The Advocate's Wife

by Norman Russell

  ‘Perhaps. But in that case, you must make atonement through action, not reclusiveness. Come, madam, you are forcing me to talk like a Dutch uncle. Enough of this! I know more about you than you think. I know more about Mary Jane’s origins than you think. So, for that matter, does she. Did you think we were a couple of children? Did you think for one moment that I cared about my wife’s antecedents? I chose her, and that was sufficient.’

  ‘You knew about Gideon Raikes?’

  ‘I did. I tell you again, Mother-in-law, I know more than you think, and what I don’t know for certain, I can guess. But you and I are tough. We’re both aristocrats, and we are both skilled, therefore, in the arts of survival – egad! If I’d known that I would have to spout all this rhetoric to bring you to your senses, I’d have stayed in Cannes!’

  Adelaide Porteous suddenly smiled. She rose from where she had been sitting, and took her son-in-law’s hand. Did he really know what she had done on that desperate visit to Grosvenor Square? Only Lardner knew, and he would never reveal her secret. But there: Rupert had always been able to read her like a book. He would never tell her what he knew, and she would be left to wonder.

  ‘Mother-in-law,’ Lord Avoncourt continued, ‘John Bruce is everywhere about the house this morning, and so is your daughter Lydia. At one o’clock precisely, luncheon will be served. I will leave you to dress, then John, Lydia and I will join you. They’re staying at Brown’s, you know. I’m at the Savoy. At the end of this week I am taking you back with me to Cannes. By Christmas, this scandal – if scandal it is – will have blown over. The public, you see, craves novelty. In the new year, you must come back here, to 4 Queen Adelaide Gate, and build your life afresh.’

  ‘Is that possible, Rupert? After a lifetime as an advocate’s wife?’

  ‘Baby comes out next year, doesn’t she? I met her, just now, loitering mournfully in the hall like a waif. Well, the waif must do the Season, and she can’t do that with an absentee mother. So, yes. It is possible. Think about Diana. Think about your work for the urban poor. In other words, think about the future! There is a splendid man downstairs who will be a rock of support for you in the years to come.’

  ‘Lardner,’ said Lady Porteous, softly.

  ‘Yes. He has a future, too, and it will be spent here, in your service.’

  ‘Rupert—’

  ‘Oh, dash it all, Mother-in-law! Let’s stop all this jawing! Get yourself ready for luncheon. The future’s waiting for you.’

  Sergeant Isaac Bickerstaffe stood in the walled village churchyard of Danesford, and looked down at the new granite gravestone that a firm of masons from Chelmsford had set in place that very morning. It was a fine stone, he thought, with deeply-cut lettering that would do well against the salt sea winds that blew across the marshlands from the estuaries. The sexton had removed the simple wooden cross that had proclaimed this to be the grave of a Drowned Woman, Known to God. The old sergeant stooped down, and read the inscription on the new stone.

  In fond memory of Amelia Garbutt,

  Born 8 August, 1852, Died 6 September, 1892

  This stone was erected at the expense of

  Mrs Alphonse Stockmayer.

  ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant.’

  Very kind of that London lady, it seemed to him. And after all that fuss and bother, it was Lady Hardington’s brother, the great advocate, who’d done it! She’d brought some flowers for Amelia Garbutt when she’d heard the truth, and so had Mrs Courtney of Bardley Lodge. He stood for a few minutes, thinking over the various wickednesses of the world, then lumbered away towards Field Lane, and his ancient, weather-boarded, cottage.

  Sergeant Knollys lifted his eyes from the newspaper for a moment, and said, ‘Mr Gideon Raikes, sir, had bequeathed his house in Grosvenor Square, together with its contents, to the nation. It’s to be called the Gideon Raikes Museum.’

  Inspector Box paused in his task of coaxing the dying fire back to life. It was growing very chilly in King James’s Rents, and outside, a thin, powdery rain was coating the cobbles with a sweat of slippery moisture. He attacked the fire again with the poker.

  ‘The Gideon Raikes Museum? Nothing surprises me, Sergeant. I was saying to George Boyd, only yesterday, that I haven’t exactly covered myself with glory over this business. I haven’t won the victor’s crown, so to speak. He just laughed, and mumbled something about Elba. Or Ste-Helena. I don’t know what he meant. And now you say that Gideon Raikes, my special villain, is to be immortalized with his own museum. Well, somebody got him. We’ll never know who it was. It wasn’t Razor Jim. I think it was something to do with a private vendetta.’

  ‘Gideon Raikes had some kind of secret hold over Lady Porteous—’

  ‘You’re not suggesting she shot him, are you?’

  Sergeant Knollys laughed.

  ‘No, sir, of course not. But maybe she had a friend who obliged her.’

  Box sat down at the table. Sergeant Knollys was entitled to his little joke.

  ‘Mounteagle comes up for trial in February,’ said Box. ‘Sir Iain Forbes had mastered the brief. Mounteagle will go down for life, I expect. Poor Sir William Porteous! Even now, Sergeant Knollys, I can hardly believe it. I was angry at first, but not now. It’s a tragedy, that’s what it is.’

  ‘You’re right, sir,’ said Knollys, ‘but I’m beginning to see the tragic element in a different light. William Porteous was an ambitious man, who murdered another young man who stood in his way. Then, half a lifetime later, he caused the death of another man who didn’t even know him, prosecuted his own accomplice, and sent him to the gallows. Finally, he murdered a foolish woman who threatened to inconvenience him. Yes, sir, it was a tragedy all right – for Henry Colbourne, James Hungerford, Albert John Davidson, and Amelia Garbutt.’

  There came a sudden rumbling from the floor above. The rackety gas-burner shook in the ceiling. They could both trace the heavy limp as it made towards the door. The trick was to get out into the passage before Old Growler reached the landing. Inspector Box reached the vestibule just as his superior officer appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Box,’ said Superintendent Mackharness, ‘up here, if you please. I won’t keep you more than ten minutes.’

  Some fresh villainy was evidently crying for redress. It would always be like that. Among the teeming millions of London’s population, the malignant and the malevolent were toiling ceaselessly against the law-abiding and their protectors. Inspector Box hurried up the stairs towards the superintendent’s mildewed office on the upper floor of Number 2 King James’s Rents.

  By the Same Author

  The Dried-Up Man

  The Dark Kingdom

  The Devereaux Inheritance

  The Haunted Governess

  Copyright

  © Norman Russell 2002

  First published in Great Britain 2002

  This edition 2012

  ISBN 978 0 7090 9671 9 (epub)

  ISBN 978 0 7090 9672 6 (mobi)

  ISBN 978 0 7090 9673 3 (pdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7090 7116 7 (print)

  Robert Hale Limited

  Clerkenwell House

  Clerkenwell Green

  London EC1R 0HT

  www.halebooks.com

  The right of Norman Russell to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988