The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [119]
He introduced the other guests – our acquaintance, Lord St. John, and a young man named Barnes, who was notable primarily for the prominence of his teeth and who never spoke a complete sentence, though he nodded and smiled incessantly.
Lord St John bowed over my hand. ‘How brave of you to venture out today, Mrs Emerson. We were afraid you might be overcome by your dreadful experience last night.’
I glanced at the newspapers on a nearby table – a little piece of untidiness that looked significantly out of place in an otherwise neatly ordered room.
‘I take it you were unable to attend, Lord St John.’
‘Unfortunately I did not learn in time of the change in the date,’ said his lordship smoothly. ‘I was otherwise engaged. But I don’t know that I would have chosen to attend in any case. There is to me something distasteful and unaesthetic about exposing human remains in that fashion.’
Lord Liverpool gave one of his high-pitched giggles. ‘What a stuffy old moralist you are becoming, Jack. It was for a good purpose, wasn’t it, ma’am? Advancement of learning and all that sort of thing.’
‘That was the intention,’ I agreed. ‘As you have no doubt read in the newspapers, matters did not work out that way. It is a pity you were not there, gentlemen; you might have been able to assist my husband, who was unable – despite efforts that would have been impossible for most men – to protect the specimen.’
‘Ah, yes,’ murmured Lord St John, glancing at the square of plaster that adorned Emerson’s brow. ‘It is a great relief to your friends, Professor – among whom I hope we may count ourselves – to see you took no serious injury. I had intended to ask Mrs Emerson about you.’
‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ said Emerson, settling himself squarely in the exact centre of the sofa. ‘I don’t suppose you expected to see me. I was not invited. But here I am.’
‘And we are delighted to see you,’ said Lord St John.
The Earl giggled.
We were served an excellent luncheon, of which our host ate almost nothing, though he imbibed a considerable quantity of wine and talked constantly. A question of mine concerning the history of the house prompted his burst of volubility, and I was surprised to find the idle, uneducated young man so well informed and so intensely interested. His monologue continued through three courses, recounting tales I had heard and others I had not.
Queen Elizabeth had slept in the Great Bedchamber and had been entertained with a masque, a moonlight hunt, and the usual orations. The Headless Courtier was a souvenir of this visit; according to Lord Liverpool, he had been discovered by the then-Earl in the bedchamber of the queen, in the very act of forcing his attentions upon her. She had certainly screamed loudly enough – but not until after the Earl entered. Guilty or innocent, the would-be ravisher had gone to the block like a gentleman, without betraying his queen; so one could hardly blame him for venting his annoyance on the descendants of the man who had been the cause of his untimely demise.
‘Shame on you, Ned,’ said Lord St John, laughing. ‘That is not a fit story for a lady like Mrs Emerson.’
I assured him I was not at all offended. ‘I do not greatly admire Elizabeth. She seems to me to have exhibited all the ruthless cruelty of her Tudor ancestry, but in a typically female fashion. I have no doubt the poor headless gentleman was innocent – of that offence, at any rate.’
‘The solution to the mystery is beyond even your powers,’ said Lord St John with a whimsical smile. ‘So long ago as that –’
‘No mystery is insoluble, Lord St John,’ I replied coolly. ‘It is simply a question of how much time and effort one is willing to spend.’
Lord St John raised his glass in mute capitulation. His slight, twisted