The Fleet Street Murders Read Online Free PDF Page B

friend.
    “Except the one she needed, perhaps.”
    “You mustn’t blame yourself. Truly.”
    After several more drinks and a meandering, regretful conversation, McConnell left. Lenox promised to be in touch the next day and went to bed troubled in his mind.
    At four in the morning, as Lenox slept, there was an urgent knock on his bedroom door. It was Graham, carrying a candle, bleary eyed.
    “Yes?” said Lenox, sitting up instantly flooded with anxiety about Jane, about his brother, about the future. A nervous day had made for nervous rest.
    “A visitor, sir. Urgent, I believe.”
    “Who is it? McConnell?”
    “Mr. Hilary, sir.”
    “James Hilary?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Hilary was the MP and political strategist Edmund had recommended Charles speak with. What on earth could he want?
    Lenox made his way downstairs as quickly as he could. Hilary was sitting on the sofa in Lenox’s study. He was a handsome man, with nobility written on his brow; he had a pleasant and open face usually but at the moment appeared profoundly agitated.
    “Goodness, man, look at the hour,” said Lenox. “What can it be?”
    “Lenox, there you are. Come, you must tell your butler to pack a bag. Some sandwiches would be welcome for the trip, too. Even a cup of coffee.”
    “What trip, Hilary?”
    “Of course—where is my head? We’ve received a telegram; we need to go to Stirrington now.”
    “Why?”
    “Stoke is dead.”
    “No!” cried Lenox.
    Stoke was the Member of Parliament for Stirrington, whose retirement was going to prompt the election Lenox would compete in. He was a rural-minded, rough-mannered old man from an ancient family, who loved nothing but to run after the hounds and confer with his gamekeeper and for whom retirement held only happy prospects. He had never been meant for Parliament, but he had served his time honorably.
    “Yes,” said Hilary impatiently. “He’s dead. His heart went out.”
    “That’s awful.”
    “Yes, and in two weeks Stirrington votes.”
    “Two weeks?” said Lenox blankly. “You mean nine weeks. I have pressing matters to attend to here—”
    “Two weeks will decide the by-election, Lenox. Come, we must fly.”

CHAPTER FIVE

    S
    tirrington, which lay at the heart of the constituency Lenox hoped to represent, was a modest town of fifteen thousand souls, large enough to have several doctors, two schools, and a dozen pubs but small enough that cattle and sheep were still driven down the long High Street and everyone knew everyone else. To residents there the phrase “the City” referred not to London but to Durham, with its beautiful riverside cathedral, and as Hilary explained on their ride north, one thing Lenox must be sure not to do was speak down to them, or come off as oversophisticated, or glib, or slick.
    “I’ll be myself, of course.”
    “Of course,” said Hilary. Then he laughed. “Yet politics often requires certain attitudes. To adopt them one needn’t abandon one’s character.”
    “Yes,” said Lenox uncertainly.
    The trip there took hours upon hours. Durham County was nearly as far north as one could travel without reaching Scotland. The train arrived outside of town well after noon had struck, and both Lenox and Hilary—who had otherwise passed pleasant hours in doing what they loved, talking about the nature and strategy of politics—were famished. A small voice asked Lenox, too, whether he was now definitely beyond the distance at which he might have kept track of the two murders, and of course the great bulk of his thoughts were taken up with Thomas and Toto.
    “To be honest, I wouldn’t accompany every candidate this far,” said Hilary. “But we’re friends, and perhaps more importantly, the balance is very fine in the House right now.”
    “It is,” agreed Lenox. “I’ve followed the numbers on each side closely.”
    “Every vote will see us closer to accomplishing our goals.” As two lads loaded luggage onto a carriage, Hilary stopped.