‘That’s in convict land, ain’t it?’
‘It’s north-west of Melbourne, yes. Abercrombie spent six months there. From what I have found out, it was the making of him. When he went to Victoria, he was nearly forty and had failed in every venture he’d ever undertaken. When he came back, he was a rich man. He bought an estate in Norfolk, married an earl’s younger daughter and entered Parliament as a Palmerston supporter after the war in the Crimea. He’s been there ever since. However, he’s a restless man. He spends part of each year travelling Europe and the Levant. Interestingly, he has journeyed at least once into the areas of Turkey in Europe we know from our own adventures. He is thought to be somewhere in that part of the world now.’
Quint sat scratching his head, like the caricature of a man deep in thought.
‘Maybe ’e’s got some secret from the diggings ’e don’t want known,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe Creech got to ’ear of it and was rooking ’im on the strength of it. Maybe ’e killed a man for his gold.’
‘A moment ago you said a tart would be at the bottom of it.’
Quint thought again. ‘Could be a tart from down under that come looking for him. On the grounds that ’e was the gent that first ’ad ’er. And set ’er on the downward path. Maybe it’s Ada.’
‘What a sensational imagination you are developing, Quint. A respectable and wealthy MP with murder in a distant land on his conscience. Young women of lost virtue travelling across the world to confront their seducers. You should be supplying plot lines to Mr Collins or Miss Braddon.’
‘Well, it’s possible, ain’t it?’
‘Anything is possible, Quint. But we have met Ada, have we not? I don’t think she much resembles a vengeful maenad from the Antipodes, do you?’
‘Whatever one of them is.’ Quint was reluctant to relinquish his theory but he could see that the young girl in Holywell Street made a poor candidate for a leading role in it. ‘She ain’t too likely to be from convict-land, though.’
‘No, she isn’t.’ Adam drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and began to polish a button on his waistcoat. ‘Anyway, did we not decide we knew the man who ruined her?’
Quint, who had assumed that the conversation was at an end and was about to close his eyes once more, looked unimpressed.
‘Who? Jinkinson?’
‘No, not Jinkinson. Garland. Remember our conversation at the coffee stall. Ada used to work as a parlour maid, did she not?’
‘That’s what she says when I first found her.’
‘Did she tell you anything more?’
‘Not as I can recall just now.’
‘Well, try to recall what else she might have said, Quint. It could be significant.’
Quint screwed up his face as he struggled to remember.
‘Must have been near Piccadilly,’ he said. ‘On account of she says something about walking in Green Park.’
‘And Mr Moorhouse, in addition to being indiscreet about Lewis Garland and Lottie Lawrence, told me that Garland has a reputation for seducing the more attractive of his servants.’
‘Plenty of toffs do,’ Quint said.
‘And Garland has a house in Bruton Street.’
‘Which ain’t far from Piccadilly. But all the houses round there belong to nobs. Ada may not have been working at Garland’s.’
‘She knew Garland’s name, I am sure. She reacted to the mention of him. It would explain a great deal if she had once worked for him. It would explain the connection between Jinkinson and the girl. He knew about her. He went in search of her. We’ve been thinking that Jinkinson was amorously involved with Ada.’
‘That young rip Simpkins said he was soft on her.’
‘Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Jinkinson was only interested in Ada because she added to his weaponry in a confrontation with Garland.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
An elderly porter was sleeping peacefully in the little gatehouse attached to the college. As Adam and Quint passed by, the porter shifted slightly in his seat and let out a deep sigh of contented slumber. They walked on past a carefully manicured lawn surrounded by medieval buildings, through a short, wood-panelled corridor and into a second quadrangle. Half a dozen begowned undergraduates were strolling through it, and Adam approached one of them.
‘I am sorry to trouble you but I am looking for Professsor Fields. Does he have rooms still in the Fellows’ Building?’
The undergraduate, who had been lost in his thoughts, started at the sound of a voice. He looked first at Adam and then, with greater curiosity, towards Quint, who had stopped in the middle of the courtyard and was scratching his buttocks.
‘That is my servant Quint,’ Adam said. ‘He is mostly harmless. Perhaps you know Professor Fields?’
The undergraduate turned back to Adam. ‘Yes, of course. My apologies. I was thinking of something else. I have just seen the professor. He and Mr Dandridge went through into the Fellows’ Garden no more than two minutes ago.’ He pointed towards a tall wrought-iron gate at the far side of the quadrangle. ‘You may wish to wait for them.’
‘I think we shall follow them into the garden.’
The undergraduate looked as shocked as if Adam had proposed assaulting a member of the royal family.
‘You can’t do that, sir. Only Fellows are allowed in the Fellows’ Garden.’
‘Oh, I think a special dispensation can be made in this instance,’ Adam said, raising his hat to the young man. ‘Many thanks for your information.’ He beckoned to Quint and the two of them made their way towards the gate into the garden. The undergraduate watched them go, a puzzled look on his face, but made no attempt to stop them.
Once they had passed through the gate, they halted and looked around them. Some fifty yards away were two men, both dressed in the billowing black gowns that denoted their status as academics. One was prodding the ground with a walking stick and gazing down at the grass as if he was making an inventory of the wildlife sheltering in it. The other was waving his arms and talking relentlessly.
‘Stay here a while, Quint,’ Adam said. ‘I shall go and interrupt the professor in his conversation.’
At Cambridge, Adam remembered, there had been plenty of students who never attended a single lecture. Several of the dons had matched this undergraduate idleness by never bothering to deliver one. Fields, however, had not been so remiss. He had always been a great deliverer of lectures, not all of them confined to the lecture hall. It looked very much as if he was in the midst of addressing one to his companion.
As Adam approached across the lawn, this companion looked up and caught sight of him. He spoke briefly to Fields but his remark did nothing to stem the tide of the professor’s eloquence. Fields continued to flap his hands in the air and hold forth. Adam caught the occasional word in both English and Greek. He was standing next to Fields before the old scholar noticed him.
‘Ah, Adam, you have arrived at an opportune moment. I have been telling Dandridge here of your letter. And of the extraordinary tale it told.’
The other don made a slight motion of his head in greeting. It was clear that Fields was too distracted to make a more formal introduction. Adam returned the acknowledgement.
‘We have been talking of the poet Euphorion.’ The professor spoke as if the ancient Greek was a slightly disreputable don at another college. ‘We have gathered together the knowledge we have of him.’
‘It is little enough,’ his companion said, smiling benevolently at Adam. ‘Only fragments of his works have survived. But a few scattered leaves can possess as much beauty as a mighty tree, do you not think, sir?’