The Scent of Death

‘The American Department is well aware of that, sir. And so am I.’

The Major glanced at Townley. ‘Sir, would you have the goodness to explain to Mr Savill that this is a city under martial law? Capital crimes are tried in courts martial, as Lord George Germain knows from personal experience.’

Townley smiled impartially and shrugged his shoulders.

‘I do not dispute that capital crimes come under military jurisdiction, sir.’ I spoke in an intentionally quiet voice, purged of emotion. ‘I do not wish to interfere. Merely to have an oversight.’

Marryot’s grip tightened around his cane. ‘If wishes were horses, sir, then beggars would ride.’

‘If you deny me in this, sir,’ I said quietly, ‘I shall complain formally both to Sir Henry here in New York and Lord George Germain in London. My orders are signed by Lord George, and his authority in this matter derives directly from His Majesty.’

‘I’m damned if—’

‘I repeat, sir. I do not wish to interfere with the discharge of your duties in any way. My orders are to observe, nothing more. I have my commission here, if you would like a sight of it.’

The Major’s forehead was scored with three vertical lines that sprang from the bridge of his nose. When he frowned, the lines deepened. He did not speak for a moment. Then he held out his hand.

‘You may show me your wretched scrap of paper.’

He read the commission slowly, while Townley paced up and down, fanning himself with his hat and whistling softly. The soldiers clustered around the cart in silence. They must have gathered something of what was going on, for Marryot’s voice was naturally loud and harsh, and he had made no attempt to moderate its volume.

He handed back the letter of authorization. ‘I warn you, sir, it will be a waste of your time and mine. But what can one expect when our affairs in America are at the mercy of a man who hides behind a desk three thousand miles away?’

I had no desire to fight other people’s battles. ‘And how will you proceed in this matter?’

‘We’ll find out who the man is, if we are lucky. Then at least he can be buried under his own name. As to his murderer: I do not hold out much hope there, sir, unless someone lays information. If a man looks for his pleasures in Canvas Town, he runs the risk of paying heavily for them.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said. ‘I’m much obliged.’

Townley smiled at us. ‘I’m rejoiced to see you such good friends, gentlemen.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘Mr Savill, I do not wish to hurry you, but we should be on our way. I fancy the Wintours keep early hours.’

‘Eh?’ Marryot said. ‘You are engaged at Judge Wintour’s?’

Townley bowed. ‘In a manner of speaking. Mr Savill will be lodging there during his stay in New York.’

Marryot coloured again. ‘Pray – ah – pray give my compliments to the Judge and his ladies. Tell them that I hope to do myself the honour of calling on them to see how they do.’

The three of us, followed by the soldiers and the cart, walked down to Broadway, where we separated. Townley and I turned left and made our way slowly eastwards in the direction of St Paul’s Chapel.

‘Well,’ Townley said, ‘you are quite the Daniel, I perceive, and have ventured into the lion’s den and emerged unscathed. I have seen Major Marryot make grown men quail.’ He smiled at me. ‘But have a care, sir. He is a man of some importance in this city and you should mind how you cross him.’

We strolled in silence the length of another block. Then Townley added: ‘Oh – and by the by – they say he has a certain tendresse for young Mrs Wintour.’

Chapter Six

The high-ceilinged room was a place of shadows. Despite the heat, the windows were shut and the curtains closed – because, old Mrs Wintour said, the smell of the great fire was become intolerable and the street below so noisy.

Ten candles burned on brackets attached to the walls but they served mainly to accentuate the surrounding gloom. A heavy moth, drunk with desire, circled one of the flames. I could not drag my eyes away from it. The candle singed first one wing, then the other. At last, and with supernatural strength, the besotted insect reached the fatal flame again. There was a faint sizzling sound. The moth fell to the pier table immediately beneath the bracket and lay there, twitching.

‘More tea, sir?’ Mrs Wintour asked, pale and indistinct on a sofa.

‘Thank you, ma’am, but no.’

I rubbed sweating palms on my breeches. The Judge let slip a long, rumbling snore from the recesses of his high-backed armchair. Only his legs were visible.

Having discharged her duties as a hostess, Mrs Wintour sat back and did not speak. I could not tell whether her eyes were open or closed. From somewhere below came a clatter as though a pot had fallen on the floor. The moth gave up its unequal struggle with the world and expired. The air in the room seemed to condense into a dark, swaying liquid, trapping the humans like three curious natural specimens suspended in alcohol.

Would it always be like this, I wondered? Would I sit in silence, night after night, in this smothering subaqueous fog? The memory of the corpse in the harbour drifted into my mind, and I saw again the decaying face of the merman. Perhaps the poor fellow now lay in just such a stifling semi-darkness at the bottom of the ocean.

It was past ten o’clock. In a moment the grandfather clock in the hall must chime the quarter. It seemed as if days or even weeks had passed since it had last chimed the hour. A frugal supper had been served at nine by a manservant out of livery and a maid. I had been here since eight o’clock. Townley had introduced me to the Judge and had then slipped away, promising to call for me in the morning.

The drawing-room door opened. Mrs Wintour twitched in her chair and emitted a little cry as though someone had pinched her. A lady entered.

‘Ah, my dear,’ the Judge said, levering himself up with the help of the tea table. ‘There you are, Bella, bless my soul. Are you quite restored?’

I rose to my feet. The light was so poor that the woman’s face was barely visible. I was aware only that she was small and slim, and she brought with her the smell of otto of roses.

‘You startled me,’ Mrs Wintour said. ‘Why is everything so loud nowadays?’

‘Bella,’ the Judge went on, ‘allow me to name Mr Savill of the American Department. And, Mr Savill, here at last is my dear daughter, my son’s wife, Mrs Arabella.’

I bowed over the lady’s hand.

‘Mr Savill,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I am happy to meet you.’

‘Come and sit with us, my dear,’ the Judge said, stretching out his hand to her. ‘We shall send for fresh tea.’

‘Would you excuse me this once, sir?’ Mrs Arabella took the Judge’s hand in both of hers. ‘My head is still splitting – it is this terrible heat, I think.’ She stroked her father-in-law’s hand as though it were a small animal in need of reassurance. ‘I came down for a moment to welcome Mr Savill. I would not want him to think us unmannerly.’

‘Never that, madam,’ I said. ‘You are politeness itself. But I am sorry you are indisposed.’

‘You must take something,’ the Judge said. ‘Have Miriam mix you up a James’s Powder. I’m sure it will answer.’

‘Yes, sir, you may be sure I shall.’

Mrs Arabella kissed her parents-in-law. She curtsied to me and left the room.

‘The dear child should not overdo it,’ the Judge observed, sinking back into his chair.

The flurry of movement gave me the opportunity to withdraw. I had been up at dawn, I explained, and my first day ashore had been a tiring one.

‘Be so good as to ring the bell, sir,’ the Judge said. ‘Josiah will bring a candle and take you up to your chamber.’

The manservant conducted me up the stairs. My room was at the back of the house on the second floor. Square and low-ceilinged, it was dominated by a high bed with an enormous feather mattress. My bags and boxes had been brought up during the day.

I dismissed the man for the night. It struck me that it was only now, for the first time in over five weeks, that I was alone. Noak had always been there on the Earl of Sandwich, usually within arm’s reach. Even in the ship’s heads, someone else had generally been beside me or at least within sight and sound. Nor had I been alone today. Indeed, my overwhelming impression was that this was a city where it would be almost impossible to be solitary, for the streets and buildings were packed with people – townsfolk, refugees, British and Loyalist soldiers, and the crowds of followers that accumulate around an army.

I undressed, allowing my clothes to lie where they fell. For a moment I stood naked at the foot of the bed, hoping for a draught to cool my skin. But the air was warm and motionless.