Philip Kerr - Dark Matter

In the officers’ quarters at the Ordnance, Major Mornay was wearing his arm in a sling. He was being shaved by Mister Marks, the Tower Barber, and was attended by Mister Whiston, the broker, Lieutenant Colonel Fairwell, Captain Potter and Captain Martin. For all his previous evening’s debauches, he seemed to be in good humour, for we had heard his voice outside the door; but even as we entered, he left off telling the brave story of how he had received the wound in his arm and, colouring like a beetroot, stared upon us as if we had been two ghosts.

“Olim, hero, hodie, cras nescio cujus,” Newton remarked with a cruel smile,

Once upon a time, yesterday, today, tomorrow, I know not whose, by which I assumed my master meant the Major to know that he was well aware that Mornay had lied about how he had come by his wound. And yet it was not a direct statement to that effect, for this might have provoked Mornay too far, perhaps into challenging Newton to a duel. My master was no coward; but he had seldom held a sword, let alone a pistol, and had not the slightest intention of being challenged. I suffered no such constraints, however, although Newton had cautioned me to give only utterance to that which he prompted.

“What do you mean by that?” Major Mornay asked Newton, his speech faltering like an admission of high treason.

“Mean? Why, nothing at all, Major. Nature has cursed me with a manner that doth sometimes seem like impertinence. It is only the disadvantage of intellect, for I think that Nature is best pleased with simplicity and affects not the pomp of superfluous words or thoughts.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Doctor?” He took a cloth from Mister Marks and wiped his face carefully.

“We came to return you this dagger,” said Newton.

Mornay hardly glanced at the blade now in Newton’s hand, its handle extended, politely, in the Major’s direction, and then, briefly, at me, so that he did lie most brazenly.

“I own no such dagger,” said Mornay. “Who says I do?”

“Perhaps you do not recognise it,” said Newton, “since I have cleaned it for you. Otherwise one could not mistake such a dagger, to be sure. For it has a most noble sentiment engraved upon the blade. It says, ‘Remember Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey. Remember religion.’”

“Amen,” said Captain Martin.

“Amen indeed,” said Mornay. “Nevertheless it is not my dagger.”

Newton remained all smiles. “If you say so, Major, then it must be true, for you are a gentleman. And yet we should certainly not relinquish the evidence of one man’s good eyes for the vain fictions of another man’s devising.” Newton pointed at me. “This humble clerk saw you drop this dagger last night, outside a house in Lambeth Marshes.”

“I was nowhere near Lambeth Marshes last night.”

Seeing that I was about to contradict Mornay’s bare-faced lie, Newton did hold me by the arm and shake his head so slightly that I think only I perceived it.

“One of you two gentlemen must be mistaken.”

“The mistake is not mine,” said Mornay.

Newton let go my arm, which I took to mean that I was at last allowed to speak.

“Nor mine,” said I.

“Why, then, one of you — I know not which — must be a liar and a shameroon,” said Newton.

“Fetch a Bible,” I said, hardly caring that the Bible had little value for me now. “Let me swear. The dagger is his.”

“Have a care, sir.” Newton spoke gravely to me. “For you do say as much as that Major Mornay is a liar to his face, in front of all his brother officers, for which, as a gentleman, he would surely demand the satisfaction of proving his word against yours by force of arms.”

“I do say it. Most vehemently. Major Mornay is a liar. I saw him drop the dagger just as you have described.”

Mornay rose from his chair, his mouth opening and closing like a cormorant.

“Were I not incommoded by my wound, I should not hesitate to challenge you, Mister Ellis.”

“Perhaps,” said Newton helpfully, “Mister Ellis could waive his privilege of choosing weapons. I believe the Major is right-handed. In which case he might challenge you safely, so to speak, were he to be assured that pistols would be your choice of weapons.”

“Then let him be reassured,” said I. “If he seeks satisfaction of me, he has my word that I should choose to fight with pistols.”

There followed a longish silence with all eyes on Major Mornay, who swallowed loudly several times before, finally, stammering out a whey-faced challenge with less bravado than a toothless old gammer.

“We accept your challenge,” said Newton. “I shall act as Mister Ellis’s second and await your instructions.” And so saying, he bowed gravely. Then did I, before taking our leave of these now-bemused officers.

Walking back to the Mint office, feeling like a numb eel, I steeled myself for a jangle with Newton, for I was right angry to find myself manoeuvred by him like a jolly-boat. And as soon as we were alone, I argued with him on the impropriety of his conduct to me.

“Well, I like that,” I remarked. “I think a man might be allowed to pick his own quarrels and to issue his own challenges.”

“He challenged you,” said Newton, correcting me.

“Only because you painted him into a corner.”

“If I had left the matter to you, my dear fellow, the matter could never have come to a head quite so neatly.”

“Neatly, do you say? It’s not a year since a duel almost cost me my liberty. Or had you forgotten how I came into your service, Doctor? Suppose I kill him? What then? Suppose he kills me? Suppose he’s a better shot than he’s a swordsman? Damn it all, sir, I thought you intended to trip him into some confession.”

“There will be no fight,” said Newton. “He has no stomach for it. That much was easily apparent.”

“Very little that involves you is ever easily apparent to me,” I said bitterly. “In this, as in all matters, I am your creature.”

“Nay sir, not creature,” said Newton reproachfully. “I create nothing. I merely attempt to extend the boundaries of what we know. And just as the Ancients put their faith in the god Pan and his pipe, so now and then, you must do the same and let me play a tune with you. My fingers may move upon you, but the music is yours, my dear fellow, the music is yours.”

“Then I like not this tune. It’s easier to govern a rapier point than a pistol ball. And I am not such a good shot that I can comb his hair with lead. If I shoot him, I might very likely kill him. And what of you, sir? My second. Have you no thought for your position? Duelling is illegal. Sir William Coventry was sent to the Tower merely for challenging the Duke of Buckingham to a duel. To say nothing of your safety. You know, it’s not unknown for seconds to engage and take their shares, even though the main protagonists may wish it otherwise. You may be killed, sir. And then what would become of Miss Barton?”

“And I say again that it will not proceed so far. For it is plain to me that Major Mornay is actuated by the will of others in this Tower. Perhaps his old friend from the French galleys, Sergeant Rohan. His challenge was not governed by them, and I believe they will now show themselves as they seek to reach an accommodation with us. For a duel would only draw attention to them in a way that cannot serve their secrecy. What is covert always abhors a scandal. For, as you say, that is what we will have if a duel is fought between Mint and Ordnance.”

I know not what he expected. I doubt that he knew himself. For all his scientific method, it seemed a most unscientific course of action on which we were bound. Later on that day he dressed the matter up yet further and called it an experiment, but I could not believe it effectual for determining truth, and by my own thinking it was more akin to goading a bear with a hot iron. What is certain is that neither one of us had anticipated that which happened next; and for this Newton felt some shame and rightly so, since it seems to me that no one should make an experiment, so called, without having some idea of the possible outcomes. If that is science, then I want no part of it, since where is the common sense in it? To my mind it is like a girl who lets you bundle with her but does not have the apprehension that you might try and go even further. For when one seeks to discover something, sagacity would always seem to be a better guide than accident or otherwise the quest must result in things one did not seek at all.