Anatomy of Murder

PART II
1

SATURDAY, 17 NOVEMBER 1781, LONDON

Jocasta sniffed and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. The fire was going well enough now to drive out any shred of the London fog from the room; her breakfast had been eaten and tidied away and Boyo had had the fat of the chop. She should have been happy as a cat in a blanket, but there was an itching at the back of her neck. She looked down at Boyo. He scratched behind his ears and then licked his mouth with a smack.

“Don’t you be looking at me like that, Boyo.” Jocasta sniffed again and put up her chin. “There’s some as can’t be told and that’s all of it.”

Boyo sneezed.

“I know, I know. There’s trouble there and it’s a big thick sort of trouble, and that sort of trouble spills. But why should we go looking for it? Best way to avoid getting caught in it is to step away, not step toward. Just because every time you see a big pile of muck you go jumping into it doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”

The fire cracked in the grate. Boyo whined a little. Jocasta narrowed her eyes.

“Boyo! You are as foolish a dog as I ever knew. A good dog should look after his mistress, not encourage her into all sorts of worry. The cards are saying one thing’s done, and another is following sure as Tuesday follows after Monday night, so what would you have me do!”

She was looking fierce at the little dog now, though it didn’t seem to bother him greatly. He sat down smartly and scratched behind his ears again.

“Yes, I could talk to her again. See if she’ll listen, but she won’t. No woman with a mouth that shape or an eye that blue ever listened to anyone other than the man she’s tied to. You know it. Only three months married. No, she won’t listen till she’s run through six.”

Boyo made no answer. “And in November. Who knows how much of the day we might have to wait in the cold? And it’ll be dark early. And you’ll be keening to be back indoors again within the hour. I know it sure as I know Mrs. Peterson waters the milk and Granger sells meat that could walk out of the shop itself.” She paused, then stood suddenly and raised a finger at the terrier. He jumped up and began to dance in little circles on the hearth rug.

“Well, on your own head be it, lad. Trouble and more trouble and we must go ferreting it out as if it’s all fun and skittles. I give you a fire and fat, but will you stay still and like it? Not a chance, not a hope of it this side of Judgment.”

She tied the shawl fiercely in a great knot and put her hand to the latch. Boyo tilted his head to one side and waited. With a sigh she pulled it open.

“Well. Awez then!”

“What is it, Mrs. Westerman?”

“I don’t believe I spoke, Crowther.”

“Sometimes your silences are speaking.”

The carriage was carrying them briskly along Piccadilly and Harriet had been admiring the passing mansions with her chin in her hand. It was possible that she might have sighed.

“I still do not feel we can share Mr. Palmer’s secrets with anyone at Berkeley Square,” she said.

“I quite agree.”

“Yet I cannot help thinking, did you not sense there was something of a mood of unhappiness at the table when you spoke about Fitzraven and our agreement to help Justice Pither?”

He smiled at seeing the spark in her eye. “Perhaps a little. One could characterize it as an affectionate concern, perhaps.”

Harriet arched her eyebrows. “Yes, I suppose one might, Crowther. But that is not what troubles my conscience the most. I feel I must confess it is likely that had Mr. Palmer not called, had the note arrived from Mr. Pither without introduction, I should probably have found myself in that outhouse and driving with you to His Majesty’s this morning in any case.”

“I see, madam. You feel you are become the monstrous and unfeminine ghoul some have already made you out to be, and you feel Miss Trench does not approve?”

“My sister made it perfectly plain to the whole house that she does not approve, yet I feel neither monstrous nor less a woman than I was two years ago.” She turned toward him and folded her arms. “I will do what seems right to me, but I have to allow that Rachel has a better sense of social niceties than I do, just as her sense of music is superior to mine. I make myself appear foolish at times, and that reflects on my family.”

“Miss Trench has wished you to have something other to think of than your husband’s illness, madam.”

Harriet smiled a little unhappily. “Yes, Crowther, but I think she would rather I was diverted by her plans for redecorating the salon at Caveley than by whatever corpses we find strewn in our way.”

“She must accept the sister she has, Mrs. Westerman. I can only hope she does not raise your temper by suggesting you should behave in any other fashion. I have noticed you are at your most sharp when you suspect you are in the wrong.”

“I shall put it down to your influence, and you shall shoulder her disapproval for me.”

“I would if I were able, madam, but I fear Miss Trench will not be diverted. She is quite as stubborn as yourself in her way.”

This time Harriet certainly did sigh.

When at last they exited the carriage in the middle of Hay Market, Harriet looked up at the simple frontage of His Majesty’s Theatre with curiosity. She was no great admirer of the opera herself, though she had found it pleasant enough the few times she had attended such performances on the continent. She knew, however, that many of the most fashionable and most influential men and women in England proclaimed the opera a marvel and cast themselves into this place like the devotees of some new religion scrambling for a seat near an altar. The king and his family were indeed often entertained here, as were many hundreds of his subjects in the course of a season. On Saturdays and Wednesdays from November until Easter they would tumble in from their carriages with high expectations and strong opinions. They paid their twenty guineas for a box for the season, then came to look at each other and admire the diversions the management gave them in dance and song. Indeed, as well as confirming one’s idea of oneself as a creature of elegant tastes, the operas often provided great spectacle. One might see gods and ancient warriors here, beasts and men flying through the air, armies of chariots crossing the stage, storms and summer days re-created on its grand platform. It was as if all places in the world and all history were gathered roughly up, set to music and squeezed into the theater behind this simple frontage to be poured down the throats of the crowd like the pap fed to infants.

When Harriet woke from her thoughts, she saw that Crowther was reading a notice pinned neatly to the wall by the closed theater gates. He felt her attention on him, and read aloud: “‘The owners of His Majesty’s Theatre are pleased to announce the first performance of a new opera with music by several eminent composers, under the direction of Mr. Bywater. Julius Rex will be performed tonight, seventeenth November 1781. Primo Umo, Sengor Manzerotti, Prima Donna Mademoiselle Marin.’ There are also several other names.”

He stooped forward a little to better read the printing. “Ah, they will be providing three ballets between the acts, also. And the scenery is new painted.” Looking up at the theater, he went on, “What a costly business we make of entertaining ourselves. Well, Mrs. Westerman, shall we go in and deliver the sad news of the demise of Fitzraven to the management here? Though from what Graves has said, I’d be surprised to notice much genuine grief.”

His eyes scanned the frontage, the firmly bolted outer doors through which the pleasure seekers of London would pour during the evening. “The front door does not look very likely an entrance. Let us find another way into this Temple of Art, madam. One often learns so much more by approaching a place from an unexpected direction.”