Instruments of Darkness

9

Mr. Graves had promised not to leave the house, and Mr. and Mrs. Chase and their daughter were happy to let him keep watch within calling distance of the old nursery where the children slept. He had taken them to that family’s house, old friends of Alexander’s, as soon as it was clear nothing could be done for his friend, and before he would allow anyone to see to his own wound. It stung now, but the pain was nothing next to the horrified throb in his throat. He wondered if Susan would ever recover. She had been white and silent since they found her, apart from the moment when he had pulled her away from her father’s body again, and she had let out such a terrible yell that several in the crowd had crossed themselves. The yellow man was searched for, but no one could name him, and with the growing disorder in the town, there was not a man free to look further for him.

Miss Verity Chase stepped into the room, carrying a steaming glass.

“Do drink some of this, Mr. Graves. It is my mother’s restorative, and mostly brandy, I think. She and some of our neighbors have gone to see to Alexander and fetch clothes for the children. And you should know that their girl, Jane, came back with her mother as soon as news reached them. They will look after the shop. But then what will happen after that, Mr. Graves? The children are orphans now. Do you know of any family that might take them? If not, we must hope their inheritance shall pay for some school or other, though if they are poor and without relatives to fight for them, their lives will be hard.”

Mr. Graves passed his hand over his face, and Miss Chase felt suddenly like the worst sort of fool. She had spoken the first words that had come into her head, and had offered him worries to heap upon the horrors he was already victim to. She watched him holding the glass. Even his hands seemed suddenly older.

“I have little enough, nothing but what I can earn with my pen. It makes me a poor prospect, but I will always have a place for them. I hope you will also stay their friend.” She nodded. “As to family … that may be difficult, but must be tried.”

He stretched out his long legs, then noticed with a pulse of horror that a little of his friend’s blood was still visible, dried and dusty, on his shoes. He pulled himself straight again, and drank for want of anything else to do or say.

The brandy hit his stomach and glowed there briefly before the cold and dark of his body extinguished it again. Her presence was a comfort though. It had been in the past a torment and delight, ranked as he was in the legions of admirers; he had never before felt it as this. He glanced at her profile again then back at the glass in his hand before he continued.

“Alexander told me that he left his family when he married for love, but that his family is at least well to do, I think. He wondered if he had done the right thing, cutting the children off from their inheritance, but he seemed glad to have left the influence of his house. I doubt Adams was ever his name.”

Miss Chase looked shocked and serious. “What is to be done then?”

Graves shifted awkwardly on his chair and looked around the room as if he might find answers posted on the fire irons or hanging from the bell pull.

“I shall go to the magistrate and the coroner in the morning, then let us bury him under the name he chose. There is no more family to shift for him and his if we shall not.”

“You have no idea why Alexander was murdered in this way?”

She picked up her sewing from the table at her side as she asked the question and let a few moments pass. She found that her hands were still trembling too much for the fine work she had in front of her, so she let it lie on her lap again, and traced the emerging pattern with a fingertip. Graves frowned, and the wound on his face twisted painfully.

“I have no idea. I do not think it was cards, or women.” He held up his hands in miserable frustration. “We may know more when Susan decides to speak, if she decides to do so. But I cannot question her.”

His voice struggled under the last words, and he felt more than heard Miss Chase’s soft response: “Of course.”

Her father came into the room and prevented Graves’s attempt to stand with one fat hand.

“Don’t you even think of getting up, boy. I’ve set up a truckle bed in the side room of the nursery. Not much comfort, but I thought the nearer you are to those children tonight, the easier you’ll rest.”

“What news, Father?” Verity asked. Mr. Chase looked worried and bit his nail. “Don’t bite your thumb, dear sir.”

The words were automatic, but she blushed to find herself correcting him this evening. Mr. Chase did not seem to resent the comment, however.

“They say Lord Boston was dragged from his coach, but no one was hurt more than ripped clothing and injured pride. Half of the House seem to have lost their wigs though. All the great legislators of the land, struggling about with their fine coats in tatters and mewling like infants.” The thought amused him, and he struggled for a moment to maintain a proper gravity, but as his thoughts moved on his tone evened. “Troops appeared at the House of Commons to guide them out again, but they cannot act against the crowd till the Riot Act is read and the magistrates are in hiding or besieged. An evil night this is, an evil night.”

Graves stirred himself and looked up into Mr. Chase’s broad face.

“Who then do we inform of Alexander’s death? The proper authorities … He must be buried. The children.”

Mr. Chase’s paw tapped him gently on the shoulder again. “Do as you can in the morning, Graves. But if I read it right, the law will be no help to you while this disorder lasts. Let us look to our own and bury him decently. There are enough of us to swear to what was done when this is passed and the law can turn to us again.”

Graves settled in his chair. “Thank you, sir, for allowing me to stay near the children.”

“Dear boy, as if I’d send you away with your face in pieces and all of London, it seems, ready to fall to flames. And I was very glad you came to us. Speaks of a trust, boy, that I value. Your place is not fit for a family, I imagine, and they cannot stay in the shop. No, we must hugger mugger here, keep a watch on the children and an eye on those drunks and warriors staggering about outside.” He saw a look of alarm on his daughter’s face. “Briggs and Freeman have gone to fetch your mother home, my dear, and see poor Alexander is secure. I hear the crowd broke up a wine shop owned by some poor Catholic, so now they are drunk and hungry for whatever they can grab. A dark day it has been, and who knows what the morning will bring us.”