“The sherry,” Edmund said slowly, still in the dark.
“According to Miss Harville, Stevens Stevens drank sherry several times a day without fail.”
“Usually with an egg in it,” Clavering said.
“Yes, with an egg in it. Now: think of Hadley’s house, which someone broke into on consecutive days.”
“Presumably Calloway.”
They all looked into the cell, where the old man slumbered on. “Why twice?” Lenox said. “Looking back on it, the crucial break-in is the second one. To whoever did it — Calloway, let’s assume — it was important enough to break in again that the person sent in a false report of a fire at the corn exchange in Chichester, which guaranteed that Hadley would be drawn away from home.
“But why? The person had already been in the house the day before! They had chalked their strange image on the steps. Why risk being seen to get inside the house again?”
“I confess I still don’t know the answer,” Edmund said.
“Because they had made a mistake,” said Lenox. “What was changed by the second break-in? Only one thing. The sherry.”
Clavering frowned. “Hm.”
“My belief is that Stevens Stevens was the sole target of this series of crimes. The intruder at Hadley’s house actually believed they were entering the house of Stevens. In the course of the break-in, this intruder poisoned the bottle of sherry, counting on the mayor to drink it that very night. A reasonable presumption, given that Stevens always did drink sherry throughout the day. But soon enough—”
“The intruder learned of his mistake,” Edmund said, finally comprehending it, “and had to figure out a way to get the sherry out of there before killing an innocent person.”
“Precisely right,” said Lenox, with a feeling of satisfaction. “Hence the false telegram about the fire in Chichester. And hence the necessity for a second, more direct attack on Stevens — and the second figure chalked upon the wall.”
Clavering’s eyes were wide. “I’ll be blowed,” he said. “In Markethouse, no less.”
“The difficulty is that it puts us no closer to knowing why Calloway attacked Stevens,” said Edmund.
“Mm. Calloway,” said Lenox.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Edmund thought for a moment. “Hadley is simply gone on business, then, not vanished. But what about the safe, the gemstones?” he asked.
“He has no family, no close connections,” Lenox responded. “Those gemstones are what he cares about most passionately in life. I believe he heeded our advice and removed them from his house. It may also be why he chose to stay away from Markethouse the past two nights.”
“Yes.”
Edmund sighed then — and Lenox understood the sigh. There was still so much to reconcile in all this. For his part, he kept returning to Harville and the Watson sisters, the two charwomen.
“Tell me, Clavering,” he said, “do you know how Stevens is faring?”
“No. I’ve been intending to run over to the Horns and get Bunce to fetch a report back to us. Shall I do it now?”
They all glanced over at Calloway, who was still asleep. “Yes, why not?” said Lenox. “Who knows — he might have awoken.”
When Clavering had gone, Edmund stood up and began to pace the small room, hands in pockets, face pensive. Lenox took the moment to reach for the second telegram.
It was from Jane — and if Dallington was profligate in his style, Jane, in hers, was positively reckless, at least when she got into stride.
Well the Queen did not come STOP I should write ‘alas’ here but honestly cannot feel so very sad about it STOP she would have made the entire affair very formal and prestigious but instead we had many small conversations and nice food and anyhow we did manage three royals STOP felt badly for them because unless you’re queen you’re counted just that way like pups in a litter STOP one I liked very much indeed Carlotta STOP she gave Sophia a kiss on the nose and took a ribbon out of her own hair and tied it in Sophia’s STOP and of course most important we raised a great deal of money for the hospital STOP Toto ever so pleased STOP people say ‘most important’ when they mean least important often STOP but you may take it as read that I am altogether more saintly STOP I really do care so does Toto STOP you would be altogether shocked how much Emily Westlake gave too STOP all of us here missed you dearly STOP my love always STOP Jane
Lenox read through this twice, and only when he glanced up did he see that Edmund was looking at him intently.
And in that look, Lenox for a flash of an instant experienced the full force of what Edmund was suffering. The case fell away; Muller, too. He imagined himself without Jane.
The feeling lasted a second — less than a second — but it left him shocked, a buzzing in his ears. He had believed that he was being kind and empathetic to his brother. Only now did he perceive how inadequate his understanding had been.
He said the one thing he could think to say. “Listen, Ed, I’m so terribly sorry that I lectured you about teaching that family.”
Edmund shook his head. “No, no, it is I who should be sorry — very high and mighty. And I said that thing to you about trade.”
“Oh, that. Anyhow, listen, I think it’s a very fine thing to do. Molly would have been happy. She always saw everything through — a very determined person.”
“Do you think so?” Edmund glanced at the door. “Well, perhaps, perhaps not. But I am sorry, Charles, for saying that. Forgive me.”
“You’re my brother, you oaf. You never have to ask my forgiveness for anything, in this life or the next. Ah, there’s the door — that will be Clavering back. Let’s see what he says about Stevens.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Roughly a century and a half before, in 1714, the King of England had been very, very nervous about the possibility of revolution. He was George the First, a Hanoverian, and therefore persuaded that the Stuarts were going to form mobs and depose him, or perhaps even kill him.
To settle his nerves, the government passed a law. If any twelve or more people were engaged in “tumultuous assembly,” a magistrate could stand up and formally demand their dispersal by reading it out loud. If they hadn’t separated an hour after the magistrate’s proclamation, they could be arrested, and sentenced very harshly indeed, even up to two years of imprisonment with hard labor.
The law the magistrate had to read out loud to bring into effect had a name: the Riot Act.
The act was still on the books, Lenox knew from his time in Parliament, though it hadn’t been widely used in a very long time — surviving, instead, in its name, a term for any stern lecture from a schoolmaster or mother or disappointed friend.
And yet when Clavering returned, he looked and sounded as if he would desperately have liked to invoke the old Riot Act. His shirt was torn at the collar — actually torn! — and he was red in the face. He shook his head despairingly at Lenox and Edmund.
“The whole town wants to string him up this evening, the poor devil,” he said, nodding toward the cell. “They’ve worked themselves into a frenzy.”
“I know a simple enough way to calm them,” Lenox said.
“And which is that, sir, when they’ve gone through eighteen barrels of ale in the last three hours!”
“Tell them that he’s innocent.”
Clavering looked confused. “Innocent?”
“Yes.”
It was Edmund who glanced at the cell behind them to see, and the other two followed his gaze. Calloway was staring at them. “Is it true?” Edmund asked. “Are you innocent, Mr. Calloway?”
“No,” he said.
At least he had spoken. Lenox stood up. “You maintain that you entered the town hall yesterday morning, stabbed Stevens Stevens, left him for dead, and have been in your house since then?”