Philip Gooden: The Durham Deception

Tom duly knocked and walked in without waiting for permission. By now he was on quite good terms with Ashley. Marrying the daughter of one of the founding partners had, perhaps surprisingly, not counted against him. Tom sensed that Ashley didn’t actively disapprove of him, which was probably as enthusiastic an endorsement as he was going to get.

The senior clerk looked up from a pile of papers and folders. Gifted with a prodigious memory, he had a high forehead which was permanently creased. Tom thought of the interior of his head as an orderly storehouse with details from different years, different decades even, filed away on each level.

‘Mr Mackenzie wishes to see you at your earliest convenience, Mr Ansell. Which we may translate as straightaway.’

‘Do you know why?’

There was a time when Tom wouldn’t have asked such a question and Ashley wouldn’t have deigned to answer it. Now he said, ‘I do know why. A strange affair. Come and have a word with me when you’re finished if you like.’

Tom went along the passage to Mackenzie’s chamber. He knocked and this time waited to be told to enter. As usual, it was hard to make out much of the interior because of the pipe smoke. Mackenzie waved away a cloud or two and, his teeth gripping the pipe stem, gestured at Tom to sit down on the other side of his desk. With his tonsure of white hair and wide, benevolent face, Mackenzie looked like a monk or a universal uncle. But he was quick and canny.

‘How are you, Thomas? Married life suiting you, ha?’

Odd how often that question came up. Tom used his wife’s answer: ‘It suits us well.’

‘Good, good. Time will tell, you know. It usually does.’

Having dispersed a few more parcels of smoke, David Mackenzie got down to business. At least Tom assumed it was business despite the oddness of his next question.

‘Know any magicians?’

‘Magicians? No, I don’t know any magicians, sir. I’ve seen Dr Pepper’s Ghost and the Corsican Trapdoor in the theatre.’

‘The Trapdoor was Boucicault’s idea,’ said Mackenzie, showing an unexpected familiarity with stage magic. ‘So you have never seen Major Sebastian Marmont?’

‘Nor heard of him, I’m afraid.’

‘He has a touring show during which he displays some magic feats he learned in the orient.’

‘What they call “the mysterious east”,’ said Tom.

‘In the Major’s case his learning is as genuine as his rank. He is not like Stodare who was never in the army but still styled himself a Colonel. No, Marmont is the real thing. He served in India for many years. There was always something of the showman in him and when he quit the army he became a magician.’

‘It sounds as though you know him, Mr Mackenzie,’ said Tom, more and more surprised at Mackenzie’s knowledge of the world of magic.

‘Like his father before him, Major Marmont is one of the clients of Scott, Lye and Mackenzie. I’ve met Marmont on quite a few occasions. A most entertaining fellow, full of tales. You will enjoy your encounter with him.’

Well, it would make a change from dealing with codicils, probates and leaseholds. Tom waited for David Mackenzie to tell him more. But the lawyer seemed curiously uncomfortable. He fiddled with his pipe so that, when it was going again, he was almost obscured behind a cloud of smoke. Perhaps, Tom thought, he’s about to perform a vanishing trick himself. Eventually, when Mackenzie spoke, his tone was somewhere between the apologetic and the persuasive.

‘Tom, I don’t know why I should turn to you when the firm has an odd task to undertake. And this is odder than most, like something out of Wilkie Collins. But perhaps I am looking to you because of the way you conducted that business in Salisbury last year. Perhaps it is because I trust your shrewdness and judgement. You showed those qualities most of all by choosing Helen Scott for your wife…’

He paused and Tom wondered what alarming or delicate errand was in prospect.

‘I would like you to visit Major Marmont and take an affidavit from him. He possesses an unusual item; an ornamental or ceremonial dagger which has, he says, a curious value. The handle is carved with figures. It was the gift of some prince or maharaja out east. But a rumour to the effect that he might have come by it, ah, illicitly is doing the rounds. Marmont wishes to make a statement under oath as to how he acquired the dagger. It should be an interesting story.’

‘But it could be no more than that — just a story. Straight out of Wilkie Collins, as you say.’

‘Sebastian Marmont is an honest fellow if I’m any judge. He is an officer and an English gentleman.’

‘As well as being a magician,’ said Tom, still not quite crediting this bizarre combination.

‘It’s an odd thing but I believe magicians in general are honest folk. At least they make no bones about tricking you, which takes a kind of honesty.’

‘Will he be believed though?’ said Tom, thinking it was peculiar that Mackenzie’s words were an echo of what Helen’s mother had said about magicians. ‘Will Major Marmont be believed even if he swears an affidavit?’

‘Those who want to think ill of Major Marmont will continue to do so but others may be swayed by knowing he has made such a statement.’

‘Where is this gentleman magician playing at the moment? In London?’

‘Why no, he is touring in the north of the country for the summer. You can catch up with him in York or Durham.’

‘In Durham?’

‘Yes, a very fine city.’

‘Forgive me for asking, Mr Mackenzie, but has Mrs Scott been in touch with you? Helen’s mother?’

‘She has spoken to me, I’m prepared to admit. I understand that there is some family problem which she wishes Helen to deal with in Durham. But my request to you is separate from that, quite separate, although you will be able to kill two birds with a single stone, as it were. Of course you should accompany your wife on her journey north. As I say, it should make an interesting trip. You can listen to old Marmont’s tales of the orient.’

David Mackenzie paused to fiddle with his pipe. He squinted at Tom through the fug, as if the other might raise some objection. But Tom couldn’t think of anything to say. It was an odd task, going to see a retired army man about a ceremonial dagger, but not so very odd perhaps. Lawyers were sometimes expected to do out-of-the-way things. The coincidence was that Durham had been mentioned as a destination a couple of times in as many weeks. He suspected collusion between Mrs Scott and Mr Mackenzie, especially because they seemed to have the same opinion of magicians. He’d discuss it with Helen when he got home.

But before that Tom dropped in on Ashley, the senior clerk.

‘A strange affair as you said, Mr Ashley. This business of the dagger and so on.’

‘Ah, the Dagger of Lucknow,’ said Ashley.

‘Lucknow?’

‘In northern India. Consult your atlas, Mr Ansell.’

‘It is quicker to consult you, Mr Ashley. Next you’ll be telling me the dagger is cursed, I suppose.’

Tom meant it as a joke and was surprised to see Ashley’s forehead grow even more corrugated.

‘It may not be cursed exactly but there is a story attached to it. During the siege of Lucknow… you have heard of that, Mr Ansell?’

‘The siege in the Mutiny?’

‘Yes, the Indian Mutiny. A historic event within your lifetime and well within mine. It seems that our client, Major Sebastian Marmont, acquired the dagger while undertaking a dangerous mission. He was a junior officer at the time. It appears he was given the dagger as a gift by his Indian companion.’

‘You say “seems” and “appears”, Mr Ashley.’

‘I have been working at this firm since… well, for a long time, Mr Ansell. I am cautious when I venture an opinion or report a story. I do know for a fact, however, that there was some question about the provenance of the Lucknow Dagger. A few years ago Major Marmont got wind of some tittle-tattle which was to appear in one of the London papers and he instructed us to send a letter, a shot across the bows if you like. Nothing was published.’