Whom the Gods Love Read Online Free Page A

very grateful to have it. I only wish the painter had chosen a different background. Do you realize where he is?"
    Julian looked more closely. Alexander stood by a fireplace, with a reproduction of one of Palladio's architectural drawings hanging above it. Behind him was a niche displaying classical urns and marble or bronze statuettes. The walls were painted a soothing white and grey, conducive to meditation. "His study?"
    "Yes. His own design, in part."
    Julian nodded. "Much of the house was, wasn't it? I've only seen the public rooms, where he gave his entertainments, but I know the whole house is reckoned a tour de force. "
    "Yes. All the rooms are in different styles: Greek, Gothic, Turkish, Chinese—"
    "Renaissance," mused Julian, surveying the details of the study. His eyes came to rest on the polished steel poker propped neatly against the grate. "Is that the same poker—" 
    "Yes," said Sir Malcolm heavily. "The one that was used to kill him."
    "Is this what you wanted to show me?"
    "No, no." Sir Malcolm wrenched his gaze away from the portrait and went over to a marble-topped cabinet. "What I wanted to show you is in here. I keep them locked up. Since Alexander died, they've become my greatest treasure."
    The servant brought in a tray containing a decanter, glasses, a pot of hot water, and a sugar-bowl. At a sign from Sir Malcolm, he bowed and went out. Sir Malcolm waved Julian toward the tray. "Don't stand on ceremony, Mr. Kestrel—mix yourself a glass. I'll join you in a moment."
    While Julian helped himself to brandy and water, Sir Malcolm unlocked the cabinet with a key he kept on his watch-chain. He took out a pile of folded papers with broken seals and brought them over to Julian.
    "Letters?" Julian asked.
    "More than letters. A side of Alexander most people never saw. A little over a year ago, he told me he wanted to enroll as a law student at Lincoln's Inn. Of course I was pleased he was thinking of following in my footsteps, but I must confess, I didn't expect he'd buckle to it seriously. A good many young men get themselves admitted to Inns of Court as a sort of gentlemen's club, and since the only real requirement for being called to the Bar is to eat a certain number of dinners in Hall every year, a man can qualify himself to practise law without ever studying at all. Some do study of course—the ones who really mean to make a career of it. But Alexander was newly married, he was taken up with refurbishing his house, and he had so many friends and social engagements, I didn't see how he'd find time to pore over legal tomes.
    "But he surprised me. He read—soaked up knowledge like a sponge. And not just law, but works on government, philosophy, political economy. His friends never would have guessed—he was always light and gay and amusing with them. But here"—Sir Malcolm flourished the pile of letters—"here he stored up his reflections, his ideals, his political and moral concerns. We didn't see much of each other this past year— I was often in court or away at the county assizes, and he had such a busy social life. But, through his letters, I felt closer to him than I ever had before. One of the cruelest things about his death is that I should have lost him just when we were getting to know one another—when we were becoming friends."
    Julian was moved; all the same, he made allowances for a bereaved father's partiality. It was hard to believe Alexander's political and moral views could be so profound. He was not the kind of young man one thought of as having any. "Do you think these letters might shed light on his murder?"
    "I don't know. I just felt you needed to know him—really know him. I wanted you to see there was more to him than the bright surface he showed the world." Sir Malcolm hesitated, then held out the letters. "I'm going to lend them to you, so you can read them at your leisure. I don't like to let them out of my hands, but there's no help for it. And, here." He went back