Philip Kerr - Dark Matter

Newton nodded as if he had only suddenly remembered useful information that had been long forgotten to him. This was a distinctive characteristic of his. I was always left with the impression that his mind was as vast as a great country house, with some rooms containing certain things that were known to him, but seldom visited, so that sometimes he seem surprised at what knowledge he himself possessed. And I remarked upon this as we walked along Cheapside to Milk Street.

“As to myself,” he replied, “it very much appears to me that the most important thing I have learned is how little I do know. And sometimes I seem to myself to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, diverting myself with smooth pebbles or pretty shells while a great ocean of truth lies undiscovered before me.”

“There is much that still lies undiscovered in this case,” said I. “But I have the impression, from all our activity, that we shall soon discover something of significance.”

“I trust you shall be right.”

For my own part I could have lived very contentedly without the discovery that lay before us now, which was that no such person as Mrs. Berningham or anyone answering her description lived, or had ever lived, at the house in Milk Street where Newton’s coach had set her down but thirty-six hours earlier.

“Now that I do think of it, I cannot remember that she went through the front door at all,” Newton admitted. “You have to admire the jade’s audacity.”

But the realisation that she had tricked us disappointed me, for I had entertained high hopes of her being innocent of her husband’s poisoning, which her never having lived there at all seemed after all to confirm.

“Who would have thought that I was a keener judge of women than you?” railed my master.

“But to poison your own husband,” I said, shaking my head. “It is quite unconscionable.”

“Which is why the law takes such a dim view of it,” said Newton. “It’s petty treason, and if she’s caught and it be proved that she did murder him by poison, she’ll burn for it.”

“Then I hope she is never caught,” said I. “For no one, least of all a woman, should suffer that particular fate. Even a woman that murders her husband. But why? Why would she do such a thing?”

“Because she knew that we were on to her husband. And hopes to protect someone, perhaps herself. Perhaps others, too.” For a moment he remained in thought. “Those fellows whom you did suspect of accosting her near the Whit.”

“What about them?”

“Are you quite sure that they meant her harm?”

“What do you mean?”

“By the time I saw them, you had engaged with them.”

I took off my hat and scratched my head sheepishly. “It may be that it was only their weapons and rough voices did persuade me that they meant her some harm. In truth I cannot recall that any of them laid a hand upon her.”

“I thought as much,” said Newton.

We returned to the Tower, where we were straightaway summoned to the Lord Lieutenant’s house, which overlooked Tower Green in the shadow of the Bell Tower. And in the Council Chamber where, it was said, Guy Fawkes was put on the rack, Lord Lucas met us with Captain Mornay of the Ordnance and told us that we were to address any questions regarding the death of Mister Kennedy to the Captain who, in accordance with the law, had been ordered to impanel a jury of eighteen men from the Tower that it might be determined whether his death be an accident or not.

“As sure as iron is most apt to rust,” said Newton, “I tell you this was no accident.”

“And I tell you that the jury will decide the matter,” said Lord Lucas.

But Newton’s obvious irritation quickly gave way to anger when he learned that all eighteen of the men who were impanelled for the jury had already been drawn from the Ordnance and that there was to be no representation of the Mint.

“What?” he exclaimed, being most agitated. “Do you intend to have this all your own way, Lord Lucas?”

“This is a matter for our jurisdiction, not yours,” said the Captain.

“And do you seriously think that his death could be accidental?”

“The evidence for murder is very circumstantial,” said Captain Mornay, who was a most cadaverous-looking officer, for his face was most white, so that I formed the apprehension not that he powdered it, but that he might be ill. His eyes were the largest I had ever seen upon a man and very evasive, while his hands seemed very small for one of his height. In short, the whole proportion and air of his being was so peculiar and inexactly formed that, but for his uniform, I should have taken him for a poet or a musician.

“Circumstantial, is it?” snorted Newton. “And I suppose he tied his hands himself?”

“Pray, sir, correct me if I am wrong, but since one of Mister Kennedy’s arms was no longer attached to his body, there is nothing to prove that his hands were ever tied at all.”

“And the gag? And the stone in his mouth?” insisted Newton. “Explain those if you will.”

“A man may chew a stick, sir, to help him bear the pain if he knows he is to be cut by a surgeon. I have myself seen men suck musket balls to make spit in lieu of drinking water. I have even seen a man tie his own blindfold before being shot by a firing party.”

“The door to the Lion Tower was locked from the outside,” said Newton.

“So Mister Wadsworth has said,” answered Lord Lucas. “But with respect to you, sir, I know him better than you. He is a most intemperate, addle-pated fellow who is just as likely to forget his head as where he left a key. It’s not the first time that he has been negligent of his duties. And you may be assured that he will find himself reprimanded for it.”

“Are you suggesting that Mister Kennedy might have committed suicide?” Newton asked with no small exasperation. “And in such a dreadful way? Why, milord, it’s preposterous.”

“Not suicide, sir,” said Lord Lucas. “But it is plain to anyone who has ever visited Bedlam that folk who are troubled by virulent lunacies may often pluck out their own eyes and gouge themselves. Perhaps they may even feed themselves to a lion.”

“Mister Kennedy was no more mad than you or me,” said Newton. “Why then I at least, for you, milord Lucas, begin to show some signs of delusion in this matter. You too, Captain, if you persist with this impression.”

Lord Lucas sneered his contempt, but Captain Mornay, who was Irish, I thought, seemed rather taken aback at this imputation.

“I’m sure there is nothing in what I have said to put me upon a level with a person of that stamp,” he said.

“And now, gentlemen,” said Lord Lucas, “if you will all excuse me, I have work to do.”

But Newton had already bowed and was walking out of the Council Chamber. Captain Mornay and I followed suit, with the Captain almost apologetic to me.

“I am sure I should be very sorry to affront that gentleman,” he said, nodding at the figure of my master ahead of us. “For I believe he is a very clever man.”

“He knows things which I never expected any man should have known,” I replied.

“But you understand, I have my orders and must carry out my duty. I am not free to think for myself, Mister Ellis. I am sure you can receive my meaning.” At which he turned on the heel of his boot and walked off in the direction of the Chapel.

Catching my master, I reported this brief exchange of conversation.

“Lord Lucas would have me thwarted in all things,” he said. “I think he would side with the French if I were their opponent.”

“But why does he dislike you so much?”

“He would hate whoever was charged with conducting the affairs of His Majesty’s Mint. As I told you before. This Great Recoinage has turned the garrison out of the Mint, although it was not of my doing. But I did issue all Minters with a document that protects them from the press-gang and from any exercise of the Tower liberties upon their persons, which Lucas much resents. But we shall make a fool of him yet, Mister Ellis.Depend upon it, sir. We shall find a way to make him look a proper idiot.”