“Do you know of any reason someone might have held a grudge against him?” Sam overheard Van Helsing asking an older gentleman sporting a monocle and a magnificent salt-and-pepper beard.
“Oh, no,” he scoffed. “Mr. Enfield was well respected. He was philanthropic, generous to a fault. Was a, uh, fantastic shot?”
“Did he have any connection to Mr. Pearse or Mr. Hayes?” Hel asked somewhere to Sam’s left.
“You mean aside from?—” an artistic young man started, looking up from the book he’d been reading, only for Mr. Keene to catch his eye and shake his head. “Not... having one?”
“Did you know him well?” Sam asked a cluster of black-gowned young women standing by the greying spikes of pale starlike blooms of asphodel.
“It’s just so sad,” wailed the first, a curvy redhead in black chiffon, her face the image of artful tragedy. “He was so young, and so handsome.”
“Not that young,” murmured another, a brunette in black satin, with kohl-lined eyes, looking more bored than anything. “He was nearly thirty-five, and a confirmed bachelor.”
The redhead leaned forward, confiding. “Only because he was in love with?—”
The third, a wary black-veiled blonde in Tahitian pearls, shot her a stern glare. “This is a funeral. Have some decorum.”
“What? I’m only saying what everyone knows,” the redhead said, and Sam got nothing more out of them than inane pleasantries about the weather, which wasn’t actually that pleasant.
“Anything?” Van Helsing asked when they gathered back together to exchange notes.
Hel shook her head. “Apart from the fact that almost no one here is Irish, and they’re all absurdly wealthy?”
“Is it just me, or did no one like Mr. Enfield particularly well?” Sam asked. “Forfriends, I mean.”
“Some of them didn’t seem to know him at all,” Hel agreed.
“We’re wasting our time,” Van Helsing said. “If they know anything, which I’m not certain they do, they’re not telling.”
“We can’t just leave,” Sam protested.
“That,” Van Helsing said, “was not what I was suggesting.”
“There is one more person we could ask,” Hel said. Sam followed her gaze to Simon Ashdown, heir to the Ashdown railroad fortune and their host. He lounged by the white marble fireplace carved with lotus fruit, above which was a richly colored oil painting of King Edward VII in a profusion of rich fabrics, sprawled across his throne like a general, sword in hand.
“Mr. Ashdown?” Van Helsing raised an eyebrow. “Why would he tell us anything?”
“Look at his eyes,” Hel said. They were glazed with drink, which meant there was a chance, however slim, that he might slip and accidentally provide them with something close to answers. “Besides, do you have a better idea?”
“Fine,” Van Helsing sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Is there anything you can tell us?” Van Helsing asked directly, after their introductions. “Anything at all?”
“The way I heard it, it was a bit of abnormal phenomena.” Mr. Ashdown sniffed, swirling his brandy. His face evoked a kind of helplessness, as if everything happening were entirely out of his hands. It was his brows, Sam decided. They were stuck in a permanent state of surprise. “Perils of living in Ireland, I’m afraid.”
“You could always leave,” Hel suggested.
“I heard that there have been others,” Sam said quickly, stepping on Hel’s foot. “That he’s not the first to be taken.”
“Nor will he be the last, I imagine,” Mr. Ashdown said dismissively. “There were always going to be sacrifices. It’s charmingly uncivilized here, but it does come with its risks. We’ve had an incursion or two of our own, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Had to board up the windows.”
“I can’t imagine why you all settled here,” Hel said dryly.
“It has its benefits,” Mr. Ashdown said, alcohol rendering him oblivious to Hel’s tone. “Ireland is like?—what does that Yeats fellow call it? Ah yes,soft wax. Ripe for molding.”
Sam wasn’t an expert, but she didn’t think Yeats had meant it that way. Mr. Keene had appeared interested in uncovering the world’s true nature; Simon Ashdown seemed more interested in what he could take from it.
“This is impossible,” Sam said after Mr. Ashdown had excused himself to fetch another brandy.
