“How did you know the”?—deceased, he’d been about to say; the word hung in the air like a ghost?—“victim?” His tone made it clear he thought Lord Lusk a potential suspect. It was the worst way to get a man to open up.
Sam winced. “Van Helsing!”
Lord Lusk raised an eyebrow. “I remember you. You’re staying at the Shelbourne.” He studied them intently. “Who are you, exactly? Why are you so interested in Mr. Enfield?”
“My name is Jakob Van Helsing,” he said. “These are my associates, Miss Moriarty and Miss Harker. We are investigating as representatives of?—”
“A private detective agency,” Sam cut in before he could spill more of their secrets. Van Helsing had the right of it: He was a terrible spy. Either he had forgotten everything Detective Lynch had told them or, more likely, he didn’t see the point of it. Men like Van Helsing had the luxury of ignoring the rules when they wanted to, bulling forward knowing the world would get out of their way. He didn’t understand what it was to be hunted, the way theywouldbe hunted if word of who they were and what they were doing got out. Or if he did, he thought he had it in hand.
But then, so had the Viscount and the Duke.
“A private detective agency?” Lord Lusk frowned. “Who hired you?”
“Mr. Enfield himself,” Sam forged on, ignoring the increasingly consternated look Van Helsing was giving her. “He had reason to believe his life was in danger.” It was the safest answer Sam could think of?—excuse enough for their investigation; no way for Lord Lusk to find them out.
Lord Lusk scowled. “He told me no such thing.”
“And you can’t think ofanyreason he might not have felt entirely comfortable confiding in you?” Hel drawled.
The blow hit. Lord Lusk grimaced, looking away.
“Well?” Hel pushed.
“I am... recently engaged,” Lord Lusk admitted, more hesitantly than Sam thought a man ought to admit such things.
Van Helsing frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“We were like brothers. Fought in the war together,” Lord Lusk said slowly. “Until we both fell for the same woman.”
“She chose you,” Hel guessed.
Lord Lusk nodded stiffly. “He... took it poorly.”
“Ah,” Sam said. It would explain the familiarity, the way he’d used his Christian name upon seeing his fallen form, before he remembered himself.
“But that shouldn’t have made him think I wouldn’t care should he be murdered!” Lord Lusk burst out. “He should have known he could come to me for help.”
“Perhaps he did,” Sam suggested. “After all, when he was in his direst need, he came to you.”
“For all the good it did him,” Lord Lusk said, bitterness coating his words.
“Do you have any idea what he might have wanted to tell you at such a late hour?” Hel asked. “Why he might have dared the curfew?”
“Not unless... no,” Lord Lusk said helplessly. He looked heavenward, drawing in a steadying breath. “What am I to tell his family?”
Family.Sam’s stomach tightened. Mr. Fionnail would have sent for them, and once they came, there would be a vigil. Mr. Enfield wouldn’t be left alone until he was six feet beneath the earth, the beetles and worms his only compatriots, and there would be no more opportunities for Sam to have a vision?—to try to catch a glimpse of what had truly happened. This might be the only shot Sam would get at piecing it all together. She had to find a way to channel before the family arrived, without Van Helsing noticing.
Sam caught Hel’s eye. Hel raised an eyebrow. Sam tugged at her glove and tilted her head toward Van Helsing. Hel’s lips curved in a smile.
“Was he a Unionist?” Van Helsing was demanding, oblivious.
Lord Lusk bristled. “What do his politics have to do with anything?”
“Doubtless you’ve heard of the other disappearances in Dublin,” Van Helsing said.
Lord Lusk barked a laugh. “Two Unionists disappear, and you think it’s about politics? Have you been talking to the English?”
Van Helsing flushed, the answer written on his face. “What about Mr. Bishop?” he demanded. “Did he have some sort of relationship with Mr. Enfield?”
