The Skull and the Nightingale (42 page)

“I bring black news,” said I, and showed him Sarah’s note, torn and smudged. “This was what awaited me.”

Matt shook his head as he read it. “A grave disappointment. What did you do?”

“What could I do? I stalked back home in a damned ill humor.”

“How do you account for the change of mind?”

“By weakness of purpose. This is not the first time she has taken three steps forward and one step back. Perhaps her great toad of a husband somehow touched her heart when he bade her good-bye.”

I was relieved to hear my voice speaking out in a convincingly careless style even as my mind saw an image of the toad laid low.

“You speak with a lisp, Dick.”

“I know. Last night in a damned bad dream I thrashed about and bit my tongue. I blame Mrs. Ogden for that, too.”

“You are a wronged man, my friend. What will you do?”

“Nothing for the moment. I shall give Sarah time to regret her change of mind, and later I shall give her cause to regret it still more.”

“What a business it is!” cried Matt. “Head and tail forever at odds. Thank God my little servant maid has no mind to speak of.”

When I was once more in my rooms, I sat with my head in my hands, giddy with anxiety. The future was lost in dark cloud. I should have been racked by guilt for having killed a man—but I was not. Not for a moment had I intended any such drastic consequence. It had been Ogden who had attacked
me
. I had drawn my sword solely to keep him at bay. In a manner he had killed himself, throwing his body upon the blade, and in so blundering a manner as to suffer a fatal wound rather than a trivial one. Only by a chance in a hundred had the steel released soul from flesh. True, I had excited his rage by trying to cuckold him—but I had failed in my attempt. The intended harm had not been done. At every turn I had been unlucky. So I excused myself.

I had to acknowledge to myself, with reluctant respect, that Ogden, in his crazed way, had shown determination and courage. But I could make sense of neither his life nor his death: he had been driven by forces of ambition, desire, and pride, of a kind unknown to me. He was an animal of a different and alien species.

W
hen I ventured into the silence of St. Gregory’s next morning there were no more than half a dozen worshipers at prayer. Among them, incongruously on his knees, was Pike, who rose when he saw me and went out through a side door. I followed, and found that we were alone together in a small graveyard enclosed by bushes. He motioned me close and spoke in a low voice:

“The goods were safely disposed of.”

“Thank God. Where?”

“Bottom of the Thames, with a thousand ships overhead.”

“I’ve brought the money.”

Pike nodded and took the purse. “A large sum, but we needed dependable men.”

“Will they not blab?”

“It would be a death warrant.”

“Mr. Ogden should have arrived in Malvern last night. Word will get back. There will surely be a search . . .”

“There will be a search, but it can lead nowhere. Say nothing. Be yourself. Go about your business.”

I nodded.

“You’ve hurt your mouth, sir. Don’t let it be noticed.”

I looked him in the eye. “Why did you help me?”

“It was the spin of a coin. There was no time to think. As I say: sit this out. If I hear of trouble I’ll send word.”

He was gone before I could express my thanks, leaving me alone in the graveyard. I wandered round it for a few minutes, thinking of Ogden’s body lodged in mud below fathoms of black water.

T
he following morning I spent indoors. I tried to read, but could not. Imprisoned by my predicament, I could think of nothing outside it. It was impossible to tell when and how the unavoidable threat would take form. If Ogden had simply failed to arrive, there might be a prompt inquiry from Lord Downs. If he had forwarded a message to plead an unexpected delay, then days might pass before there was any cause for concern. Would Lord Downs communicate with Ogden’s home or with his office? I could not tell. At what point would Sarah be consulted? I was a little reassured by the reflection that, whatever she was told, she could have no reason to suspect me of foul play. In my rivalry with her husband the advantage had been entirely on my side. What reason could I have had for attacking him?

Hungry as I was for news, I even thought of hovering in the vicinity of Margaret Street, to look out for any unusual activity there. I needed repeatedly to remind myself that such a venture would be folly. Pike had been right: I could do nothing but wait. In the course of the afternoon, however, a chance recollection so disturbed me that I could stay indoors no longer, but hurried out to the bookshop where I had purchased
Clarissa.
Affecting to look about at random, I sought out an account of famous trials at the Old Bailey. In five minutes I hit on the passage that had come to my mind, a quoted “Statute of Stabbing”:
If any one stabs another
,
who hath not at that time a weapon drawn
,
or hath not first struck the party who stabs
,
he is deemed guilty of murder
,
if the person stabbed dies within six months afterward.
Should rumors somehow emerge of an encounter between myself and Ogden, this statute could prove fatal to me: my opponent had never carried a sword. It was true that he had “struck” me, but only with his fist; and in the case described, the unfortunate defendant, a Mrs. Churchill, had been sentenced to death even though the slain man had drawn his sword and she herself had had no weapon. She had merely pushed him back, so that he was off guard when suffering the fatal wound, inflicted by her lover—who promptly fled the country and escaped scot-free. This history disposed of my lingering hopes that a fair account of what had passed between myself and Ogden might see me acquitted. Everything would depend upon silence, luck, and dissimulation.

W
hen more news came it was from an unexpected quarter:

My dear Richard,

You had every right to be exasperated by Mrs. Ogden’s second change of mind. It exemplifies the feminine changeability which confused me as a younger man. I then assumed that what a woman said, she meant—only to be puzzled by subsequent amendments or contradictions. It was as though I should have been making allowance for a simultaneous language of glance and gesture which modified the spoken word. If that was indeed the case, I was doomed to bewilderment, being wholly deficient in this mode of communication. It is clear that you labor under no such disadvantage. This rebuff postpones the resolution you seek, but may at the same time add zest to it, as offering a resistance to be overcome.

I have every confidence that, despite the setback you report, I shall soon be reading a further chapter in your pursuit of Mrs. Ogden. The contest has so engaged my attention that I have written to Lord Downs with a view to visiting Holbrook Hall while Mr. Ogden is at work there. I would be intrigued to form my own opinion of the rival for whom you have conceived so lively a distaste.

Yours, &c.

The sequel followed soon afterward:

My dear Richard,

A singular development, which will surprise you as it surprised me. I hear from Lord Downs that Ogden failed to arrive at Holbrook Hall on the appointed evening. His trunk was delivered, together with a note of apology, to the effect that in the course of his journey he had found himself obliged, for pressing reasons, to turn back to London. He expected, however, to be in Malvern within two or three days.

Have you heard anything of this matter? Might there be a connection with Mrs. Ogden’s unexpected change of mind?

Yours, &c.

Anticipating some such letter, I was already resolved not to reply for several days. I would always be able to plead that I had used the time in fruitless inquiries. The very next morning, however, this expedient was cast into doubt. Matt Cullen burst in upon me and paced the floor in his excitement at what he had to tell.

“I bring you strange news, Dick—exceedingly strange. I have this moment come from a chance encounter with my acquaintance Mr. Gow, who is employed, you will remember, by Mr. Ogden. He tells me that he was surprised to see Ogden in his office in Duke Street on the evening of the day he left for Malvern. That is to say on the very night that you were purposing to pleasure his wife. What say you to that?”

In the circumstances I was commendably cool.

“You surprise me—but less than you might think,” I said, and passed him Gilbert’s latest letter, which he eagerly read.

“His questions are my questions,” said he, “and they must surely be yours also. Did Ogden come back because he had suspicions? Did his wife shut you out because she knew of his return?”

I improvised as readily as I could have hoped:

“The last question is easily answered: no. Why should she have written what she did when she might simply have said ‘Not tonight’? But Matt, Matt: Ogden’s return to London was an infernal coincidence. There might very well have been awkward consequences. Did your friend Mr. Gow speak to him?”

“He said that he tried to, but that Ogden pushed past him without a word. Apparently Ogden would occasionally spend a night at the office after working late, and for that reason he was not unduly surprised to see him. He assumed that there had been a change of plan.”

“Has he seen him since?”

“Apparently not.”

I made a show of ruminating on the situation.

“After all I see little in the matter. Even if Ogden had suspicions, they must have come to nothing. By now he is presumably at work in Holbrook Hall.”

“Unless he found his wife looking flushed and shifty.”

We speculated about the mystery for another half hour, all to no purpose. I found it surprisingly easy to improvise possible explanations, serious or facetious. Ogden had been racked by sudden giddiness or failure of vision, and therefore hastened back to London to see his physician. He had realized that some optical equipment, vital to his mysterious trade, had been left behind. An angel had appeared to him in a dream and told him to postpone his visit. Amid this frivolity I did manage to suggest that, since I myself was clearly in no position to pursue the matter, Matt could do me a favor by maintaining contact with Mr. Gow in the hope of gleaning further information.

When I was alone again the anxious thoughts flocked like ravens. Cullen’s news had been far more disturbing than he could have known. My hope had been that when Ogden’s disappearance was eventually acknowledged—as it soon must be—he might be thought to have vanished anywhere in southeastern England. Now the search would be narrowed to known London territory. Perhaps others had seen Ogden or even spoken to him. Moreover, Sarah herself would surely associate his return—and in time perhaps even his subsequent fate—with our planned assignation. Greatly agitated, I found comfort only in Pike’s assertion that any possible search was doomed to lead nowhere. There was no evidence of crime. Suspicion would have nothing to feed on. Thus I reassured myself.

A
s I dressed the following morning I recalled Pike’s advice that I should comport myself as normally as possible. It might prove awkward if someone later observed that I had been particularly elusive around the time of Ogden’s disappearance. This disagreeable thought gave rise to another: that I had been left solitary. With whom could I comfortably pass the time? On no account could I see Sarah. Kitty was lost to me. For related reasons I could not comfortably seek out Crocker or Horn. I was condemned to the loneliness of a criminal, and far from happy in that predicament.

It was nonetheless essential to preserve appearances. The day being fine, if windy, I took a turn in the park, bowing to several acquaintances and pausing to make conversation with one or two others. All the time I kept a wary lookout for Sarah or her aunt, but there was no sign of them. Later I ate a chop at Keeble’s, where I contributed to the general talk easily enough.

By the time I returned to my lodgings, it was already dark, but I was soon to be surprised by another visit from Matt Cullen.

“More news,” he said, “direct from an agitated Mr. Gow, whom I have just left. Ogden’s hat has been handed in to his home. Apparently it was found in the mud in Margaret Street the morning after he was seen in his office.”

“Can they be certain it was Ogden’s?”

“Mrs. Ogden has apparently confirmed it, although expressing astonishment.”

Here was a double blow. I was at once reminded that Ogden had indeed been hatless when he caught up with me outside Crocker’s courtyard. It would now be suspected that he had come to grief in or near Margaret Street. Moreover, Sarah had learned of her husband’s return and would have sudden cause for surmise and misgivings. I asked eager questions to hide my dismay.

“When did all this come out?”

“This very morning. Gow was sent for.”

“And then he spoke of having seen Ogden?”

“Of course.”

“What does he make of it all?”

“The poor devil is in dire confusion. He’s a retiring fellow who finds himself suddenly obliged to assume responsibilities. Acting on advice he is sending posthaste to Holbrook Hall to find out whether Ogden has yet arrived. I could have told him, of course, but only by involving you and Gilbert.”

I summoned up some spirit: “You bring strange tidings, Master Cullen. There may have been dark deeds in Margaret Street.” I made a show of reflecting. “And I myself might have been nearby at the time.”

“What time were you there?”

“I can tell you exactly: at midnight.”

“Did you linger after reading the lady’s message?”

“Certainly not. It was a dismal night.”

“You noticed nothing untoward?”

“There was nothing to notice but darkness and rain.”

We stood in silence for a moment till Cullen grinned. “This will all prove to be nothing—much ado about a hat.”