Chapter 16
The key turned twice before the door yielded.
Kerr stepped in, the air close with July heat and the odours London carried indoors: horse dung, cookshop fat, and yesterday’s onions.
A single pane caught the late sun, throwing a square of brightness upon the stair.
He set his hat upon the hall table and glanced towards the parlour.
“All well, Price?”
The man appeared at once, sleeves rolled, hair greying above the ears. “All well, sir. The missus has your supper near ready.”
Kerr crossed to the escritoire. Two letters lay there. One bore the seal of Armitage the cry wavered like a bird trapped in a cage.
Price went down to the kitchen, his tread measured.
The house was quiet enough to hear the flap of a moth against the glass.
Kerr loosened his cravat, looked at the letter, and thought he might wait till after supper. Bad news had no need of haste.
Supper was plain and quickly done—cold beef, a heel of bread, and a glass of ale drawn too warm from the cask. Mrs Price hovered by the door till he nodded his thanks, then withdrew with the tray. The clatter of plates softened down the stair, leaving only the street-noise of wheels upon cobble.
He carried the post into the small room he called his study. It was hardly that: one desk, two chairs, and a shelf of books that had not been opened since spring. The candles burned unevenly, one guttering against the draught. He broke the seal with care.
Sir,
We are instructed to advise that the annual provision of four hundred pounds settled upon you by the late Lady Isobel, Dowager Countess of Ashby, has reached its appointed conclusion.
The enclosed draft for one hundred pounds represents the final quarterly payment due under that instrument.
No further sum shall issue from this office.
We remain, sir,
Your obedient servants,
Armitage ruin required only patience.
Belowstairs, Price moved about the kitchen. A chair scraped, then stilled. His wife spoke too low to be heard. Kerr looked towards the door and remembered what Price had once said of Seven Dials: acquaintances there, and more of Mrs Price’s than his own.
He told himself it was only prudence.
Only enquiry.
But even as the thought settled, he understood that decency was now a luxury.
Somewhere below, the area door closed, the bolt drawn firm for the night.