by Ruby Moone
“He said that Bill Mosely sent him,” Sam said to Gareth.
Gareth closed his eyes momentarily. “Dante,” Gareth said. “I’ll wager he is not far away if Mosely is here.”
“Well, if he is here, why not just come and have it out with us?” Tristan said. “Why play games?”
“Because that is what he does,” said Sam. “This is exactly the kind of thing that he would do.”
“Then the man is deranged,” Tristan muttered, pacing a little.
“I think we established that,” Sam said, and then turned to the boys. “Arthur, your brother saved you a sandwich and a macaroon,” he said, going to the bedside table and picking up the napkin containing the food. He held it out and Arthur’s face lit up.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile at his brother and Sam.
“Why don’t you two eat this up whilst we talk, then we can get you settled in bed. You must be tired.”
Arthur looked at Ollie, who nodded, and both boys clambered on the bed and set about finishing the food. Tristan was beside himself. Both boys were small and thin, with huge dark eyes in pale faces. How many of these children were there? What in God’s name were they to do with them? He watched as they polished off the last of the macaroons, and then sat looking up at them. Waiting.
Again, Sam stepped into the breach. “Right-ho,” he said. “Time for bed. Do you need to use the chamber pot?”
The boys giggled and shook their heads.
“Are you sure? Right. Well, in that case, you two bundle up in here and we will be just next door.” He pulled back the coverlet, plumped the pillows, and stood back to let them get in. Once they were in place, he tugged the sheets and blankets up around their ears. The children looked terribly small in the big bed, huddled together in the middle. Sam reached over and ruffled both dark heads and twitched the blankets. “Sleep tight. Don’t be afraid to shout out if you need us.” He set two candles by the bedside, threw logs on the fire, and then gestured for the other occupants to repair to the adjoining room. Tristan watched as he winked at both boys. Ollie did a creditable wink in return, Arthur squeezed both eyes shut in a parody of a wink, making Sam laugh kindly. Tristan’s heart felt too full for his chest. He had to turn away and walk through the door.
* * * *
Sam left the candles burning for them because he remembered only too well being afraid of the dark, and then locked the door to the outside corridor. He wedged a chair under the handle just in case, and to offer some reassurance to the children that he believed their fears.
Sam gave them one last wave and then went in search of Tristan and the others. He pulled the door to a little, but left it open as he had promised, and turned to face them. Alfie, ever the dandy, appeared bored as he leaned against the fireplace, but Sam wasn’t fooled. Gareth sat on a chair looking wary, and Tristan. Tristan was curiously unreadable.
“I think they are quite settled,” Sam said, postponing the arguments that he knew were about to come.
“What time is it?” Tristan surprised him by asking.
“One thirty,” Alfie said, shutting his pocket watch with a click. “Why?”
“I think we need to get out of here. I don’t like this at all, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Dante wasn’t here somewhere.” Tristan was calm. Frighteningly calm. Sam had expected him to be in a temper. He could have handled that.
“I agree. I need to get on the road as quickly as possible. This simply speeds things up.”
“It could, of course, simply be Overdale overstepping the mark,” Alfie said from his position by the mantel.
“Well, it seems far too coincidental to me and the boys said that Mosely sent them.” Tristan said. “I think we all need to get out of here, and take the boys with us. We need to find out if they have any parents, any family anywhere, and if they do not, then…” he said, and then shrugged.
“You can leave together, but I need to make arrangements to travel north,” Sam said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Gareth, I think you should come with me.”
Tristan stood stock still and arched one eyebrow. “I am coming with you.” His voice was hard and implacable. Every inch the aristocrat again. Sam picked up his valise and started filling it with his things.
“You know you can’t.”
“I can damn well do as I please and I am not leaving you to look after two children unaided whilst a madman pursues you. It will not do.”
Sam had to turn away from Tristan. He couldn’t afford to let him see how deeply those words affected him. He picked up the envelope that contained the remainder of the money that Tristan had given him. He quickly counted the notes and decided that it would be plenty to get him and the boys settled somewhere until he could find work.
“Are you going to Harry?” Gareth asked.
“Who the hell is this Harry that you keep talking about?” Tristan’s face was pinched and angry.
“I explained who Harry is,” Sam said. “Yes,” he said to Gareth. “Go and get your things.”
“Come,” Alfie said, pushing away from the mantel and holding out a hand to Gareth. “Let us leave these two to argue in peace. We can gather your belongings.”
Gareth stood up and patted Sam on the arm and followed Alfie from the room, leaving Sam and Tristan alone. Sam braced himself.
“Do you mind if I keep this money?” he said, waving the envelope.
“Of course you can keep it. You can have every blasted penny that I have.”
Sam wanted to say come with me so badly. Wanted, wanted, wanted. But he could want all he liked, he could never ask Tristan to give up his life for him, and that was what it would amount to. He piled the rest of his things back in the valise and put the money on top, and then stood fingering the paper. He gave it a pat and then turned to Tristan.
“You know, I had planned on giving you the seeing to of your life tonight, but I don’t think I can perform with an audience.” He nodded to the door that stood ajar. To his immense relief, Tristan smiled. It looked like he tried very hard not to, but it crept out.
“Let’s not fight,” Sam whispered. “I couldn’t bear to fight with you again.”
Tristan came and stood before him and put one hand on his chest. “I am not going to fight you. Let the boys get a little sleep and then we will make a move.”
Sam put a hand over Tristan’s and then pulled it to his lips and kissed it, then they were in each other’s arms, holding tight. Sam buried his nose in Tristan’s neck inhaling the very essence of him, remembering him.
He felt Tristan swallow, and then he pulled away, turning his head to one side as if to hide his eyes. Sam let his hand linger on his shoulder until he moved away.
“We should get dressed,” Tristan said. “Can’t go into battle in a nightshirt.” His voice was thick and Sam’s chest ached.
Chapter 15
At first light they were up and dressed. Sam and Gareth had agreed that they should ready the carriage, and then get the boys in it and wait. Tristan headed for the breakfast room with his heart pounding and his guts in turmoil. He still couldn’t believe what was happening. He walked through the door and thankfully the room was empty except for Alfie, who stood by the window. He was clearly deep in thought.
“Penny for them?” Tristan said as he walked over to where Alfie stood.
“Not worth even that.” He made an effort to smile. “Good night?”
Tristan shook his head and checked they were still alone. “Bloody awful.”
“Same here. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. I have left a note for Overdale claiming illness. Sam looked suitably wretched so I think that will be believed. No point in sending out alarms unnecessarily.”
“Sensible idea,” Alfie said.
Tristan just nodded. The idea of the company of likeminded men had seemed like a good idea, but he doubted he would ever do anything so foolish again.
They both made to leave, but the door opened and Wallingford strolled in.
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“Gentlemen,” he beamed. “I trust you had a pleasant night.”
“Extremely pleasant. Thank you.” Tristan bowed and smiled.
“You are up bright and early this morning.”
“Indeed. Now, if you will excuse me…”
“I trust your tastes were well catered for?” Wallingford said, still standing in the doorway.
Ice slithered down Tristan’s spine. “They were. Thank you.” Alfie moved closer to him.
“Then I am pleased. Come, have you eaten? Overdale’s cook is magnificent. I keep trying to tempt him away but to no avail.” He headed for the sideboard where dishes were usually laid out for guests, but there did not appear to be any food there. Tristan glanced at Alfie and raised his brows in a question. Alfie looked grim.
“Good to know one’s allies in this world, I always say,” Wallingford said. “We need to know who we can trust these days, particularly men like us.”
Tristan smiled again, and nodded politely wanting to yell that they were nothing like him. “Indeed. Now, if you would excuse us we simply must…” He broke off yet again as Sam appeared in the doorway.
“Aha!” Wallingford beamed. “Another of our allies.”
Tristan sighed inwardly, and went to make introductions, but was surprised to find Sam staring fixedly at the man, a muscle ticking along his jaw and colour in his cheeks.
Tristan made the introductions, but Sam was standing stock still. Wallingford, however, was beaming. He pumped Sam’s hand, but then seemed to retain it longer than was strictly speaking necessary. The colour had drained from Sam’s cheeks leaving him looking deathly pale again, much as he had been after the knock to the head.
“I say, old chap,” Wallingford said, peering at Sam, still retaining his hand. “Are you feeling quite the thing? If you don’t mind me saying, you look as queer as Dick’s hatband.”
Sam seemed to unglue his tongue. “I am very well. Thank you.”
Tristan’s glance flicked between the two men and then it hit him like a blow to the chest. He remembered what Sam had said about knowing some of the men at the party from the brothel, and appearing in society together and someone possibly recognising him. Sam clearly recognised Wallingford, although Wallingford was putting a good face on it. The knowledge that Sam had entertained the man left him feeling cold and more than a little queasy. He was grappling with this new feeling of profound jealousy and distaste when Wallingford turned back to the sideboard saying something about a breakfast plate. Sam grabbed his hand and made a furious gesture to the door and mouthed, “Get out. Now.”
“Dammit,” Sam said to Wallingford’s back. “I left something in my room. Would you excuse me?” But before he could leave Gareth came sailing into the room wishing everyone a good morning in his flamboyant style but faltered when he saw Wallingford and then cursed roundly.
Sam grabbed Tristan by the hand and began pulling him towards the door but Wallingford got there before Sam and laughed.
“Good morning, my little flower,” he said to Gareth, and Tristan knew for certain that Wallingford was one of their clients. He felt sick to his stomach. It had been convenient to imagine that he was the only person that Sam had serviced in the brothel, stupid and naive, but convenient. Having it waved in his face in this fashion made him feel sordid in the extreme.
Alfie had spots of angry colour on his cheeks as he watched the exchange between the men. “I do not have the faintest notion of what is going on between you good gentlemen, nor do I have any desire to find out,” Alfie said, his voice dripping with disdain. “If you would excuse me?” he said, gesturing for Wallingford to move from the door.
Wallingford’s response was to close the door, lock it, take the key from the lock, and drop it into his pocket.
“I am afraid I cannot do that as you have something that belongs to me. Something I intend to reclaim.” With that he drew a pistol from his other pocket and held the muzzle point blank at Sam’s chest.
They all froze.
Tristan swallowed and ran his tongue over his lips. “What are you doing?”
Wallingford moved closer to Sam and tucked the gun under Sam’s chin.
Tristan’s heart was hammering so hard he shook. He remained still for fear that a sudden movement might make the man pull the trigger. He waited.
Gareth was the one to speak, and the word he said made the whole scene make appalling sense.
“Dante.”
Wallingford smiled and pursed his lips into a mocking kiss in Gareth’s direction. “Fear not, little one, there will be enough for you, too.” Wallingford glanced at Alfie. “He always gets so terribly jealous when I share my affections.”
The name was ringing in Tristan’s ears. Dante. Dante. Dante. He forced himself to be outwardly calm. “What is it you want from us, Wallingford?”
The man smiled and pushed the gun tighter under Sam’s chin, making his head move backwards. “Have a care, Chiltern. Do you know what will happen if I pull the trigger? The bullet will travel through his brain and explode out of the top of his skull, leaving a catastrophic hole.” He spoke mildly as though making an innocuous observation rather than describing murder.
“I do know.” Tristan said with as much calm as he could muster. “And I would like it very much if you didn’t do that. I ask again, what is it you want from us?’
“From you? Nothing.” Wallingford said with a smile. “Just Samuel.”
Tristan had never considered himself an actor, but he found himself acting as though his life depended on it. Sam’s certainly did. “Then take him. You will see no opposition from us.” He raised his hands in an open gesture and looked at Alfie and Gareth.
Alfie laughed. “Take them both. They have served us well, but I have no desire to come between a man and his possessions.” Alfie shook his head and walked over to where Gareth was standing looking stunned. “It has been a great pleasure, but I suspect your master would like you returned.” He leaned in and kissed Gareth on the mouth, stroked his hair, and ran a hand beneath his coat to squeeze his arse with a lingering hand. Gareth jerked away and then slapped Alfie. Hard. Alfie’s head jerked sideways under the blow and he shook his head.
Gareth stalked to where Dante stood. “Get us out of here. They are all perverted bastards.” His dark eyes flashed.
Wallingford smiled and then looked at Sam. He handed the key to Gareth. “Unlock it.”
Gareth took the key and slid it into the lock. It turned with a soft click. Dante held out a hand for the key and Gareth dropped it into his palm and stood beside them, eyes flashing, but Dante pushed him roughly back into the room.
“Samuel is all I need,” he said and, without taking the gun from Sam’s chin, led him through and locked it behind them leaving Tristan, Alfie, and Gareth staring at the closed door. When all was quiet from outside Tristan ran to the door and shook it violently. The lock was firm and it held.
“Dammit!” he shouted and hammered on the door with the flat of his hand. “Dammit, dammit dammit!” He felt as though his heart was trying to claw its way out through his throat. He hammered on the door again and then pressed his face against it, listening to see if he could hear where they were going. He felt useless. Impotent. Helpless.
“The window.” Alfie walked to the glass and picked up a chair. He paused, and then threw it. It bounced off.
“We are two floors up,” Gareth said, pacing up and down.
“I don’t care. I need to get out of here,” Tristan said as he picked the chair up again and hurled it at the window. It bounced again. “For God’s sake!” he shouted and picked up a brandy decanter. He hurled it with all his might and it cracked the glass. They all stopped, stared at each other, and then rushed to the window. Alfie pulled out his handkerchief. “Have a care,” he said, and Tristan and Gareth followed suit. They managed to push and pull at the glass until the whole pane broke into shards and dropped the two stories to the ground. All three looked out. It was a long way down, and it
would mean landing on grass that was now littered with broken glass.
“I’m going to jump,” Tristan said.
“Roll as you land.” Alfie said, brushing the glass from the window ledge with his handkerchief.
Gareth peered over the edge. “Why don’t we lower him as far as we can? If we hold an arm each we can dangle him out and then he can drop.”
“Excellent plan.” Tristan stripped off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt to expose his forearms. “You’ll get a better grip this way. You can throw my coat after me,” he said as he hopped up onto the window sill.
Alfie and Gareth followed suit. “Double grip on the wrists,” Alfie said, demonstrating. Gareth copied him, and between them the lowered Tristan over the edge. He shuffled with his feet, finding toe holds in the ancient brick and eventually he was stretched as far as he dared without dragging the others over.
“After three, release me,” he shouted up. “One, two…three.” And then he was falling. He hit the ground and rolled, jarring every last bone in his body but when he stood up everything seemed to work. He gave a swift thumb’s up to Alfie and Gareth and then sprinted.
* * * *
Tristan headed for the servant’s entrance, hoping that he might be able to get back into the house undetected by Wallingford. He had no idea if Overdale would be looking for him, or if his servants had been alerted. He needed to find Sam, but he needed to go back for Ollie and Arthur, as well. He could only hope that Wallingford was pre-occupied with Sam and had left them in the bed chamber. His heart was thundering as he crept past the kitchens. The low hum of servant’s voices filled his ears, but he managed to find the back stairs and run up them, boots ringing on the cold stone. He had no idea where they would lead to as the house was vast, but fortunately he recognised the corridor he ended up in and ran towards the breakfast room. He slowed as he spotted a couple of footmen, tugged at his sleeves to settle his cuffs and ran a hand over his hair.
He strolled up to them. “I say, could you do me an enormous favour?”
The footmen smiled and bowed.
