Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [30]
“He grew stronger physically, went off to school, did sports, even. All seemed well, until he entered Cambridge.
“There he did what is called ‘falling in with a bad lot.’ That is the other side of an incestuously tight society: Once a young man falls in with a group of young men interested only in gambling and drink, there is no escape.
“He was sent down, of course. Rather than coming here, he went to London. Shortly before my cousin came out to Palestine for good, Lionel was involved in some huge scandal, and had to leave the country. He spent the next twelve years in Europe, moving from place to place with his friends, wintering in the south of France. He only came back to England once during the following years, when Father died in 1903. Lionel himself died in the spring before the War—his lungs, apparently, weakened by drugs and drink and an accumulation of careless living.”
Marsh took a deep breath. “However. Just after the new year of 1914 Lionel wrote our brother—the head of the family, of course—to say that he had married and his wife was expecting a child. He asked Henry—told him, actually, in no uncertain terms; I’ve seen the letter—to increase his monthly stipend to account for his wife and the child. Henry went immediately to see this for himself, and found Lionel living in Montmartre with an older woman who looked little more than an amateur whore. But they had a marriage licence, and the woman’s condition was obvious, so he came away. What could he do?
“Henry and his wife Sarah wrote to me, of course. I might have tried to do something about it, but by the time the letter caught up with me, it was accompanied by a telegram informing me of Lionel’s death.
“The child was born three months after the marriage, six weeks before Lionel died. A boy; Thomas is his name. He is now nine and a half, has lived his whole life in France, and none of us has ever set eyes on him. None of us has any idea what kind of person he will be.”
He took another careful breath. “Which is why he and his mother are coming to London on Tuesday. Phillida and I will go down to meet them the following day. I need to look at the child. It’s not that I mind in the least supporting the two of them—Lionel wished it, after all—but since Thomas is next in the line of succession after me, I must at least find out if he bears any resemblance to my brother.”
Marsh had been studying his boots as he talked, but now he looked up, first at me, then at Holmes, one dark eyebrow raised quizzically.
“I for one should be rather surprised if he does. You see, by all accounts, from the time he left Justice to take up his place at Cambridge, Lionel was what you might call flamboyantly disinterested when it came to women.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marsh’s ambulatory tale had taken a fair time in the telling, interrupted as it was by the antics of the dogs, the side-trip to inspect the herd of deer, another diversion to see the state of the sheep, and occasional stretches when Marsh had simply pulled away to gather his thoughts, or his strength. We had trudged more or less continuously cross-country for a good two hours, although we had only travelled three or four miles in a straight line from where we had begun. The sun was not far from the horizon, Alistair looked ready to drop, and I really thought it time to turn back. Even the dogs had ceased to bounce.
Marsh, however, had other plans. We had for some time been coming up at an oblique angle on the high wall that surrounded Justice; as we entered into its very shadow, the duke dug into his pocket and brought out a key the length of his hand.
“I need a drink,” he stated, and made for a stout iron gate set into the stones.
I could only stare at his back, hunched over the lock. Holmes was every bit as bemused as I.
“Not a statement I’d have expected to hear coming from that man,” he murmured. Then he added, “However, I can agree with the sentiment.”
The iron gate debouched