And once they were wrapped in silence, she would tell him about Pridmore, and then she would ask if it was legal to have a letter of agreement with a slave.
Eighteen
The Sound of Footsteps
One of the interesting side effects of having spent a week in bed and another venturing no farther than the blue parlour was that Jane had become adept at recognising the footsteps and knocks of the people who passed in the hall. Given Frank’s similarity in build to Vincent, she would have expected the two men to sound much alike. Vincent’s stride had been designed to exemplify all that was masculine. He moved with firm vigour, and his bootheels hit the floor with force. Frank, however, had been taught to be invisible. She rarely heard him before he was close to the door. His knock, when it came, had two raps that were just loud enough to be heard if one were awake and unoccupied.
Such a knock sounded each evening after the Incident with Sir Ronald, as they had begun to call it. Each evening, he came with a request from Lord Verbury for an audience with Vincent. Since the Incident, Vincent had seen his father only once, and that while Jane was unconscious. The substance of the conversation had not been conveyed to her, but she could guess it well enough.
Tonight, at the sound of the knock, Vincent lifted his head from the book he was studying and glanced at Jane. She had been resting upon the sofa and now sat up, nodding to let him know that she was fit enough to receive Frank.
“Enter.”
Frank opened the door smoothly and stepped into the room without a sound. He shut the door carefully behind him. “My apologies. His lordship has sent me to again request your company.”
“No.”
This was how similar requests had been met on other evenings. Tonight, however, Vincent cleared his throat and then wove a small sphere of silence, using Nkiruka’s method to cloud the sound. “It should be safe to speak freely now.”
Rather than abating the tension in Frank’s frame, this seemed only to increase it. “This implies you have something you wish to discuss privately.”
“Jane introduced me to Nkiruka and Amey today. They had interesting things to say about Mr. Pridmore.”
“Ah … yes.” Frank hesitated, and revealed a rare moment of indecision. He dug his thumbnail into the side of one finger and studied the floor. “I am going to ask you again to talk to your father, but this time I am asking for me and for my family.”
“Frank, I am willing to help you in those ways I can with the running of the estate, but I will not speak to my father.”
“Hear me out, please. I am aware of what I am asking you.” Frank drew in a deep breath and pressed his long fingers over his eyes. “People talk when I am in the room. They forget that I am there, or that the coldmongers can hear. Your father … I have never seen him so enraged as he was with Sir Ronald over the Incident. His instruction had been that Sir Ronald was to delay your departure until Lord Verbury had an opportunity to make amends with you.”
Vincent’s fingers tightened on the book he had been reading. “Did you know? That night, did you know that Sir Ronald was sent into the room?”
“No.” Frank dropped his hand. “Though I will not be so insincere as to affirm that I absolutely would have let you know. I like to think I would have, but … my family. I might equally have chosen to believe that no harm would come from my silence. My point in telling you this, however, is to say that I have seen signs of genuine distress and remorse. I believe that if you speak to him about Mr. Pridmore, he will listen to you.”
“He has not in the past.”
“But in the past … in the past he did not have a reason to try to make amends. If you wait too long, his remorse will turn into resentment and anger.”
Vincent rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed. He dropped his hand and pushed himself to his feet. “Stay with Jane.”
Jane’s heart sank at this. Since the Incident, Vincent’s tendency to turn inward and brood had asserted itself, though he made an obvious effort to be open with Jane. Still, it seemed that every conference with his father had further oppressed his spirit. “Must you do it this evening?”
“I shall spend the night thinking on it, regardless. And Frank is correct in the timing. It is the andiron again.”
Jane knew the story, but Frank shook his head in confusion. “Pardon?”
“When I was twelve, my father hit me harder than he intended. I fell and struck my head on the hearth andiron. Badly concussed. Very badly, and apparently for a time my recovery was in question. His contrition … he did not apologise, but there was a period after that in which he did anything I asked.” Vincent shrugged. “And then for a time he resented any reminder that he had made a mistake. So, though I do not relish it, I shall speak with him. For you.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss Jane’s forehead. “I do not suspect this will take long.” The conversation would be brief, of that Jane had no doubt, but its effect on Vincent would last.
He went to the door without further delay. Jane could not fault his choice, or Frank for acting as he must to protect his family. No matter if the reasons were valid, or how well the conference went, Vincent would be full of agitation when he returned. Jane sighed.
“Is anything amiss?”
Everything was amiss and had been since they received the letter from Richard. What a mistake of duty that had been. Jane sighed again. “No. I was only wishing that I understood the power Lord Verbury had over Vincent.”
It startled Jane at times, those moments when she recognised a characteristic of Vincent in Frank. In this case, Frank stopped making eye contact with her. He frowned and studied the floor. “Regardless of anything else, Lord Verbury is his father. It is … it is difficult to break a lifetime habit of obedience.”
“But he has not always obeyed. Vincent broke away from the family and escaped this madness.”
“As you say, madam.” The return of his formality was a mark of his disquiet as surely as Vincent’s silence. “That is why I hope that he will be well suited to discuss matters with his lordship.”
* * *
Jane managed to convince Frank to sit while they waited for Vincent and to tell her about his family. He had been reluctant at first, because it was improper in his role as house steward to be seated with his employer. By pointing out that he sat in the counting house when he worked with Vincent and that it was fatiguing for Jane to be looking up constantly, she managed to get past his reservations. He sat perched on the edge of his seat, but when she turned the topic to his children, he relaxed.
Like Vincent, Frank had a naturally mobile and expressive face when not on his guard. His youngest daughter, Rosa, was the subject of discussion.
“She is only eight, and draws as if she were born with a pencil in her hand. I should show you the drawing she did of Louisa—it is quite a good likeness.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Her mother and I do not know where she got this talent from, because none of our other children has the slightest inclination. Rosa, though … she is a wonder.”
“Has she begun to work glamour?”
“She is just showing an interest, and I suspect she will excel there as well. In the normal course of things, my mother would teach her, but…” His ease faded somewhat. “My mother’s time has not been her own recently.”
“Is…” Jane hesitated to ask, but the resemblance between Frank and the woman who had pushed Lord Verbury’s chair had been notable. “Is Miss Sarah your mother?”
“She is. Zeus’s as well.”
“What? Zeus is your brother?” Jane was all astonishment. Nothing in their manner to each other had given that away at all, though the Hamilton stamp had been clear enough.
Frank nodded. “Our sister, Milly, is the upper house-maid.” He raised a finger. “Actually … now that I think of it, Milly used to draw quite well when she was younger.”
Footsteps in the hall caused them both to still, listening to Vincent
’s approach. Frank stood, straightening his jacket, and turned to face the door. Vincent’s tread was slow and heavy. He paused outside the door for half a minute before opening it. His expression had shut and dimmed, as though there were a candle in him that someone had extinguished. “Ah. Thank you for waiting, Frank.”
Jane could see the answer in his face, but asked anyway, in hopes that giving Vincent leave to express himself might help. “How did it go?”
In his left hand, Vincent carried a folded sheet of heavy white paper, which he set on the round table. “On the subject of Mr. Pridmore, he is not willing to fire him, because my father is concerned that Pridmore will tell people that he is alive. But if I can find proof that Pridmore has been embezzling money or involved in some other criminal activity, then he feels that it would be sufficient to protect against revenge.”
Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well. That is more progress than I have made.”
“Do we have proof?” Jane asked.
Frank shook his head. “I will have to go through the accounting carefully.”
“I can help with that.” Vincent shrugged out of his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. He paused, leaning against the chair back. “Frank, do we have any sherry?”
“Yes, sir.” The retreat to formality showed in his posture as well. “Have you a preference?”
“Whatever is closest at hand. Bring a glass for yourself, as well, if you like.” He tugged his cravat free, still staring at the paper on the table as Frank bowed and left the room.
Jane stood and moved to Vincent’s side. He rarely drank, and she could recall seeing him inebriated only once during their marriage. That he was asking for sherry was unprecedented in her memory. “Was it very bad?”
“He was civil, gentle in his manner, and contrite.” Vincent drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “He sends his apologies, and actually confessed that he had detained me on purpose to give Sir Ronald time to examine you.” His grip tightened and Vincent broke off, turning his head a little away from her. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “He maintains that it was supposed to be an examination only, but acknowledges that even that was a breach. Jane … his behaviour confounds me.”
“But an apology is the most natural thing in the world, under the circumstances.”
“For anyone else, yes. I do not exaggerate when I say that I have never seen him apologise before. Let alone admit to a mistake. And—and, he wept.” Vincent turned fully and walked away from Jane. “God. It is…”
Frank’s quiet double knock sounded on the door.
Vincent wiped his hand across his face. “Enter.”
Carrying a decanter and three glasses, Frank slipped into the room. He shut the door behind himself and carried the decanter to the table. “Shall I pour?”
“Please. And sit, if you will. I have need of some advice.” Vincent pulled out a chair from the table. “Jane?”
She settled into the chair as Frank poured the amber liquid into small cut-crystal glasses. The scent of honeyed almonds and lemon rind filled the air almost like a glamour. Vincent took his glass and sat to Jane’s left, with the paper in front of him.
Frank hesitated only a moment before settling opposite him. He turned the glass and the crystal caught the candlelight. “I selected Manzanilla. The Oloroso had also been decanted, but I find it too cloying.”
Taking a sip, Jane nodded in appreciation. It reminded her of roasted nuts, figs, and caramel. “Lovely choice.”
Vincent picked up his glass but barely touched it to his lips before setting it down again. He looked at it, and then very deliberately pushed it aside. He sat forward, sliding the paper to the centre of the table. “My father gave me Zeus.”
“What!” Jane could not contain her astonishment and repugnance. She knew that Zeus was enslaved, of course she did, but to be given the young man, and by Lord Verbury, made her stomach churn.
“I praised Zeus’s steadiness of character and spoke of what a help he has been during our time here.” He rubbed his brow with both hands. “Before I understood his purpose, he had Miss Sarah pull out a deed and give it to me. It is dated prior to his supposed death, and I am to claim to have discovered it in his office as part of my inheritance.”
Frank had frozen with the glass of sherry in the air, his eyes wide. Swallowing, he set the glass down with care. “His handwriting has changed since the stroke. May I look at the deed?”
“Please.” Vincent waved his permission. “The implication was that there are other deeds for me to ‘find’ if we continue to stay here, though I do not hold much stock in that.”
Frank unfolded the paper and studied it. “Ah … this is my mother’s hand, which is a credible match.” He lowered the document. “You said you wanted advice.”
“On three points, yes. The first two are related.” He listed them on his fingers. “What is the best way to tell Zeus? And is freeing him advisable?”
Jane stared at Vincent in disbelief. “But of course we must free him. How could you consider keeping him a slave?”
“Because I need to make certain that it will not open Zeus to the same prospect of criminal charges that Frank faces if Pridmore exposes my father. As a slave, he is bound to obey, but as a freedman, the fact that he has been helping keep my father hidden could be a hanging offence.”
For the first time, it occurred to Jane that the same might be applied to them. “Are we liable as well?”
“Likely not, given my very public break with the family—though being here may complicate that somewhat. Still, my chief concern is what happens when Pridmore is fired. If he chooses to expose my father, then he will attempt to shift the blame to Frank. I think we can manage that, but do not want to unintentionally endanger Zeus. So the question is whether to free him before or after we take action.”
Frank placed the document back on the table. “Explain the circumstances and ask him what he prefers, but I will lay money on him choosing to be freed.”
“Even with the risk?” Jane asked.
“Better that than the risk that he might never be freed.” Frank shrugged. “Ask him. As for how to tell him, I would wait until the morning, so that when he gives you his answer, you can file the papers and pay the fee directly. You will need to go to St. John’s for that, so I will arrange the carriage with Jove.”
Vincent nodded. “We shall need to discuss a salary, if he chooses to stay on.”
“Very good.” Frank picked up his glass and raised it to Vincent. “Thank you. Now, you mentioned three things. What is the third?”
Vincent inhaled very slowly, before turning to Jane. “This involves you, Muse. We have been invited to dinner.”
The room grew cold, and Jane was fairly certain that she had gone quite pale. She picked up the glass of sherry and took a sip to hide her distress. She did not want to see the man or have anything to do with him, apology or no. It was not enough. Nothing he said could ever be enough to atone for what he had done and continued to do to Vincent. “You are considering accepting.”
“It is his condition for looking at our charges against Pridmore.” Vincent reached for her hand. “If you are not willing, then I shall decline. There will be other options.”
“But?”
“But … I think—and I want Frank’s opinion on this—that having you present and visibly with child would remind my father that he wants to continue to mend relations. I think that might make him more disposed to a discussion of Mr. Pridmore’s mismanagement.”
Frank grimaced. “It might. I am sorry, I wish that were not the case.”
Beneath the table, Jane tightened her free hand into a fist until her nails dug into the palm. “And declining will almost certainly make him angry, which will hurt your cause.”
“Muse, if you are not comfortable, there are other ways. I have weathered my father’s displeasure before.”
Comfortable? Having seen the results of Vincent’s other conferences with him, Jane
expected nothing of comfort from an evening with Lord Verbury. “When?”
He grimaced with annoyance. “He wanted us tomorrow, but I put him off for a week, in deference to your health.”
Deferring to her health was not much of an exaggeration. Could she do this? She became short of breath simply walking from one room to the next. Even this much agitation made her heart race far too quickly. Jane closed her eyes, thinking over the conversation. It seemed to her that Lord Verbury’s remorse was an instrument to force Vincent to do what he wanted him to do. If Lord Verbury was truly concerned that Mr. Pridmore would expose him, which seemed a likely consequence of firing him, then having a safeguard would be a sensible goal—for Lord Verbury.
She opened her eyes. “The evidence he asked you to look for … am I correct that he wants you to extort Mr. Pridmore on his behalf?”
Vincent’s breath whistled out. “Yes. And for his benefit.”
“No.” Frank sat forward, face stern. “No, it is not for Lord Verbury. It is for my wife and Louisa and Rosa and getting everyone else on this estate out from under the influence of a reprehensible man. We will not be using any invented evidence, and not requiring Pridmore to do anything but hold his tongue.”
Though the goal was worthy, Jane could see Lord Verbury’s hand there as well, using their noble impulses against them. He truly did twist everything and everyone around him. And yet, she did not know that there was much choice. Jane clenched her jaw and nodded. “Very well. Let us accept his invitation in the spirit that it was offered.”
Nineteen
A Matter of Appearances
Shortly after breakfast, Frank brought Zeus to the blue parlour. It was clear that he had told the young man nothing save that he was wanted. Jane tried to catch Zeus’s eye and smile at him, but Zeus, mindful of Frank’s presence, kept his eyes cast down.
Vincent stood when they entered and rounded the table to stand in front of the young man. “Zeus—your real name is Zachary, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lord Verbury has given me the deed for you.”
Of Noble Family Page 20
