So, you told Rokeby you would arrest him if he challenged you, then proposed he meet you at Gentleman John's for fisticuffs. And after that you challenged the little surgeon to a duel?” Arabella was both incredulous and delighted.
“I did not challenge him to a duel, I only said he might challenge me.”
Arabella laughed. “Ah, well, that's all right then. Colonel Rokeby, I understand, is not extended this same courtesy?”
“You are intentionally refusing to understand,” Morton said, exasperated and a little embarrassed by what he was admitting. “You are being forward and…and…I could not allow Rokeby to challenge me, because I am a Bow Street officer and mayn't duel, for it is against the law, but Bromley would never have the temerity to challenge me, because he is a fainthearted little man.”
“That is all very convenient,” Arabella said quickly. “The duelist may not challenge you but the coward may, though of course he won't, for he is a poltroon.”
“It is exactly this kind of thing,” Morton fired back, “that sent young Glendinning out to fight Rokeby.”
“Is that what it was? Confronted with reason, he was driven to dueling?”
Morton threw up his hands. “That bitter little surgeon is like many a man who has never faced a loaded firearm-he believes in the myth of courage. I have had a pistol primed and aimed at my heart, and I can tell you there are only two kinds of men who don't know fear in such situations: those too stupid and insensible to realise what might happen, and men like Rokeby, who are unnatural, born without capacity for either fear or conscience. I could not bear the little-” Morton stopped before he used an extremely impolite term.
Arabella clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, Morton, you do charm me when you are so … human.”
“And I am usually somewhat less than human, I collect?”
“Oh, no: You are more, and it's madding.”
Morton shook his head. “Well, I shall try to be less perfect in future, as you find my faults so captivating.”
They were at Arthur Darley's, Arabella as a somewhat scandalous guest, and Morton on paid duty to keep watch over the ladies' precious baubles. Morton had at first been inclined to refuse employment with Lord Arthur, thinking that the aristocrat was sending him a less than subtle message about their relative places in the world, but then he had decided he would accept, and show not the slightest sign of intimidation.
Lord Arthur, however, had greeted Morton as a welcome guest, been more genuine and gracious than Morton had any reason to expect, and left the Runner wondering what exactly he had fallen into. One would think Lord Arthur unaware that they were competing for the affections of the same woman. They were competing, were they not? But if one went by Darley's behaviour one would be forced to conclude they had come to some gentleman's agreement to share the lovely woman in question. Did gentlemen make such agreements?
Morton still could not fathom it.
Lord Arthur's guests were not quite typical of fashionable society. Poets, painters, and rather scruffy-looking journalists were as common as lords and ladies, and there was a certain paucity of soldiers. The scraps of conversation he overheard suggested, furthermore, that the military news was not foremost in their minds. Instead, they were talking about Lady Caroline Lamb's latest indiscretion and the rumours she was writing a novel about her affair with Byron.
As he mingled in the chattering rout, Morton had more than once been engaged in conversation himself- he was, after all, dressed as a gentleman-and when it came out that he was a Bow Street Runner, he even encountered some polite interest, as well as the usual hints of embarrassment and distaste. One writer of a certain celebrity had questioned him at length, listening raptly to Morton's stories of criminal ingenuity.
Now, however, as Arabella was visibly summoning up her wit to continue teasing him, Morton noticed with relief another man hovering nearby, clearly wishing to speak with one of them. It was Peter Hamilton, Louisa's half-brother.
“Mr. Morton, may I have a word with you when you are quite free?”
Arabella gave them both a fetching smile and swept off.
“Mr. Hamilton,” Morton said, giving a slight bow. The man was dressed in black, though Morton knew that this was as much fashion as a sign of mourning.
The man looked warily over his shoulder to be sure that they could not be heard. “Mr. Morton, may I ask you again who has engaged you to look into Halbert Glendinning's passing?”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Hamilton, but I have been charged by my employer to reveal his identity to no one.”
Hamilton raised his eyebrows and blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Let me just say this: If it is Louisa, pray be aware that she is not-” He shook his head and looked down at the carpet in embarrassment. “She has had, in the past, bouts of… distraction, or shall we say… nervous collapse… brought on by grief and loss. She is prone, at such times, to believe that she is persecuted and that there exist plots against her, even among those who care for her most. It is more than distressing. I tell you this, Mr. Morton, because I believe you are a man of character and would not take advantage of a woman in such straits.”
“I am not in the habit of taking advantage of women at any time, Mr. Hamilton,” Morton replied evenly.
“No, of course, Mr. Morton. Of course.”
Peter Hamilton looked off over the crowd. Morton observed that the man's fists were tightly clenched.
“Dr. Bromley is my physician,” Hamilton then said. “He assures me that Halbert expired of aspirating his own gorge.” He took a long breath, as though to calm himself. “It is a sad thing to admit, but I fear it is the truth. As I told you, Halbert could be intemperate at times, and after the stress of that awful day…”
“But he came here from a criminal house, Mr. Hamilton, and the people at that house are most anxious to hide what occurred in their den. I know this, for I have been there.”
Hamilton looked at him. “Mr. Morton, I am only asking you as a man of conscience, to consider my poor sister. She does not need someone stoking her delusions at this time. She needs only the truth.”
“And Mr. Morton is concerned with nothing less,” came a voice from over Morton's shoulder.
He turned to find Arthur Darley approaching.
“Do forgive me, Peter, I could not help but overhear.” Darley nodded graciously to Morton. “I assure you, Peter, that if Mr. Morton believes there was foul play involved in Halbert's death, then you may be confident that this is very likely the case.” He turned to the Runner. “You will excuse me, Mr. Morton, but I have had a very good character of you.”
Morton merely nodded gratefully. What could one say to that?
Hamilton stood a moment, as if unsure how to proceed, and then asked Morton, “But have you found out why Halbert was in this den of iniquity?”
“Not as yet, Mr. Hamilton, but be sure that I will. There is always someone in such places willing to peach on their fellows for a little coin or if the right persuasions are applied.”
Hamilton bowed his head in acquiescence. “Well, I suppose if the thing is to be done,” he sighed, “it is best to press on and do it promptly. Find out for sure. Find out everything. The sooner it is all behind us, the sooner Louisa may begin to forget.” The skin of the man's face drew suddenly tight and he blinked quickly. “The sooner we may all begin to forget.”
The evening's entertainment was over and Morton sat with Darley and Arabella drinking claret in the library, a room Morton coveted. What books! This was how a man should live.
Darley and Arabella both seemed completely at ease and Morton was determined not to be outdone in this. He lounged in a chair, delicately sipping his claret.
For her part, Arabella appeared every inch the lady in these surroundings. Of course she was an actress, adept at her craft, and certainly she had played ladies enough on the stage. But gone was the Arabella that Morton knew. She of the uninhibited laugh, the outlandish wit, the bawdy jest. Morton hardly knew this elegant creature, perched so primly on the edge of her chair.
“It is curious that you both uncovered the identity of Richard Davenant,” Lord Arthur said. “You need merely have asked me.”
“You knew him, then?” Morton said.
“I never had the pleasure of actually meeting him, but his mother was my wife's second cousin. He was a young man with a future, or so it was believed. In the Davenant family, the world revolved around Richard. And what a soldier he was! Do you know, he refused advancement so that he might not be removed from the heat of battle? That is the kind of man he was. Men would follow him through the halls of Hades, I was told. It is difficult to imagine that such a man would break and run from the French.”
“Men do break,” Morton said softly. “Even such men as you describe. But could this all be family myth, do you think? Some families do make heroes of their lost sons.”
Darley shrugged. “I cannot answer that, though I have heard this of Richard Davenant from others as well. Bear in mind also that these charges of cowardice, of fleeing the enemy, were never officially stated. It was a whispering campaign, perhaps by some jealous comrade.”
“Or someone who was competing for the attentions of Louisa Hamilton,” Arabella added. “The poor woman has suffered the rumours of Davenant's cowardice until even she has begun to have doubts-and this has burdened her with a terrible sense of guilt and betrayal.”
Morton nodded agreement at this. “Is it not odd that there are rumours about the characters of both these men Miss Hamilton favoured? Richard Davenant was, in the end, a coward, or so we're told. Glendinning was something worse, if we believe he was in the Otter for the reason that most are there.” He paused to reflect. “It is as though there were someone out to ruin the good name of any man Louisa Hamilton might choose. This might be coincidental, but it might not.”
“Well, it is clear that this vile man Bromley is behind both these campaigns,” Arabella said firmly. “He declared Glendinning dead from choking after drinking himself senseless, and Richard Davenant dead of cowardice.”
“Yes, it does seem so, and he was later the surgeon for Rokeby's regiment, though I cannot quite make the connection there.” Morton turned to Darley, who appeared lost in thought. “Do you know this surgeon, Bromley, well, Lord Arthur?”
“Only vaguely. He is actually a physician, and reputedly a very good one. His practise is largely composed of retired military officers and their families, and these people cannot say enough good about him, apparently. I know a number of people who are his patients and they concur, though I confess, I find him a sour little man. He came that night with someone-I cannot recollect whom-though it was all the same to me. I keep a somewhat open door here at Portman House.”
Yes, Morton thought, how else would you explain a Bow Street Runner and an actress taking their leisure here at this hour?
“Has he known Louisa Hamilton long, do you think?” Morton asked.
Darley regarded him gravely. “You don't really think that Bromley has something to do with this?”
Morton shrugged. “He is a physician, and if I am not wrong and Glendinning was poisoned, then who better than a physician to administer the final draught?”
“But Bromley was here, not at the Otter….Of course, I see-you aren't speaking literally. He might have supplied the poison to some confederate.” Darley looked over at Arabella and raised an eyebrow.
“Does this let Rokeby off, then?” she asked, disappointment clear in her tone.
“I have let no one off,” Morton said, “for I fear we are not near the truth yet. I have been meaning to ask, Lord Arthur: Glendinning's manservant told me that his employer received a note the afternoon of the duel. It was delivered by a boy. This might have had some relevance to Glendinning's later actions. Would it be possible to ask his parents if such a note was found among their son's belongings?”
Darley shook his head. “I hardly think they will cooperate, given their feelings about the matter, but I could ask if you think it important.”
“One can never tell what will be important. Often, in these matters, it is some scrap of knowledge you have had all along that proves the culprit's undoing. Something you have looked at a dozen times and noticed nothing amiss.”
Lord Arthur shook his head, though it was in admiration, Morton suddenly realised. Was Arthur Darley a little bored with his coddled life? Did that explain the risque company, the stage-actress mistress? And now, his apparent interest in the efforts of a Bow Street Runner?
“How will you proceed, Morton?” Darley enquired. “I'm not sure how you make your decisions.”
“Nor is Henry, Arthur,” Arabella added quickly. “Why, I have seen him make decisions that surprise even him.”