Stone's Fall by Iain Pears Page A

the omnibus. Besides, an omnibus meant depending on others and risking being late. Franklin did not like being dependent on others.
    He looked at me cautiously and didn’t answer.
    “I’m being serious,” I assured him. “I need to learn about money.”
    He remained silent.
    “Can I walk with you a little?”
    He nodded and we went out together. He was a curious sight. Mrs. Morrison had stitched him a large, stiff canvas bag to contain his top hat, which might have been blown off or become soiled as he cycled, and this he tied carefully to the back of his machine. Then he began to pull on two cloth leggings, which he tied around ankle and thigh to protect his trousers, and a form of scarf which went around his neck to defend his stiff white collar against the filth of the London streets.
    “You do know that you look ridiculous in all that?”
    “Yes,” he said equably, speaking for the first time. “But my employers are sticklers for appearance. Many a lad has been sent home without pay for not being properly turned out. What do you want to know about money for? I thought you disapproved of it.”
    Franklin had once heard me discoursing on the evils of capitalism, but had not seen fit to defend his god against the heresies I spoke.
    “Have you heard of someone called Lord Ravenscliff?”
    Instantly I could see a look of mingled surprise and curiosity pass over his face.
    “I have been asked to write his biography. But I’ve been told that his life was money. Or that money was his life. One or the other.”
    “Why on earth would anybody ask you…?”
    I was getting heartily sick of that question. “I have no idea,” I said testily, “but his widow decided I was the right person and is paying me for the job. I will happily pass some of my good fortune on to you if you will allow me to use you as a sort of reference dictionary for anything I do not understand. Which is nearly everything.”
    He considered this. “Very well,” he said briefly. “I will happily oblige, when I have time. I will be free this evening after dinner, if you wish to begin then. What sort of thing do you want to know?”
    “Everything. I mean, I know what a share is, more or less. But that’s about it. It’s not as if I have any money myself, so it’s never been of much interest to me. Just a moment.”
    I ran back inside and up to my room, grabbed the file from Seyd’s and went back outside to the pavement. “Here,” I said, thrusting it into Franklin’s hand. “This is meant to be a summary of Ravenscliff’s business. Could you tell me what it’s all about this evening?”
    He stuffed it into the bag, along with his top hat and his white gloves, and pedalled off.
    I went in to confront Mrs. Morrison’s bacon and open the post. I rarely got letters of any sort, so the envelope which awaited me, propped up against the toast rack, held an obvious interest, as it was thick, made of heavy cream paper and addressed in a flowery hand. London W was the postmark, and it evidently fascinated Mrs. Morrison as well as she referred to it as she poured my tea, made mention again as she brought me my plate and hovered with excitement as she waited for me to open it.
    I could see no reason to deny her the pleasure, so opened it with a flourish using the butter knife as a letter opener. It was from a Mr. Theodore Xanthos, of the Ritz Hotel, who referred to having met me the previous day. Careful thought suggested this must be the little elf I had encountered in Bartoli’s office. He said that, as he had known Lord Ravenscliff for many years, he might be of assistance in my work, and would be glad to help if he could. As he travelled a great deal on business, he was not often in London, but if I wished to come to his hotel before next Friday, then he would be most pleased to talk to me.
    That was useful. It was pleasant to think that someone wanted to help. I tucked the letter in my coat pocket, finished my breakfast, thanked Mrs.