A Breach of Promise by Anne Perry

Author:Anne Perry
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Private investigators, Historical, London (England), Mystery & Detective, Private investigators - England - London, Political, Police Procedural, Fiction, Suspense, Women Sleuths, William (Fictitious character), Traditional British, Mystery fiction, General, Monk
Publisher: San Francisco Committee on Commerce
Published: 1896-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

He had dined out and it was nearly nine o'clock when he reached his rooms and his manservant presented him with the evening newspapers.

"I'm sorry, sir," he apologized.

Rathbone saw immediately what had precipitated the remark and the look of distress upon the manservant's somber face. The headlines were lurid, vulgar and aroused speculation even further than Sacheverall had. Not a shred of dignity or honor was left to Melville—or Isaac Wolff either. Even Zillah did not escape prurient suggestions and a note of condescension masked in pity, but lacking any sense of true compassion. She was the catalyst of self-righteous anger, but no thought for her feelings came through the details and the outpouring of criticism, judgment and supposition.

Rathbone was too restless to remain at home. There was a rage inside hi m which demanded physical action, even if it was completely pointless.

He took his coat and hat and stick, not for any purpose beyond the pleasant feel of its weight in his hand, and went out to visit Monk.

However, Monk was not in, and there was no point in waiting for him in his empty and rather cold room, even though his landlady offered him the opportunity. He left again and went to his club.

He sat and brooded over a single-malt whiskey for nearly an hour, attempting to think creatively, until he was joined by an old friend who sat down in the chair opposite him, bringing another whiskey to replace the one Rathbone had nearly finished.

"Rotten business," he said sympathetically. "Never know where you'll find the beggars, do you."

Rathbone looked up. "What did you say?"

"Never know where you'll find the beggars," the man repeated. His name was Boothroyd and he was a solicitor in family law.

"What beggars?" Rathbone said edgily.

"Homosexuals." Boothroyd pushed over the glass he had brought for Rathbone. "For heaven's sake, man, don't be coy! There's nothing to protect now. Angry with yourself you didn't guess, no doubt, but then you always were a trifle naive, my dear chap. Always thinking in terms of the greater crimes, murder, arson and grand theft, not sordid little bedroom perversions. Looking beyond the mark."

A turmoil of thoughts boiled up in Rathbone's mind, awareness that Boothroyd was right in that he should have thought of it, blind rage at the man's complacency and ignorance of the torrent of pain he was dismissing with a few callous sentences, and then a deeper stirring of a different kind of questioning and anger that these judgments were even a matter of law.

He looked up at Boothroyd and ignored the whiskey.

"I suppose I imagined that what a man did in his bedroom, providing he injured no one, was his own affair," he said clearly and very distinctly.

Boothroyd was startled. His rather bulbous eyes widened in amazement.

"Are you saying you approve of buggery?" he asked, his voice lifting sharply at the end of the word in incredulity.

"There are a lot of things I don't approve of," Rathbone answered with the careful enunciation which marked his icy temper.

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