Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [40]
“Perhaps we’re lucky. He might have been worse in spring.”
“Get out!”
Urban grinned.
Drummond put the pen down and stood up. “Keep an eye on it, Urban,” he said seriously. “I’ve got more to worry about with real cases. I’ve got a very ugly murder we’ve been called in to help with.”
Urban looked puzzled. “Called in, sir?”
“Not on our patch. I’m going now to see someone touched by it.” He crossed over to the stand by the door and took his hat and put it on. It was far too warm for a coat above his ordinary jacket, but he straightened his tie automatically and eased his shoulders and set his lapels a little more evenly.
Urban did not appear to notice anything unusual. Gentlemen like Micah Drummond might be expected to dress immaculately wherever they were going, not in deference to whom they visited, but because it was in their own nature.
Outside Drummond hailed a hansom and set out for Belgravia.
He sat back in the smooth upright interior and thought about Lord Byam, and the obligation which had drawn him into this affair. For some ten years now he had been one of an exclusive group known as the Inner Circle, a brotherhood whose membership was unknown except to each other, and even then only to the closest few to each man, and it was sworn with profound oaths to remain so. In secret they did many good works, helped those in misfortune, fought to right certain injustices, and gave generously to many charities.
They had also covenanted to assist each other, when called upon and identified with the signs of the Circle, and to do so without questioning the matter or counting the personal cost. Sholto Byam had appealed to him under such a covenant. As a fellow member Drummond had no option but to do all he could, and without telling Pitt anything of the brotherhood in any way, even by implication. He could explain nothing. It was a situation which embarrassed him unaccountably. London was full of societies of one sort or another, some of them charitable, many of them secret. He had thought little of it at the time he joined. It was something that many of his peers had done, and it seemed both a wise and an admirable step, for friendship and for his career. It had never caused him unease until now.
It was not that he feared Byam was guilty, or that had he been he would do anything whatever to protect him from the consequences of his act. It was simply that he could not explain his behavior to Pitt, nor tell him why he was so easily able to have him put in charge of a case which rightly belonged in Clerkenwell. There were other members of the Inner Circle he could appeal to, men in positions to have a case investigated here, or there, by whomsoever they chose, and he had but to identify himself as a brother and it was done, without explanation asked or given.
Now he would do all that was required by honor to help Byam, and do it with the necessary grace.
He arrived at Belgrave Square, alighted, and paid the cabby. As the horse drew away, he straightened his tie one more time. He walked up the steps under the portico and reached out his hand to pull the bell. But the footman on duty was alert, and the door opened in front of him.
“Good morning, Mr. Drummond,” the footman said courteously, remembering his master’s eagerness to see this gentleman on his previous call. “I regret to say, sir, that Lord Byam is away from home at the moment, but if you care to see Lady Byam, I shall inform her you are here.”
Drummond felt dismay, and a stirring of confusion half mixed with pleasure. His immediate thought was that Lady Byam might be able to give him some insight into her husband’s personality, his habits and perhaps some fact he had overlooked or forgotten which might point towards his innocence. His memory brought back the grace with which she had moved, the gentleness of her smile when he had come that first night he had been sent for.
“Thank you,” he accepted. “That would be excellent.”
“If you will wait in the morning room, sir.” The footman led the way and opened the door for Drummond,