November 1934 - An evening
“And so William’s reign of England is forever remembered for starting with blood, and his reign was full of it. The Harrying of the North is only the best remembered episode of violent retribution, but there were several, and William never felt secure on his throne. In later years, one speculates - if a man as full of action as William ever permitted such to himself - did in didle moments William wonder what might have been had some members of his guard some familiarity with the English language of the day; or a commander, or anyone with a more phlegmatic disposition that might have seen the things go differently - and if matters had proceeded otherwise what would that mean for us today? But that is a speculation too far for me to indulge tonight. I thank you for coming, for giving your gracious time, and I hope this last hour has not been without interest. Goodnight.”
There was even some genuine applause, to the speaker’s gentle gratification. The socialising afterwards was a thing to be endured, but not altogether unpleasant, and thankfully the lateness of the hour ensured it did not last overlong. A cab took him back to his dwellings in a reasonable, if not overtly fashionable (and thereby expensive) address. He let himself in, and paused a moment by the servant’s doorway. He could hear the steady rhythm of a body at sleep.
He continued on into the main room. He needed to read something - he always did after a talk. Something diverting to settle the mind - he had a book already selected. He went to pick it up from the sideboard.
“A successful evening Professor Sir?” a voice spoke, and a man revealed himself by standing up from the concealing armchair.
Professor Sir Henry Cannerby made a small gasp, and then recognised his visitor.
“You gave me quite a start,” Sir Henry said, looking every bit and more of his fifty-four years.
“I realise that,” his visitor replied. “I let myself in - I didn’t want to miss you.”
Sir Henry sighed. The man had not apologised, but then he never did. Rather than waste his time on fruitless endeavours Sir Henry crossed to his own chair and sat down. “So, to what do I owe this … pleasure?”
“It is my Master’s pleasure Professor Sir,” replied the man, who now walked to the drinks cabinet. “May I serve you a brandy? Or something else?”
Sir Henry nodded, and watched his visitor a moment as he got the drink. As ever the man was neatly attired, like a late Victorian clerk of the better sort. With his coat he did not look terribly out of place even in the modern London.
“And what is your Master’s pleasure?” Sir Henry asked as the man brought the brandy over on a small silver tray.
“Here sir,” the man said, and Sir Henry took the drink, sipping it. “My master has informed me that it is time for you to make a decision, whether to properly join his family - or not.”
Henry took a deep breath. After a moment he said “It’s not an unexpected moment.” He had a further sip of his brandy. “I had thought it would come sooner.”
The visitor sat back in the opposite armchair, making himself comfortable. “I cannot say for sure, Professor Sir, but I believe my Master knew this lecture was a long cherished dream of yours. Consider the time a gift.”
Henry nodded, and took a larger glug, and then sighed again. “I am mindful of it. What if I say yes?”
“If you say yes, Professor Sir, we depart here and you join the family. By the time you finish your … apprenticeship, I doubt many people would recognise you, or remember you. I am told to tell you that I would be placed in your service, to start with, at least.”
Henry thought about that a moment. “Does that bother you?” he asked.
The man spread his hands. “It is my Master’s pleasure, if you say yes.”
Henry took another drink. “And what if I say no?”
The visitor moved his head to one side. “My master will be disappointed, of course, but he will respect your wish.”
Another drink. “And that’s it?”
The man’s lips twitched. “Not precisely. You know better than that. Your current life, Professor Sir, is already at an end.”
Henry glanced at the glass. “Something in here?” he said, holding it up.
The man nodded. “Should you say no you will drift off to your painless death. However, you do need to decide quickly - it won’t take long for the drug to take the decision out of your hands.”
Henry did not immediately reply. He looked aimlessly towards the window. Apparently it had all come to this. Those strange conversations and later revelations, all bait to catch him, but then the real hook - the option to go free.
“Professor Sir?” the man prompted.
Henry looked at him. “Tell your Master that he has my most gracious thanks. He has been a remarkable patron. But I must decline - I would be a poor member of his august family.”
The man nodded. “I understand,” and he stood up.
“Wait!” Henry said, struggling to his feet and failing, slumping back into the chair.
“I am sorry, Professor Sir,” the man said, “it affects the legs first.”
“Wait.” Henry repeated. “I have just one favour to beg of you, if it is permitted. Please don’t let me die alone. Can you stay with me - until I am gone?”
The man glanced at the clock. “Drain it,” he commanded, and Henry duly emptied his glass. “Very well, Professor Sir, I will.”
It did not take long for the Professor to drift off. At the very end Martin knelt beside the dying man and saw a flicker of intelligence still there. “Professor Sir,” he said quietly, “you made the right choice.” There was some recognition, and then the eyelids closed. The breathing grew heavier, erratic, and stopped. Martin waited a moment, and sought the pulse. Nothing.
“You made the right choice,” he said again to the fresh corpse. “Rest forever.” It was his own time to sigh. His Master … would not be happy, but hopefully would not be angry. Time to tidy up. He stood and left the room.
Within an hour the house was aflame, a tragic accident.
