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All of which depended on not suspecting any of them of murder, and he’d wasted an entire afternoon and evening that he could have spent asking questions. He got up, washed in punitively cold water, and wondered about his next move.
It was a frustrating thing, to want to be busy yet have no obvious task. Jem did his best, scrabbling around for other directions in which to explore. He requested a meeting with Hugo and Toby’s old history tutor. DrTrent was able to offer him a half-hour, which proved to be unnecessarily long, since all he did was complain about how many tutorials Toby had missed. ‘I wished to impose a penal collection,’ he said, the decade-old resentment clear. ‘But his grandfather, the marquess, was of course a very generous donor to Anselm’s. So, I may say, was MrMorley-Adams’ father, yethedid not require or seek special treatment. I really have nothing more I can tell you, MrKite. MrFeynsham was not a memorable student to me, except in the wrong ways.’
He got no further in attempting to gossip with the Head Porter, who declined to be drawn on the subject of the murder, or the Seven Wonders, or anything else, and regarded him with what might have been hostile suspicion or just his usual charmlessness. Eventually Jem gave up, and found himself at lunchtime with no idea what to do next. Given the amount of money left in his wallet, he decided to skip lunch. He’d had a good meal with Nicky the night before, and his foot was feeling the effect of yesterday’s cold trudge up to the Hall and back more than he liked. He’d be more refreshed by a lie-down than by food, he assured himself.
He made his way up the narrow winding stairs once more, flopped onto the bed of his little room, and lay there for five minutes before he could even make himself take his shoe off. He needed to go back to the doctor and couldn’t afford it.
It had been a badly frustrating day, and it was nearly three o’clock now. He’d wasted a full twenty-four hours of his week’s self-indulgence and dead ends. He’d have done better to sit and think. God knew he had plenty to think about.
Toby had intended to incriminate a fellow student. Prue had been expecting a child and had perhaps considered an abortion. The two facts must surely be related. Anselm Hall was up Park Street; Prue would have passed the open back gates as she headed back and you could see Toby’s room from there, could even see if the light was on. It must have seemed like an invitation. If she’d gone in to plead with him, and been driven to fury…
It all sounded plausible, except that Prue was female and even shorter than Jem, and Toby had been frightening at that last meeting: drunk and savage and uncontrolled. Would she have risked confronting him?
And yet, and yet…
He jumped when a knock on the door startled him out of his tail-chasing thoughts. ‘Who is it?’ he called. There was no response, just another knock. Jem forced himself up, limped to the door, and opened it.
Aaron stood on his threshold, his expression set and very unfriendly.
‘Aaron,’ Jem managed. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Why? You invited me.’ Aaron stepped forward. Jem, perforce, had to step back, very aware that Aaron was a foot taller than him and several stone heavier. Aaron shut the door with force. ‘You cannot have expected to write that letter and carry on undisturbed.’
‘Do you want to sit down?’ Jem suggested.
‘No. This isn’t a social call.’ Aaron’s gaze flicked, as if drawn, to Jem’s foot, and he added irritably, as if forced, ‘You sit down if you want to.’
And have Aaron loom over him? No thank you. ‘I’ll stand.’
‘As you wish. What the devil did you mean by that piece of offensiveness?’
Jem locked his knees and straightened his back. ‘What it said. You dropped everything and rushed down here to see me about it, so I suppose you know very well what I meant.’
‘What the devil are you playing at, Jem?’ Aaron demanded. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know who killed Toby, and why. Which seems a little more obvious now,’ he added, giddily reckless, since bluffing had carried him all this way already.
‘I did not kill Toby,’ Aaron said through his teeth. ‘Much though he might have deserved it. I wanted to marry his sister, damn it!’
‘And he intended to stop you doing so by any means he could. Including, apparently, laying information with the police.’
‘Ella would never have forgiven him,’ Aaron flashed back. ‘Have you thought of that?’
‘I’m not sure he cared that night.’
Aaron didn’t argue that. ‘For heaven’s sake, Jem, I was interrogated for hours and locked up for days. Do you not think the police would have found evidence if there was any?’
‘Not with the dead man’s sister swearing to your whereabouts.’
‘Leave Ella out of this. In fact, leave us all out of it. Toby is dead and nobody is going to discover his murderer ten years on, least of all you. All you will do is cause far more pain and destruction to people who don’t deserve it. I am warning you, Jem. Stop.’
‘I don’t think I can.’
Aaron looked at him, nostrils flaring slightly, and Jem had a sudden moment of panic. They stared at each other, Aaron’s muscular bulk seeming to take up all the space in the room, Jem putting everything he had into staying upright. His foot throbbed under him.
‘I can’t stop,’ he said again. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t just ignore what I’ve found out.’
‘Have you taken what you know to the police?’
