The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(80)
Wells only knew the inspector briefly from their excursion to Horsell Common on the morning the Martian cylinder had appeared, but something told him that this arrogant, meticulous fellow’s determination to unmask Montgomery Gilmore would never wane, no matter how much money the millionaire threw at the situation. And so, one morning Wells had turned up at Clayton’s office and supplied the answers he was looking for: after all, it was only a matter of time before the inspector discovered them for himself. He did so secretly, hoping that the inspector’s need for truth outweighed his desire for glory, and once he had confirmed this to be the case, he used all his rhetorical skill to try to persuade the inspector to abandon the case: assuring him that this man was nothing like his former self, that everyone deserved a second chance, and much more besides. Sadly, none of his arguments succeeded in swaying Clayton. Finally, out of desperation, he had even appealed to the love story between Murray and Emma, which was the toast of all England, which had begun with the appearance of the Martian cylinder, and which Clayton had no right to destroy, even though it might pin another medal on his chest. If he made public everything he knew about Murray, Emma would probably abandon him and they would never be together again. Do you think you can persuade me with an argument like that? Clayton had exclaimed with a sardonic smile, to which Wells, cringing at his own words, had replied that he didn’t, because to have done so, the inspector would have had to have known the torment of being condemned to go on living after hurting the person he loved most. The inspector had remained silent for a few moments, after which he asked Wells politely to leave his office, which he did, cursing his lamentable performance. Because of Murray, he had championed love, only to make himself look ridiculous in front of that stuck-up young man. However, during the following weeks, Murray made no more mention of Inspector Clayton, and Wells gradually realized that whilst he considered it an overrated emotion, love was a sentiment many others valued, and so when they came across it would step respectfully around it, as they might a flowerbed.
And so, in brief, Wells had prevented Emma from discovering her fiancé’s secret. Then why the devil had he just advised Murray to tell her, when he could have done the exact opposite? In order to discover the answer to that, Wells would have to delve too deeply into his soul, and so he preferred to let it slide.
And yet Wells was struck by the parallels between that scene and the afternoon when Murray went to his house to ask his opinion about his shoddy little novel. Then, also, Wells could have chosen between two options. He had held the dreams of that complete stranger in his hands while Murray awaited his verdict pathetically ensconced in the armchair in his living room. And this afternoon someone had arranged the pieces in exactly the same way beside the hibiscus bush, so that Wells had the same feeling as five years ago of being able to set Murray’s life on the course he chose, no matter that he was now Wells’s best friend.
With a shudder, Wells wondered what Murray might find at the end of the path he had chosen for him this time.
15
DESPITE FINDING HERSELF ON HER aunt’s front step, sheltered from an overcast sky, Emma Harlow gave a sigh, opened her parasol, and began twirling it above her head. It was the day of the trip to Dartmoor, and Monty was already half an hour late. He had promised her the day before that he would be on time. On the dot! he had said solemnly, as though reciting a family motto. He had even asked her to start waiting on the front step a few minutes early, because he had a surprise he wanted to show her, something to do with the way they would travel to Dartmoor, which was worth beholding in all its splendor. And Emma had deigned to accept, concealing a delighted smile, for secretly there was nothing she liked more than the theatricality with which her fiancé celebrated every occasion, which made her feel like a little girl who had stumbled into a great magician’s secret lair. But after standing there for half an hour, bored and cold, she was beginning to regret having indulged him. Narrowing her eyes, Emma surveyed the driveway that crossed the gardens of her aunt’s town house, then looked up at the leaden sky, unable to rule out the possibility that Monty might emerge from the clouds sitting on some preposterous flying machine.
“Goodness me! Are you still here?”
Emma wheeled round angrily, preparing to take out her frustration on her aunt, but seeing the old lady planted in the doorway, bundled up in various shawls, some of her irritation vanished.
“Yes, Aunt Dorothy,” she sighed. “As you have so cleverly perceived, I am still here.”
“I told you so,” the old lady muttered, ignoring her niece’s irony. “There was no need to go out so early to wait for him. I don’t know why you still haven’t realized that punctuality is not your fiancé’s strong point. Although, heaven forgive me for offering my unsolicited opinion, I would be hard-pressed to say what his other strong points might be.”
“Please, Auntie . . . not now.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t come outside in this infernal weather to talk about your beloved Gilmore. I have little or nothing more to say about him. Quite frankly, for the past two years the subject bores me. I only came out to implore you to step inside, my girl. It is freezing out here! The servants will inform you when he arrives.”
“No, Auntie. Monty specifically asked me to wait on the front step. Apparently, he has a surprise for me, and—”