by Edith Layton
That, the merchant had understood. Obviously, this was a proud youngster who had got it into his head that it would be social suicide if it were known that he was engaged so deeply in commerce. But he assessed the grave young man and concluded that this was also a bright one, and, by his own standards, an honest one.
And, perhaps this young Noble could, in a circumlocatory way, provide that information, that entree, that access, which he needed in some phases of his business. And so the bargain was struck. St. John Basil St. Charles, Marquis of Bessacarr, whose blood was documented from Norman times forward, became the silent partner of George Berryman, whose blood, though no less rich, was derived from as mixed a pedigree as any mongrel roaming the London streets.
Over the years, St. John had taken a secretive but active part in the business. He had told George Berryman of the plans and maneuvers of the members of Society that he personally knew. Which families were badly dipped, which noble names would discreetly but anxiously be willing to sell off which holdings. Which way the war seemed to be going, the words taken from the top, where George Berryman would never have been able to hear them. All of which gave the pair both the information and access to the goal they wanted. They traded in property mines in the north, holdings in the islands, shipping shares, war supplies.
There were other business dealings whose nature could not bear too close a scrutiny—certain dealings in a certain trade off the Ivory Coast, certain imports from across the not-completely-war-locked channel, business matters best left in the dark where they could grow full and rich, like mushrooms in a damp cellar. But profitable. The pair had profitted, And all that was required now, as always, was trust, and secrecy.
Nine years, St. John thought, which has given me time to regain all that my father had lost, and more than he ever dreamed of.
Enough blunt to restore the estates, to live at the top of fashion, to marry off one small silly little sister in a manner to which she had never become accustomed. Enough money to let me make the world what I choose it to be. More than enough, really. But the prizes were too rich to give up the venture now that the original goal had been reached.
And no one would ever know that the riches had not dropped into his lap by accident, in the way, St. John felt, a nobleman should acquire his fortune. A fortune acquired as impeccably and easily as his birth and lineage, that was the hallmark of a true gentleman, and he would fight savagely to keep both his fortune and his title impeccable in the eyes of Society.
“Your Lordship,” George Berryman said, hurrying in through the door and closing it carefully behind him. “My pardons, please, for the treatment you received at the hands of the maid. She’s a new girl, and no one had told her…well, your visit was unexpected, My Lord,” he continued reproachfully.
“Indeed it was, Mr. Berryman,” answered the Marquis as he watched the elder man settle down behind the desk. “But I sent notes and messages, and received no answer. You were to have returned a week ago, and when I did not hear from you, I decided to come and see for myself if there were any problem. You know,” the Marquis went on, “that if something…should…if any evil should befall you, there is no one, I hope, who would have the knowledge that I must be informed.”
“No, indeed, but you have made that your stipulation, Your Lordship. At any rate, rest easy, if I should have…some evil befall me, there is no way to connect us. I keep no such papers. It would only mean that you would have to find yourself a new partner.”
“No,” laughed the Marquis, his good humor restored, “you and I are truly wedded, Berryman. If I should be widowed, I should seek out no other partner. I have all that I want now. I continue only because it pleases me to do so now. Now, what of Amerberly’s holdings?” he asked imperatively.
“That is what kept me so long,” Berryman answered. “He did not want to sell, not really. He equivocated, he hesitated, but in the end, as you predicted, he capitulated.”
“Ah!” said St. John, his eyes shining, his languid airs gone, his body alert. “Tell me all, tell me all, I have waited for this. How much?”
The early evening wore on as the two men talked and pored over their papers. The elder finally handed St. John a bank draft. “There you are, Your Lordship, your full and anonymously donated share. It was a good day’s work, for all that it took me two weeks to accomplish it. I must be getting older.”
“Old and slyer,” laughed St. John, noting the sum on the check with a smile before he put it in his pocket.
“Well then,” said St. John, rising and stretching himself. “Well done.”
“Your Lordship,” said George Berryman in an altered voice, “before you go, there is another matter which I would like to discuss with you.”
Something in the elder man’s tone made St. John pause. It was not like Berryman to detain him for even a moment after the work of business was done.
“It is a little difficult,” the older man admitted, and stared down at his desktop.
What the devil is this about? St. John frowned. For nine years, things have gone on smoothly, does he want a larger share now, for his old age? Which is fast approaching, St. John suddenly noted, seeing as if for the first time the new deep lines in his partner’s face, the imperceptible droop to his jowls, the sparse white hair, the pallid complexion. B’God, St. John noticed, he is growing old.
“It is not business, Your Lordship,” Berryman went on. “It is in the nature of a personal request.”
Now this is new, the Marquis thought, for nothing of this nature has ever been discussed before. When he thought about it, the Marquis remembered that he knew far less of the personal life of his partner than his partner knew of his own. For St. John was Society’s darling, and every scandal of his was well documented, while his partner, a bachelor, as he did know, lived his life in quiet seclusion.
Seeing that he had the Marquis’s undivided attention, George Berryman went unhappily on. “I have never asked anything of you, in so far as your social influence goes, but now, I am forced to apply to you for a…favor.”
By God, the Marquis thought, has some lady of fashion caught his eye? Has he a nephew he wants to promote in the Beau Monde? He is in for a disappointment if he expects my help there. But he is too sly an old fox for that.
“Do go on,” St. John said calmly, noting the other man’s uneasiness.
“Ah, did you happen to notice the carriage out on the street, My Lord?” Berryman said softly.
Suddenly tense, St. John nodded curtly.
“Who would not? It’s Torquay’s crest, it’s hardly anonymous. I was going to ask you about it myself, but it slipped my mind when you gave me the good news about Amerberly. What does he here, Berryman? The same as I? Have you become a bigamist, with two partners?”
“Hardly, sir,” Berryman frowned. “He has money enough for both of us, but it is this house that he watches.”
“Has he got wind of my involvement?” St. John asked, his lips white.
“No, no,” Berryman said. “Nothing at all like that. It is such a foolish thing that I am almost embarrassed to mention it, but I did not think…I…. Your Lordship, you know I am a man of power, but only in certain circles. And, I finally admit, because I feel it these days, I grow old. Still, here is a situation that neither my worldly wisdom, what there is of it, nor my money can handle. Simply put, then,” he said, seeing his youthful partner’s impatience, “it is an affair of the heart.”
“What?” drawled St. John, much entertained. “Has His Grace taken a fancy to you then, Berryman? I knew his tastes were varied, but really, I am much surprised.”
George Berryman only responded with a weak smile. “No, no. But I do not think it a joking matter. It seems that he has taken a violent fancy to a young woman here in my house. If, from what my servants tell me, he is running true to form, he has expectations…of abducting her. This, I cannot allow. But who would hear the word of a common merchant against a nobleman? And he has done nothing, actually, except sta
tion his servants to watch the house. No, I cannot say a thing. But, Your Lordship, many years ago you promised me…your influence in certain matters. I call upon that influence now, if I may, on the basis of the long years of association we have had. I do not like to do so, but I see no alternative. Could you…speak with the Duke…perhaps defer his interests? Deflect his fascination with my poor house, put a word in his ear? I would be most grateful.”
The words came easily enough to St. John. “Of course, Berryman, I shall do what I can, but for the moment, although I doubt that Torquay himself is sitting in the carriage, could you show me out a back entrance? For it would hardly do for his servants to spy me leaving here. Servants talk.”
“And Your Lordship,” hesitated Berryman as he showed the Marquis to the back-stair door, “one other thing.… As I do grow old, if ever things come to a pass…that is to say, may I tell the young woman that she may make application to you for…protection?”
“Protection?” answered the Marquis, raising an eyebrow. “I hardly think you mean precisely that…not my sort of protection, but,” he went on, noting his aged partner’s extreme unease, “yes, certainly, as I said, I will do what I can.”
Once out again in the clear night, St. John walked a circuitous route to where he could safely call for a hackney cab.
The words were easy enough to say, but he had known even as he said them that there was little he could do for Berryman. How could he make an application to that wickedly smiling Torquay, without Torquay, who was never a fool, oh no, he might be everything else, but not a fool, inquiring as to how, and why, the Marquis was concerning himself with the affairs of a bourgeois commoner? “But Sinjin,” he could hear the Duke saying in his distinctive whisper, “how came you to hear of my plots against a merchant?” No, he could never give the Duke that hint, that insight into his private affairs, his association with Berryman. The Duke was too quick to pick up a scent for that.
No matter, St. John rationalized as he signaled to the hackney, for it is probably only that new ginger-haired maid that Torquay has spied. It is only a little serving girl he wishes to entertain himself with. And she looks the sort to be well pleased with a moonlight abduction, no matter what her prim master thinks, I know the sort. And, he thought, settling back against the cushions of the coach, “I did say, I would do what I could, and in truth, I can do nothing.”
*
“Regina,” said her uncle as he watched the girl pace the length of his study, “please do calm yourself. It isn’t so very bad, my dear. So you will stay within the house for a few days longer. Then, I assure you, I have set certain wheels in motion that will put an end to the matter and you will be free again.”
“You spoke to the man who came here tonight about it?” Regina asked, shocked.
“I’m sorry,” her uncle said, locking away certain papers in his drawer. “But you know I cannot confide business matters to you. I hold many people’s confidences, but yes, I did make application to someone whom I believe can ease the situation.”
Regina stopped and looked at her uncle, who sat dejectedly at his desk. Oh really, she thought, it is not fair. He tries so hard to make it all up to me, and I am ungrateful and stubborn, and he is such a good old man.
“Uncle,” she cried, rushing to his side, “forgive me, you are so weary from traveling all day, and here I besiege you further. I will stay in. I’ll read…or do needlepoint, or some such thing. I’m well used to my own company. Don’t concern yourself so. You look positively ill, are you all right?”
“All right as I can be,” he assured her. “It’s only that I am no longer young, my dear. There are times when I could wish that I had gotten to know you sooner…could have watched you grow. But there was always another bit of business to accomplish. When you are young you think you have all the time in the world.”
“You are ill!” cried Regina, her green eyes wide. “I’ll call Mrs. Teas, I’ll call an apothecary….”
“No, no,” he laughed softly. “Don’t get into a pet, my dear, it’s only that I at last admit that I am old. Many years older than your own father was, Regina. And I must now contemplate the fact of it, now that I have you to consider. Regina,” he said, rising and looking at her, noting that what he had considered a soft, pretty child was in reality a glowing young woman. “I will be taking certain other steps to insure your future. At the moment, my sole heir is my nephew, your cousin, Harry. But that is not right. I’ve made an appointment with my solicitor. I’ll change a few things in your favor. No,” he said, seeing her about to protest, “there is nothing wrong with a little foresight, my dear. In the meantime, I have some other business…yes, eternally business, to clear up in the west. I’ll be gone for about a week, and then, after I see my solicitor, perhaps you and I can take ourselves off to some resort spa. I can enjoy the waters, and you can try to bewitch some young men.” He eyed her with worry, for in truth, he did not have any idea of what sort of young men she could consort with. Her birth placed her below the correct people he felt she would be temperamentally suited to, her education placed her above the earnest young men he associated with. But perhaps, he thought hopefully, we might make a match for her with some impoverished younger son, or some young man just out of the military, or even, he dared to think, someone of exceptional family whose empty pockets might make such a match acceptable.
As if she could read his thoughts, she smiled softly at him, and kissed his cheek.
“Dear Uncle,” she said, “confess it, isn’t business easier to manage than a stray young niece?”
“At any rate,” he smiled back, “while I am gone, stay within the house. That matter out there will soon be cleared up. And Regina…if, should anything untoward occur to me…for I am not a young man…that is to say, if I should ever be in a position where I cannot help you should the need arise…do not tell any other soul, but you may make application to St. John Basil St. Charles, the Marquis of Bessacar. Simply seek him out and tell him who you are. No, I cannot answer any questions. Just remember that.”
“It is graven on my heart,” she said, and made a child’s sign of crossing her heart and sealing her lips. “I promise you, Uncle.” She smiled, kissing her fingertip. “Honor bound.”
V
Regina sat huddled in a large chair in the comer of the room as her aunt swept up to Mrs. Teas. It seemed that her vision was blurry, her ears were fogged, her head ached dully. Things had happened too quickly for her naturally resilient personality to have time to assert itself.
One moment she had been sitting in her room, helping Belinda pin up a dress, a dress she was planning to wear to celebrate her uncle’s return the next day. And the next moment, this small fierce little woman had entered the house to announce that she had already had word from her solicitors, although how she could have discovered the news so shortly after the terrified servant had delivered it to Regina herself, she would never know.
Aunt Harriet had introduced herself to Regina, and then taken stock of the house that was now hers, or rather her son’s. But one look had shown Regina that whatever Cousin Harry had, his mother would control.
Uncle George had fallen as he had entered the inn where he was staying, and by the time the landlord had gotten him decently into bed, he had not had much time left. The only message he managed to whisper to the physician before his ravaged heart had given way as surely as his late brother’s had, was one for Regina. “Tell her,” he had gasped, “that I’m terribly sorry.”
Regina had not gotten to know her uncle very well, so she could not in all honesty be said to be pining for him. Still, the tears she had shed at his graveside were genuine enough. He had looked so very much like her father. His death had so nearly duplicated his brother’s. And, selfishly, she knew that the safe harbor to which he had spirited her was now vanished.
Her aunt did not grieve at all. She was a small fury of a woman, and as adept at business as her brother had been. Though, even standing erect with indignation,
as she so often did, she only reached to Regina’s shoulder, the small wiry body contained all the ambition in the world. All the ambition, Regina had observed, that her poor cousin Harry had not inherited.
Regina could feel some sympathy for Harry, she realized, but very little. In the weeks in which he had moved in to her uncle’s house with his mother, she had been aware, through all the confusion, of his apologetic presence. He was a few years older than Regina herself, but he lacked her glowing color. He was a pallid, dark-haired young man. His pantaloons stretched un- fashionably across a premature little paunch that bobbled when he coughed, as he so often did, to attract attention. If he would not try, Regina thought, watching him from the corner of her eye, so very hard to be in fashion, perhaps it would not be so noticeable. But the tight-fitting jackets he aspired to only accentuated his perennial slouch and rounded shoulders. And his conversational attempts were poor mumbles, as if he expected to be interrupted at any moment. And, in fairness, she thought, he always was.
“Harry,” commanded his mother now, “do say something. I have just told Mrs. Teas that her services will be no longer required. That as we are no longer a household containing only a bachelor and his niece, we require a butler, not a housekeeper. We have enough females here. She has asked for references. Will you take yourself off and compose one?”
“Ah,” the unhappy Harry ventured, “but as I did not…that is to say, never employed her…what should I write, Mama?”
“Whatever seems reasonable,” his mother shouted.
“Perhaps,” Regina put in, trying to come to Harry’s aid, “Mrs. Teas herself can suggest some of the required wording.”
“Very good,” commended her aunt. “Just so. Go to it, Harry.”
When Harry and Mrs. Teas had left, Aunt Harriet sat herself down opposite Regina.
“It’s good,” she said, shaking her gray curls for emphasis, “that you’re coming out of your sulks. I don’t mind telling you that when I discovered that I had inherited you as well as this house, I was shocked. George never said a word about your presence, but you might as well know that we were never close. You do know it, so what’s said is said. We were both very busy people, and I consider myself no more at fault than he was. But, what’s done’s done, when all’s said. Still, you’re a well enough looking girl, though you have more of your mother in you than Berryman, to be sure. But you’ve a quick mind, and a healthy body, so all’s not lost. What do you intend to do with yourself, Niece?”
