London - Edward Rutherfurd [498]
At first the vestry was embarrassed. They really didn’t want a scandal. But one or two members, who happened to be acquaintances of Lord Bocton, assured their brethren that they could not let this pass. “If he does it, hundreds will follow,” they warned. And three applications having been made to the earl, a warrant was now being considered for his arrest.
“We’ll let them arrest him first,” Bocton said with satisfaction. “Then we’ll save him.”
On a cold December morning Eugene looked up from his desk in some surprise to see a worried-looking George de Quette enter the counting-house and ask for Meredith. A few minutes later, he was summoned into Meredith’s parlour himself.
“Lord St James has been arrested,” Meredith explained quickly. “He’s refused to pay the parish rates.”
“I’d pay them myself,” young George explained, “but my allowance won’t run to it.”
“Couldn’t Lord Bocton help?” Eugene ventured.
The other two looked at each other. “I’m paying,” Meredith said swiftly. “God knows, George, I owe him everything.”
“It has to be carefully done,” George explained. “If he ever found out we’d interfered. . . .”
“We need someone not known. Someone discreet,” said Meredith.
It turned out to be relatively easy. As soon as he made his offer it was clear to Eugene that the senior clerk in the vestry office was extremely relieved.
“You say this money comes from. . . ?”
“Well-wishers in the parish, sir.”
“I did not catch your name.”
“I act for unnamed parties, sir. As you will see, this entirely clears Lord St James’s obligation.”
“Yes. It certainly does.”
“In which event, surely, his arrest. . . .”
“No longer necessary. Quite.”
“But if he refuses to pay?” objected a junior clerk.
“He can refuse to pay till Doomsday,” the senior clerk retorted with asperity, “but if he has paid, or someone has, we’ve no claim against him, have we? He can’t go to gaol,” he added with satisfaction, “even if he wants to.” He turned to Eugene again. “I’m much obliged to you, sir – to those you represent. Saved us a deal of embarrassment. All charges dropped. He’ll be out within the hour; I’ll see to it myself.”
Eugene strolled towards Holborn, happy with the way his business had gone. But after he had walked a quarter of a mile, he was stopped by a cry of “Hey! Stop, sir!” followed by the sound of hurrying footsteps behind him, and he turned to see the tall, bottle-green person of Lord Bocton, advancing towards him, accompanied by a lugubrious man with a long nose.
As it happened, Lord Bocton and Silversleeves had just called in at the vestry office to make sure their quarry had been safely trapped before they set about the rest of their plan. Now they caught up.
“Were you in the vestry office back there?” demanded Lord Bocton.
“I may have been,” Eugene replied. “But then again,” he added sweetly, “I may not. Might I ask what business it is of yours?”
“Never mind that, sir! Are you trying to pervert the course of justice?”
“No.” He wasn’t.
“Do you want to be arrested?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“What is your name, sir?”
Eugene allowed a look of delicious puzzlement to steal over his face. “My name?” he frowned. “Why, sir, that’s strange. I can’t remember.” And while they gazed in stupefaction he abruptly turned a corner and vanished into a side street.
For several moments Lord Bocton and Silversleeves stood staring at each other. Finally Silversleeves spoke. “He could not remember his own name, my lord. Now that is a sure sign of insanity.”
“Oh damn your insanity!