The Advocate's Wife (22 page)

Cause and effect! Once Hungerford had revealed his identity to that man in the restaurant, his fate had been sealed: because the original owner of the watch had been Henry Colbourne, and the man in the restaurant was his murderer.

‘I read your letter with great interest, Inspector Box. It recalled many memories of earlier years here in Carter Lane.’

Mr Edgar Forwood, the principal of Foxley & Forwood, glanced at the letter that he held in a gnarled hand. A man nearer eighty than seventy, he had spent his life in the law, and most of the last half-century in a suite of offices on the first floor of a crooked old building in the shadow of London’s cathedral.

‘There are no Foxleys now, Mr Box, and only one Forwood – myself! Mr Graham Foxley died some years ago, leaving me as the sole survivor of the old partnership. But you’ve not come to hear our history. Ask me your questions, Mr Box, and I’ll try to give you some judicious answers.’

The old lawyer’s voice held a kind of wry amusement, perhaps at the world in general. Its light tone seemed to come from some distance away.

‘I want you to cast your mind back, sir,’ Box began, ‘to the year 1867. In that year you had two young men here as juniors, Mr Henry Colbourne and Mr Gideon Raikes. I’d be very grateful, Mr Forwood, if you could tell me something about those two young men. What were they like? Did they fit in here?’

The old gentleman sighed. He had very bright dark eyes, which looked speculatively at Box.

‘One never knows quite what you Scotland Yard fellows are up to! I wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to dig up that particular bit of the past? Fit in? They were promising young
men, Mr Box, as far as the law goes. But they brought tensions with them, and that was a bad thing.’ He paused for a moment, and said, half to himself, ‘There’s always a bad apple in every barrel.’

‘A bad apple, sir? Do you mean Gideon Raikes?’

‘What? No, I don’t mean Gideon Raikes. I’m thinking of Henry Colbourne. Mr Graham Foxley regarded Henry Colbourne with special favour, because of his high moral tone. I had my reservations, I must admit. It’s true that we had high standards in those days, Mr Box. No drink on the premises, no gambling, or profanity in private life. But too much virtue can be a danger, and young Colbourne’s virtue was a danger both to himself and others. He was courting disaster, and he found it.’

Box had heard this chilling tale before, from Mr Bentinck of Gray’s Inn. Old Mr Forwood called Henry Colbourne the bad apple in the barrel. It was Gideon Raikes himself who had
characterized
Colbourne’s virtue as a vice….

‘Of the two juniors, sir, Colbourne and Raikes, who would you say was the more promising?’

Mr Forwood looked quizzically at the inspector.

‘Is there any special reason, Mr Box, why you keep saying “the two juniors”? Is there some clever forensic purpose in making no mention of the third junior?’

‘I didn’t know there
was
a third junior, sir!’

‘Well, there was. Mr Colbourne and Mr Raikes came to us from Gray’s Inn; Mr Porteous came from Lincoln’s Inn. There were three of them.’

Inspector Box lapsed into a sort of trance. Sir William Porteous seemed to be protected by other people’s ignorance of his history. He remembered how unreasonably angry he had been at not knowing that Lady Hardington in Essex was Porteous’s sister. And yet, why should anyone know that? And now Porteous was revealed as the third of a triumvirate of juniors in this old legal practice. Why had no one known? The answer was, that no one had felt the need to ask. Sir William Porteous talked a great deal – it was a rather endearing quality of his – but he did not reminisce. He lived only in the present.

He must listen to what old Mr Forwood was telling him.

‘Gambling, of course, was rife in those days. I think it was worse then than now. They all gambled – it was the thing to do, apparently. Raikes and Porteous both frequented gaming-clubs. They went to a place in Paulet Street run by a man called Carex. He was a well-known corrupter of youth, and you’ll have him on record at Scotland Yard, I expect. He took his own life in the end, so they say. Foolish boys! That’s what ruined Gideon Raikes, He accepted a bribe from a witness to pay his gambling debts.’

The old gentleman’s reminiscences continued. Box’s attention wandered again. He remembered something that Raikes had said to him during his visit to Grosvenor Square. ‘It is quite simple, Mr Box. You are probably aware of the follies of my early years. I accepted a bribe from a witness. There were two of us in quite desperate situations over gambling debts….’

Two
of
us
… So the other one had been Porteous. Had Colbourne found him out as well? Raikes had turned to
corruption
as a solution: how had Porteous coped with his particular dilemma? Mr Forwood was speaking again.

‘Oh, Mr Raikes was very assiduous, and all that. He was a clever young man, and would have made an admirable lawyer. But Mr Porteous was dedicated! You could see that, young as he was. He felt that the criminal bar was a vocation – a mission, if you like. He said to me once: “We’re an army, an untiring
protection
of the people of this country against the felon and the destroyers in society. Our fight is unending, a crusade. I can think of no more noble calling”. He meant it, too! I’ve never forgotten those words, and you can see what a great advocate he has become. They tell me that he will recover from this dastardly attempt upon his life. I don’t know whether that’s true?’

‘It’s true enough, sir. Sir William Porteous is very much on the mend, as they say. But I’d like to take your mind back to the past again, sir, if I may.’

It was time, Box realized, to direct the old gentleman’s memory into another channel by the use of a statement rather than a question.

‘Mr Henry Colbourne was murdered on the first of November, 1867, on the pavement near the church of St James’s,
Garlickhythe. He was garrotted – strangled from behind with a scarf.’

‘Yes, indeed, Inspector. Poor Colbourne! He was only
twenty-seven
. Or twenty-six. That evening, he stayed late with me here in the office, writing letters. We had a great deal to do that month, I recall. That was his stool, over there, by the
cabinet-clock
. He used to suck the end of the quill, you know, and then stab the point in the inkwell. Dear me! How clearly I see it all! I often used to think of that night, you see, because it was the very night that he was killed. I’ve never really forgotten it, though time is a great healer.’

‘So you and he sat here that evening, writing letters?’

‘Yes, Inspector. Letters to do with our clients, you know. I was sitting where you see me sitting now. Colbourne and I had both finished writing by ten o’clock. We gathered all the sealed and stamped letters together, and walked up to the General Post Office in St Martin’s-le-Grand.’

The old lawyer ruefully massaged his thigh.

‘I can’t walk now. Not without help, at any rate. But I was a good walker in those days. So Colbourne and I made our way through St Paul’s Churchyard with the letters, talking about our clients, and what we were going to do the next day. And that very night, Mr Box, he was murdered!’

‘How did Mr Porteous react? To the murder, I mean?’

‘He was very shocked and upset. He was physically sick when the constables called to tell us the news. It was the very next day that he made those remarks about the practice of law being a moral crusade. He worked so very hard from that time on. He very soon outgrew us, Mr Box. We are still immensely proud of having bred him in these chambers!’

The door creaked open and a young clerk ventured into the shady room. ‘Sir,’ he whispered, ‘Mr Egerton-Warburton has arrived from Cheshire.’ The old gentleman stirred in his chair and pulled some papers across the table.

‘Can I dismiss you now, Mr Box? It’s wills and deeds now for the rest of the morning.’

‘My dear Lardner,’ said Sir William Porteous, ‘one day, no doubt,
I’ll be able to thank you properly for all that you’ve done during this crisis – done for Lady Porteous, I mean. She’s been telling me how much she has come to rely upon you.’

Lardner had at last been permitted to visit his employer in a tiny private room allotted to him in University College Hospital. It had been obvious immediately to the secretary that Sir William had made a remarkable recovery from his physical injuries. He had left his hospital bed, and now walked warily with a stick. There were calipers on his right leg.

Lardner blushed with pleasure at his employer’s words. A swift glance at Sir William’s smiling face told him that Lady Porteous had revealed nothing to her husband of the sinister visit of Gideon Raikes to Queen Adelaide Gate.

‘Lady Porteous is too good, sir. And is it really true that you’ll be leaving the hospital?’

‘Yes, indeed, Lardner. The medical authorities have decided that I can be safely moved from here to a nursing home.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘About time, too! Matron’s a dear soul at heart, but a regular tartar into the bargain! Old Trevor’s downstairs, arguing the merits of various suitable establishments with Sir Arthur Carew-Field. It was really most generous of Her Majesty to interest the court
physician
in my case. Most gracious and kindly.’

‘Carew-Field?’

‘Yes, Lardner. A very affable, smooth kind of man. He has to be like that, I suppose. Dr Trevor favours Malvern as the most appropriate place for my convalescence – he sent me there five years ago, as you’ll remember, after that bout of pleurisy. Sir Arthur Carew-Field, however, urges the advantages of Chelford Grange, which, apparently, is a sanatorium “nestling among the pine woods near Pinner, in Middlesex” – his words, not mine, I hasten to add! I leave the choice entirely to them. Anywhere will do, as long as I can get away from Matron!’

Sir William’s manner was encouragingly ebullient, but Lardner wondered how fully he had survived the attempt on his life. His round, patrician face was pale and drawn, and his eyes betrayed some kind of lingering anxiety – or was it fear? Nevertheless, it was immensely encouraging to hear Sir William
talk as he did. In a year, perhaps, he would be fit once again for the fray.

‘Well, sir,’ said Lardner, ‘it’s always been my privilege to be of service to you: Soon, I hope, I can play my part in completing your mission – the ultimate destruction of Gideon Raikes.’

Porteous was startled at the vehemence of Lardner’s tone, but he thoroughly applauded the sentiment. The secretary’s words seemed to lend him extra strength.

‘Well done, Lardner! So Raikes has been tinkering with my accounts, has he? Well, we’ll have to pay him out for that! Yes, I believe that Providence has spared me to fulfil the task of destroying Gideon Raikes, though it’s going to be a year before I can stride into court again. Providence has always blessed my crusade against crime and vice, and has spared me to continue the fight. A year’s recuperation in the country, Lardner, and then I shall rush back into the thick of the fray!’

‘It’s quite impossible,’ said Lardner, angrily, ‘to plumb the depths of Gideon Raikes’s evil mind. How could a man even contemplate such a murderous attack on an unarmed and unsuspecting victim?’

Sir William’s gaze shifted from Lardner to a dimension beyond the hospital room.

‘Contemplate such an attack? Oh, I’d find that quite an easy thing to do, Lardner. I’ve mentioned this matter to you before. Can you not imagine a man who sees a broad highway stretching before him – a royal road to destiny, with the fierce light of Heaven beating down upon it? And then, an obstacle appears to block the path. Ugly, dark, an affront to the light. Insupportable! That obstacle must be removed, Lardner, destroyed, and the royal road left open, as Fate ordained! Be it man or woman, creed or institution, if it blocks the way, then it must be swept aside—’

Sir William stood transfixed for a while, and then his eyes suddenly focused once again on Lardner. The flow of words ceased. He looked so comically crestfallen that the secretary smiled in spite of himself. But smile or not, he could nor banish a feeling of disquiet. Sir William’s recovery was by no means complete yet. The great advocate glanced sheepishly at Lardner, and attempted a wry smile.

‘There, I’m talking nonsense! But that’s how you must
understand
Gideon Raikes. Enough of him! Lady Porteous, now – do you think that something is amiss with her? I suspect that she’s trying to hide something, some tension or trouble. What do you think?’

Lardner’s mind flew back to the evening he had spent with Sergeant Knollys. It had been a pleasant break in his daily routine, but it had been dangerous, too. Although Knollys had seen Lady Porteous only briefly that evening, he had
immediately
sensed that something was wrong behind her controlled exterior. Lardner now gave his employer the same answer as he had given to Knollys.

‘Lady Porteous has been devastated by the attempt on your life, Sir William. She displays admirable control, as one would expect from a lady of her quality, but I venture to say that she will never be quite the same again. She has been profoundly shocked, and the signs show through.’

‘You may be right, Lardner. Well, we shall see. I must
concentrate
on getting better. Goodbye for the moment. One day, I will contrive a way to thank you more adequately for your kindness and devotion to my wife and me!’

Dr Trevor approved of Chelford Grange. It was a pleasant, airy place, suitably opulent without being vulgar. It lay in its own considerable grounds, seemingly enclosed on all sides to the horizon in a fragrant forest of pine. A special train had been hired from the London and North Western Railway Company, and Sir William, supported by doctors, nurses, and a bevy of servants, had departed from Euston amid much fuss and flurry.

Carew-Field, thought Trevor, had been right in his choice. Once the convalescent had been settled in, the party could return very conveniently to London. For the moment, though, he and Carew-Field had matters medical to discuss. They had been left discreetly alone in the registrar’s office while Sir William was installed in his suite on the first floor.