Page 60 of A Murder in Bloomsbury

It cost him; I could read the price in the set of his broad shoulders. And Quennell, who a quarter of an hour earlier had burst through the door in fear, received the apology with dignity.

"You are afraid for her," he said, with a glance at me. "I cannot fault a man for that. I would be afraid for her, too." He picked up the empty glass again, turning it in the light. "You are walking into the same fire Lydia walked into, Lady Larkspur. I hope you have someone to pull you out of it." A pause and a glance at Thorne. “I think you do.”

The words came down with me through the courtyard and out into the indifferent roar of Piccadilly, where a flower-seller was crying her wares, and carriages rattled past.

“A physician on Gower Street," Thorne said at my side, low. “The asylum we can reasonably guess. And a lawyer somewhere about the Inns."

"It is two more threads than we had this morning,” I said. "And it is something better than threads, Thorne. It is proof we were right. Men do not burn down a building to bury a lie. They only do it to bury the truth."

He said nothing to that. But when we reached the hansom cab we’d hired after he’d sent his carriage home, he handed me up into it with a care that had nothing of duty in it. And I thought, not for the first time, that I had begun to rely upon this difficult man in ways I had neither chosen nor any clear notion how to undo.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

The Devil’s Bargain

The following morning had been quieter than I had any right to expect. I was awaiting the tutor Lark had recommended, a gentleman from her literary salon who was expected at eleven, along with the more extensive report from my solicitors regarding the Kent Institution. If the report had not arrived by the time I finished with the tutor, I intended to visit their offices and enquire into the delay.

In anticipation of its arrival, I had cleared my desk of the responsibilities I had inherited. Letters had been answered. The estate ledger had been dealt with. I’d given the railway prospectus the half hour of attention it deserved and no more. Dawson had taken Will to Mr. Felling’s establishment in Bond Street at half past nine. They were not expected back until well after one.

The clock upon the mantel struck ten. Not a quarter of an hour passed when Dawson appeared at the study door. “My lord.”

I set down my pen. “You are early.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Where is Will?”

“In his bedchamber, my lord. He is unharmed.”

The careful construction of the sentence—unharmed, with all its battlefield resonance—was the first warning.

“And Mr. Felling?”

“Mr. Felling is likewise unharmed, my lord.”

I folded my hands and waited.

Dawson drew a measured breath. “Master Will declined to remove his coat upon entering the establishment. Mr. Felling, with such tact as he could muster, suggested this was a customary preliminary to being measured for new clothes. Master Will replied that he did not require new clothes, that the coat he was wearing had been his, was his, and would remain his. Mr. Felling then attempted to explain that the coat in question was somewhat in disrepair and that a young gentleman in your lordship’s household ought to be properly attired.”

He paused. Beneath the gravel of his composure lingered the faintest indication of a man choosing his next words with care.

“Master Will informed him, my lord, that he was not a young gentleman, that he had no intention of becoming one, and that any further conversation on the subject would be—and I quote, my lord, with apologies--wasted breath.”

“Wasted breath.”

“His exact words, my lord.”

“Did Mr. Felling persist?”

“He made one additional attempt. He approached with a measuring tape. Master Will retreated behind a chair and stated that any man laying hands upon him without consent would receive a response he would not enjoy.”

I held my expression with some difficulty. “Did he elaborate upon the response?”

“No, my lord. I judged the omission deliberate. Master Will is not, in my estimation, a boy who issues threats he does not intend to carry through.”

“No,” I said. “I should not think him so.”