The Bedlam Detective (43 page)

He was early. As he waited in the square, watching the benchers pass and the workers in the boiler rooms of justice going about their secret business, he rehearsed the speech that he intended to follow.

He meant to offer himself to Evangeline, if she would have him.

And if she would not, he could wait.

A
T AROUND THE
same time, in a belowground passage built some thirty years before to serve temporary exhibition grounds in South Kensington, Sebastian was heading for an appointment of his own. He, too, was thinking of Evangeline May Bancroft, and the lightless shaft under the Thames where he had once done his best to sustain the young woman’s spirits. This tunnel was wide and spacious, with a faint breeze drawing through.

Sir Owain Lancaster had been tried for the manslaughter of Hubert Sibley. He had insisted on representing himself in court, which had all but guaranteed the trial’s outcome. After Sir James Crichton-Browne spoke on his mental condition, the jury returned a verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity, and Sir Owain was detained indefinitely by order of the Crown. The Arnside estate and his remaining assets were placed under the control of a Master of Lunacy appointed by the Lord Chancellor’s office. His late wife’s family petitioned for control over what remained of his dwindling wealth, but their petition was denied.

Sir Owain had applied to his administrators to be allowed to make a cash gift to Sebastian, as a sign of gratitude. He hoped that it might enable Sebastian to move his family into more suitable housing. The Master of Lunacy had forbidden the gift, deeming it improper, but Sir James had felt moved to raise Sebastian’s pay in consequence. For the moment, Sebastian remained in Southwark.

As far as Sebastian was aware, Sir Owain had adjusted to his lot, rediscovered his faith, and spent his days in the serene anticipation of an eventual reunion with his loved ones. For his own part, Sebastian suffered occasionally from vivid and emotional memories in which he relived the involuntary delirium that Sir Owain had inflicted upon him. But these episodes were always brief and had begun to diminish.

He ascended the stairs to leave the passageway at its newly opened entrance before the natural history museum, the so-called Cathedral of Nature dedicated mostly to the display and worship of bones and taxidermy. Its iron galleries and terra-cotta detailing made for a unique blend of industry and Byzantium. He’d been here several times, mostly at weekends, since Robert had made his first visit with Dr. Percival.

Today was different, and somewhat special. Percival Langdon Down had arranged an interview for Robert with the Keeper of Paleontology. Despite the boy’s lack of formal training, Langdon Down had persuaded the Keeper that his depth of interest and effortless power of analysis might fit him for employment here. As a boy attendant to begin with, perhaps moving on to become a junior assistant in the Department of Geology. He surely had the necessary ability. Robert even had the Latin, entirely self-taught.

Sebastian was to meet the three of them in the Great Hall, but only Frances was waiting there. She had her best coat and bonnet on.

He said, “Am I late? I didn’t think I was.”

“You’re not late,” Frances said. “The Keeper sent a message down and Robert went up early.”

“Shouldn’t we be there?”

“No, Sebastian,” Frances said. “He isn’t a child. He went off perfectly happy with Doctor Percival. He doesn’t need us.”

She noted his discomfort, and it made her smile.

“It’ll soon be over,” she said. “And I’m sure he’ll do well. Let’s walk for a while. Take your mind away from it.”

They walked out of the Great Hall past Huxley’s statue, down the gallery of the East Wing. Pier cases of specimens made a series of alcoves to either side, from early man to the mastodon. For once, they didn’t have to stop every few paces while Robert picked out some fossil and launched into an eager lecture. They passed the exhibits by, their thoughts elsewhere.

“I wish Elisabeth could be here to see this day,” he said.

“I know you do. This will be everything you both wanted for him.”

“Everything
she
wanted,” he said. “I’m not sure I had her faith.”

“She had her doubts too, you know. She believed in him. But I think she would have found it hard to let him go.”

He looked at her. “Really?”

Frances nodded. “You knew her best. But I knew her longest. She was the same when we were children. She could deal with disappointment if it was her own. But she always suffered at the thought of it being borne by anyone else.”

The gallery ended in a square pavilion with no exit. On pedestal number ten, near the center of the room, stood the plaster skeleton of
a Megatherium from Buenos Ayres
, an enormous extinct animal with a frame resembling that of a giant sloth.

This was the exhibit that Robert had first led him to see. The Megatherium was the unseen beast that Sir Owain had imagined he might bag and bring home. Its skeleton was thick-boned and barrel-chested, and it had been set in a rearing position with a plaster tree to balance against. As a result of its raised stance, its skull was up almost as high as the ceiling.

They turned to walk back. There was no way of knowing how long the Keeper’s interview would take.

“You know,” Sebastian said, “if Robert gets this job, he’ll be the one member of the family with a reliable weekly income.”

“One step at a time, Sebastian.”

“But you’re right. He deserves whatever the world can offer him. And you, Frances. I owe you so much. But do you never wonder how your life might have been without us?”

“I’d miss Southwark.”

“Really?”

It took him a moment to realize that Frances was teasing him. He hadn’t been expecting it. His credulity amused her no end. They began their return to the Great Hall.

“Life will be better than this, Frances,” he said. “I promise you it will.”

She took his arm.

“I don’t mind,” she said.

T
HERE IS, IN ONE FINAL PIECE OF BUSINESS, THE MATTER OF A
short length of moving-picture film. The camera negative was returned, in due course, to Florence Bell’s family, who could bear neither to view it nor to throw it away. It was kept in an attic where the nitrate stock began to deteriorate, as nitrate stock will. When the film can was rediscovered and finally opened, some decades later, the core was a solid lump and the outer layers were crumbling. All else within the can was dust, rust, and vinegar.

The print that Sebastian Becker turned over to the Crown Prosecutor’s office went into a government archive. The archive was thinned and most of its silver was reclaimed for the war effort in 1915.

No clear understanding of the brief sequence’s content was ever agreed upon.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

S
TEPHEN
G
ALLAGHER
is a novelist, screenwriter, and director. He is the author of fourteen novels, including
Nightmare, with Angel; Red, Red Robin;
and
The Spirit Box
. He lives in England.