had yet to regain speech.

“I couldn’t say.”Holmenheim rebuttoned his shirt, looking out the window once again. “The University kept it quiet, and most of the original project members are dead now. If things had ended there as they should have, I imagine very few people would have known the truth.”

“What happened?” Roy had gained new respect for Holmenheim. The scientist’s serious yet calm demeanour confirmed Roy’s initial impression of strength and purpose of will. It took a great man indeed to bear up in the face of such tragedy.

“I was sick for a month, delerious, weak -- the doctors had given up all hope. Somehow, I survived -- I can only credit my superior constitution. But upon recovery I discovered it might have been better had I perished -- Dante had gone, and so had our project notes. I was in hospital for a further 6 months, recovering, so I only learned the facts gradually. She had married a leading chemical manufacturer and they’d opened three new factories. I think I can leave you gentlemen to figure out the rest.”

“My god. That’s awful.”

“Surely you could have warned people?”

“I tried. My warnings were rejected as either delirious nonsense or the jealous attacks of a spurned lover. The University refused to back me up, and in the end the only thing I accomplished was attracting the attention of the government. Even at that stage a war was considered likely, and any type of weapon that could give us an advantage against our neighbours was investigated. To some, my unwitting creation seemed like the basis of a new form of warfare.”

Roy swallowed. He’d not been gassed, but he’d seen men who were . . . it was one of the war’s most hellish creations. It could linger for weeks, destroying everything . . .

“So you went to France?”Hughes asked.

“I went to France,” Holmenheim straightened his jacket, the bitterness just barely kept at bay. “I turned my back on my colleagues and country and joined the ranks of the defectors.”

“And in France?”

“There’s not much to tell there. My initial welcome wore out very quickly when it was discovered I had no intention of sharing my former research with them. I was arrested and about to be extradited when your redoubtable government stepped in.”Holmenheim calmly polished his glasses on a jacket sleeve. “I’m not at liberty to say more.”

“Now, look here. This is a murder investigation!” Farman protested. “I demand --”

“Holemenheim is correct.” Hughes placed a firm hand on Farman’s shoulder. “One of the conditions of his residency grant is his continued secrecy.”

Roy knew better than to expect Hughes to give them more than that. “Does anyone else know about this? Anyone in the household, I mean.”

“Marcoh probably suspects something of the sort, I’ve hinted as much, but I’ve kept it from the boys completely,” Holmenheim answered, replacing his glasses. “Dante knew, of course, but --”

Dante was dead.

“Given what you’ve told of us of your past acquaintance with Dante I’m suprised that you allowed her to stay in your house,” Farman observed, with clear challenge. “Under the circumstances one would expecta certain amount of hostility, even hatred?”

“I will allow that I was displeased when she came to London. Our paths did not cross often, and I took pains to avoid her when they did. She was likewise in no hurry to renew my acquaintance -- I fancy she feared I would have destroyed the new life she was creating herself by my knowledge -- no, perhaps I am too harsh. She told me later that she had been forced to leave under circumstances very similar to my own, only she had no government department willing to sponsor her. She relied instead on her wealth.”

“Ah, yes. She was a wealthy women then?”

“I believe so. She was always an intelligent woman, and her second marriage was advantageous if not entirely successful. I was under the impression that her former husband paid her a generous stipend as part of the divorce preceedings.”

Farman made a note of that. “From acquaintances who rarely met to a member of your household is quite a large jump,”he observed.

Holmenheim leaned over to the desk to help himself to a cigar. “Yes. I would have been quite happy to drop her all together had she not had something I wanted very much.”

“Envy?”

“You’re very astute, Brigadier. I’m not surprised you have the reputation that you do.” Holmenheim exhaled his cigar slowly, his fingers drummin on the arm of his chair. “Yes, she had my son.”

“And that was enough for you to overlook her alleged theft and your past involvement?” Farman wasn’t having any of this. “Didn’t you have your own children by this stage?”

“You don’t understand.” The barely contained emotion in Holmenheim’s answer startled Roy -- it was the first time in the difficult interview that the stalwart Professor had come near to losing control. “If you’d seen him that night, gentlemen, serious and pale, and so lost --” The sentence trailed off helplessly, and Holmenheim shrugged. “There was no question of me turning him away, any more than there was doubt he was mine.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Hughes suggested calmly, before Farman could annoy Holmenheim further. “How old was Envy when Dante came to England?”

“It pains me to admit that I’m not sure. It wasn’t until he was eleven that I knew he was mine. I’d heard that Dante had a son from her previous marriage, and later the rumours that he was illegitimate, but I’d never thought much of it. By that time, I’d married Trisha and we were happy. Between Edward and Alphonse and the project, I didn’t have the time to wonder what Dante was up to.”

“What happened when he was eleven?” Farman asked. “His mother sought your help on his behalf?”

“Quite the opposite. Dante’s marriage had been on tenuous ground for some time, and she was anxious to avoid any connection with me. She had, I gathered later, told her then husband the truth about Envy’s origins, and while willing to overlook a past lover, he was less pleased by the fact that said lover lived within easy travelling distance of London. No, it was Envy himself who sought me out.”

“Against his mother’s wishes?”

“It was evening, just gone eight or so and I was sitting in this very chair, Edward on my lap -- he would have been three or so. The butler opened the door, announcing that I had a visitor and there he was.” Holmenheim paused, looking to the door as he relived the scene in his mind. His voice was thick with emotion as he continued. “He just stood there, so thin and pale and said ‘I hope you’ll pardon the intrusion. I know it’s late, but I had to see you and--’”

It was disconcerting seeing the calm scientist give way to the father in Holmenheim. Roy wondered that he could have thought the man dispassionate. He was not overly demonstrative but when he spoke of his children, there was no doubt of his feelings.

“I said nothing,” Holemenheim continued. “I was stunned, shocked. I had no idea what to make of this child -- Edward shifted on my lap, drawing the boy’s gaze to him, and hurt and then disappointment registered on his face. It was painful to watch. ‘I see I’m disturbing you,’ he said, and if you could have heard the way he wavered over those words --” The professor’s fingers curled around the armrests of his chair. “The memory is painful even now. To think I’d had a son and didn’t even know of his existence -- it’s a failure that I will never allow myself to forget.”

“Fascinating as this is,” Farman interjected. “If we could get to the point . . . ?”

His suggestion was either ignored or unheard, Holmenheim’s attention firmly on the past. “He was on the brink of running when Edward grabbed his ankles and demanded to be picked up. He was a precocious child, but never a subtle one. What he wanted he got. Envy’s expression when confronted with him for the first time -- I found out later it was the first time in his memory that he’d interacted with another child. ‘What do I do?’ he asked me, sounding completely panicked. ‘Pick him up,’ I said, ‘and bring him here.’ He sat completely still while Edward climbed all over him, and demanded to know why Envy’s hair was long if he wasn’t a girl, why he wasn’t at home in bed --” Holmenheim expression was distant. “He was so little and lonely and scared --”

“Scared?” Hughes questioned.

“We found out that Envy had left his house without telling anyone, and travelled to Lincolnshire on a five pound note he got for his birthday. He didn’t have enough for the taxi fare to the house so he asked directions at the station and walked the entire way. Trisha had come down to collect Edward for bed by then, and we both agreed -- Envy would stay with us.”

“Your wife had no objections?”

Roy couldn’t fault Farman for being skeptical. He had difficulty imagining Envy as a child, himself. The young man was too self-contained, too sure of himself to ever make a convincing youth, or a sympathetic one.

Holmenheim did not welcome the insinuation.“There was no question of her not agreeing. If you’d seen him as he was that night, you would not have had the heart to turn him away either.” He strode over to a bookcase angrily. “I’ll show you -- here!”

It was a photo album. Roy took it, Farman and Hughes leaning over his shoulder to look. The album was opened on a page with a single photo, a family portrait. Holmenheim and Trisha stood together, each with one hand resting on the shoulders of a very thin child. Envy was almost lost within the photo. His hair was long even then, but his expression was anything but confident. His smile wavered as though it was his first time trying such an expression and he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. In contrast, Edward’s smile, one hand tangled in his half-brother’s hair and the other grabbing for the camera, was brilliant. If it hadn’t been for the careful hold Envy had on him he would most likely have fallen. Alphonse, in Trisha’s arms, smiled sleepily but contentedly.

Anything more unlike the Envy that Roy was familiar with could scarcely be imagined.“A remarkable contrast,” Roy bit his lip, afraid his words had been impertinent.

Holmenheim nodded in agreement. “You see, gentlemen? I’m very much afraid that Envy’s childhood was not happy . . . one hesitates to use the word neglect, but I understand that Dante’s marriage had been under strain for some time . . . it was a difficult situation.”

“I can imagine,” Hughes flipped through the album thoughtfully. “What did you do?”

“Dante came to collect the boy two days later. Trisha and I pleaded with her to let him remain with us longer -- even in that short amount of time, you wouldn’t believe the change in him. Dante was unwilling, saying that such an action would undoubtedly lead to rumour. She feared the effect it would have on her already tenuous marriage -- but finally we came to an arrangement. I found a suitable school for Envy -- by this stage things with her husband were so bad that he refused to pay for schooling for a child that was not his -- and he would come to us every year for the summer, spending all other holidays and weekends with his mother. Dante persuaded her husband to accept this arrangement, and for the next month until school started, we were a family of five.”

“It seems to have been a happy time for all of you,” Hughes said, flicking through the photographs. “There are an awful lot of photos of Envy and Edward together.”

“They quickly became inseperable,” Holmenheim said, smiling at the memory. “As it happened, Envy’s arrival happened at a very fortunate time -- Alphonse had contracted a very serious case of the measles and had to be kept seperate from his brother. Edward was accustomed to his brother’s company and did not take well to being left on his own. We had our hands full trying to keep him occupied. Luckily, he took to Envy immediately. In fact, we had difficulty trying to convince Edward to leave Envy alone to bathe and sleep.”

“Fascinating,” Farman attempted to stear the interview back on topic. “However --” He didn’t have a chance.

“I can just imagine. My Alicia is at this age now -- a real handful!”

“Edward was extremely precicious for his age. Poor Envy didn’t have a chance -- Edward bullied him into anything he wanted. Not, I suspect, that Envy minded much. He didn’t have much in the way of playmates, and taking care of Edward was a novel experience for him. We had as much tears from him when I took him to school for the start of term as we did noise and tantrums from Edward.”

Roy gave Hughes and Holmenheim a sour look. One over fond father in a household was quite enough -- and he didn’t like the way Hughes kept turning over the photo album in his hands. It was like he was plotting something . . . “This arrangement continued until Envy finished school?”

“Yes. During this time his mother’s marriage failed and she divorced. She spent more time with Envy and I fancy, took more of an interest in the child. He’d gained confidence at school and with us, and just seemed to grow in self control and composure every time we saw him.”

“How did this effect your relationship with Dante?”

“For the sake of the children, Trisha and I made an effort to remain on amicable terms with Dante, and respected her wishes regarding her privacy. Shortly after her divorce, we approached Dante about the possibility of adopting Envy legally as our own. To our surprise, she was strongly against the idea, and took pains to prevent us from having contact with him. I’m afraid we parted on rather poor terms. We didn’t see Envy for two years after that.” Holmenheim paused. “I hate to speak ill of the mother of my child, but the fact remains that Dante could be volatile.”

“She deliberately prevented you from having contact with him?” That put things that had puzzled Roy since his arrival into a new perspective. He’d been wondering why Holmenheim might tolerate Dante’s behavior, but if he feared that she would use her own son to her advantage --

“I’m afraid that is correct. Gentlemen, I’ve kept these facts from the boys -- including Envy. I would appreciate it if you were to do the same. I fear -- well, Envy has just lost his mother. This is painful enough a time for him.”

“We quite understand.” Hughes gave Farman a warning look before continuing. “You wouldn’t characterise your relationship with Dante as happy then?”

“For the sake of the children, I got on with her. She was dear to me once, and despite our differences, we did have a lot in common. After Trisha’s death, I relied more on her company but . . . she never came close to replacing my wife.”

Farman noted that down with a frown. “The last time you saw the deceased?”

“Last night. I retired early from the drawing room for bed. Shortly afterwards, Dante knocked on my door to see if I was feeling well, and we had a short discussion. She was anxious to reassure me about the doctor she’d found for Edward. I’d had a bad blow that afternoon . . .” Holmenheim looked to Hughes and Roy. “I didn’t feel like talking and bid her goodnight.”

“A bad blow -- that would be the theft of your notes?” Farman inquired.

Holmenheim nodded. “I still have difficulty believing that someone in my employ could have done that.”

“It’s possible that she surprised the theif in the process of making another attempt on your research,” Hughes suggested carefully. “Or that the Lady was responsible . . .”

Holmenheim looked bleakly at the study walls. “She said that she’d acted in haste, that she hadn’t understood the true implications of our illness. She feared that the University would destroy our project entirely, and with me expected to die she took the only course open to her to save our work --” He paused a moment before continuing. “I would like very much to believe that she told the truth.”

“Indeed,” Farman’s tone made it quite clear what he thought of that. “Thank you, Professor, you’ve been very helpful.”

Roy leaned into Hughes as Farman showed Holmenheim to the door. “An interesting story. What do you make of it?”

“It explains a lot,” Hughes said, thoughtfully. “If he’s telling the truth.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“Not at all. I get a strong impression of sincerity from him. However -- there’s a lot we simply don’t know. I suspect that there may be something that Holmenheim has neglected to mention for mentions of propriety.”

“I don’t believe him,” Farman said, rejoining them. “Mark my words, gentlemen, nine out of ten cases like this it’s the husband who’s the guilty party. This looks like a cut and dried domestic squabble to me. He was in this very room, right next door to the lab, when she died, and there is no one to verify he remained here the entire time.”

“I’m not so sure,” Hughes said. “Besides, Investigator, you forget -- Holmenheim was never her husband.”

The police officer shrugged. “Mere details.”

“In crime, the details are everything,” Hughes cautioned. “I suggest we wait and see what the other members of the household have to say before rushing to any conclusions.”

Farman consulted his notebook.“Well, we’ve got the illegitimate child next -- Envy. What sort of name is that?”

Roy bent down to speak to Hughes privately. “Is there something bothering you about the photos? You haven’t put the album down once.”

“Hmm? Oh, far from it. Look at this, old bean!”A portrait of a rather cranky looking baby was pushed into Roy’s face. “Don’t you think Alicia needs an album like this? Holmenheim is truly a genius -- the moment I get back to London, I’m taking my darling to a photo studio. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I allowed her cuteness and growth to go unrecorded any longer!”

Roy felt the chilly touch of sudden premonition. “Thrilling.”

Chapitre 9

Envy was indeed his father’s son. Like Holmenheim, he conducted himself with coolness and self-restraint even in the face of obvious grief. Roy approved of this, but somehow found it hard to pity him.

“My mother was not an easy woman to understand,” Envy said. Something in the set of his mouth and shoulders suggested that pity would be unwelcome. “Her forthright manner of doing things may have angered people on occasion, but she never meant harm. I demand that you find whoever is responsible for this and bring them to justice.”

“We intend to do all we can,” Farman assured him crisply. “Now, if we could ask you a few questions?”

Envy’s version of the events leading to his and Dante’s presence in the Elric household tallied exactly with Holmenheim’s. “Holmenheim wanted me to continue onto University, but Mother insisted I take a job in the private sector. About that time I saw that Father was advertising for a secretary and I applied.” He added with just a trace of his former smug smile, “I was probably not the most qualified candidate for the position.”

“It was your idea and not Dante’s?”

“Yes. At that time they’d quarrelled. I’m not clear on the details, but the only contact I had with Father was through letters, and even that Mother wasn’t keen on. I didn’t tell her about the job until the contract was signed. She wasn’t pleased, but she quickly saw the advantages.”

“She did not approve of you having contact with your Father then?” Farman hovered avidly over his notebook.

“It wasn’t Holmenheim she minded -- she was very happy for me to spend time with him. Trisha though -- Trisha was the kind of woman my mother despised most. She wasn’t ambitious, or socially active in the slightest. Her entire world consisted of her sons and husband. My mother had worked hard to be treated as the equal of a man. She feared the effect that association with Trisha would have on my outlook,” Envy explained placidly.

“And that was enough of a reason to keep you from your Father?” If Roy hadn’t already thought that Dante’s priorities were somewhat askew, that alone would have done it.

“She was only acting in my best interests,” Envy insisted. “Everything she did, she had me in mind.”

Frankly, Roy disagreed, but it would have been cruel to dissuade the young man. “She wanted to see you Master of this house, did she not?”

Quickly masked surprise flittered across Envy’s face as he replied, “How do you know that?”

Smart move, Roy congratulated himself. He couldn’t exactly say he was hiding in a closet outside Dante’s room at the time. “I caught a snatch of conversation as I was retiring last night. You and your mother were discussing Edward’s treatment, I believe?”

Farman consulted his notebook.. “You didn’t mention that you’d seen your Mother after dinner last night.”

“I didn’t think it was important,” Envy shrugged. “Before going to bed I stopped by her room. I wanted to ask her about the trip to London. I was suprised -- this was the first I’d heard about it.”

“Your mother usually confided her plans in you?”

“Mostly.” Roy had the very strong impression that Envy was not happy with the turn of the conversation. “I wasn’t really very interested in her social committees, but I knew the main outlines of what she was doing, and she sometimes dictated letters to me. I had no inkling that she’d been in correspondence with a doctor of Gran’s reputation, and that surprised me.” His voice sounded faintly wounded as he continued. “You’d think she’d have told me, at least.”

“It surprised you then to discover your mother’s planned trip to London?” Hughes asked casually. Roy wondered what he was playing at; Hughes had been unusually quiet during this interview.

“I don’t think anyone expected it,” Envy agreed. “In fact -- well, it seemed rather odd to me. Mother liked to talk about her ideas and plans a lot. To bring this out so suddenly -- well, it seemed almost --” he hesitated. “Deliberate.”

“In what way?” As Envy looked unwilling to continue, Hughes hastened to reassure him. “Our understanding of the deceased will impact greatly our ability to find the party responsible for her death. As you’ve already stated, your mother was not an easily understood woman. As the person closest to her, it’s only natural that you would be better acquainted than any other with her personality and her . . . quirks. We won’t judge her, we only want the truth.”

Envy nodded, though measuring his words carefully before speaking. “It seemed to me rather like she’d left it untill the last minute to ask so that there wouldn’t be time to say no. Mother was very definite on getting her way.”

That was putting it mildly, Roy thought. “What did you make of her intentions?”

Envy looked plainly uncomfortable. “Well, I really don’t know. Of course, she wanted to help Edward but she didn’t believe in coddling invalids either. Mother was of the opinion that extreme action was necessary in Edward’s case, and it infuriated her that Holmenheim would not be persuaded to send Edward to a clinic or a hospital more suited for him.”

“Always a woman of action, wasn’t she?” Hughes suggested, silkily. “Do you have any idea why Holmenheim was so reluctant to take her advice?”

Envy answered promptly. “Oh that’s no secret. It was Trisha’s last request -- her last words to him before she died.”

That startled Roy. “Her last words? I understood she was found already dead --”

“She was. It happened earlier that afternoon. They’d been arguing over whether or not Edward and Alphonse should go to school, and they parted without making up. Before she left, Trisha asked Father to promise her that whatever happened, Edward and Alphonse would not be parted.” Envy paused, a melancholy expression coming over his face. “She was like that.”

“A strange request,” Hughes said, leaning in curiously. “Did she have reason to think the family might be separated?”

“I’m not really at liberty to say,” Envy said softly. “I -- it was a difficult time for everyone, and well, Trisha and I hadn’t been close for some time.” He hesitated, then added, “Mother might have been the cause of that.”

“She’d taken a house in the neighbourhood by that stage, hadn’t she?” Hughes prodded. “I imagine that might have caused stress -- old acquaintances and all.”

“Mother didn’t exactly make things easy,” Envy confessed softly. “She was -- well, I suppose it can’t hurt to say it now.” He looked up at the three men interviewing him squarely. “She was still in love with him,” he said. “That was why her marriage failed, why she hated Trisha, why she didn’t want me to have much to do with Holmenheim. After all that time, after all that had happened she still --” His voice wobbled slightly “-- loved him.”

Roy glanced towards Hughes and Farman. The police officer caught his eye and nodded. It would be ungentlemanly to press now.

“Would you like a minute?”

“I’ll be all right, I -- you know, I think it’s only just hit me. She’ll never have the chance to acheive her dream, she’s dead --” Envy struggled valiantly to calm himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can continue.”

“We understand. It’s all right, you’ve helped us enough.” Farman showed Envy to the door. “If you think of anything else, let us know.”

Roy averted his eyes out of tact as Envy left - the young man clearly didn’t want a spectacle made of his emotions. He nudged Hughes as the door shut behind the youth. “Who’s next on the list?”

“Tucker, then Shezchka, and I’d like a word with Mrs. Curtis,” Hughes said. “See if you can round them up for me, Roy?”

“What, am I your man-servant now?” To be honest, the prospect of stretching his legs a bit was not unwelcome. Roy was much more at home making decisions, foiling schemes, getting out in the thick of things. These seemingly endless interviews were growing tiresome.

“If you see Mrs Curtis, try and rustle up some grub,” Hughes instructed. “A plate of sandwiches would be fine.”

“Could do with a cup of tea myself,” Farman agreed. “A biscuit or two wouldn’t go amiss either.”

Roy eyed them both sourly. “Anything else?”

“See if Marcoh and Holmenheim have had time to see if anything is missing from the lab.” Hughes, for all his vaunted observational skills, had a remarkable blind spot to sarcasm directed his way. “And remember I like lemon in my tea, but not too much. Just the slightest hint of it - Roy, I haven’t fin -“

The drawing room was empty; Roy found Lila in the dining room clearing away the last of the lunch dishes.

“I haven’t seen Shezchka all day,” she said in response to Roy’s inquiries. “But I think that Tucker’s in his rooms. He said something about taking care of Nina and went upstairs ages ago.”

About time the man showed some initiative, Roy thought. “His rooms are near the school room?”

“At the end of the corridor from yours,” Lila loaded the last of the dishes onto her tray. “Sandwiches and tea was it? I’ll let Mrs Curtis know.”

Roy reached out idly to toy with a lock of her hair. “Make sure to mention that Hughes prefers his tea with lots of milk and sugar.”

Lila smiled at him, putting a suggestive lilt on the words as she replied. “Milk and sugar, was it?”

Roy smiled, reaching out to cup her chin gently. “Lashings of it,” He purred, leaning in.

There was a sudden burst of noise from the garden, and Roy stepped back in haste.

“Alexander! Leave the policeman alone -- bad dog!”

“Nina, wait! You’re going to get your pinafore dirty!” Alphonse paused as he caught sight of Roy and grinned, abandoning his pursuit of girl and dog to lean in the window. “One of the officers let me ride in the police car! We went all the way to the gate and back! And I got to see real handcuffs!”

“Astounding.” Somehow Alphonse’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Roy found himself wandering over to the window to reply. “Did you get to try them on?”

“No,” Alphonse admitted ruefully. “Although, I have to say they weren’t what I expected. I thought handcuffs were, you know, padded.”

“Padded?” Roy was baffled. “I’ve only been arrested once, and I have to say the handcuffs they used on me were definitely not padded.”

“How odd,” the boy looked momentarily confused then brightened. “Maybe it’s because they weren’t ladies’ handcuffs.”

“Ladies . . . ?”

“Alphonse, if someone sees you standing in the flower bed, there will be hell to pay,” Lila interposed gently.

“Oh, right. I’d better come inside then.”

“Not through the window, you don’t! You young man are going to get out of the flower bed, fetch Nina and come around to the back door, and don’t even think of coming inside until you’ve cleaned your shoes, you understand?”

“Yes, Lila.” Alphonse answered meekly. He waited until Lila had waltzed out of the dining room with the tray before asking Roy, “Have they finished the interviews yet?”

“We’ve still got a few to go,” Roy told him.

Alphonse brightened hopefully. “Oh, I see. Well, if you need me, I’ll probably be in the kitchen or the school room.”

“Ah . . . thank you, Alphonse. I’ll pass that on.” The boy looked so expectant. Somehow Roy couldn’t bring himself to say that they weren’t going to need to question him. “I should be off, I’m supposed to be fetching Tucker.”

Tucker was not in the school room, but in his quarters right next door. He didn’t open his door at Roy’s knock, but stuck his head around the door, giving the Colonel a glimpse of an untidy room, clothes and papers scattered everywhere.

“I say, Colonel, this is most unexpected,” Tucker said with a weak laugh. “What can I do for you?”

“The police have a few questions,” Roy informed him. “We’d appreciate it if you could join us shortly.”

“Ah -- of course,” Tucker tugged at his tie. “I’ll be right down.”

“Thank you,” Roy looked down the hall way. “Which room is Shezchka’s?”

“Shezchka?”

“Yes, we wish to interview her after you.”

“So you’re not -- ah, of course.” It may have been Roy’s imagination, but Tucker suddenly seemed a lot more relieved. “Other wing, third on the right.”

Like Tucker, Shezcka was slow to open her door, but unlike Tucker, she had an obvious reason for her delay.

“Couldn’t find my glasses,” she explained, blinking fuzzily at Roy. “Did you want something, Brigadier Hughes?”

She was still in her night clothes, a robe clasped loosely around her. It was too big for her and threatened to slip from her slender shoulders -- only the delicate hand clutching the neck of the robe kept it together. Roy was startled to realise that free from the drabness of her customary garments, the researcher had a good figure, and features that were quite appealing.

"I'm not Brigadier Hughes," he pointed out. "Not much of a morning person?"

Shezchka's embarrassment was extreme. "Oh, Colonel, I'm sorry! Without my glasses, I'm just impossible -- I'm really sorry!"

"Think nothing of it," Roy assured her. Now that he'd had time to take in the details of her deliciously disheveled appearance, he'd noticed that Shezchka's lips were somewhat bruised and that there were long shadows under her eyes. Clearly, she had not slept well last night, and Roy had a very good idea why.

"I should apologise for disturbing you, but the police want a few words," He explained.

"What -- now?" Shezchka was clearly not expecting this. "I can't go downstairs like this!"

"You have some time," Roy reassured her. "We'll be interviewing Tucker first."

"That's lucky. Of course, I'm anxious to help and all, but I don't see what I can tell the police. I mean, I've been resting all morning. I didn't even come down for breakfast."

"Even so, I think the police would be interested in hearing what you call tell them of your work and the family," Roy reassured her. He hesitated then added, "You might want to put a scarf on."

"A scarf?" Shezchka blinked at him, patting her neck absently. Comprehension dawned and she flushed. "Oh! Thank you, Colonel!"

"Not at all. We'll be waiting in the study."

Roy continued downstairs feeling smug. He had the feeling that Hughes would be very interested in this piece of news.

--oOo--

Hughes was.

"You, Roy, are the goods."

Roy permitted himself a smirk. "Naturally. So, any idea who the lucky fellow is?"

"I can't believe it," Farman shook his head. "Shezckha's always given me the impression that she didn't have any interest in men outside of work and books."

"Envy is very good looking," Roy admitted. "And it would explain why Lila is so down on Envy. I can't imagine she'd take being looked over in favour of a bookworm well."

"If Lila had been ditched in favour of Shezchka, I rather fancy there would be rather a lot more venom directed her way -- Lila's not one to spare her tongue."

“You may have a point there,” Roy conceded, remembering Lila’s attack on Envy. Her words about Shezchka in contrast appeared positively benign. “Perhaps Lila didn’t know?”

It sounded unlikely even to him.

“Holmenheim and Shezchka would naturally be thrown together a lot in the lab,” Hughes speculated carelessly. “It could happen -- and I can’t imagine Dante being terribly impressed if it did. If she’d got wind of it--”

“So one or both of them killed her? I won’t believe it,” Farman shook his head.

Roy agreed. “Holmenheim doesn’t strike me as one to take to murder to cover up an affair. Much more likely to brazen through it. And I can’t think of a less likely murderer than Shezchka.”

“What if the fellow had a more pressing reason to cover things up?” Hughes suggested. “A married man?”

“No,” Farman said immediately.

“Sieg could have done it,” Roy admitted slowly. “He can move very quietly when he wants to.” The shaving razor incident was fresh in his mind.

There was a hesitant knock at the door. “Ah, I’m ready for my interview . . .”

Tucker? Roy shared a glance with Hughes and Roy, and all three of them shook their heads. Definitely not Tucker.

The tutor was clearly ill at ease during the entire interview. He stumbled over his account of his history of employment, contradicted himself over his movements of the morning and completely forgot to mention that he’d been near the laboratory at all. When Roy mentioned seeing him in the hallway, he at first denied it, then hastily said that he was looking for a book. he’d misplaced.

“A book?” Farman made a note. “I was under the impression that the laboratory and study were kept locked, and there are no other rooms down that hall way --

“Quite. As soon as I got there, I realised how unlikely it was and turned around.”

“I heard a door close,” Roy insisted.

“Oh, I may have tried the handle of a door, but I didn’t go in.” Tucker laughed weakly. “Was there anything further, gentlemen?”

“Just one small detail,” Hughes said. “Which door did you try?”

“Door?”

“There are two down that hallway -- the laboratory and the study.” Hughes leaned in. “Which was it?”

“Ah -- the study, of course.”

“Was there anyone in the study?”

“I didn’t see. I told you, I didn’t go in.”

Hughes nodded at Farman; that could be easily verified.

“Thank you, Mr. Tucker. That will be all.”

“He’s lying?” Roy asked

“Certainly looks that way.” Hughes nodded. “Of course, we’ll have to ask Holmenheim if Tucker came to the study while he was there.”

Farman made a note of that. “His manner did not impress me. We’ll definitely have to do some research on him.”

“Very wise,” Hughes said. “All the same --”

“What is it, old bean?”

“Striking Dante down from behind,” Hughes said thoughtfully. “She obviously wasn’t expecting it. To see a chance, to get her into the laboratory, to calmly walk away afterwards -- whoever did it, must have had nerve.”

Roy snorted. Tucker did not have nerve, that was certain. “He could have done it in a panic. That would explain why he’s gone all to pieces now.”

Farman made a note. “He’s guilty of something. The question is simply ‘of what’.”

Shezchka had managed to find her glasses, and her scarf. By the time she joined the men in the study, the researcher was looking much more her typical self. Only the shadows under her eyes betrayed her.

Her account of how she came to be employed by Holmenheim was exactly the same as the one she’d given Roy in the living room the first night of their visit; and she hadn’t noticed anything amiss last night.

“Of course, I didn’t notice anything this morning. I didn’t get out of bed until -- well, until Lila informed me there’d been a murder.”

Farman coughed delicately. “Is there, uh, anyone who can collaborate that?”

Shezchka turned a rich pink. “I’m afraid not.”

“You’re sure?”

Shezchka nodded, still blushing. They weren’t able to get anything further out of her the rest of the interview.

“Well,” said Roy. “That didn’t tell us much.”

“Here’s hoping we have better luck with Mrs. Curtis.”

Mrs. Curtis was not in evidence in the hall way, the drawing room or even the dining room. They eventually found her in the kitchen.

“I hope you gentleman will excuse me if I keep on working,” she said, peeling potatoes at the sink. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.” She was the only one who appeared entirely unruffled by the interview, hair caught back in a casual ponytail, apron neat over her practical brown dress.

“We appreciate that you’re busy, of course,” Farman said. “We’ll try to keep this as brief as possible.”

“I first met Holmenheim when I was a student,” Mrs. Curtis informed them calmly. “We were at the same University.”

“Then you’d have met Dante then as well?”

“Only in passing. Dante and I never had much oppurtunity to meet -- I was an under-graduate at that stage. Not a very promising student either -- of course, I had other concerns.” She paused a moment to blush like a schoolgirl, much alarming Roy in the process.

“That would be --?”

“Sieg and I met in Munich -- the Oktoberfest.” It was nothing short of scary to watch the extremely practical housekeeper give way to a swooning fit more commonly associated with girls of tender years and little sense. “We reached for the tankard at the same time, our fingers touched and our eyes met across the tankard of foaming larger --”

“Sounds positively romantic,” Roy interrupted hastily. “So how long have you been in England?”

“A little over two years. We were in France, for my health, and starting to become concerned about funds when we saw an article about Mrs Elric’s death in the paper. We hadn’t seen Holmenheim in decades --”

“And you came hoping he could help?”

Izumi smiled ruefully. “When you put it like that it sounds as though we’re merely freeloaders. I won’t deny that we weren’t a little desperate . . . We’d had a butcher shop. The war hit us hard, but we managed to struggle through. Things were just beginning to go our way, I took a job as a chemist’s assistant to help pay our bills and just as looked as though everything might be all right . . .”

“What happened?”

“You gentlemen must know that my health is not sound. We were just managing to live quietly when my condition took a turn for the worse. Between losing my job and the doctor’s bills . . . well, we sold the store, but treatment in France took up most of our savings. My health was improved, but we were at a loose end. I knew I could count on Holmenheim to give us a place until something turned up.”

“And that was two years ago?”

“I did not expect to stay longer than a few weeks. With an introduction from Holmenheim I might find work in any laboratory in London, and there is always jobs for a man of my dear husband’s strength -- Sieg is so industrious!”

Not again. “Why would you stay then?” Roy asked hastily, hoping to forestall another romance induced side-track.

Izumi paused, knife and potato still in hand. “I’d never intended to stay,” she said softly. “Holmenheim and I hadn’t communicated in years. If it wasn’t for the boys --”

“Edward and Alphonse?” Roy was baffled. “What do they --”

Hughes put a hand on his shoulder. “Let Mrs. Curtis finish.”

She nodded thanks to Hughes, turning to face them from the sink, her smile oddly sad. “Thank you, Brigadier. You have a child of your own, do you not?”

Hughes nodded. “Please continue.”

“I can never have children,” Mrs Curtis continued. “I’ve always wanted a family -- Holmenheim has no idea what he has. Two perfectly good sons and no time for them. It’s enough to drive you mad.” She picked up the vegetable knife again, deliberately returning to her work. “I gather that after Trisha’s death Holmenheim threw himself into his work with something approaching obssession. Alphonse and Edward were -- well, someone had to take them in hand.”

“And that someone was you?”

Mrs. Curtis snorted. “You think Tucker was capable?”

Roy was liking her more and more every second. “True enough. What did you think of Dante then?”

“She was hardly concerned for the boys’ welfare. There was absolutely no way I was going to leave while she was in charge of things.”

“We appreciate your frankness,” Hughes said. “Is there anything you can tell us about today’s unfortunate events?”

Izumi proved to have an excellent memory. Her account of the morning’s routine accounted exactly with those they’d heard earlier.

“That certainly clears things up,” Farman said, making note after note. “If only all our witnesses were so reliable.”

“Glad to be of service,” Mrs Curtis edged past Roy to put the bowl of peeled potatoes down on the kitchen table. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dinner on.”

“She managed that rather nicely, don’t you think?” Hughes remarked. “We learnt very little new infomation from her.”

“You want to go back?” Roy asked.

“Not likely,” Hughes stretched, grinning widely. “I’m just as glad to have all the interviews done with.”

Something moved in the shadows above as they re-entered the main hallway, and Roy looked up to see Alphonse leaning over the bannisters above, Edward with him. As he saw Roy look up, the boy smiled and waved.

Roy sighed. “There is one more interview left to go.”

--oOo--

“Do you want to take my finger prints?” Alphonse sat on the very edge of his father’s armchair, alert with excitement. “Or maybe we should go to the station so that I can look at suspects.”

“Ah -- that probably won’t be necessary,” Farman interrupted apologetically. “Unless you saw the murder take place, we’ll just ask you a few questions --”

“But I know who did it!” Alphonse insisted. “It was Envy, it had to be.”

Not this again. “What reason would Envy have to kill his mother -- the only family he had for most of his life?” Roy pointed out.

Alphonse was momentarily daunted. “I’m not sure, but I　know it was him -- maybe he killed her so he wouldn’t be suspected!”

What the blazes? That didn’t even make sense! “Alphonse --”

“Maybe we could start with your movements last night and this morning,” Hughes interrupted, bringing the interview back on track. “Let’s start with the last time you saw Lady Dante.”

Alphonse was definitely the most entertaining, if not the most accurate witness thus far, his account filled with so much intrigue and dire foreboding that Roy was sure the boy could have had a future writing for any of the more sensational newspapers. Almost every word or gesture Envy had made last night was pronounced to have been full of murderous intent or cunning.

“So you see!” He wound up an in depth tirade on Envy’s smug manner at breakfast (“Because he was obviously expecting to get away with it”). “It had to be him.”

Farman shut his notebook. “Enlightening as this is, I’ll need more in the way of facts, Alphonse. Envy’s been part of your family a long time, I understand?”

“It was better before he became father’s secretary,” Alphonse said resentfully. “Then we only had him for the holidays. One year we didn’t have him at all. That was great.”

“You don’t get on with your half-brother then?”

“He’s so annoying,” Alphonse complained. “And everyone always likes him best. Even Edward and he’s supposed to be my brother.”

Sibling rivalry? Roy supposed he should have expected that. “Edward and Envy get on well then?”

“They always used to do stuff together and leave me out. It’s not my fault I’m the youngest. But they don’t so much now that Edward’s sick and Envy’s busy all the time with Father’s work.” Alphonse settled back in the armchair, frowning slightly.

“Interesting that such a big change would occur,” Hughes said, leaning in. “Alphonse, can you remember if it happened before or after your Mother’s death?”

“I’m not sure. After I think.”

“Do you think that had an effect?”

“Well, without mother there was no-one to stop Envy from picking on us. He always gets us into trouble. Father never believes anything we say, and Tucker’s too scared of Dante to tell him to stop. Also -“ Alphonse paused. “Well, after she died - that changed everything. Ed stopped talking to me, Father never had any time for us and Envy got - he got crueler. I know it was him, but I don’t know how - and I don’t understand why Ed won’t believe Envy had anything to do with her death.”

“The enquiry into your mother’s death produced no evidence of foul play, Alphonse,” Farman said gently. “I was a lieutenant then, remember? I presented the police findings at the court case.”

“But--”

Farman quoted from memory easily; “Questioning of friends and family members present in the Elric household produced no suggestion of death by design. The only member of the household who might have had the opportunity to commit foul play, being confirmed as absent from his rooms at a crucial time (although no likely motive was ever suggested), Mr. Dante, was in the company of Master Elric, the oldest son, during the likely time of death and was afterward cleared of all connection with the incident.” He patted Alphonse’s shoulder. “Edward confirmed that Envy was no where near the stairs at the time. I know it was a difficult way to lose your mother, Alphonse, but you must accept -“

Alphonse brushed the well-intentioned hand aside and stood. “I know what I know,” he said, abruptly. “If you won’t believe me, I’ll find someone who will.”

“I do feel sorry for Alphonse,” Farman said as the study door shut behind the boy. “He’s not a bad child but he does take things to heart.”

“You know the family then?”

“Course of duty and all. I was investigating Mrs Elric’s death.” The police officer shook his head. “You know, it’s rum the way things happen -- if either of the boys were to cut up rough over their mother’s death, I’d have thought Edward much more likely. Alphonse was upset of course, tears, carrying on, but quite natural for an eleven year old. Edward -- well, that quiet wasn’t normal for him.”

“Surely grief affects everyone differently?” Roy suggested.

“You’re right there,” Farman nodded. “And even when they were young, Edward had a tendency to try to be grown up and strong for his brother. They were brought in to the station once, accidentally breaking someone’s window or something -- youthful shennanigans and so forth. Alphonse was in tears, but Edward managed to be calm and apologise. It was really impressive actually, for a child his age. Even so --” Farman shook his head. “Holding something so tightly inside can’t be good for you. The mind needs to express itself.”

“You on your way then?” Hughes asked, as the officer stood, gathering his notebook.

“I want a search-warrant -- that Tucker is definitely hiding something,” Farman said. “And I’d like to hear the results of the official autopsy.”

“I might come with you,” Hughes said. “There are a few things I’d like to check up on.” He clapped Roy on the back. “You think you’ll be all right holding the fort on you own, old man?”

Roy snorted, seeing them to the door. “This is hardly what I consider holding the fort, Hughes. Give me some credit.”

“True enough,” Hughes clapped him on the back, then paused, his hand coming to rest on Roy’s shoulder. “All the same -- be careful, Roy. There’s been at least one murder here already --”

“You forget who you’re talking to,” Roy smirked. “Jerries couldn’t bring me down, I hardly think a weekend in the country is going to.”

“If you say so.” Hughes squeezed his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time as he made haste to join Farman at his automobile. “Just don’t do anything foolish!”

Roy tossed him a mocking salute. “Have no fear. I have no intention of leaving the body any where you lot will find it.”

Chapitre 10

Roy hadn’t thought that Dante’s absence would be anything but beneficial; it appeared he was mistaken. Holmenheim, Envy and Marcoh had gathered in the drawing room to commiserate; a more dispirited gathering could hardly be imagined.

“It makes no sense,” Holmenheim said softly. His fingers played softly in Envy’s hair, a fatherly gesture of comfort. Envy sat at his feet, resting against the side of Holmenheim’s armchair. It was a childlike pose, odd for the usually sophisticated young man, but the anger and shock of loss had faded somewhat, replaced by acceptance and a gentler type of grief. He spoke little, lost in his own thoughts, and resembled nothing so much as a bereft child seeking reassurance.

He would not be left to grieve alone. Roy sipped the wine he held, watching the subtle sympathy between father and son, and wondered how long it would be until Envy became officially an Elric. Without Dante’s objections, there was nothing to stop it happening . . .

“The papers that are missing,” Holmenheim continued, shaking his head. “They just don’t make sense. Not only are they not important, but they’re not even in order --”

“There are papers missing then?” Roy stood, eager to take the excuse to leave the gloomy atmosphere of the drawing room. “I should let Hughes know.”

Marcoh nodded as Roy stood to leave. “Actually, Holmenheim, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the boys. It might do them good to get away from the house for bit--”

The phone at the police station was engaged.

Roy wasn’t surprised. He sincerely hoped that the criminal citizens of Lincolnshire would restrain themselves a few days; with Hughes in the vicinity he doubted any calls to the station would be getting through. Of course, this now meant he was at a loss what to do with himself. As he weighed his options in the hallway he heard a burst of music from the kitchen. Intrigued, Roy went to investigate.

He’d never imagined a scene of such happy domesticity could take place in that household. Sieg was drying the dishes, a stew pot bubbling merrily on the stove. The apron gave him a fond paternal air and for some reason he did not look quite so fearsome as usual. The fire was lit and Alphonse sat in front of it, Nina beside him, both of them engrossed in the book of fairy tales that he was reading to her. Mrs. Curtis sat at the table, peeling carrots as she chatted with Edward who had the parts of a wireless spread out before him. As Roy watched he made an adjustment with a screwdriver, and the radio crackled into life.

“That ought to do it,” the boy said with a grin. “It wasn’t broken, it just needed a bit of fine tuning.”

“You’re a marvel, Edward.” Lila spun round happily as a popular dance song aired. “Dance with me?”

“Not likely.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport, Ed.” Lila pouted prettily. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Make Al do it.”

“Brother!” Alphonse didn’t seem very enthused about this suggestion.

“Alphonse is going to dance with me,” Nina said with just a hint of a pout. All the same, there was the underlying assumption that she would get her way. Alphonse stood taking her hand with an apologetic grimace in his brother’s direction.

Lila put her hands on her hips. “Then who is going to dance with me?”

“Perhaps I can be of service?” Roy stepped out of the doorway, bowing as he took her hand. “I’ve been told I cut a pretty fine rug on the dance floor.”

Lila grinned happily back at him. “Don’t mind if I do,” she replied as she curtsied. “Watch and learn Edward -- this is how to treat a lady.”

“I’ll remember should I ever see a lady,” Edward replied with a grin that was thoroughly unrepentent.

Mrs. Curtis leaned over to tug his plait though she was smiling. “Less cheek from you.”

It was rather fortunate that the house belonged to an era where the kitchens were built large to accomodate a full staff. Although the more flamboyant dance moves were out of the question, there was still enough room left that the four of them could dance without any fear of upsetting the stew. Dance may have been an overly optomistic term in the case of Alphonse and Nina. Still, the girl enjoyed being spun around the kitchen.

On the other hand, Lila could dance and then some -- Roy should have suspected no less from her. “You must have picked this up from attending parties in London?” he asked appreciatively.

“I should be so lucky -- Dante preferred to socialise with the sober socially active types. She looked positively aimiable in comparison.”

“So how did you learn to dance?”

“Lila has a young man she meets on Tuesdays,” Edward grinned. He was leaning over the back of his chair to watch them. He had a smudge of oil on one cheek and his grin was wide. It took Roy a moment to work out why this was odd. Then he realised it was merely the strangeness of seeing the boy smirking like the fifteen year old boy he was. “They have an arrangement, the dance hall the town over. If she takes the eight o’clock bus, Dante doesn’t even know she’s gone.”

“Thusdays is the church social group,” Alphonse said. “And Friday she has another young man --”

“With a car, so they can go two towns over to the Ragtime Theatre. He’s a bit of a bore, but he can do the Charleston all right and the car’s good quality -- Bentley engine and --”

“A girl needs to have her fun,” Lila shrugged slipping out of Roy’s hold and waltzing over to put her hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Anyway, you know you’re the only man for me, Edward --”

Edward went a rich shade of pink. “Get away,” he said unable to meet anyone’s eyes, much to the amusement of the rest of the kitchen’s occupants, his brother in particular. Roy watched as Alphonse ragged Edward mercilessly -- such joviality was almost a novelty in this household.

Lila hummed as she resumed her work. “It makes such a difference to have the radio back. Dante thought it too turbulent an influence for us lower classes. We might be distracted from our work, or heavens! the ever-so-interesting pamphlets about how our indolent lifestyles and habits perpetute a cycle of failure and misery.”

“I don’t know,” Edward shrugged. “I thought the one about how unsound drinking water leads to moral decline and alcoholism was rather entertaining.”

“You would. I don’t know how you managed to finish those things.”

Edward shrugged, opening the pantry. “The shoddy research and the appropriation of science for scare-mongering -- from a professional standpoint it’s as fascinting as it is appalling. Al, you want an apple?”

“You’ll spoil your tea -- look out!”

The fruit basket balanced perilously close to the edge of the shelf, and Edward’s grab for it brought it down. The boy tried to catch it but his efforts only upset the rest of the shelf, sending cans and packets falling.

Roy stepped forward to help. “Are you all right?” he asked, pushing the shelf back into place.

Edward moved gingerly. “I think so,” he said, putting back the jars he’d managed to catch.

Alphonse helped them tody up. “At least nothing was broken,” he said. “Even your medicine’s all right.”

Roy looked with interest at the bottle Alphonse returned to the top shelf. “You keep it in the pantry? But anyone could --”

“Take it? Who’d want to?” Edward’s face was dark as he shoved the last of jars back on the shelf.

“Ah, there you are boys,” Marcoh sounded a little too jovial, and Roy wondered at that, even as he turned towards his friend in greeting. Envy lingered listlessly at Marcoh’s shoulder as the doctor continued. “What say we go for a ramble along the riverside until dinner? It’ll be nice to get out of the house for a bit. Let’s take Alexander, make it a real expedition.”

The boys greeted this suggestion affably, although Roy noticed they glanced towards Mrs. Curtis for permission. The housekeeper nodded.

“Dinner’s almost ready and Lila and I won’t want you underfoot as we work. Take Nina with you, and Edward, I’ll go over these equations for you before supper.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I tag along,” Roy said as coats and scarves were found and donned.

“Not at all,” Marcoh said. “I’d be glad of the company -- I never know what to say to Mr. Dante.” In an undertone he added, “It think it best not to allude to this morning’s events of possible. Alphonse is taking an unsavoury amount of pleasure in it and Edward seems prone to brood.”

“Agreed,” Roy nodded, as Nina grabbed his hand to go fetch Alexander. “Well, let’s hope the mutt hasn’t tired himself out chasing coppers.”

Alexander seemed to have a limitless supply of energy. Alphonse and Nina ran ahead in a futile effort to keep up with the dog. The rest of the group followed more sedately the path that traced the stretch of water that gave Little River its name -- a misnomer if Roy had ever heard one.

The river was a cold gray and rushed along at a tremendous speed. The path they followed went along the top of a flood bank, and the bits of refuse littered along its sides indicated it was no mere gesture -- this river was a force to be reckoned with.

The path was just wide enough for them to walk two abreast. Roy fell into place alongside Envy, Edward and Marcoh talking in front. Well, Marcoh was talking at least.

“I don’t know that it’s wise to associate so much with Lila. I don’t wish to seem fuddy-duddyish, but -- she’s not our type.”

“Because she’s the help? So’s Izumi, and she knows engineering better than Tucker --”

“Mrs Curtis is quite different and you know it,” Marcoh fussed. “It’s not a question of intellect so much as --”

“Class?” Envy suggested idly. Roy shot him a glance, but the young man’s expression was mild, his thoughts well masked.

“That’s it -- she simply lacks the refinement and dare we say, taste, to make a fit companion for you and Alphonse --”

“Wouldn’t want you picking up bad habits,” Envy continued loftily. “Lila’s inclined to be of somewhat, shall we say, vulgar tastes --”

“I had no idea,” Edward replied, with a dryness that reminded Roy somewhat of Holmenheim.

“It’s natural for youth to find flippancy and friviolity attractive,” Marcoh continued.

“But the danger to your moral fibre is extreme,” Envy continued with all seriousness. “You may not be aware of this, Edward, but she has been known on occasion to wear make-up --”

“I’m not at all surprised,” Marcoh said. “One hesitates to make generalisations but --”

It was amazing, Roy thought, torn between letting the boys have their fun and concern for his friend. Marcoh had no idea he was being mocked.

Edward tired of the sport abruptly. “I’m going to walk ahead,” he said. “Show that stupid dog who’s who.”

Alphonse and Nina shrieked with laughter and Alexander reached new levels of mad excitement as Edward joined them.

“We tend to forget,” Marcoh said watching as Edward chased Alexander across the farmland neighbouring the path, “that he’s still a child.”

“It’s good to see him letting himself go,” Envy said with what seemed to Roy like real relief. “I’ve worried about him lately. Such reticience from him is unnatural.”

Interesting that Envy would remark on the same point Marcoh mentioned, Roy thought. “You show great understanding of your brother’s nature.”

Envy smiled, watching Edward’s zig-zag progress across the field. “Great understanding isn’t necessary -- Edward is usually . . .” Envy hesitated. “I won’t say open, but fervent, very fervent in his emotions. This change must strike even the most casual acquaintance. Still, I would like to think that I know him better than most -- he’s certainly very dear to me.”

“Holmenheim said that the two of you were very close as children,” Roy said and Envy brightened. “He spoke warmly of the times you spent school holidays here.”

“I can, with all honesty, say that those holidays were the best years of my life. I enjoyed school -- I had companions of my own age, diversions, the tuck boxes Trisha sent me. Best of all, I went from being bullied constantly at home to being bullied only sporadically. Even so, I lived for the holidays and Edward.”

“It seems somewhat of an unlikely friendship?” Roy asked, curious.

“I suppose it must seem pathetic, my being so eager to be the playmate of a child seven years my junior, but Edward --” Envy smiled an inward mocking smile. “He was a precocious child, able even at three to express himself and demand attention in a way that I, aged eleven, couldn’t. I suppose the gap between us wasn’t as great as it could have been, and Edward --” The young man’s expression lost it’s bitterness as he watched his half-brother. “It was the first time in my life anyone had wanted me.” The bitter smile was back in place as he added. “It’s a wonder I didn’t hate him, you know. I could have. In fact, I did the first time I saw him.”

“He was an obnoxious infant?”

“He was so little and dumpy-looking, his pudgy fingers clutched in my father’s coat. I hated him for taking my father away from me, taking what was mine, even as I could see how it happened.” Envy glanced again to where the children were playing. “Even at three years, Edward had charm. I knew I could never hold a candle to him.”

Roy followed his gaze to watch Edward trip and immediately be pounced by a wildly excited Alexander. Alphonse’s attempts at rescuing his brother were hampered by his inability to quell his own laughter and Nina wasn’t even trying to help. Battle-hardened soldier though he was, Roy couldn’t help but snile.

“What changed things?”

“I don’t know that I could put my finger on it,” Envy replied thoughtfully. “It wasn’t just that he needed me. I hadn’t much experience with infants and I’m ashamed to admit that his utter dependence on everybody disgusted me until I understood he couldn’t help it. No, I suppose it was his belief.”

“Belief?”

“He knew only warmth and kindness,” Envy said simply. “He believed I would take care of him and faced with such trust, I could do nothing but obey. Whatever Edward needed, I was -- playmate, protector, teacher, co-conspiritor --” he paused. “I can’t express the difference it made to me. I didn’t know it at the time, but that summer quite possibly changed my life.”

It was a startlingly frank answer, and Roy cast around for a suitable reply. To his relief Marcoh took up the conversation.

“I’d say he takes after Trisha in that respect. She was of a much quieter personality but she had an aspect about her that brought out the best in people. Though a good decade or so her senior, I am unashamed to admit that I would have done anything she desired.”

Roy had the sudden absurd mental image of his friend clad in armour in the manner of a knight errant, and charging off to do battle on his steed, Trisha smiling gently from her tower. “All these years and I never suspected you had a romantic streak, old man,” he teased.

The doctor shrugged. “If only you could have met her, Roy -- she was a woman in a million.”

“I say,” Envy said suddenly. “I don’t like how close the boys are getting to the edge of the flood bank. Think we’d better call them back?”

Roy looked up sharply. They were damnably close to the edge of the floodbank. Alphonse at least appeared to be trying to keep a safe distance, though he had his hands full trying to keep Nina from going over the bank.

“Boys!” Marcoh called. “Come back this instant! That bank’s not safe!”

“We can’t!” Alphonse yelled back. “Alexander’s collar’s caught.”

There was a scraggly brance wedged against the bank. Alexander was tangled in it, barking madly. Edward had climbed over the edge of the back and was trying to calm the dog so he could free him.

“Come back, Edward,” Envy called, starting to jog up the path. “I’ll do it.”

At that moment, however, Alexander surged forward. The movement dislodged the branch from its resting place and it fell, catching Edward in the stomach, and dragging both boy and dog into the river.

Even before Nina’s scream registered, Roy was moving, scrabbling down the bank, his eyes fixed on the spot where Edward had disappeared underwater. Envy was faster, throwing off his coat and diving into the water without hesitation.

“Ed!” Alphonse half slid, half fell down the bank.

Roy caught him before he could pitch into the water. “Stay back, you’ll be swept away in an instant--”

“Ed--” Alphonse clutched Roy’s arm, as they both scanned the water for any sign. It was a painful few moments, with nothing but the rushing of the river and the seconds dragging on like hours. Then Alphonse’s grip tightened.

“There! Look! Envy, he’s there!”

There was snatch of gold in the eddy that had collected between two large rocks; as Roy watched it sank out of sight. “Envy! There -- the rocks --”

Envy heard, dived. A couple of anxious seconds passed before he struggled to the surface, a limp form clutched to his side. There was no pause for relief, however -- the current was so strong that Envy, burdened with Edward’s extra weight, couldn’t fight against the current to make his way to the other side. He managed to scrabble a hold on one of the rocks and keep Edward’s head above water, but it was apparent that he could do no more.

“Colonel, your coat!”

Alphonse had shed his jacket and was hastily knotting its sleeves together with the coat Envy had discarded on the bank. Roy saw his intention immediately, and shrugged out of his coat. It was a long shot, but their only option. “I’ll do this -- for heaven’s sake, Alphonse, stay on the bank.”

For the makeshift rope to be able to reach Envy, Roy had to wade into the river. Bracing himself against a large boulder, he was just able to stay upright -- the current was devilishly strong, and the water so cold the shock of entry almost took his breath away. Gritting his teeth, Roy threw one end of the coat-rope towards Envy.

The young man had guessed their intention, but it was clearly difficult for him to reach for the rope while supporting Edward.

“Alphonse -- find me something I can tie to the other end of this -- a branch or something,” Roy, called over his shoulder, watching as Envy attempted to shift Edward’s weight to get the boy further out of the water. It was obvious he could not continue to fight the river and support his half-brother much longer.

“Here--” A branch was shoved into his hands. Roy cast a look over his shoulder as he took it. “Alphonse, that’s close enough. If you fall in, I’ll tan your hide.”

The boy hovered in the shallows, his face anxious. Roy couldn’t blame him, but as he turned back to try again, he sincerely hoped that Alphonse would listen. He didn’t wish to have to pull him out of the river too. “Envy, get ready!”

The stick knotted round the end of the makeshift rope made it easier to throw, but Envy still had the same problem trying to catch it while holding Edward out of the water. Roy tried not to think about how long the boy had gone without movement, and instead pulled the rope back to try again. This time, the stick caught on a branch jutting out of the water. It was almost within Envy’s reach -- the young man shifted position, holding Edward more tightly, and gathering himself for a frantic dive. He just made it, grabbing the rope, and then Roy had his hands full, bracing himself against his rock, and struggling to stand firm. He’d thought to pull then in but the current was so rapid, that it was all he could do just to hold on. Luckily, even that provided enough for Envy to make his way across the current and after a minute or so of battling with the water, Edward was hauled ashore by Marcoh and Alphonse.

Roy was very glad to leave the bitter river water, giving Envy a hand back onshore. “That was some rescue,” he said, helping the young man to sit down on the bank. “Are you hurt -- how’d you feel?”

“Edward,” Envy rasped the moment he had breath. “Is he --?”

Alphonse, Nina and Marcoh were clustered around him, the children’s expressions frightened, Marcoh’s grim.

“Roy, your hipflask.”

Roy didn’t even bother asking how Marcoh knew about the hip-flask, just passed it automatically. To think that one of his bad habits could come in handy at a time like this. As he watched Marcoh press the brandy to Edward’s lips, the boy lying pale and very still in the puddle forming from his clothes and hair, he resolved that should this work, he would never, ever, consider giving up drinking again.

It appeared that Roy was not destined to be teetotal; a second later Edward choked and spluttered.

“He’s alive!” Alphonse cheered, leaning forward to help Marcoh get him sitting up. “Ed--” He swallowed, and Roy thought he might cry.

“No time for that,” he ordered briskly. “Marcoh, you’re the doctor. What needs to be done?”

“He’s likely to be suffering shock,” Marcoh said, leaning Edward against him as he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around him. “He shouldn’t be so unresponsive from just the river -- there’s the possibitlity he hit his head when he fell. He may be concussed. Either way, we’ll want to get him back to the house as quickly as possible.”

“Right.” Roy stood, sizing up the situation. Envy was clearly exhausted, Nina too little -- “Alphonse, listen. You’re going to run back to the house as fast as you can. Tell Mrs. Curtis what happened, and then get Ross and as many blankets as you can, and come back this way with the car. Understand?”

“Yes. Will he be all right?”

“He’s managed this far.” Roy clapped him smartly on the back. “Now go.”

Nina let out a shriek as Alphonse left. “Alexander -- where’s Alexander?”

Roy looked helplessly at her. He really had no idea what to do with small children, especially in situations such as this. “Nina -- come away,” he said, grabbing her hand as she scrambled towards the river. “It’s too dangerous --”

“Alexander -- come back!” Nina yelled with all her strength. “Alexander! Don’t be a bad dog!”

The river made no reply.

Roy glanced helplessly towards Marcoh for any clue what to do, but the doctor was more concerned with checking Edward’s pulse. Envy had pulled himself over to kneel on Edward’s other side, and careful brushed his half-brother’s hair, freed from its customary plait and plastered to the sides of his face, out of his eyes.

“He’s so pale,” he said. “And still. Will he be all right?”

“The biggest danger right now is the cold,” Marcoh said, coming abruptly to a decision. “Roy, you haven’t let yourself go too much since our army days, have you?”

Roy couldn’t repress a smirk. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take him, and go meet Ross and the car -- we need to get him home and warm as quickly as possible. If possible, try not to jolt him to much -- I really don’t like this lack of movement.”

Roy nodded; he could do that. “And the rest of you?” he asked, scooping Edward, still bundled in Marcoh’s coat, into his arms.

Envy wobbled unsteadily to his feet, but couldn’t manage more than a step before having to sit down again hurriedly. Marcoh passed him Roy’s flask.

“We’ll follow more slowly, once Envy has had a chance to rest some,” Marcoh said. “Don’t worry about us, just get Edward back to the house.”

“Right.” Roy tucked Edward more firmly against him, hoping that body heat would make up for the fact that both their clothes were sodden, and set off. Once over the flood bank he began to jog carefully -- he hoped that the movement wouldn’t jar Edward too much, but the boy’s continued lack of movement had him worried.

The path had not seemed so long on the journey there. The wind had picked up somewhat, and Roy slowed his pace to tuck Marcoh’s coat more firmly around his burden. Edward stirred slightly as he did, and Roy wiped the boy’s hair from his face, watching intently for awareness. “Edward?”

“--nvy?” Edward’s eyes fluttered open, the usually clear gold unfocused and clouded. Roy wasn’t even sure that the boy saw him. “Why --?”

“Mr. Dante pulled you out of the river,” Roy assured him, starting to walk again. “Don’t worry about anything. I’m taking you back to the house, and we’ll get you warmed up and into bed.”

“Envy did . . . ?” Edward pushed against Roy’s side, trying to sit up. It seemed he wanted to stand. Roy had an anxious moment when he feared he might drop the boy, but Edward quickly realised that he didn’t have the strength to free himself.

“Don’t move,” he said. “We’re not that far from the house.” Remembering they hadn’t had the chance to ascertain the extent of Edward’s injuries, he asked “Do you hurt anywhere?”

It took Edward a moment to answer. “My head aches, and my back,” he said, letting his head fall back against Roy’s shoulder. “What happened to my shoe?”

Roy cast a look at the boy’s feet. “It must have been lost in the river.”

“Oh.”

Edward’s voice sounded curiously far away. Roy glanced down at him, and was concerned again at the boy’s paleness. They needed to get him to the house, fast. “Are you cold?”

There was a pause as Edward thought about that before answering slowly. “Not really. It doesn’t feel as I’m actually here.”

“Marcoh thought you might be suffering from shock,” Roy said, picking up his pace.

“I thought I’d died, at first,” Edward continued, distant and slow. “It hurt and it tugged me under and I thought my lungs would burst but I couldn’t move and then . . .” He reached out weakly, for something beyond Roy’s sight. “Everything went white and then grey, and it didn’t matter any more and I was floating and then he pulled me out . . . why do you think he did that?” Edward turned bewildered, still cloudy, eyes on Roy.

“Your half-brother doesn’t lack guts,” Roy said. “He’s a regular hero.”

Edward wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “He knows --”

“Knows?”

“This is my fault. All of it is,” this confession seemed to tire Edward completely, and he lent against Roy exhausted, his eyes half closed. Roy was surprised when he continued, the words so soft he almost thought he’d imagined them. “It would have been better if I had died.”

“Nonsense,” Roy said firmly. “You’re not throwing in the towel here, are you lad? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Edward continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I was meant to drown, I think . . . this is the second time. Maybe if I had died then everything would have been all right --”

Maybe he had hit his head harder than they’d assumed. “Try to rest, Edward. I’ll get you back to the house as soon as I can.”

Edward didn’t reply, and when Roy glanced down at him, he appeared to have lapsed into unconsciousness again. The cold seemed to be taking its toll on him, he’d begun to shiver. Roy quickened his pace to a brisk jog; where was Alphonse?

It can’t have been much longer, although it seemed like hours before the car roared down the path, Ross determined behind the wheel, Alphonse hanging out of the back window as though he could make the car go faster that way. Roy had never been so glad to see them.

They had another passenger; as they pulled up beside Roy and his load, Holmenheim was out of the car with a speed that rivalled Alphonse’s.

“Edward,” he breathed, raising his fingers to his son’s face with almost fearful slowness. “He’s so cold --blankets, we need blankets! Get him into the car, quickly.”

Roy found himself and Edward ushered into the back seat and plied with blankets. Edward remained unconscious through out, and Roy carefully undid Marcoh’s coat, now soaked through, and wrapped him in a dry blanket. He had a hard time getting the blankets around Edward, and it wasn’t until Alphonse gently but carefully took the blankets from Roy and finished the task that he realised his own hands were shaking.

“I ran as fast as I could,” Alphonse said. “Should he be shivering so much? He wasn’t shivering when I left.”

“The cold’s catching up to him, I think,” Roy said. “You did a good job, Alphonse. I think he’s going to be all right, he was conscious for part of the journey back.”

“Did he complain of injury? Say anything?” Holmenheim twisted round in the front seat to watch them. “What did Marcoh reccomend?”

Roy gave him all the infomation he could. It seemed that Holmenheim was capable of acting like a father when the need arose. It was just a pity that the display of paternal concern was wasted on Edward.

Mrs. Curtis met them on the steps. “Shock, cold and possible concussion?” she asked, checking Edward’s pulse. “You say he regained consciousness on the way back? How long was he aware?”

“Ten or so minutes, maybe more. He spoke, seemed to understand his surroundings and recognise me.”

“That’s a good sign then.” Mrs Curtis opened the door to the house. “Our first priority should be keeping him warm. I’ve run a hot bath for him upstairs.”

“I’ll take him.” Roy found himself relieved of his burden by Holmenheim. Roy opened his mouth to protest, knowing the condition of the man’s upper arms and chest, but his own illness didn’t seem to be a concern of Holmenheim’s at all. “Alphonse, get the Colonel something warm to drink, and something for yourself too. The both of you look like you’re chilled to the bone.”

Roy hadn’t imagined that such a short jaunt could take so much out of him. The river must have been colder than he thought, as he found himself shivering as he followed Alphonse to the kitchen.

“It’s a good thing Izumi had the fire lit,” Alphonse said, poking it before lifting the heavy kettle from the fire place to the table. “We don’t have to wait for the water to boil.”

“That is lucky,” Roy agreed. “Be sure to leave some hot water for the others.”

The boy didn’t respond. Roy suspected the situation had caught up with him; this was borne out as he barely managed to stop the boy adding salt to their tea.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He asked, taking the teapot firmly from Alphonse. “I can pour.”

“But you’re the guest,” Alphonse protested. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m the guest, so I’ll decide what’s right,” Roy said, firmly guiding Alphonse into a seat. “Stiff upper lip, or as we used to say in the army, stiff upper lip, sir.”

That got a wan smile, and the boy closed his hands around the mug of tea. “I don’t know what to think,” he said. “Ed could have died.”

“We have Mr Dante to thank, don’t we?” Roy said. He felt rather chagrined with himself; he’d let himself be fooled by the young man’s dandyish exterior and dismissed him accordingly. When he and Marcoh returned, he would have to shake Envy’s hand.

“We do.” Alphonse’s voice sounded oddly constrained. “I wish . . . I don’t want to have to thank him.”

Roy glanced at the boy, He wasn’t still clinging to his ridiculous theory in light of Envy’s heroism was he? “You can’t still think him guilty of murder, surely?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Alphonse admitted. “I’m very grateful that he saved Ed, of course, but -- it’s the only way it makes sense.”

“Even though your own brother disagrees with you?” Roy said a little more sharply than intended. Alphonse’s words struck a chord with his own feelings of guilt -- he should have been easier on Envy, given him a chance to show that he wasn’t so bad after all.

“My own brother is afraid of Envy,” Alphonse said. His voice was quiet but sure. “Ed says he’s afraid of nothing but I’ve seen the way he looks sometimes and I kno--”

“Enough!”

Roy started; Alphonse flinched. Holemenheim stood in the doorway, pale and glaring. “That is quite enough of that sort of talk, Alphonse. I don’t want to hear you repeating those words again, understood?”

“Yes, father.”

“That’s better.” Holmenheim reached over to pat his son’s head in an arkward apology. “Your brother wants you,” he continued more kindly. “Make sure he gets some rest.”

As the door shut behind Alphonse, Roy glanced towards Holmenheim. In his short stay in the Professor’s household, this was the second time he’d seen the man lose his temper -- and like the first time, it was with his son. He couldn’t really blame the man, however. Holmenheim had sunk into the chair that Alphonse had vacated as if unable to hold himself up any longer and was currently staring at the grain of the kitchen table like a man suddenly bereft of all hope and joy. Roy had seen similar expressions on his men suring the war, and it was with sympathy toward a fellow sufferer that he fetched another cup.

“Tea?”