Instruments of Darkness

PART IV
1

MONDAY, 5 JUNE 1780

Susan must have slept, but as the light began to crawl between the shutters, and she heard the familiar sounds of a London street beginning to stir like a drunk awakening from bad dreams, it seemed to her she had spent the whole night watching the shadows on the ceiling.

She had asked Graves and Miss Chase if she might be able to tell her brother about his-about their-strange change in situation and expectation, and the three of them had decided to say nothing to anyone else until she had had time to do so. It seemed right to her that she should tell him, but the decision to do so was easier than the telling. She had promised herself it would be after supper, then told herself that Jonathan was tired and needed rest, and now she had lost her own chance of sleep trying to find words that were gentle and right, and would be clearly understood.

She sighed and sat up, then swung her feet to the floor to watch him sleeping in the bed next to hers. His blond hair fell over the pillow, his arms thrown out as if he were racing up some steep slope in his dreams. His skin was as perfect and pale as the first clouds. She reached over and shook his shoulder roughly.

“Jonathan! Jonathan, wake up.”

He stirred and opened his eyes. She saw in them the same confusion she felt whenever she woke in this room. Those first few seconds of peace, then doubt as the familiar objects of their own room in Tichfield Street above the shop failed to appear, then the squeeze of his eyes, the little gulp in his chest as he remembered where he was, what had happened.

“Jonathan, I have to tell you something.”

He pulled himself up onto his elbows, and rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

“Are you awake?”

“’Course I’m awake. You just shook me.”

“Our name isn’t Adams, it is Thornleigh. You are probably a viscount, and you’ll be an earl some day.”

Jonathan frowned at his sheets. “Of where?”

“Sussex.”

He looked across at her. “Oh. Is that where the picture comes from?”

“What picture?”

“The one on Papa’s ring. With the dragon and the bird holding a shield. Perhaps that man knows.”

“It’s a phoenix and you’re talking silly-what man?”

Jonathan sat up properly and said indignantly, “I am not talking silly! The man showed me a picture like the one on the ring and asked if I’d seen it. I told him about the ring and he said I was clever. Then he promised he’d come back and give me a waistcoat just like his. I liked it, it was nice. But he hasn’t come back.”

“When, Jonathan? What man?”

“Days and days ago. I just told you. He was called Carter. Like horse and carter. Why?”

“Perhaps he took the ring!” She let her voice drop and plucked at the bedclothes. “He did not look like … the other man?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, and he was nice. Why would he take the ring? He had the picture.” They considered this for a moment, then the boy looked at her again with his head on one side. “If I am a viscount, does that mean you are a lady or something?”

Susan swung her feet. “Probably.”

Jonathan yawned and wriggled back among his sheets, and put his head on the pillow.

“They will make you learn French.”

Susan’s eyes widened.

Crowther did not come home till Cartwright’s body had been decently laid out, spending the time between his death and the moment the women told him that the body was clean and at rest in the glovemaker’s kitchen, drinking red wine with Michaels. The huge man had left the house as soon as Crowther had closed Joshua’s eyes with his long white fingers, only to return before many minutes had passed with a bottle of burgundy clasped like a toy in his huge hand, and carrying two glasses which he rubbed briefly on the edge of his shirt and set down on the table without comment.

Crowther took the glass offered him with a nod and drank deep. He wondered if he would be asked to perform an autopsy on the man. He realized he did not wish it. He had seen the effects of arsenic poisoning on the organs of a dog in London, and did not think it would add much to the sum of his knowledge to see what the poison had done to the systems of a man. He felt the wine hit his empty stomach and warm it. Without realizing he was doing so, he stretched his limbs and sighed. Michaels was watching him narrowly.

“All the bottles and jars are locked away,” the innkeeper said. “He had not taken anything to eat before the attack came on since his breakfast. Perhaps, though, you should take away the bottle that was opened from the Hall and lock it up in your medicine cabinet.”

Crowther looked up in surprise. “You think it unsafe here?”

Michaels shrugged and spread out his thick fingers in front of him.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Crowther. There are two bottles. One had been drunk from, the other not. Take the opened one away with you for my peace of mind. I’d rather not say what I think. Hardly know myself.”

Crowther turned back to his wine without commenting further. They remained in silence till the bottle was empty and the sky outside the kitchen window was beginning to thin from a summer dawn to its first full light. The door opened, and a young-looking woman came in with a firm step and a bundle of linens that she took out through the back door. She returned and laid her hand on Michaels’s shoulder. He grasped it and held it briefly to his cheek. She bent over to kiss the top of his head, and Crowther felt his heart reach out. He had not seen Michaels’s wife before, had not imagined so trim and young a woman, had not imagined they could portray such an allegory of domestic support. She seemed to feel his eyes, and looked up at him.

“Mr. Crowther, you and my husband should go home and rest now. Hannah and I will keep vigil.”

He nodded, but when he stood, his feet took him upstairs again to the sick room. There were herbs burning in a little brass dish on one side of the room, and candles had been set on either side of where Joshua lay. Hannah sat in the chair that Crowther had occupied most of the night, and she stood hurriedly when the door creaked open. Crowther waved her back into her seat, and looked at the face of the body on the bed. How strange it was, how dead the dead looked. Joshua could never be mistaken for a man at rest. The body was empty and senseless; whatever had been human had left him. He noticed Hannah wipe her eyes.

“You were fond of your master?”

She nodded, looking a little frightened. “Yes, sir. And …”

Perhaps tiredness was making him gentle, for his voice was softer than usual. “What, child?”

She sighed and laid her hand on the bed beside her master. “Squire Bridges was asking all sorts of things, about the poison for the mice. I’m afraid they’ll say it was my fault, sir.” Her hand patted the arm of the corpse like a woman settling a child. “As if I’d ever hurt him.”

Crowther was silent for a second, looking at her profile in the candlelight.

“I know you did not.” She smiled up at him, quick and grateful. “And if you have any problem finding another position, you will be welcome in my household.”

“I should like that, sir.” She looked back down at the body beside her. “But my place is here for now.”

Crowther bowed with no less respect than he would have shown to a duchess, left the room, and pausing only to receive a bundle from Michaels with a heavy nod, walked out of the front door and back to his own house.