Charles Lenox Mysteries 03 The Fleet Street Murders by Charles Finch

Author:Charles Finch [Finch, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

W

ith every person he met, Lenox could feel himself gaining ground. In his absence, ironically, the town had adjusted to his presence. The speech in Sawyer Park—and the subsequent talk of it—had doubtless played its part, as had the confident energies of Crook, Smith, and Graham. Whatever it was, Lenox was well met everywhere, men and women stopping to shake his hand as he passed. Each stride through Stirrington encouraged him further.

He expected the worst when he met the corn and grain merchants but found them to be in fact a pleasant lot, and when he stopped in for an afternoon cup of tea at a teashop along Foul Lane he had a long and interesting conversation with the proprietor, a woman named Stevens who promised she would have her husband vote for him. Lenox’s ideas on the cost of beer would persuade Mr. Stevens, she said, while his plan to lower taxation persuaded her.

By the time of Mrs. Reeve’s dinner, then, Lenox was feeling assured and happy; Roodle seemed an altogether smaller figure in his mind, and the cacophony of good and supportive voices that had followed him through the day rang in his ears.

All of that lasted about ten minutes into the party.

Now, Mrs. Reeve herself was perfectly nice, a fact from which Lenox took some solace. So was Mr. Rudge, the wine merchant who detested Robert Roodle. Here were two supporters.

Not so nice, on the other hand, were several of the other party guests, whose personalities seemed calculated to grate on Lenox’s nerves. Worst among these was a woman whom for years afterward he thought of with a shudder. Her name was Karen Crow. She was a fervent Roodleite.

“Mr. Lenox,” she said when they were all sitting at the table for supper, soup before them, “is it true that you have never visited a brewery?”

“That is true, yes,” he said.

“Mr. Roodle has been in the brewery all his life.” She said this with great significance—greater than Lenox could perceive it to have—and turned her head from side to side, as if to say to her neighbors, “Now, did you catch that?”

“I understand that beer is important in Stirrington?”

“Mr. Lenox,” she said, “is it true that you have always lived in London?”

“No,” he said shortly.

“Surely Mr. Lenox’s provenance is well enough known?” said Mrs. Reeve.

“But you have lived in London most of your life,” clarified Mrs. Crow.

“Yes,” he said.

“Mr. Roodle has lived in Stirrington all his life.”

After relating this wonderful anecdote, she set to her soup with a dainty ferocity.

“His factory hasn’t, though,” said Rudge, the wine merchant. Lenox shot him a grateful look.

After this Mrs. Crow retracted her claws until dessert was served, when she again began to delineate the biographical differences between Roodle and Lenox. Picking up the baton in the meanwhile was a man named Spronk, who managed a clothiers on the High Street. Spronk’s plan of attack was to associate Lenox with every misdeed of any member in the history of the Liberal Party.

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