Lemprière's Dictionary

by Lawrence Norfolk

  Peppard pushed himself back from the table, still staring at the document. The cowering air which he had still worn when they had entered his rooms had now disappeared. He had re-entered a world where he was the orchestrator and now he exuded the confidence of one who had the measure of his task.

  ‘Not valueless, although it begs the question of value,’ he said at length.

  Lempriere’s face remained blank.

  ‘Pardon me, that was ill-phrased; if perhaps you told me what you wished to learn?’

  What he wished to learn? Lemprière’s thought had spun outwards in his waiting and now, as Peppard’s offer drew him back to circle in upon that question, discarded possibilities threw out their tangents. He would have liked to have learned what a man of Peppard’s ability was doing serving someone like Skewer. He would have liked to learn more of the scandal which seemed to have some bearing on this fact. He would like to know a great deal more about Septimus. He warmed to the question. There were whole catalogues of things he wished to learn. The meaning of the sibylline leaves; the location of the omphalos. Why had Alexander killed Hermolaus? The nature of the channels between the living and dead, did they exist, who was the fairest of them all, might she love him, her long, black hair, the water…. Enough?

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  Lemprière had looked down the passage. It was only a few feet wide and the walls of the buildings rose up on either side, giving the impression that really they should have met and the space between them existed only by default. But the alley was quite empty and he turned away baffled as to the swiftness of Peppard’s escape.

  ‘That depends upon how you view it, do you see?’

  He did not.

  ‘It is a crude sort of covenant, an indenture, a blackmail note, even a charter-party, or nothing at all, or all of these.’ He smiled. ‘All to varying degrees and proportions, of course.’

  ‘Basically though, it is an agreement, isn’t it?’ Lemprière ventured hopefully.

  ‘Absolutely correct,’ confirmed Peppard, ‘but then, almost every legal document is an agreement. An order for execution is an agreement, although on considerably less favourable terms for one party than the other. I do not think we can leave it at that. The law, remember, is an imprecise instrument, hence lawyers. It finds in favour, or not of course, the truth is excluded so far as is possible. Tends to complicate things. Shall we take some tea?’

  Peppard the fleet of foot, he thought to himself. The name of the miserable passage had been scrawled on the side of the wall once, but the rain, or whatever liquid fell from the sky in these parts had partially scoured it. Now it read ‘er ow’.

  They sat nursing the hot cups, warming their hands by them. Peppard had ensured that he took the chipped one. The two men hunched over the desk with the document laid out before them.

  ‘An indenture is the simplest explanation,’ began Peppard.

  ‘An indenture?’

  ‘These,’ he ran his finger along the fringe of serrations at the parchment’s edge, ‘they indicate the presence of another copy, or copies, most probably one though.’

  ‘The one held by the Earl of Braith?’

  ‘If it is still in the family, yes.’ He slurped. ‘It is a kind of security, you see, if the two sets of cuts do not match then one must be a forgery.’ He bent to examine the serrations more closely. ‘Cleanly cut, this would be the top copy, not that that means anything. Of course,’ Peppard changed tack, ‘cutting up bits of paper has no force in law, it is only for the convenience of the parties.’ He paused. ‘Puzzling really, it may have been drafted in a hurry, whatever was to hand …’ and he drifted into some private speculation at which Lemprière, for the moment, could only guess.

  Desperate measures were called for; Lemprière had resorted to geometry. If the alley was of that length which meant that Peppard could not have disappeared in time before Lemprière’s arrival; and the means of escape, a line derived from Er and Ow was of finite length (the very last of the day’s light revealed a wall blocking the far end) then, then…. One term had to be wrong. The situation was impossible otherwise. He walked a few yards further up, the same few yards back. Then he saw the buttress.

  ‘You see, the agreement was between the two of them,’ Peppard was explaining. ‘The recognition of one copy by another was subsidiary to their recognising each other, unless both were using agents, but I think that unlikely.’

  ‘Why?’ the other broke in.

  ‘I’ll come to it. But if they recognised each other, why do the documents have to confirm it? Unless one or both were to change in appearance. They may have met only very rarely.’ Peppard’s fingers drummed. ‘It would make sense.’

  Lemprière felt that something had been explained, but his question remained unanswered.

  ‘I know,’ said Peppard, reading the thought, ‘I was coming to it.’ Both slurped.

  ‘As you said, it is an agreement.’

  ‘And as you said, that means everything and nothing.’

  ‘Well, yes. In its essentials, it is this. Thomas de Vere agrees to act as your ancestor’s representative in matters which aren’t specified exactly, but have some bearing on foreign trade, East India trade.’ Peppard pored over the paper. ‘Your ancestor will be the recipient of all…. Ah yes, all his share and will pay a tenth of this sum back to the earl for his services. This is only half the story, unless the earl was an idiot. As the arrangement stands, the poor earl simply gives nine-tenths of his share….’

  ‘Share of what, though?’ Lemprière demanded.

  ‘Why the Joynt-Stock Company of course, the dear old Joynt-Stock Company, the forerunner of that good and great institution, that safeguard of our foreign interest.’ Peppard’s voice was acid. ‘That benevolent fund of the distressed and down-at-heel, that, that,’ he spluttered, his mouth working. ‘Damn me.’

  ‘That what?’ Lemprière quizzed gently, wondering what raw nerve had been exposed here.

  ‘The Company,’ his companion said at length in calm, but strangled tones.

  ‘The East India Company?’

  ‘The same.’ Peppard seemed to be fighting for self control. His face was red. He choked something back then continued unconvincingly as if nothing was amiss. ‘At any rate, your ancestor must have offered the earl something, and we can only guess at what that might have been.’

  Lemprière would have liked to have heard some of these guesses, but held his tongue. The little man’s voice was even now. Only a slight rigidity in his manner suggested his earlier outburst.

  ‘This paragraph, “Whereas the first person” and so on, this is all quite irrelevant. It does not matter how the Joynt-Stock Company was formed, its charter has no bearing at all; I would hazard that it has been lifted from a previous document; padding, no more. Of the rest, there are four points which indicate clues.’ Peppard was nothing but business now. His guest relaxed.

  He walked slowly down the line of Er and Ow, his heart thudding partly from excitement, partly from exertion. His feet crunched on the gravel underfoot as he approached the only hiding-place possible. Sure enough, there was Peppard.

  ‘Peppard,’ he said.

  ‘Mister Lemprière!’ exclaimed Peppard in astonishment.

  ‘What?’ Lemprière looked up distractedly. ‘Pardon me, George, my mind had wandered, I was…. But he had no wish to embarrass Peppard a second time and did not explain where his mind had wandered.

  ‘I was saying that the first is this word “vyages”, “the vyages set forth to the Indies” and so on, the question being how many, and to that there is no answer. Not here at any rate. The second is the “service” that Thomas de Vere offers,’ Peppard went on. ‘There is no mention of what service, although I could guess at that, given the third point, this “his neutral agent and representative.” Why neutral? Rather, why the need for “neutral”?’ Lemprière had no idea. Peppard’s thoughts had some pattern, they led to something, he could see that much, but he was lost.


  ‘The fourth point begs all these questions; you see this, “notwithstanding the desuetude or the death” the death, mark you, “of either or both” etc. etc. Now the agreement is between these two men, how can death not end it? The vagueness is not in the phrasing, it is in the idea of the thing.’ He tapped irritatedly with his finger.

  Lifting Peppard up, legs none too steady, the mutual explanations, Peppard covered in embarrassment. They had walked back together, Peppard muttering directions, Lemprière apologising for this and that, he might have waved more vigorously, called out, all the while harbouring guilty thoughts that he had enjoyed the chase. They were close to the lodging house in Blue Anchor Lane that Peppard called home.

  ‘Extension.’

  ‘Extension,’ echoed Lemprière.

  ‘How many voyages? How much of an agent? How neutral? For how long? These are the questions,’ Peppard vigorously insisted.

  ‘The questions, yes they are….’

  ‘You see, there is a supposition here that cuts two ways. Firstly, the future is taken for granted, the deal is in perpetuity, “notwithstanding” and all that, here.’ He pointed for Lemprière’s benefit. ‘Second, that this is so because the whole thing is too vague to be at all binding. The key areas are undefined. And the style is odd. I’ve seen many documents - deeds and wills mostly, but it’s all of a piece - roughed out by both parties with a legal handbook and a little common sense. The poor devils take immense pains. All the phrases are there, but something invariably goes astray. They are rarely legal, properly speaking, that is.’

  ‘And this is like that; there is a flaw?’ said Lemprière.

  ‘Quite the opposite. This is perfect. What they are trying to agree is, I think, impossible, unless they were immortal, but the form is quite legal. The impression I get,’ he stopped, rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘The impression I get is that a lawyer was employed and told to cover his tracks, make it seem an amateur’s job.’

  ‘But why on earth….?’

  ‘It ties with the second point, the vagueness as to what they are agreeing. A contingency plan I should imagine….’

  ‘Contingency, contingent on what?’ Lemprière thrown again. Peppard looked across the table at him.

  ‘Why treason, of course.’

  They had threaded their way from Golden Lane to White Cross Street, Lemprière recounting Skewer’s commentary, Peppard not taking the point. Lemprière had dropped in a few legal terms. Peppard could not but help correct him on the details. Moving up the row of houses that tilted and veered from each other, it had been Peppard asking the questions.

  ‘Why so surprised?’

  ‘But what treason? What do you mean?’

  ‘Your family is French, yes?’

  ‘No. We are from Jersey.’ Lemprière was still baffled. What was he probing for?

  ‘But before that, a long time ago, when this agreement was signed, your family was French I take it?’

  ‘I suppose so, I don’t know, yes, I still don’t see….’

  ‘The government of the day, or even now, might well take the view that acting as the agent of a Frenchman was not the duty to,’ he checked the date, ‘Queen and country expected of a loyal citizen. Of course it’s treason. That is the binding force of the document. Obvious really.’

  ‘George, it is not obvious. It is not obvious at all.’

  ‘Listen, the terms of the document are so ill-defined as to be capable of almost any construction, correct?’

  Lemprière nodded.

  ‘Therefore there must be some hold, without the legal, to bind the parties, are you with me?’

  Lemprière nodded again.

  ‘If De Vere had reneged, this document could have been used as his death warrant, therefore it is binding. I would imagine that the vagueness of the terms were his attempts, fruitless ones I might say, to guard against indictment.’ He paused and looked more closely. Then he chuckled. ‘Do you know what the most binding feature of this document is?’ Without waiting for an answer he stabbed at the middle of Lemprière’s ancestor’s christian name. ‘That,’ he said, ‘that is what would have hanged Thomas de Vere.’

  Lemprière peered across at François Lemprière’s faded signature, noticing for the first time that the hand was uncannily like his own.

  ‘A “c”?’

  ‘Not the “c”, its appendange: the cedilla. Decisive proof the man was French. No Englishman would spell his name with a cedilla. Poor Thomas de Vere, this was the hook for the rope he feared.’ Peppard grew more serious. ‘Of course, none of this answers why the earl signed it. We do not know what he was offered, but it must have been something worthwhile. The risks were enormous.’

  His companion was mulling on questions closer to home. ‘That was why Septimus wished to buy it: treason…. Reason enough.’

  ‘Not quite, the agreement only binds the fourth earl. It would be a minor embarrassment at worst today.’

  ‘But “notwithstanding the death of either party” and all that?’

  ‘True, but no-one would pursue such a case. Unless the agreement was somehow revalidated.’ Peppard was tempted to pursue this line of thought, but no, Skewer was probably correct about the earl’s motives, and why raise the boy’s hopes? If the document were valid and the share or portion had been reinvested each time the Company had amalgamated, then Master Lemprière would be a very rich young man indeed…. And the Company so much the poorer, a thought which pleased him. They talked on, going over the points Peppard had explained, poring over the old parchment together.

  ‘The essentials are these,’ Peppard said. ‘François Lemprière takes a ninth share in the Company and pays Thomas de Vere a tenth from that sum. In return, Thomas de Vere acts as his agent, a front to conceal his ownership. How did Thomas benefit? I do not know.’ Lemprière stared sombrely at the document before them.

  ‘There is more to the business than that,’ he said. Peppard only nodded.

  It began to grow late. The two of them talked on, but Peppard had little to add to his explication. At length, their conversation drew to its close. Lemprière folded up the parchment with care and buttoned his coat. Peppard had opened the door. Lemprière thanked him.

  ‘Goodbye!’ called Peppard after his guest. Lemprière waved his farewell, then turned to begin the journey home.

  Tucked away inside his shirt, the parchment crackled as he drew his coat about him and headed down the street. He tramped along thoughtfully, the gathering feeling that some onus was testing him for strength weighing pleasantly about his shoulders. The flood of people on Golden Lane was undiminished, a mass that moved with powerful, divided purpose, it gathered him and bore him along buoyed up in thought. A little way ahead, an osier plodded, panniers slung from his hips and a chest dragged behind. He cleared the path for Lemprière who followed.

  He pondered the document in his pocket as if it were a fragment of something much larger, something glimpsed for a tantalising moment and then lost. Far from all those places imagined before, the maps dismissed as speculation, his suspicions circled slowly. There was a puzzle but, for the moment, there was nothing else. Whoever built this structure to serve whatever lost purpose had passed on leaving only these clues and they were only enough to say that there was more, undiscovered reasons, motives yet to be suspected. Ahead of him, the osier’s chest scraped forward. There were too many answers. He imagined them dropping like beads of Gorgon-blood and scything away as snakes into the Libyan sands. Too many origins.

  For now though, he had only the dry fragment, and the problem of getting home. He clutched the miniature of his mother in his one good pocket and tried to take his bearings. It was quite dark now, and although the lamps had been lit, they did little more than mark their own positions until a bend in the road eclipsed them. If the way was lit it was more by the lights of the inns and taverns that he had not noticed in the excitement of his earlier chase.

  They were doing good business. Men and women seemed to
be sucked into their doors, each entrance releasing a loud buzz of indistinct voices and laughter which propelled the few who chose to leave into the quieter street where, it seemed, they lasted only a few yards before being sucked into the next noisy establishment. The thoroughfare echoed with these bursts of sound and Lemprière gazed curiously as glimpses of men raising tankards, lighting pipes and counting coins for the next were disclosed to him.

  The street itself was filled with people, including, he could not help but notice, a disproportionate number of women. They milled about in their finery, gathering to exchange a few words in groups of two or three passing for a second or two before the gentlemen who paced up and down the pavement to no discoverable purpose. Here was a mystery to solve; here was a beast of the intricacy he sought.

  Some of the women seemed merely to be awaiting their coachmen for every so often a carriage would pull up, one or two would climb in and the carriage would carry them off. Perhaps to some common destination, he speculated. But as he watched the women who remained, his puzzlement grew. One moment they burst out in peals of laughter, the next they would be shuffling as if the weight of the world’s cares was on their shoulders. Their gowns were all brighter than those of the women he had seen that morning, yet they seemed to lurk in the shadows. Several of the men walked right up and talked to them. Surely they could not all be acquaintances?

  He knew that this would be the way to expose the root of the ritual but he hesitated to follow their example. As he watched and wavered, a black-bearded man who would have cut a fine figure but for the stout-drinker’s paunch which ballooned from the front of his breeches made slow progress along the street towards him. At his elbow flitted a creature in dark pink, robe à l’Anglaise, cap and matching ribbon, its pleated fringe falling about her face as she scurried, appearing now on his left, now his right. Her fingers tugged at his sleeves but he seemed to take no notice of her at all until suddenly she stood on tip-toes and, cupping her hands, whispered something in his ear. At this the man stopped, deigned to incline his head and, when she had finished, looked some yards across and down the street to where two ladies in blue modestly buried their faces in generous nosegays. He seemed to be displeased about something and when the coquette persisted in her efforts to direct him, swung about suddenly, catching her unawares and sending her sprawling onto the pavement. This amused him hugely. He laughed out loud before striding off down the street. The hunter saw his chance. He made directly for the girl who was struggling to emerge from a mass of lilac chintz, flounced and furbelowed, her white ankles poking immodestly from beneath the fluttering hem. Were those silver buckles on her shoes?