Sir Lemuel is not an insensitive man. He has induced his son to relinquish his commission and retire, for a while, to manage the family property in Ireland. Sir Lemuel is not an unworthy man. His own military career is nothing less than a fine adornment to his family name; his conduct in the Peninsula and at Waterloo deserves ever to be remembered. But nor, we submit, is Sir Lemuel an entirely prudent man. He has demonstrated that which we all privately knew but publicly denied: that the severities of the law are not visited equally upon the son of a baronet and the son of a butcher. The one, having taken up arms illegally, is reduced to half pay and sent away to Ireland to suffer a little boredom. The other, were he to do the same, would now be labouring on the treadmill in one of our houses of correction.
Cui bono? Not, experience compels us to conclude, the unrepentant Lieut. DAVENALL, nor yet his indulgent father. Such latitude, once allowed, cannot be compressed, for such latitude, once enjoyed, is ever after expected. Who knows to what excesses Lieut. DAVENALL may now feel at liberty to proceed? If it be any consolation to those who rail at such collusions of the well-connected, we take leave to doubt that the family DAVENALL will ever have cause to do other than abundantly regret this unwholesome clemency.
XI
I walked up Avenue Road late that afternoon looking forward to telling Constance what I had learned from Fiveash. In my own mind, the information crushed Norton’s claim outright, but there was something brutal as well as deluded in my eagerness to tell her. It was as if I wanted her to let me see that it was more a disappointment than a relief, as if I craved the endorsement of my suspicion more than the return of a lost harmony.
Only this state of mind can explain why, when Hillier greeted me in the hall and said that Constance was taking tea in the conservatory with a visitor, and that the visitor’s name was Davenall, I thought at once of Norton. As I thrust my hat and coat at Hillier and blundered through, some part of me, I believe, wanted it to be Norton.
But it was Richard Davenall. He and Constance looked up first in alarm, then with puzzled smiles, as I burst through the doors.
‘Trenchard!’ Davenall said. ‘I thought you would be here already. Otherwise I would have called at Orchard Street. But your wife has made me very welcome.’
‘Good,’ I said, panting slightly.
Constance rose and kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘Now you’ve arrived, William, I’ll leave you and Richard together. Shall I ask Hillier to bring more tea?’
‘No. No, thank you.’ She nodded and went out. Abruptly, I dismissed her from my mind: Davenall would do as well as any other audience. ‘Have you heard from Fiveash?’ I said as soon as the doors had closed on us.
‘No.’
I sat down opposite him, sensing but not subduing the signs of straining eagerness in my face and voice. ‘He believes somebody has spied on his medical records – in order to supply Norton with the details he made use of yesterday.’
‘Tell me more.’
So I did, plunging on with all the constructions I had placed upon Fiveash’s words, scarcely heeding the frown of disquiet on Davenall’s face. Whether it was the frailty of the evidence that disturbed him or the excess of confidence I drew from it was impossible to tell; he was not a lawyer for nothing. When I had finished, some moments passed before he responded.
‘No doubt I will receive a considered report of this from Baverstock.’
‘Yes. But meanwhile—’
‘Meanwhile it is suggestive but hardly conclusive. I can well understand Fiveash making much of it in the light of recent events, but, frankly, it is flimsy in the extreme.’
‘You can’t seriously be suggesting it’s a coincidence?’
‘I think it highly probable that it is. Even if it is not, where is the evidence that she is connected with Norton? For the present, I fear it takes us nowhere.’
‘This is pure defeatism. I had—’
‘It is pure realism, Trenchard. I have to give Warburton some kind of answer by noon tomorrow. Unsubstantiated accusations that Norton has set a spy on Fiveash will not help.’
I stood up and walked to the window. Through a screen of vine leaves, I could see Constance at the far end of the lawn, moving slowly amongst the herb borders. She had taken of late to wandering in the garden whenever I was at home, dreamily picking posies of thyme and rosemary; Burrows had even gone so far as to complain about it. But Constance would not have explained her actions even had I asked her to. Past associations called from beyond these symbols of disenchantment, disenchantment with our life but enchantment with another. I turned back to Davenall with a sigh. ‘What brought you here today?’
‘The urgency of the position. And I am glad I came. I see now just how urgent it really is.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Constance fended off my enquiries politely enough, Trenchard, but it is clear to me she believes in Norton, as it must be clear to you.’
‘We have not discussed it.’
‘Not discussed it?’ He looked at me with frank incredulity. ‘Have you told her how matters stand?’
‘No.’
‘Now I see why she was so apparently incurious. I appreciate syphilis is hardly a fitting—’
‘I have told her nothing of what occurred yesterday and I will tell her nothing until such time as I can prove Norton a liar.’
Davenall rose and joined me by the window. He glanced towards the garden and must have seen Constance as a pale shape flitting distantly amongst the falling leaves, like a delicate petal afloat on a dank and swollen pond. When I looked at him, his expression was creased with a sharp suggestion of genuine pain.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You are playing with fire, man. Constance loved him once. If you try to shut her out—’
‘Loved who once?’
Our eyes met and contended for a moment with the ambiguities that rippled in the humid air. Beyond the glass, Constance might have felt the moist breeze stir her hair, worn longer today in honour of some private memory, might have let the damp descending gloom wrap her in a spirit of luscious mourning; she looked back once in our direction.
‘Even you’re not sure. You sat there yesterday and gave nothing away, but you’re not sure, are you?’
His gaze did not shift. ‘No, Trenchard. I’m not sure. None of us is.’
‘I am.’
‘Then, perhaps I have chosen wisely.’
‘Chosen?’
‘I had lunch with Hugo. I think I succeeded in persuading him that confronting Norton in court would prove disastrous. At all events, he agreed that we should make one last effort to avoid it.’
‘How?’
‘By offering Norton enough money to persuade any impostor that he has more to gain by accepting it than by persisting with his claim. It is what I originally advocated, except that the sum involved has had to be increased.’
‘How much?’
‘Ten thousand pounds.’ He must have noticed my eyes widen. ‘Woundingly expensive, even given Hugo’s means. His agreement is a measure of his desperation. It is not a king’s ransom, but it is a baronet’s. I suggested – and he concurred – that you should be the one to put it to Norton.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because you are not a Davenall, because it is not your money, because you want rid of him as badly as we do.’
‘In short, I am to do Sir Hugo’s dirty work for him?’
‘If I made this offer through Warburton, it could be used against us. If Hugo went to Norton with it, I could not trust him to keep his head. Besides, you are sure he is an impostor. This is your chance to prove it.’
‘How?’
‘If he is an impostor, he will accept. It is easy money. It can be quickly done. A banker’s draft for ten thousand pounds in exchange for a written undertaking to withdraw his claim. Throw in terms of your own if you wish. A contrite letter to Constance, perhaps?’
‘When?’
‘Before noon tomorrow. I have t
he draft with me. Will you act for us?’
‘You called this “nuisance money” yesterday. You spoke of it with contempt.’
‘As I would today. It is contemptible. Yet you heard what was said in that room. This is what it has driven us to.’
‘What if he refuses?’
‘Offer him more. Hugo is good for twice as much. Only the conditions are inflexible.’
‘And if he cannot be bribed?’
‘Every man has his price.’
‘His may not be measured in pounds.’
‘So you and I fear, Trenchard. I cannot read this man. I hope money is all he wants. I suggest you do the same.’
‘Very well. I will see him.’
Perversely, I was already relishing the prospect. I did not mind acting as the Davenalls’ messenger if it also gave me the opportunity to make Norton understand that I, at least, knew he would accept their offer – and why. I would wake Constance from her dream of James and banish Norton from my nightmares. In less than twenty-four hours, it would be done.
Chapter Five
I
NORTON RECEIVED ME in the sitting-room of his second-floor suite at the Great Western. It was ten o’clock in the morning, but he was still clad in his dressing-gown, smoking a cigarette and standing by the window, which looked down on the busy side-exit of the station. He did not turn in my direction until the page-boy had closed the door behind me.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t in when you called last night.’
‘No matter. You’re here now.’
‘Yes, and only two short hours before Richard delivers his answer to my solicitor. I must say I thought he would be the breathless last-minute visitor. But I’m glad it’s you instead. How is Connie?’
‘I’ve not come here to discuss my wife.’
‘Really? If you say so, of course.’ He turned back to the window. ‘The manager offered me rooms facing Praed Street, you know, but I prefer these. I can watch all the travellers scurrying to and fro from here.’ He craned forward. ‘All on their busy, busy errands.’ I was standing beside him by now and found my gaze shifting, with his, to the crowded street below. ‘And what is your errand, Trenchard, I wonder?’ With a start, I realized he was looking straight at me. ‘Mmm?’
‘I’ve come here to say just two things to you.’
‘And they are?’ His composed ironical stare met my eyes. Silently, I damned the man for his infernal coolness, his air of bored foreknowledge, the unspoken implication behind his every remark that nothing I could say or do would surprise him.
I surrendered to the goading indifference of his question. ‘First, you may as well know I’m on to you. A woman calling herself Whitaker obtained the information you have on James Davenall’s illness from Dr Fiveash’s confidential records.’
His face, which I scanned for a reaction, betrayed not the slightest flicker; he did not even blink. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the lady.’
‘I didn’t expect you to admit it.’
‘Then, you’ll not be disappointed.’
‘I told you so you’d understand: you don’t fool me for a minute. You are not James Davenall.’
‘I find it odd that my most vehement opponent is somebody whom I never knew. I know why, of course. You’re afraid I’ll take Connie away from you. She only married you because she believed me dead. Well, I can understand how you feel. You really are in a difficult position, aren’t you?’
‘It’s no—’
‘But not as difficult as my own position, eleven years ago. Has that occurred to you?’
‘I told you: you are not that man.’
He smiled. ‘You recite it, Trenchard, to make yourself believe it. It won’t do, you know. It really won’t do.’ I felt my anger threatening to run out of control. Before I could summon a reply, he spoke again. ‘What was the second reason for your visit?’
‘The Davenalls are prepared to buy you off.’
‘Hush money. So it has come to that. How much?’
‘I have a banker’s draft with me for ten thousand pounds.’
‘As much as that?’
‘I’m to say—’
‘Don’t trouble yourself to explain the conditions, Trenchard. The money is of no interest to me. It’s mine anyway. Soon, very soon, Hugo will have to accept that. And so will you. Not that money is what worries you. It’s property of a different kind, isn’t it?’
Desperately, I clung to the offer I had come to make. ‘They’re prepared to pay you ten thousand pounds.’
‘Are you prepared to surrender your wife?’
‘Damn you, Norton—’
‘Not Norton!’ His face was close to mine; for the first time, the mask of languid unconcern was lowered. ‘Davenall is the name. James Davenall. Eleven years ago, I had to give up everything to preserve my family in happy ignorance of their own corruption. Do you know what I’ve discovered since then? That none of it meant a scrap to me, not even a scrap of paper with a row of noughts on it. Except Constance. Giving her up was the hardest, noblest thing I’ve ever done. Now I know I didn’t need to, there’s no nobility left to call on – and certainly no greed. All I’ve come to reclaim is what is rightfully mine – Constance most of all.’
‘She’ll never—’
‘She’ll never forget our love for each other. When I told her I was leaving, I couldn’t tell her why. You can’t imagine how hard that was. I cried for her as well as for myself. She tried to stop me. She offered herself to me that day, as a proof of her love, as a way of keeping me.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘I had to turn my back on her and walk away. I won’t do so again.’
I should have hit him then, should have forced him to take back what he had said. But his words had gone deeper than any blows could reach. I stared at him in dumb horror.
‘Do you understand now, Trenchard? Forget my family. This is between us. For Connie’s sake, I’m prepared to destroy you.’
I left the hotel a vanquished man. In my turmoil, I hardly knew which way I was going, only to pull up with a start on realizing that I was in the vicinity of Lancaster Gate. Retracing my steps towards Praed Street, I paused at the junction with Eastbourne Terrace to wait for a gap in the traffic.
Ahead of me, I could see figures moving in and out of the Great Western Hotel. Suddenly, I caught my breath. One of them was Norton, immaculately turned out in top-hat and grey overcoat, twirling his cane and pausing at the foot of the hotel steps to stub out a cigarette. He made no move to hail a cab, merely moved off smartly in the direction of Marylebone. Clearly, he had not seen me. And that is what planted the idea in my mind.
Abruptly, I was conscious of a crossing-sweeper twitching at my sleeve; he had mistaken my hesitation for custom. I flipped him a farthing, then hurried across before he could earn it. There was no time to lose: Norton was walking quickly, his tall figure easily distinguishable amongst the bobbing heads, but receding fast. The effort of keeping him in view was enough to stifle any examination of my motives.
Norton’s pace did not slacken as he turned into the Edgware Road and headed south, but he did not once look back; following him became comparatively simple. He passed on into Park Lane, still heading resolutely south, and I began to hang back as the crowds thinned. Not that I needed to worry: whatever his thoughts were on, it was not the possibility of pursuit. Most of the way down Park Lane, he turned into Hyde Park; I followed.
There he was, ahead of me, nothing but trees and grass between us, no intervening throng, no bustle and noise in which to cloak my trailing steps. I began to fall back still further, fearing that at any moment he might look round. But he did not. Then another sensation, more withering than any fear, found its root in me. The steadily pacing figure, the straggling path between us, the invisible string by which he wound me in: suddenly, their meaning was clear. I nearly cried out at the certainty of it: he knew I was there; he wanted me to follow him.
The Achilles statue loomed ahead,
a smattering of strangers taking their ease at its foot: Norton made straight for them. Then one figure among the rest, standing with back turned and hands resting on the chain that skirted the base of the statue, emerged from the anonymity of the people and the place. I took one step closer, felt an intake of breath that could have been a clutch at the heart, and then I knew: it was Constance.
I stood motionless in the shade of one of the trees flanking the path and watched, transfixed, as Norton moved to her elbow. At his touch, she turned and looked up at him. It was her face, glimpsed within the fringe of a familiar hood; her gaze, met by my own so many times before; her smile, which I had lately banished from her lips. There was no doubt, no question, no hope of error.
They began to circumnavigate the statue, moving slowly, following the line of the perimeter chain. In a moment, I knew, they would pass from view behind the plinth on which Achilles stood. I could not bear still to be watching when they reappeared. I turned and began to walk quickly back along the path.
II
‘Clearly, I should have made my instructions more explicit, Mr Baverstock. Permit me to do so now. Cease these wasteful enquiries into the obscure and ancient history of my family affairs. It is not of the least interest to me whether or no this man Norton has some hold over Prince Napoleon. It would not surprise me. The Prince is a man of such monumental vices that I should guess he has a store of blackmailers to match. But their bearing on the present case is only to be compared to that of Nanny Pursglove’s twitterings concerning Miss Strang. Both issues are irrelevant, and I do not take kindly to paying your fee when it is spent on such trifles.
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