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"Sorry, late!" he said. "Came on velocipede. Broke down.Accursed things."
"Have a seat, Honesty! Thank you, Mrs. Angell," said Burton.
His housekeeper glanced dolefully at Honesty's well-greasedhair, obviously considering the well-being of her embroideredantimacassars. She left the study.
The newly arrived policeman sat, refused a brandy, and lit apipe.
"A hundred and twenty-six men in custody," he declared."Seventy-two Rakes. Fifty-four Technologists. All charged withassault."
"And Brunel?" asked Burton, returning to his chair.
"Location unknown. Nothing to charge him with."
"And to be frank," added Trounce, "the chief commissioner isreluctant to press charges, anyway. As far as most people areconcerned, Isambard Kingdom Brunel died a national hero a couple ofyears ago. The powers that be are reluctant to expose his continuedexistence, the thing that he's become, or the fact that he appearsto have crossed ethical boundaries."
"And Florence Nightingale?" asked Swinburne.
"Same," said Honesty. "No charges."
"She's a strange one," mused Swinburne.
"Not as strange as the Edward Oxfords," grunted Trounce. "Istill can't get to grips with the fact that the man I saw trying tostop the assassination of Queen Victoria was struggling with hisown ancestor, and was the same man as the stilt-walker who ran pastme, the same man as the stilt-walker who jumped out of the trees,and the same man we fought over in the Battle of Old Ford twentyyears later! Good lord! Time travel! It's more than I can copewith!"
Burton blew out a plume of cigar smoke.
"That's the least of it. We removed the cause but we didn'trepair the damage. The fact of the matter is that we live in aworld that shouldn't exist. Oxford changed the course of history.His presence sent out ripples that altered everything. If Iunderstand it correctly, this period of time should be called theVictorian Age, and if you care to get up and look out of thewindow, what you'll see bears only a superficial resemblance towhat you'd be looking at had he never travelled back throughtime."
"And we are changed, too," added Swinburne. "Our time haspresented us with different opportunities and challenges; we arenot the same as the people recorded in Oxford's history!"
"If we made it into his history at all!" muttered Trounce.
Sir Richard Francis Burton shifted uneasily in his chair.
Marry the bitch. Settle down. Become consul in Fernando Po,Brazil, Damascus, and wherever the fuck else they send you.
For the remainder of that evening, the four men relaxedtogether, discussed the case, and cemented their friendship. By thetime the guests took their leave, another London particular hadsettled over the city and ash was falling from the dark sky. Theywaited until they heard a brougham creeping along, called for it,and said their good-byes.
Burton retired back to his study and sat with a book on his lap.His eyes slid over the words without taking them in. He hung hisarm over the edge of the chair, his fingers idly fondling Fidget'sears.
He looked down at the basset hound.
"I killed a man, Fidget; cold-bloodedly broke his neck with mybare hands. Palmerston would say it was my duty-that I had to do itto preserve the Empire-but the truth is that I did it to preservemy own existence, as it is now!"
He rested his head on the back of the chair and cleared hismind, using his Sufi training to focus inward, searching for anyawareness of a newly incurred karmic debt.
He found none, and was jolted from his meditation by a tappingat the window. Fidget barked. It was a parakeet.
"Message from scum-hugger Henry Arundell. Please meet me at thestinking Venetia at noon tomorrow. Message ends."
"Reply," said Burton. "Message begins. I'll be there. Messageends."
"Underwear-nabber!"
The next morning he do
He stood and shook the older man's hand. They had a difficultrelationship, these two; a grudging respect.
Isabel's mother had always disapproved of Burton. To start with,she clung to the dwindling Catholic faith, whereas Burton wasrumoured to be a Muslim, though he actually held no religiousallegiances at all. Then, of course, there was his reputation-thedark rumours and general consensus that he was "not one of us."
Henry Arundell had none of his wife's prejudices. He did,however, love his daughter, and wanted only the best for her. He'dnever been convinced that Burton was the best.
They sat.
"She's gone," Arundell said, without any preliminaries.
"What?" exclaimed Burton.
"Isabel packed her things and left the family home some few daysagoon the twenty-first. We suspected that the two of you had fallenout over some matter and she was taking a holiday to think thingsover. Yesterday we received this."
He handed Burton a letter.
Trieste, 25th September; 1861
My Dearest Mama and Papa, Richard has broken off our engagementand I feel my life as it was, and as I expected it to be, hasended. I had considered that I was fated to be with him from theveay first instant I laid eyes on him in Boulogne ten years ago. Ithad been my intention that we should travel to the East togetherand settle there. I find it almost inconceivable that it should behim who denies me this destiny. How can it be that a future whichhad seemed to me set in stone can be so altered by another? Is Lifeso fickle a thing that we are helplessly cast about by whims thatare not even our own? I ca
I do not know when 1 will be back.
I will write.
You are more dear to me than anything.
With deepest love
Your Isabel
"By heaven, but she's headstrong!" exclaimed Burton, handing theletter back to Henry Arundell.
"Always was!" agreed the older man. "Like her grandmother. ByGeorge, man! What made you do it? Leave her, I mean. I thought youloved her!"
"I do, sir. Make no mistake about it; I do. I was given a choiceby Lord Palmerston: I could either accept a pitiful consulship on adisease-ridden island or I could serve the country in a capacitywhich, though hazardous, would offer far more by way of personalfulfillment. In either case, Isabel, had she become my wife,would've been placed in a perilous position. I broke off ourengagement to protect her."