The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 7

A.

Before I could speak to Lady Margaret again, I needed to find her grandfather. If he knew the Poisoner, perhaps, he was my lead rather than the lady in question. With the help of C.I.D., I found the records of residence for Mr. Claxton and left my calling card for an introduction. It took several days but I finally received a response inviting me to visit.

The sun glared cheerfully down at me, too cheerfully, and I squinted it away with disdain. A large brick townhouse towered above me, in Queen Anne's style. White masonry surrounded each of the four sash-windows in contrast to the red brick. I walked up the wide staircase to the front door, mentally preparing myself for anything. I gave the door a swift knock.

Framed in the doorway stood a plump middle-aged Indian man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and a full head of hair. He wore a long white tunic over loose white trousers and brown Oxfords on his feet as his only Western accouterment.

"Ah, you must be Lord Alexander Rocque?" The man leaned out, looking right then left down the street, before returning my gaze.

"Yes." I handed the man my calling card. "I assume you were expecting me?"

The man looked over my calling card, scanning the streets again. "Yes, please come in." The man stepped to the side allowing my entrance, but almost caught my coat in the door as it closed.

"My name is Arjun Manda. I am the agent of the estate." He looked around the foyer, his eyebrows coming together.

Rushing back and forth with the disposition of a harried rabbit, he straightened perfectly straight doilies and brushed at invisible specks on the wooden table. The house was dark but clean with several frames covered in diaphanous black fabric, indicating the death of a loved one. To my right was a forest green parlor, filled with exotic imports from the Orient. On the sideboard, I noticed a worn photograph shoved haphazardly in its frame as if it had been recently removed.

"My lord?" Manda asked, leaning over my shoulder. "Ah, yes, that is Mr. Claxton and the East India Trading Company in Bombay many years ago."

"May I?" I asked as I picked up the photo. Manda nodded. My gaze came to rest on one face in particular—my father. Involuntarily, my grip tightened around the frame. I set it back in its place, my jaw strained and a pounding headache forming. My eyes watered from their lack of sleep.

"Manda, could you inform Mr. Claxton that I have arrived?"

"Of course, my lord." His eyes narrowed, yet he turned up the stairs before I could confirm.

The minutes ticked by, allowing my mind, once more, to wander to the grey eyes that seemed to haunt it. I had told Lady Margaret I would give her answers, but honestly, I didn't have any. She was somehow involved with the Poisoner, which she either machinated of her own choice or was another victim. I didn't know which and that worried me.

"Lord Alexander, the master will see you now. If you'll follow me." Manda beckoned me up the stairs.

The hollow echo of sound traveled through the space and for the first time I noticed the lack of other servants bustling about. Following Manda into a dark room, the musty smell of flesh, sweat, and blood hit my nose.

"Manda, would you draw the drapes, I have a wish to see my guest," croaked a dilapidated voice. The speaker remained hidden in the depths of a large four-poster bed surrounded by heavy navy velvet drapes, which cast dark shadows across his face. Besides the bed, sideboard, and washstand, the large room was empty.