Riot Most Uncouth (19 page)

The crowd grew noisier, and the students' collective murmur managed to drown out Beardy's stentorian oration. Someone jeered loudly. This kind of disrespect was not often shown to the faculty at Trinity, except by me. Knifing had been right when he told me that people crave certainty and normality. The students had come to hear the faculty's plan for rectifying the killer's intrusion into the College's bubble of safety. They did not want to hear that the entire social order that served as their lives' foundation was unstable, or perhaps illusory.

Beardy quelled the uproar with a wave of his hand and smoothly redirected his speech to address their concern: “The twin losses of Professor Cyrus Pendleton and Senior Fellow Jerome Tower are grievous and deeply felt injuries to this institution. Both these men were beloved here, and relied upon. They can never be fully replaced, and I fear the effort to find appropriate candidates to fill their professional capacities will be difficult as well.”

Archibald Knifing had said that the killing of the Towers might have been some message to me. My affair with Violet had been sufficiently discreet to conceal our dalliances from her trusting husband, but it would not have been difficult to uncover. Anyone following me or watching her home could easily have noticed my arrivals and departures.

I considered what Knifing had said to me at the murder scene, tried to remember any revealing flickers of expression that might have crossed his nearly inscrutable features. He might have known of the affair, or he might have only suspected. Or he might have perfected the art of seeming to know things he didn't even suspect, as a technique for eliciting spontaneous confessions.

Whether he knew or not was less important than the possibility that he could have known, for if he might have known, the killer might also have known. I thought of Professor Tower, dead and faceless, sitting at his dinner table, which was so similar to my own.

“Students who were taking courses with Professors Pendleton and Tower will be able to finish their work under different instructors. I will be taking over Professor Pendleton's literature course; as some of you know, I taught that course until two years ago, and Professor Pendleton was using a modified version of my own syllabus, so we can resume without disruption. Similarly, since Professor Pendleton was to succeed me as faculty chair at the close of the calendar year, I have volunteered to stay on in my current capacity until such time as a qualified replacement can be identified. Professor Sharp and several of the other fellows will be taking charge of the remaining classes. I can assure each of you that, while our departed friends and colleagues will be sorely missed, the progress of your education will be unaffected, and the operation of the College will face no long-term interruption.”

This was met with several angry shouts from the crowd, but Beardy raised his hand again to silence the students. It was amazing how much deference and respect he was afforded by this mob of tense and frightened young men.

“We will have a short-term cancellation of classes for the next ten days, however, and any absences will be deemed excused for an additional week after that. Quarterly examinations will be postponed, accordingly. I know many of you feel that the safest course of action is to leave Cambridge while these unpleasant events are unresolved, and the College will take no steps to prevent you from doing so. Two professional criminal investigators from London are already in Cambridge, searching for clues. I believe the killer will be caught before classes resume. For those of you who wish to leave, we have notified local stagecoach dispatchers that many of you will require their services. Messengers have been sent to London to hire more carriages. We wish you pleasant travels. For those of you unable to leave, I would emphasize that it is not my belief, nor is it the opinion of the faculty, that the College is unsafe. Personally, I will be staying in Cambridge to assist the investigators in any way I can.”

I could hire a stagecoach and return to Newstead, leaving the murders and the faculty and Mr. Burke behind me; problems for other men and other days. So many of the students would be leaving Cambridge, out of fear or out of a desire to make use of the holiday. If I were among them, no one would think less of me.

Knifing had told me I should leave, and maybe he was right. It seemed like such good advice, in fact, that I wondered why he'd given it to me. Perhaps he told me to leave because he wanted me to stay, and he knew I would disregard his counsel. If I left, after all, I would spoil myself as a murder suspect, and he'd said he had nobody better to arrest. But if he truly wanted to frame me, why would he warn me of his intentions? Why would he try to drive me off?

I had my suspicions that a judge or jury's desire to restore certainty and order would be insufficient to win a conviction once Mr. Hanson got finished punching holes in Knifing's case, and I suspected that was the real reason he was hesitant to charge me with the crimes. Of course, if he accused anyone else, that suspect's lawyer would tell the jury about me and my odd and notorious reputation; about my skull-cup and the liberties I took with other men's wives. The mere proximity of a character such as I to the murder might create enough doubt to cause the acquittal of another suspect, even a guilty one. So Knifing had good reason to want me gone.

But I was stubborn, and I didn't want his convenience to dictate my actions. When he locked that dead white eye on me, it seemed like he could divine my secrets from the planes of my face and hear them whispered on my breath. He betrayed nothing to me; when his face closed, he became a complete cipher. He'd told me ten times at least that he was willing and prepared to arrest me for the murders. I knew absolutely that he was capable of it, and I also knew that I'd be completely surprised if he did it.

The worst thing about Archibald Knifing was that I could not help liking the man, despite his protean nature and his penchant for insulting me. He had evidently been a distinguished soldier, and he was obviously a brilliant investigator. Everything about him was admirably, aggravatingly capable, and his self-deprecating wit was both appealing and disarming. I liked his casual, smirking admissions of his own corruption. I liked his quickness and facility with language. I could see how witnesses and criminals might forget themselves in his presence. It was too easy to say too much to him. There was no question that I admired Archibald Knifing more than was safe. It would be advisable to admire him from a great distance.

Fielding Dingle was dangerous, too, even though he was dumb and I didn't like him. And I could not forget the killer, that as-yet-unidentified monster who had gutted a professor, bled two women, smothered a little girl, smashed a baby, and torn a man's face off. I had some reason to believe this ruthless butcher had entered my residence and noticed my dining room table, and I also suspected that he might be an indestructible monster of supernatural origins. So that was a fellow one might go out of one's way to avoid.

Under the circumstances, remaining in Cambridge was a phenomenally stupid thing to do; the only sane choice was to book the first stagecoach home. But I had always believed that rational behavior made life much less interesting. So, to hell with that.

I would stay in Cambridge, and I'd do it for ridiculous reasons. Non-reasons, really. I wanted vengeance for Violet, and for her baby. But I'd shirked more pressing responsibilities in the past. I could have accepted justice rendered by another man's hand; Archibald Knifing could probably dispatch a colder and more punishing retribution than I could ever begin to imagine. The only thing that prevented me from getting out of Knifing's way was the unshakable, irrational belief that the killings were related, in some way, to my father and the
vrykolakas.
It was a stupid, crazy thing to believe, and I knew it was stupid and crazy, which just made it stupider and crazier to continue to risk my life and freedom by involving myself in the investigation.

But, God help me, the lie I'd told myself so many times had taken root in my mind, and I couldn't walk away from even a very slim chance that I might learn the truth behind Mad Jack's disappearance. And, anyway, my mother was at Newstead, and if I went home, I'd have to see her. I felt that I'd prefer the vampire's company.

By the time Beardy's crowd dispersed, night was falling and my course was set. I would stay and I would see this thing through. And, as long as I was remaining steadfast, I figured I might as well try to fuck Olivia Wright.

 

Chapter 25

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long—I am such a strange mélange of good and evil, that it would be difficult to describe me.

—
Lord Byron,
as recorded by Lady Blessington

Men were not permitted into the women's rooming house after dusk, but I've found that if I behave as though rules do not apply to me, then they usually don't. So, I paid no mind to the feeble protestations of the house matron, who squawked without effect as I strode past her roost by the front door.

“Lord Byron, why have you returned to my residence?” Olivia asked when she answered her door.

“I have seen terrible things today. Mangled corpses and murdered children. I am distraught, and I am seeking solace,” I said. “I believe I misplaced some between your bosoms.”

I reached for her, but she pushed me away. “You're drunk, Lord Byron. I apologize if I confused you this morning, but I cannot yield to your advances.”

“I think you are the one who is confused,” I said. “You can give in to your impulses, and you should, whenever possible.”

“I'll regret it later.”

“Later might not come. Trading the pleasures of now for the possibilities of later is no way to live a life. There will always be a later to prepare for, but you will not always be young.” I thought of Mad Jack, flinging china plates into the air. “And if later comes, and you regret your pleasures, so be it! A life without regrets is a life without texture. When now becomes later, you can make a new now; drown your regrets with drugs and strong spirits and do more regrettable things. Let's seize our opportunity to be scandalous together. Let's commit some spectacular folly.”

Olivia was not persuaded. “I should guard my chastity, I think, until I can ensnare a proper suitor,” she said.

I smiled and brushed my fingertips against her cheek. “That would not be an imprudent course of action.”

“I am a prudent girl. I treasure my prudence,” she said. “You could be a most excellent man, Byron, if only you would be less reckless.”

“A poet mustn't live by the strictures that govern ordinary, conventional lives. Propriety is anathema. Art is about testing limits and reveling in the joy of unrestraint. I am not the man you want to face your regrets with later. I can only offer to share this moment with you.”

She stretched her neck toward me, so my mouth was near to hers. I looked into her eyes and saw that they were full of tears. “Perhaps, for the right woman, you would change your rakish ways?”

I smiled. “Perhaps. For a month, or two, or even three. But before too long, I'd meet another right woman, and off I'd go, racing after her. A poet's heart is not a thing to be owned. A lover's love is too wild to be tethered in one place. I am fated to chase my desires, irrespective of other obligations. The world is full of beauty, and I want to taste all of it.”

“Some things that look beautiful are poisonous, you know.”

“I fear I shall not live a long life. But I would not live otherwise.” I tried to kiss her, but she pulled back from me and retreated across the room, so her bed was between us.

“And what of faith and fidelity?”

“If you want those things, you oughtn't flirt with poets. Faith and fidelity are the province of the prudent man. Someday, you'll meet one of those, and perhaps you'll marry him. The prudent man is the most proper of suitors.”

“You speak as if prudence is a distasteful thing.”

“Not at all. Prudent men have the wisdom to resist the possibilities of now. A prudent man knows that the combination of two fortunes will yield greater comfort to both parties. A prudent man will understand that he desires children to carry his name. A prudent man will recognize that he wants companionship as he ages, that he wants tender hands to care for him as he grows infirm.”

“He sounds like an honorable fellow.”

“He is honorable, and it is upon a sturdy and honorable foundation that he builds his life and his future. And I, the poet, the lover, am most dishonorable. I don't build anything. I care only for pleasure, and I behave as though my actions have no consequences. I am profligate with money and amass debts wherever I go. I keep dangerous beasts as pets. I am lazy in my studies. And I am rumored to be incapable of sexual fidelity.”

“You could be more prudent. You could be faithful, for a woman who understands you, for a woman who inspires you.”

“I don't want to change,” I said. “And I know that if I changed, you would cease to love me. Maybe you should preserve your virtue for the prudent man. He deserves it more than I. He shall remain by your side, and he'll always be faithful. If you grow ill, he shall hold vigil at your bedside. If you should predecease him, he shall weep at your funeral and bring fresh flowers to your grave. But you know what I know; love is not a lifetime of fidelity, and love is not a prudent combination of interests. Love is a single, sublime moment, transcendent but fleeting. You know there's a kind of love so intense that you can't look at it directly; so bright that you still see its shape when you close your eyes. And you know that a prudent man can't love like that, because he's too heavily invested in later to commit himself to now. He can commit for life, but I can only commit to right now. You may forsake true love for the fidelity of a prudent man. But you will recognize his faithfulness is dullness and his honor is weakness. You will know that he is boring.”