A difficult dinner
On her way to dinner, Margaret Byrd has to stop short to keep the library door from striking her as it opens into the corridor.
The young barrister Shirley Addam walks out of the library, a little thinner and rather darker of skin than when they left London. Immediately he sees what has happened. “Why, Dr. Byrd! I do apologize; I did not hear you passing, or I should not have opened the door so quickly. I hope it did not hit you. May I accompany you to the dining room?”
Margaret smiles. “Mr. Shirley, how good to see you, and in such fine form. No need to apologize; no harm was done, and I would be delighted to go to dinner with you. I have many things I would like to discuss with you, so really, this is most serendipitous. Shall we?” And she takes his arm.
Only two places are laid at table. Shirley steers Margaret to one of them and holds her chair for her, without making a major production of it. “Major Harston is otherwise occupied and will not be with us this evening; I fear you will have to make do with me.” He takes the chair opposite; a servant places bowls of bean soup before them.
“I imagine Colonel Barstow gave you my note?”
“Indeed he did, and it gave me great cause for concern. That is one of the things I wished to discuss with you. But first, excuse me while I speak to the servant. I must be sure dinner will be made available to my companion, Esperanza.” She speaks to the servant briefly, then returns. “Good; Esperanza has made friends with the cook already, and is happily chattering away and enchanting the kitchen staff. I imagine she is quite comfortable; her father is Colonel Barstow’s cook, from Gibralter.” She tastes the soup. “Oh, this is lovely. Now, I must tell you that I had an encounter similar to yours. I still have the note the poor hapless man was carrying. I must say, I did wonder if the poor chap spent some time apprenticed to a hatter. He nearly did himself an injury trying to injure me. Really, he seemed almost mentally deficient. Unfortunately, I was unable to get him to tell me who sent him, so I hadn’t followed up on the incident. I have had no untoward experiences since, though. You?”
“You must have been fortunate enough to miss them in Malta. A group of them was posing as protesters on the docks when I arrived. I had the good fortune to have travelled with a truly exceptional ship’s crew, however. They went entirely out of their way to be sure I got to Valetta Palace safely.”
“You know, Mr. Addam, we saw the protesters on the docks in Malta, but they didn’t take any particular notice of us. They did cause the Captain of my ship some consternation, though, and he quite refused to permit us to set foot ashore unescorted. He went with us to sign the register for the contest, and then we sailed on with him to Naples. If they were ruffians looking for the Ellipsoids, they may have been thrown off by the presence of the Captain and Esperanza; they would have been looking for an unaccompanied Englishwoman. Hmmm.” And she ponders for a bit, humming under her breath. After a bit, Shirley may recognize the tune of a popular American music hall tune, “Daisy, Daisy.”
“There is,” Shirley says quietly, “at least some chance they were looking specifically for me. I cannot be sure, as I gave them no opportunity to recognize me. Have you kept up with the Times at all? It appears that the prime mover here is one Mr. Herbert Addison. Scotland Yard is on his trail. He is known to do less-than-savoury business for—well, for the highly-placed. It appears my own patron Lady Davies got mixed up with him somehow, much to my surprise and, I may say, consternation. Addison is still loose, somewhere in the world, and I should think him rather more competent than some of his hires. I do urge you and your companion to take all sensible precautions, Dr. Byrd.” There is no mistaking Shirley’s words and tone for anything other than frank sincerity.
Suddenly Margaret looks up and steeples her fingers. “All right, Mr. Addam, you make sense. I have some questions I should like to put to you, but we may as well be comfortable about it.” She turns and addresses the waiting servant quietly, requesting the next course and tea to drink with it. She does so in Arabic. Then she turns back. “I’ve just asked for the next course and some tea. Everyone has been most assiduous in warning me not to drink the water, and indeed, I’ve no wish to be delayed by dysentery or dyspepsia. Now, first of all, what is the source of your information concerning Mr. Addison? Have you seen a copy of the London Times since our departure? And you were obviously looking for something in the library, and may have found it, judging by your expression when you nearly ran into me. Would you be so kind as to tell me what it is?
“You have endeavoured to put me on my guard, but if I am to be careful and still travel, I need to know what it is I am guarding against. We are indeed competitors, but we are also Englishmen in a strange land, heading into stranger, and that is a greater bond, I should think. Will you help me to the extent of sharing information, Mr. Addam? And if I have any for you, I will surely do the same.” And she tips her head to one side, waiting. She begins to hum quietly again. This time it is from the newly published ballads collected by Francis Childe, “The Three Marys.”
The force of the doctor’s questions and her obvious irritation cause the young man to push himself back from the table a trifle. “Dr. Byrd, I assure you,” he says apologetically, “it was never my intent to hide anything about this sordid business from you. I simply did not know you had not been watching the foreign editions of the Times. They are available in the library for your perusal; I was reading them myself before dinner.” At that last word, the servants re-enter with a steaming pot of tea and the fish course.
“Let me save you some trouble, however, and give you the story.” He explains his connexion with Jimmy Pilkington, and the late-night prowl that led him to Nicholas Finnegan. “Finnegan, so says the Times, was apprehended on the 7th, after a tip from Jimmy as to his whereabouts. After some questioning, Scotland Yard took over the case, connecting Finnegan to the Herbert Addison I mentioned to you a moment ago.
“The Times is cagey on this point, but it appears that the Yard raided Addison’s office, finding there records connecting him to my patron Lady Davies as well as our competitor Lord Longsworth-Brunfondle.” Shirley clears his throat and takes a sip of tea. “I do not in fact know what Lady Davies can have had to do with this man, though a telegram from her awaited me here claiming she had no connexion whatever with Addison’s Ellipsoid business. Longsworth-Brunfondle has claimed in the Times that had he known of Addison’s associates he would have had nothing to do with him.”
Shirley disposes efficiently of half his fish, wipes his mouth, and continues. “When I encountered the protesters on the Maltese docks, I listened to them out of sight while casting about for some way to get off the docks without being seen. They mentioned that they were waiting for Nicholas Finnegan, and that they were being paid for their efforts. I so informed Lord Weatherby, who promised me he would have them questioned.”
He turns his attention to the remainder of the fish, and nods at the servant to take the plate. “So that is where we are, Dr. Byrd. Addison has left England; where he is now no one seems to know precisely. I surmise that he holds a specific rancour toward me, as my interference led to Finnegan’s capture and his own discomfiture; what his other plans may be I know no more than you.”
He leans back in his chair. “Now, I had not known until tonight that there had been attempts on other Ellipsoids as well, though I cannot say that I am wholly surprised by it. It might be wise to leave Major Harston a note to that effect, if you would, though if I were you I should not mention it to the Times nor allow Major Harston to, as you might risk Mr. Addison’s wrath thereby.”
The smell of roast lamb makes itself known to them; Major Harston must have given orders for quite a feast. “May I answer any questions, to excuse my fault and prove my goodwill, Dr. Byrd?” Shirley asks as he allows his plate to be laid before him.
Margaret addresses herself assiduously to her meal for a moment. When she looks up, her expression is rueful and her tone much gentler. “Mr. Addam, it is I who should be offering amends to you. You have been recipient of my irritation with the common attitude of men towards women where the subject of shady dealing is concerned. Most men treat us as children, as fragile creatures who must be protected and shielded, and not as intelligent beings who can and will act in our own behalf if we have the information to do so. I have learned to be overly forceful in order to overcome the instinctual ‘pat on the head’ that seems to be the first response of too many of the males in our society. Please, do forgive me. You have given no indication that your attitude or thoughts are anything of the kind; indeed, you have accorded me the greatest respect intellectually as well as by your manners, and I must admit I find you personally quite charming.” She smiles a little, then turns musing.
Shirley returns her smile, respectful admiration in his eyes. “I can well imagine you have often been provoked. I accept your apology without reservation, and I thank you for your kind opinion of me. I hope indeed we may become friends despite our status as competitors. I should think such a friendship would last longer than this race.”
“As to your advice,” Margaret goes on, “I believe I will not only inform our host of my misadventures in Brighton in light of your experience, but give him a letter to Scotland Yard to enclose with his usual dispatches. While the Times need not know, I believe the authorities should.” She finishes her fish, and turns to sip at her tea, humming again. It sounds like it might be something from HMS Pinafore.
Then she looks up. “Mr. Addam, I’m going to indulge in conjecture here, and I should like your opinion. We were each accosted before we left England, by someone inept but offering the same sort of crude physical violence to induce us to quit. Nothing seemed amiss at Gibraltar, but in Malta protests broke out shortly before we were due to arrive, which may have been aimed specifically at you, and now we find Alexandria disrupted by having its primary rail system dynamited, again immediately before we were due to begin arriving. I add to that that this Mr. Addison apparently has connexions to both your patron and one of our fellow competitors, a man of singularly unpleasant personality who is travelling by a route which is not vulnerable to land-based disruptions. Taken cumulatively, I believe that Mr. Conan-Doyle’s detective Holmes might begin to perceive a pattern. Do you think someone might be trying to disrupt the Ellipse, or the Ellipsoids?”
Just at that moment, the servant presents her with a plate containing lamb surrounded by some sort of grain and fruit dish. After a moment of thought, she decides that this must be couscous. “Oh, my, but this smells heavenly!” And she looks across at Shirley, awaiting his answer.
Shirley is thinking furiously, eyebrows knitted and eyes cast down, as he waits for the servants to leave them be. Margaret takes the opportunity to study his face: sharp-featured, rather thin and high-cheekboned, not at all the caricature of the broad-beamed, heavy-browed Yorkshireman. Something bothers her about his face; she is not sure what. No disfigurement there, certainly. Nor is it the sudden guardedness of his expression; he has every reason to be concerned about the situation they have found themselves in. Something else, something subtle… what?
The barrister glances up, notices her watching him. “I am sorry—lost in my own thoughts. This is indeed a puzzle worthy of Holmes, Dr. Byrd, and I fear I am far from solving it. I will share my thoughts thus far; please correct me where you see fit.
“The line between Jimmy, Finnegan, Addison, and the Malta protesters seems incontrovertible. As yet I have no evidence regarding the Alexandria explosions, and I am inclined right now not to think them part of this; they were too violent, too random, and required rather more than just money and brute human strength to accomplish, unlike the assaults on us and the protest in Malta.
“Leaving that aside, then, who is above Addison in this line of Ellipse-disrupters? The connexion between Addison, my patron, and Lord Longsworth-Brunfondle is by no means clear to me; it may be a bit of trumpery on the part of the Times, or an honest mistake on the part of the Yard. Certainly any papers in Addison’s office concerning plans for the Ellipse would contain the names now being bruited about.
“Now, by all means consider that I am biased with regard to my patron, Doctor, but I cannot believe her responsible for assaults, even false ones, wager or no wager—and it would seem that the Yard agrees, or both she and I would now be in gaol. If she is innocent despite her presence in Addison’s papers, Lord Longsworth may also be; I fully concur with you as to his personal qualities, but I cannot go so far as to blame him for this just yet.
“That leaves us nowhere, really; we cannot know at this point who is directing Addison. So we must consider the occurrences once again, and possible motives for them.
“I cannot imagine that we were the only two Ellipsoids assaulted; there is no connexion between us other than our participation in the race. I think it safe to assume that most, if not all, of the other Ellipsoids were also attacked, and the remaining attacks were unsuccessful as those directed at us.
“Either all the assaults were genuine but incompetent—or they were faked, intentionally bumbled. Why fake so many attacks, though? Each additional fake means an additional man in the plot, a man who can be captured or become an informer as Jimmy in fact did. And the calibre of the Ellipsoids in general, saving my presence, is such that they are unlikely to be frightened off by such intentional foolishness; false attacks make no sense.
“No, Dr. Byrd, I am inclined to think the attacks were real. Finnegan may well have been short of trustworthy hands to carry them out, if the real gang was en route to Malta—or elsewhere.”
“Or,” Margaret points out, “he may have intentionally chosen attackers he thought expendable, regardless of their competence or lack thereof. If his goal was merely to frighten us away, he might not care a great deal what happened to the attackers afterward.”
Shirley’s fork pauses half-raised; he stares at her, dumbstruck. “Dear heaven,” he whispers. “You may be right. May G-d have mercy on my soul.”
“My dear Mr. Addam! Whatever is the matter?”
Shirley lays the fork down and tosses off his glass of wine in a single swallow. The goblet trembles in his hand as he returns it to the table. “Jimmy. Jimmy Pilkington,” Shirley answers in a choked whisper. “He was murdered in London a day after the Times revealed his role in Finnegan’s capture. I did not mention it to you—it did not seem relevant—and G-d help me, I have thought of little else for a week.”
He shudders. “It is bad enough that I did not tell the lad to leave London—I ought to have put him on the train to York myself—but to think that he was a dead man the minute Finnegan tapped him to assault me—this is intolerable!”
Margaret immediately turns to the servant and signals for more wine for Mr. Addam. Then she beckons him over, and asks that he find Esperanza and ask her to come and assist them with the remainder of the meal. Then she turns back to Shirley. “My dear Mr. Addam, your compassion does you great credit.” Her voice is very gentle. “But how were you to know the level of ruthlessness those behind these events would be willing to employ? Hindsight provides perfect vision, but unless we are in the counsels of the Almighty, we cannot know what the future holds. Surely, if Jimmy was an innocent tool, the Almighty will care for his soul. But those who murdered him are responsible for their deed. You cannot be.” Her little chuckle is obviously directed at herself. “We cannot take care of all the world, Mr. Addam… as I have keep trying to remind myself.”
Shirley closes his eyes and wills his hands and his voice to stop shaking. Whatever it is about his face, Margaret finds it yet more apparent now. She almost has the oddity pinned down when he composes himself at last and opens his eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Byrd. I must still blame myself for not warning Jimmy. But you are right; our sphere of individual influence is unfortunately limited.”
She looks down, and changes the subject. “I am not quite willing to dismiss the Alexandria explosions. I should like to know if there has been unrest in the area that has erupted violently before this. Sometimes it takes only a match, if the fuse is already in place. But we cannot resolve that either way just now.”
“I believe there has in fact been unrest, though I do not know of any violence. While you are pondering, however—Major Harston informed me that the ship Lady Bonnet was on was attacked by pirates in the Mediterranean. Just one more datum.”
Esperanza comes in, with a tray containing the dessert, fruit, and more tea. She is openly curious about what has been going on, and on the whole glad to have been summoned. “Ah, Esperanza, my dear! I hope you have been enjoying yourself?” Esperanza agrees that she has. “Now, my dear, I believe that the conversation is going to become such that we would not want the ears of servants unknown to us about. Would you be a dear and take that tray into the Library? Then go and get your painting supplies and return. If you are with us, and I give instructions that you will assist us as we may need, then Mr. Addams and I should be able to talk undisturbed. I trust you not to discuss what you hear with anyone save the two of us, so I would rather have you than anyone else. And I know you have been wishing for the opportunity to paint some of the things you’ve sketched as we sailed.” She smiles, and Esperanza smiles back. They have obviously developed a warm relationship.
Margaret turns back to Shirley. “Mr. Addam? Would you care to retire to the Library? I intend to take my glass and the decanter of this excellent wine along.” She gets up from her chair, and goes around to Shirley. “Come, please. Let us go where we can speak more freely. I do not want the innocent hurt any more than you do.”
Shirley stands up and offers his arm. “There may be an unpleasant surprise in the library, in the form of a reporter from the Times waiting to talk to me, but let us hope that Esperanza can dispose of him, or that he has not yet arrived.”
And as they walk toward the library, she says very quietly, “Mr. Addam, I am indeed an adventurer, but I am also a physician, and trained to observe people from that perspective. Is there something you might wish to discuss? I can assure you that the only people who hold a confidence as closely as a barrister must is a physician. Please, do forgive me if the question is too personal, but be sure it arises only from sincere concern, and I wished to ask you before Esperanza returns.”
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