Page 37 of A Debt Inherited

Price did not answer at once. “A few. More of my wife’s than mine.”

“What sort?”

“The sort a prudent gentleman does not need.”

Kerr let his fingers rest upon the returned letter from Lord Ashby. “Then I shall hope prudence continues to serve me.”

Price’s gaze touched the desk, not the letter. “Yes, sir.”

He withdrew, closing the door softly.

Kerr remained still until the sound of Price’s steps had gone below. Then he turned the returned letter face up again.

Returned by direction of Lord Ashby.

The phrase occupied the room more fully than any man could have done.

He took a clean sheet and began a list.

Employment sought.

Solicitor’s clerk. Insurance office. Merchant house. Private secretary. Parliamentary copyist. Estate-office assistant. Tutor.

He paused at the last and struck it through.

A tutor belonged in another man’s house, grateful for candles and corrected by boys with better expectations than his own.

He wrote another line.

Useful acquaintance.

He looked towards the door through which Price had gone.

No. Not yet.

He sanded the ink, folded the sheet, and placed it beneath the testimonials. The order pleased him: education above application, application above refusal, refusal above debt.

It made a decent architecture of failure.

The fire settled with a small inward fall. Fog pressed at the windows. Somewhere in the street, a woman laughed too loudly and then stopped too soon.

Kerr took up Lord Ashby’s unopened letter and held it over the flame.

For a moment, the wax resisted.

Then the paper caught, curled, and blackened. His own careful hand vanished first. The title went next. Lord Ashby reddened, broke, and fell into ash.

He watched until nothing legible remained.

Chapter 16

Upper Gower Street, July 1808

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.”