The Scent of Death. Andrew Taylor

       Chapter Twenty

      Fear has a terrible habit of breeding fear; it spreads like maggots through rotting meat.

      Once the danger was past I began to tremble. My rescuer kindly ignored my shameful weakness and escorted me to Warren Street. No one was about, except for servants. The lieutenant would not stay – his ship sailed at dawn tomorrow. I would have welcomed the company of anyone, even Captain Wintour, whose conversation, I had discovered, was not always agreeable. Instead I drank rum and water alone in the parlour, huddled over the banked-up fire, and the alcohol seemed to have no effect on me whatsoever.

      My mind raced to and fro. It was as if it were under the influence of a powerful stimulant. When at last I retired to bed, I could not sleep.

      Time and again, I ran over what had happened and what might have happened. The memory of my own unheroic conduct made me toss and turn in the smothering embrace of the featherbed.

      Time and again, I returned to that terrible moment when the man had bounded out from the alley in front of me, and the footsteps behind had speeded up.

      It’s him. That’s what the man behind me had said. It’s him.

      After a sleepless night, I walked through the rain-slicked streets to Headquarters and asked to see Marryot. His servant ushered me into the Major’s private room. A masked white figure was sitting by the window. Two blue eyes, gleaming bright as if illuminated from within, stared out of the blank white face. For an instant I believed my mind had given way under the strain.

      The moment dissolved and reformed itself: Marryot was swathed in a sheet, with his scalp and face lathered white. A regimental barber stood to one side, sharpening his razor on a strop. The blade slapped to and fro, glinting as it passed through a shaft of weak sunshine from the window.

      I bowed.

      ‘Good morning to you, sir,’ the Major said, revealing the vivid pink of his mouth and an irregular palisade of blackened teeth. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand.’

      ‘Of course. I’m obliged to you for seeing me at such short notice.’

      ‘And how may I serve you?’

      I glanced at the barber. ‘I wished to speak privately. Shall I wait until you are at leisure?’

      ‘You could wait all day for that and most of tomorrow as well. The General is to inspect the fortifications at King’s Bridge, and I am ordered to accompany him.’ Marryot looked up at the barber. ‘Wait outside. Send for more hot water.’

      We waited in silence until the man had withdrawn, closing the door behind him.

      Marryot did not ask me to sit. ‘Well, sir? What is it?’

      ‘I was set upon last night. It was about midnight – I was walking back to Warren Street after supping with Mr Townley at the King’s Arms.’

      ‘Were you robbed?’

      ‘No. Two soldiers came to my aid and chased the villains off.’

      ‘Were you hurt?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘All in all, a happy escape,’ he said. ‘I congratulate you, sir. And now, if that is—’

      ‘Sir, I am not altogether easy in my mind about this. There was something … something contrived about the attack. It was as if they had been lying in wait.’

      ‘What are you saying?’

      ‘I felt as if I had walked into a trap, sir. There was a man in front and a man behind.’

      ‘But perhaps you had walked into a trap. Robbers work in pairs often enough.’

      ‘They had been waiting for me.’ I paused. ‘For me. Not for any passer-by that might have had a purse in his pocket. It’s him. That’s what one of them said.’

      ‘Well? All that means is that they had picked you out earlier as a likely mark.’

      ‘No, sir, I do not think so. Or they would not have made their attempt with so many witnesses about.’

      Marryot sighed. ‘In my experience a robber can be as foolish as any man alive.’

      ‘Would you assist me in one thing at least? It would greatly set my mind at rest if I might talk to the two soldiers who chased them off. They may be able to tell me more about the men who attacked me. Besides, I should like to reward them. They may well have saved my life.’

      ‘Did you see their facings?’

      ‘No, sir. To all intents and purposes it was dark.’

      ‘So for all you know, they might have been from Provincial or militia—’

      ‘I heard them shouting, sir,’ I said, thinking, Run, boyo, run. ‘I believe I detected that one of them had a Welsh accent. Of course they may have come from a Loyalist regiment, but it is more probable that they did not.’

      ‘Very well.’ The lather on Marryot’s face was drying: cracks appeared, revealing the pink skin beneath. ‘I shall have enquiries made. And I suppose Mr Townley may learn something from his own informants.’

      There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the meeting. I took my leave. But as I reached the door—

      ‘One other thing, sir,’ Marryot said. ‘How do they do in Warren Street?’

      ‘Very well, thank you, sir.’

      ‘And Captain Wintour? Pray, how is he?’

      ‘He improves every day, I believe,’ I said. ‘But his wound and the privations he endured have left their mark.’

      ‘His family must rejoice to have him restored to them. How are his parents? And – and Mrs Arabella, of course?’

      ‘Quite well, thank you.’

      ‘Pray pass on my compliments to them all, Mr Savill. I have not thought it proper to call in person to congratulate them on Captain Wintour’s happy return. In case his health still caused anxiety, you understand.’

      ‘I am sure that they are always happy to receive you, sir.’

      ‘You think so?’

      I knew that when he spoke of the Wintours he meant Mrs Arabella and I pitied him for his doglike devotion. ‘I am perfectly convinced of it.’

      ‘Then I’m obliged to you, sir.’ The eyes blazed in the cracked white mask. ‘And I wish you good day.’