Riot Most Uncouth Read Free

You know, it’s been my aspiration to join your glamorous circle of associates for some time, but you are always so contemptuous toward everyone, and I find you difficult to approach.”
    I decided to respond to only the least offensive of his various observations: “Yes,” I said. “It is a bear.”
    â€œChrist.” He seemed genuinely impressed, and he lifted himself into a seated position for a better look. “Is it safe to have him around?”
    â€œThere’s an implicit limitation on how safe a live bear can be. But he’s reasonably placid, so long as he’s well fed.”
    â€œShould I feed him?”
    â€œHe’d also never refuse such an offer,” I said.
    Sedgewyck, seeing the wisdom in my words, summoned his girl to fetch some meat. She found a lamb shank in the cool part of the pantry; a fresh one, which the Professor preferred to salted varieties.
    We watched as she approached the bear, holding the meat at arm’s length and moving with small, halting steps. Sedgewyck laughed aloud. Her fear seemed to amuse him.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I asked her.
    â€œNoreen,” she said.
    â€œYou needn’t be afraid, Noreen,” I told her. “The Professor is a civilized sort of beast, and he mauls people only on the rarest of occasions.”
    She threw the lamb at the bear and then scurried out of the room. The Professor settled down to gnaw his prize and sharpen his claws on the walls.
    Sedgewyck waited just long enough for Noreen to get wherever she’d run off to, and then he began ringing a little bell to summon her back. As he did this, he grinned at me, as though the two of us shared some secret.
    After a moment, she returned. It was really unusual that she was there at all; it was customary for a gentleman to staff his Cambridge residence with only a single manservant while studying at the College. I, for example, was attended by a wheezing seventy-year-old valet named Joe Murray, whom I had inherited from my great-uncle, the previous Lord Byron. A larger retinue would seem fussy, and would crowd even the most spacious student rooms. If young men were ordinarily allowed to keep nubile servant girls like Noreen in their quarters, nobody would ever get married.
    â€œSo, is it the murder that has finally made me worthy of your esteemed attention?” Sedgewyck asked.
    I drained my wineglass and refilled it. “Do you desire attention?”
    â€œI’ve got lots of desires, but my desire for attention is among the most urgent.” He smiled at me again, as if he and I were engaged together in some sort of conspiracy.
    I was starting to grow bored of the conversation, so I said: “Is that why you killed Felicity? Because you wanted to be noticed?”
    Sedgewyck was so surprised at the accusation that he spat a mouthful of wine onto Noreen’s apron. “You think I killed her? Why on earth would I do such a thing?”
    â€œPerhaps you’d grown sick of making love to her, and wanted to be rid of her,” I said. “I couldn’t blame you for wanting to unencumber yourself, but there are other ways to break an engagement.”
    He laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I never tasted Felicity’s fruits. Nobody did. Her knees were tougher to pry open than the sturdiest of padlocks. Marriage was a precondition to rummaging that girl’s nethers. I courted her chastely, and I was most gentle and proper in my pursuit. I’m disappointed to have missed my chance, and in any case, her death is injurious to my interests.”
    â€œAnd what interests are those?” I asked.
    â€œI seek to improve my social standing, of course,” Sedgewyck said. The dilated pupils of his eyes seemed to contract partway, and his brow knit with concentration. Other than the deliberate and self-evident care that he put into preventing himself from slurring his words, he seemed remarkably lucid for a drunk.