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Write books, keep a low profile, wait for his enemies to becomebored.
Marry Isabel?
He looked at his empty glass, blew cigar smoke into it, held thecheroot between his teeth, and reached for the decanter and pouredmore brandy.
For more than a year, he'd felt destined to marry IsabelArundell; now, suddenly, he wasn't so sure. He loved her, that wascertain, but he also resented her. He loved her strength andpracticality but resented her overbearing personality and tendencyto do things on his behalf without consulting him first; loved thefact that she tolerated his interest in all things exotic anderotic but hated her blinkered Catholicism. Charles Darwin hadkilled God but she and her family, like so many others, still clungto the delusion.
He sought to quell his mounting frustration with another glass.And another. And more.
At eight o'clock there came a tap at the door and Mrs. Angellappeared, looking with disapproval at the drunken explorer.
"Did you even touch the coffee?" she asked.
"No, and I don't intend to," he replied. "What do you want?"
"The boy is back."
"Quips? Send him up."
"I don't think so, sir. You're in no state to receive achild."
"Send him up, blast you!"
"No."
Burton pushed himself up from his chair and stood unsteadily,his eyes blazing.
"You'll do as you're bloody well told, woman!"
"No, sir, I won't. Not when I'm told by a foul-mouthed drunkard.And I remind you that though I am your employee, you are also mytenant, and I am free to end our arrangement whenever I see fit. Ishall take a message from the boy and bring it to youforthwith."
She stepped back to the landing, closing the door behindher.
Burton took a couple of steps toward the door, thought better ofit, and stood swaying in the centre of the room. He looked aroundat the bookcases, filled with volumes about geography, religion,languages, erotica, esoterica, and ethnology; looked at the swordsresting on brackets above the fireplace; the worn boxing gloveshanging from a corner of the mantelpiece; the pistols and spearsdisplayed in the alcoves to either side of the chimney breast;looked at the pictures on the walls, including the one of Edward,his braindamaged younger brother, who'd been an inmate at theSurrey County Lunatic Asylum for the past three years, a result ofan incident five years ago when he was beaten half to death inCeylon after Buddhist villagers took offence at his hunting ofelephants; looked at the three big desks, stacked with papers, hishalf-written books, maps, and charts; looked at the many souvenirsof his travels, the idols and carvings, hookahs and prayer mats,knickknacks and trinkets; looked at the door in the wall oppositethe windows, which led to the small dressing room where he kept hisvarious disguises; and looked at the dark windows and hisreflection in their glass.
The question came again, and he spoke it aloud: "What the hellam I to do?"
The door opened and Mrs. Angell, her expression severe and voicecold, stepped in and said, "Master Oscar says to tell you that Mr.Speke is at the Penfold Private Sanatorium."
Burton nodded, curtly.
The old woman made to leave.
"Mrs. Angell," he called.
She stopped and looked back at him.
"My language was entirely unwarranted," he mumbled,self-consciously. "My temper, too. Please accept my apologies."
She gazed at him a moment. "Very well. But you'll take yourdevils out of this house, is that understood? Either that, or youremove yourself from it-permanently! "
"Agreed. Did you treat Quips to more pie?"
The old dame smiled indulgently. "Yes, and an apple and somebutterscotch."
"Thank you. Now, as you recommend, I think I shall take mydevils out of the house."
"But you'll not allow them to guide you into trouble, if youplease, Sir Richard."
"I'll do my best, Mother Angell."
She bobbed her head and departed.
Burton considered for a moment. It was too late in the eveningto visit the hospital; that would have to wait until the morning,and if Speke didn't survive the night, then so be it. It was,however, never too late to visit the Ca
He made up his mind, changed his clothes, took another swig ofbrandy, and was just leaving the room when a tapping came at one ofthe windows. He crossed to it, a little clumsily, and saw acolourful parakeet sitting on the sill.
He pulled up the sash. A cloud of mist rolled in. The parakeetlooked at him.
"Message from the stinking prime minister's office," it cackled."You are requested to attend that prattle-brain Lord Palmerston at10 Downing Street at nine o'clock in the morning. Please confirm,arse-face. Message ends."
Burton's brows, which usually arched low over his eyes in whatappeared to be a permanent frown, shot upward. The prime ministerwanted to meet with him personally? Why?
"Reply. Message begins. Appointment confirmed. I will be there.Message ends. Go."
"Bugger off!" squawked the parakeet, and launched itself fromthe sill.
Burton closed the window.
He was going to meet Lord Palmerston.
Bloody hell.
The Ca
Burton found the enigmatic and rather saturnine Richard MoncktonMilnes there, in company with the diminutive Algernon Swinburne andCaptain Henry Murray, Doctor James Hunt, Sir Edward Brabrooke,Thomas Bendyshe, and Charles Bradlaugh-hellraisers all.
"Burton!" cried Milnes as the explorer entered."Congratulations!"
"On what?"
"On shooting that bounder Speke! Surely it was you who pulledthe trigger? Please say it was so!"
Burton threw himself into a chair and lit a cigar.
"It was not."
"Ah, what a shame!" exclaimed Milnes. "I was so hoping you couldtell us what it feels like to murder a man. A white man, Imean!"
"Why, yes, of course!" put in Bradlaugh. "You killed that littleArab boy on the road to Mecca, didn't you?"
Burton accepted a drink from Henry Murray.
"You know damned well I didn't!" he growled. "That bastardStanley writes nothing but scurrilous nonsense!"
"Come now, Richard!" trilled Swinburne, in his excitable,high-pitched voice. "Don't object so! Do you not agree that murderis one of the great boundaries we must cross in order to know thatwe, ourselves, are truly alive?"
The famous explorer sighed and shook his head. Swinburne wasyoungjust twenty-four-and possessed an intuitive intelligence thatappealed to the older man; but he was gullible.
"Nonsense, Algy! Don't let these Libertines mesmerise you withtheir misguided ideas and appallingly bad logic. They areincorrigibly perverse, especially Milnes here."
"Hah!" yelled Bendyshe from across the room. "Swinburne's asperverse as they come! He has a taste for pain, don't you know!Likes the kiss of a whip, what!"
Swinburne giggled, twitched, and snapped his fingers. As always,his movements were fast, jerky, and eccentric, as if he sufferedfrom Saint Vitus's dance.
"It's true. I'm a follower of de Sade."
"It's a common affliction," noted Burton. "Why, I once visited abrothel in Karachi-on a research mission for Napier, youunderstand-"
Snorts and howls of derision came from the gathering.