The Fleet Street Murders

CHAPTER SIX

Crook, it emerged, was a gloomy, blunt, and practical man; Lenox took to him straightaway. He was honest and fair and had a straightforward way of speaking that engendered in his listeners an instant trust. When that evening he introduced Lenox to the small circle of businessmen and shopkeepers who formed the local party committee, he didn’t heap praise on the detective’s head. He merely said that he thought they had a candidate who could ably replace Stoke, a candidate with sufficient funds to have his voice heard, a candidate willing to work hard, and a candidate who would be — beyond any doubt — a better representative of Stirrington’s interests in Parliament than Robert Roodle, the brewer and Conservative.

After they had returned from the printers that afternoon, Crook had described the situation. “Roodle’s not well liked here, and that’s what will matter most. There’re no strong feelings about you either way, but Roodle has alienated people in a number of ways. As soon as his brewery grew, he moved it out of Stirrington; he has a farm outside town and has been in a long legal battle with both of his neighbors; and whether it’s fair or not his father was known as the most tightfisted, intemperate sod in the county. He used to beat his horses and drove his wife like a donkey. Be that as it may, there’s no mistaking Roodle’s success. Half of Durham’s pubs are Roodle pubs. He also has one other great point, in local terms.”

“What’s that?” asked Hilary with some alarm.

“He’s from here. In the north we value our own, you see.”

Indeed, as they had walked that day about town Hilary and Lenox had seen numerous flyers on that subject. “Two weeks in Stirrington, or a lifetime? Who knows you better? Vote Roodle,” read one. “Vote your own — vote Roodle,” said another.

Lenox saw the fairness of the point. It was a strange political system that led to Hilary representing Liverpool, while the Liberal Party’s current leader in the House, William Gladstone, had grown up in Liverpool but for a long time represented Oxford, of all places. Still, he also believed that his platform would genuinely help the people of Stirrington more than Roodle’s, and he resented the negative, attacking nature of Roodle’s campaign. He was ready to fight.

Lenox’s own campaign handbills were, he thought, singularly effective; they advertised what they called his “Five Promises.” Crook had written it up, and Hilary (who was invaluable for this sort of task) had revised it. The only promise that both the printer and Crook had absolutely insisted upon keeping was for a lower tax on beer. This wasn’t self-interest, Crook rather defensively assured them, but the most important issue to many Stirringtonians.

Better still, Roodle was in a bind over the beer tax. He had vocally supported a lower beer tax for many years (as a brewer interested in selling as many pints as possible), but now he found himself on the wrong side of his party, and rather than alienate the aid he received from London he had switched positions. Crook felt this hypocrisy was important, if only to show how weak willed Roodle would be if elected.

At the committee meeting there was a great deal of detailed talk about Lenox’s schedule for the next several days; by this time he was faint with fatigue, however — Hilary was still impressively spry, but he was younger — and only half heard the plan for a series of speeches, a debate, a meeting with county officials, and visits to several dances, balls, and livestock auctions. The idea was to make Lenox as visible as possible to compensate for the short time he had in which to present his platform. Through all of this conversation Crook was a gentle but forceful guide. His authority was obvious.

At last Lenox was allowed to go to sleep. In his plain, quite clean room, which had a small warm grate near the bed, he drifted off into a grateful rest, so tired that he only for a passing moment worried about McConnell and Toto.

In the morning, to Lenox’s surprise, his coffee appeared via a familiar bearer; it was Graham.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Graham.”

“I arrived late last night, sir.”

“You’re not exhausted, I hope?”

“I slept very well, sir. May I ask how things have progressed here?”

“Very well, I think, though I’m pulled in five different directions at once.”

“Such is the nature of campaign life, sir, or so I have heard.”

“Indeed it is, Graham.” Lenox took a sip of coffee and instantly felt livelier. “Well, I’m prepared for the battle.”

“Excellent, sir.”

“I say, though, was there any news about those two gentlemen — about Pierce and Carruthers?”

“I brought yesterday evening’s papers with me, sir,” said Graham.

Lenox noticed a bundle under the butler’s arm. “Cheers.”

“I am afraid there is no new information, however. Mr. Hiram Smalls is still in custody. Inspector Exeter is widely quoted in the paper as saying the case is over.”

“Is he now? Insufferable, isn’t it,” he murmured as he glanced at the headlines.

“Will you eat breakfast here, sir?” Graham asked.

“Is the pub open?”

“Yes, sir. I ate there earlier and can heartily recommend the poached eggs.”

“Put in an order for me, would you? I’ll be down in twenty minutes. Plenty more of this, too,” said Lenox and raised his coffee cup.

“Yes, sir. May I draw your attention to the two letters on your nightstand, sir?”

There were a pair of white envelopes next to Lenox’s book. “Thanks,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” said Graham and left.

Good to have him here, thought Lenox. It will make life much easier.

He took the first envelope, which he recognized as being on the heavy, cream-colored stationery of Lord John Dallington. The second, however, caught his eye, and he discarded Dallington’s note for it; inside was white paper ringed with pale blue. It was from Lady Jane.

At the bottom in a hurried and untidy scrawl she had added: I send this by Graham. Please don’t mistake my doubt for doubt in you, dear one.

Lenox sat in his bed, dumbfounded. What surprised him more than the sentiment of the letter was its wavering fretfulness; for years Lady Jane had been so dependable, the person in his life he knew he could count on should all others desert him. It was out of character. He wondered if there was something more than she confessed to in the letter, to make her feel as she did.

As he was about to read it for a second time, there was a sharp rap at the door, and Hilary came in.

“Good morning, Lenox. Sorry to catch you waking up.”

“Oh — it’s quite all right, James, of course.”

“Your first speech is in forty minutes?”

“That’s right, yes.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“I’ll follow what Crook planned out for the handbills. There are a few words I wrote down after you came and asked me to run.”

“Good, good,” said Hilary.

“Is anything the matter? You seem nervous.”

“Well, Lenox, I’m afraid I have to return to London this afternoon.”

“What? Why?”

“There are committee meetings to be attended, and… that sort of thing.”

“But you knew your schedule when you came up.”

Hilary sat down and sighed. “I’m sorry to say it, old chap, but Roodle looks awfully strong here. I got a telegram requesting that I return, in response to my telegram sending them the numbers Crook had worked up of past votes. It’s the time, you see — because Stoke died we don’t have enough time.”

Lenox felt at a conversational disadvantage, lying in bed, and his heart plummeted. “How does Roodle look strong?”

“He’s spending as much money as you’ll be able to, which frankly we didn’t expect. He has a much higher name recognition — and, though it’s not your fault, and though people here feel respectful of old Stoke, they’re ready for a change.”

“How poor do you think my chances are?”

“If you fight hard, you might get within a few hundred votes of him. Then — who knows?”

“But the chances aren’t good enough for you to stay?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Hilary with a guilty look. “You know we’re friends, and in the SPQR club together, Lenox, but damn it — politics is a ruthless game, and we have to follow the momentum.”

“I see.”

Hilary looked pained. “If it were simply up to me, I would have stayed till the bitter end. You know the respect I entertain for you, Lenox.”

“Well,” said Lenox, unsure of what to say.

Hilary stood up. “I’ll be downstairs. Come,” he said encouragingly, “let’s give a fight. This morning will be a good start.”

Lenox sat in his bed and listened to the footfalls as Hilary walked downstairs. Uncertainty, suddenly, where all had seemed promising. Lady Jane’s letter was still in his hand.