T.F. Banks: The Thief-Taker

“Such a thing hardly seems necessary, Mr. Morton,” Sir Charles Carey interjected, “if, as you admit, a medical man has seen to it already. You are hardly qualified to overrule him.”

Lady Caroline gave the coroner a sad look of gratitude.

Morton felt his anger rising. The Glendinnings did not want their son's name sullied. And bloody Sir Charles did not want to commission an autopsy and risk finding nothing-in which case the King's Bench might refuse to pay the fee, leaving Sir Charles to cover it himself. He and Morton had fought this battle before.

Morton made an effort to keep his eyes straight ahead and his voice level. “It is, Sir Charles, the Chief Magistrate's decision to make.”

For the first time Sir William looked straight at Morton. His voice was icily deliberate.

“I know you, fellow, for what you are. You seek to profit from my son's death. And if there were no crime, where would you find your thirty pieces of silver?”

He looked back to Sir Nathaniel.

“There will be no investigation, sir. Lady Caroline and the rest of my family have suffered enough. I forbid it.”

“You will pardon me, Sir William, but in cases of possible felony-”

“I forbid it! I will not cooperate with it. I will not prosecute it, even if you produce a case. There was no felony, and your little flock of carrion-crows will not pick over my son's good name to the benefit of their pockets!”

He rose quite suddenly, drawing up his wife after him, and with her leaning on his arm, they went out.

The four remaining looked one to the other as Morton seethed inwardly. Thirty pieces of silver! That the man who risked getting his skull cracked in parts of London these people had never seen should get slapped across the face with such an insult…! And by a man who had achieved his place in the world by being born under the right blanket!

“Mr. Morton,” Darley said quietly. “Are you so sure?”

Morton scowled and nodded. “I spoke with the driver of the coach who brought Glendinning here. Mrs. Malibrant's intuition was correct. Something untoward happened. I am certain of it.”

He noticed Sir Nathaniel staring at him thoughtfully at that moment, and did not like what he read into that gaze. Doubt. Doubt that Morton himself had contributed to in the carriage on their way here. And that Sir William's accusation had only encouraged.

“Lord Arthur,” the Magistrate said, bowing to Darley.

Out on the walk, as they awaited their carriage, Sir Charles Carey turned on Morton.

“You know perfectly well, Mr. Morton, that the lords of the King's Bench do not approve of idle inquests!”

“I saw that man within a quarter hour of his death, sir, and he did not die of choking.”

“A doctor examined him before you, sir,” the coroner fumed. “And you would have me hire another to draw the same conclusion. I will not do it.”

“So it is about your expenses, is that it?”

Sir Charles balled his hands up into tight little fists and his face turned suddenly red. “And can you guarantee me, sir, that at the end of quarter sessions I will be reimbursed for the expense of hiring a surgeon? No, sir, you cannot. The Chief Justice will scrawl needless over the writ, and I shall be out of pocket every shilling of it. Would you care to pay for it yourself?”

“Gentlemen, enough!” Sir Nathaniel glared at his two companions until they fell silent. Then he said: “There will be no inquest, and no investigation of this death.”

The two men looked at him, their expressions in stark contrast.

“You have no evidence, Mr. Morton. Glendinning's constitution was delicate, he drank too much, perhaps in reaction to the earlier events of the day, and he died. If we investigated every man who died of drink in London we should do little else. No, we will chase this no further. His family have sorrow enough.”

“They are trying to protect his character,” objected Morton. “They don't want it known that he was at the Otter-”

“That is probably so,” Sir Nathaniel interrupted. “Would you? I expect their fine Halbert was something of a bounder. It is enough that they shall have to live with this knowledge; there is little need for the world to know.”

Their carriage drew up and Carey climbed in, smiling in triumph.

“Nonetheless, I think a brief visit to-”

“You shall do nothing of the sort, Mr. Morton! That is all I have to say on the matter, sir. Devote your energies to that theft of antiquities from Burlington House.”

Morton's impatience with the previous interview boiled over, and he replied with poorly judged asperity.

“There is no point in any further investigation into that particular matter. The thieves have the goods secured. As I have explained before, there are very few ways for them to make a profit on such unusual material. They, or their fence, will have to sell it back to the owner. There is nothing for us to do but wait for them to make contact, place a notice in the newspaper, or use some other familiar device. I have no appetite for more fruitless digging in the cold ashes of this crime.”

It was the second time that day Morton had refused to cooperate with his Magistrate. Sir Nathaniel turned on him.

“You have no appetite for it? You will develop the taste, sir, and I'll thank you not to speak back to me in this manner!”

Sir Nathaniel climbed into the carriage beside Sir Charles and pulled the door sharply closed behind him, leaving Morton standing by the kerb as the coach jounced once, then went deliberately on its way.

You may begin by admitting I was right,” Arabella said as she caught sight of Morton in her mirror. He had just let himself into her dressing cabinet backstage at the Drury Lane Theatre. She continued applying her face powder with studied care.

“You were undoubtedly right, Mrs. Malibrant,” Morton said mildly. “About what, pray?”

Arabella smiled, but then recomposed her face. “Do not try your charm on me, Henry Morton. You doubted me, and should not have. Is that not what you have come to say?”

“I never doubted you for a moment,” Morton said, pulling up a joint-stool. “You are never wrong. Not even the time you had me nab the footman for stealing Lady Ellington's bracelet. He just did not have it in his possession at that moment-or ever, if my memory serves.”

“I do not claim always to be right,” she said, crinkling up her brow.

Morton laughed. “Nor do you ever admit to being wrong, but in this case, my dear, I believe you were right. Though no one but you and me seems to believe it.”

“And why is that?”

“I don't know. I told them that I had it on good authority from Mrs. Arabella Malibrant, but they seemed not to care. I was somewhat taken aback.”

Arabella's frame of mind had apparently improved, and she only made a little grimace in response to this sally. “I hope you challenged them all to duels. Who were these doubters, pray?”

“Halbert Glendinning's parents, Sir William and Lady Caroline; my Magistrate, Sir Nathaniel Conant; the coroner, the ever-worthless Sir Charles Carey. I am not even certain your Lord Arthur believes me.”

“Oh, he is not mine,” Arabella said quickly. For a moment she concentrated on her eyebrows.

Morton watched the transformation. He always marveled that what looked so garish up close became something quite ethereal at a distance.

“Do you know,” she said, sitting back and examining her efforts with a critical eye, “they used to whiten the face with lead powder, but now folk say it is poisonous and like to kill you. Do you think we could convince Mrs. Siddons to try it?”

“Certainly she is no rival to you.”