Page 6 of To Sketch a Scandal (Lucky Lovers of London #4)

Ashton laughed again, and not in a particularly friendly manner. “Right, right. To be fair, he did take down the whole ring from that position, though. Surely that’s worth something.”

“Might be, if not for the rest of it.”

“What rest of it?”

“I’ve heard, though it’s thirdhand and should be weighed as such, that he has been seen walking into a very questionable coffeehouse over in Soho at funny hours.

A place that’s been fined more than once for the sort of activity that would prove Shaw’s roles are not really roles at all.

” There was a pause. “There’s a good chance it’s horseshit, of course; someone stirring up trouble.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen that.

But it all makes you wonder. And if you wonder, you don’t respect.

If you don’t respect, you don’t follow. If you don’t follow… do you see where I’m going with this?”

Did they realize Matty was here? His pulse was thundering in his ears, but under the panic, he had to wonder if this conversation was a terrible coincidence or a purposeful warning.

“Do you think there’s been something…” said Ashton, a new note in his voice as he left off his role of Matty’s half-hearted defender. An amused note, like he loved nothing more than a little dirt on another detective. “Something untoward about Shaw’s handling of his cases, sir? Beyond the obvious?”

“I don’t know one way or the other, Ashton. I fucking hope not, I’ll tell you that much. Can you imagine the papers?”

“Dear lord.”

“I admit, I’m nervous about it. We don’t need a scandal like that, Ashton.

We’ve seen enough scandals round here as it is.

Public opinion is still shaky after that last corruption situation.

It’s bad enough for people on the inside to suspect Shaw’s buggered his way to the center of a case at the level he’s in.

If I make him detective chief with these little rumors unsettled, it will be my bloody neck if it winds up true and the public catches wind. ”

Matty closed his eyes, nauseous. He debated making a noise, making a fuss, storming in there and demanding they stop talking about him like this.

But he could not do anything but listen and listen as his bones seemed to turn to slipping, unsteady gravel that might fail to keep him standing at any moment.

“Anyway,” Frost went on with a sigh. “As I say, maybe this next case of his will prove something different, but all I know about the lad now has me feeling very wary, and I plan to break that to Barrows first thing in the morning. Which brings me to why I’ve brought you in to discuss the matter…”

* * *

Matty did not seek company that night. He could not risk being “seen walking into a very questionable coffeehouse” at “funny hours,” now could he?

Instead, he went to his room at the boardinghouse after all, where he wept, and threw things, and considered very seriously the merits of killing himself.

But when he’d calmed down, shaky and hiccuping, his room looking like some desperate animal had tried to uncover an escape from it, he decided it wouldn’t do to be hasty in that regard.

Though it felt otherwise, he hadn’t been caught at anything, exactly.

These were rumors. His reputation had always been a little dodgy, that was all, and that dodginess had come around to bite him on the arse at last. He was not under investigation.

He was not being formally accused of any crimes.

He was not even being sacked, at least not yet, though he wasn’t sure how long he’d last at the Met once Barrows left for the green pastures of his pension.

Something far worse than tightness took over his chest at the thought of being ousted from the office that felt more like home than this room did, something sharp, something lined with gnashing teeth and tearing claws.

When it came to working, he’d only known Scotland Yard or the street, and wasn’t so keen on the street anymore, having seen what he’d seen in the meantime.

The stress of what he’d heard made the night seem difficult and endless, keeping him awake so late that the pit of sleep he finally fell into at dawn was so deep that he slept through his landlady’s wake-up knock the next morning.

By the time he put himself together and arrived late at the office, Barrows was already at his desk.

“Did Frost talk to you?” Matty said in a panicked rush before he’d even shut the door behind him. “He said he was going to talk to you.”

“Come in, Matthew,” said Barrows gently. He stood and coaxed Matty’s hand off the doorknob, where it had welded itself in a nervous grasp.

“What did he say?” Matty insisted as Barrows led him to his own chair. There was a cup of tea already waiting for him. It made him sick to think about consuming so much as a drop. “Barrows, please. I can’t take another second.”

“How did you know—?”

“I overheard him talking to Ashton last night,” Matty blurted.

“I suppose they didn’t realize I was here.

I heard every bloody word, and I’ll tell you what, I considered not coming back at all this morning.

” He drew a shuddering breath. “Considered not waking up, come to that. It’s a complete disaster, it’s—”

Barrows shushed him, glancing toward the now-closed door. “Let’s not be overheard ourselves, shall we?”

Matty ran a hand down his face, forcing himself silent even as the hysterics raged on within.

He remembered the ring that was still on his finger as it caught on his lip.

Barrows’s gift to celebrate the promotion that would never come.

He started to wrench it off, but Barrows grabbed his hands and stopped him.

Barrows leaned over Matty’s desk, face very neutral. “You’ve known a long time now that this is how they see you,” he said reasonably. “They do not understand your work, Matthew. They never have. And you know that. You cannot go to pieces over hearing it confirmed. It will do you no good at all.”

“They’re passing me over,” Matty said, wrenching the ring off at last. “For the promotion. Even if they don’t arrest me or sack me, the rug’s still being pulled out in that direction. Please, for the love of God, take this thing back.”

But Barrows tucked the ring back into Matty’s palm, determined.

“You’re still going to get that bloody promotion if it’s the last thing I do,” Barrows hissed. “Frost said he was wary. That he is trying to mitigate the potential for scandal. The decision to pass you over has not been finalized.”

Matty pushed the ring back toward him. “Did he mention that during all this wariness and mitigation, he called me Detective Matilda and insinuated that your support of me reflected funny on you?”

Barrows paused. “He did neglect those particular points during our conversation,” he went on with complete evenness. He stepped back, out of reach of the ring. “But it doesn’t matter. Because none of those rumors about you are true anyway, are they?”

Matty blinked up. Barrows’s face was completely blank.

It was important for a detective to keep blankness at the ready, to tame as many ticks and identifying quirks as possible, and Barrows was a master.

One might think he actually believed what he’d said.

But he couldn’t possibly. Barrows knew Matty.

Knew good and well what he was, what he’d always been.

Frost, however, did not. Not beyond a shadow of a doubt, anyway.

“No,” said Matty very slowly, unblinking, desperate to know where this was headed. “They aren’t, now that you mention it.”

“That’s what I told Frost straight off.” Barrows ran a firm hand horizontally through the air, as if cutting the whole problem right in two.

“I told him, I said, Frost, if Detective Shaw were some sort of ethically dubious sodomite running round at lascivious establishments he himself has investigated, don’t you think I’d have figured that out by now? ”

Matty’s heart skipped a beat. “You said that?”

“Exactly that. No more, no less.” Barrows might have winked then, it was hard to say with the rest of his face so severe. “He agreed it was likely I’d have noticed. So, I went on to tell him what you told me yesterday.”

“And what was that again?” Matty asked. Slowly, he slid the ring back on his finger. Maybe it would be alright there after all.

“That the levels of depravity your plain-clothes roles have brought you to have become nearly impossible to stomach.” Barrows made an impassioned fist and brought it down on the desk.

Matty could not recall saying that, but accuracy didn’t seem to be the point, here.

“I said that your loyalty stops you from complaining, but that you soldier through in hopes of finally proving that you’re ready for something greater, something more .

That’s why you’re so eager for the promotion, why I am so passionate about seeing you fill my shoes.

I told him you have become so weary and soul-drained by this work that when I suggested you gather intelligence in the art fraud case as a figure model, the shame and degradation nearly brought you to your knees , isn’t that right, Matthew? ”

“Um.” Matty was startled by the intensity of Barrows’s stare. A show of weary reluctance wasn’t exactly the same as being brought to one’s knees, but he supposed it was close enough. “If you say so.”

“And that’s why, for this case—even before all this nonsense about rumors and scandals —we had already decided that you were going to take a completely different angle than you usually do.”

“Different angle,” Matty repeated, confused and a bit alarmed, but starting to feel the first bubblings of hope in his breast. “R-remind me of the angle again, sir?”