Bar Sinister

by Sheila Simonson

  Wilson made his bow to the dowager. Pulling the tails of his correct blue evening coat aside, he sat on the gold-striped sopha opposite her throne, a gilt chair with armrests which was reserved for her exclusive use.

  As always the dowager sat very upright. Her small, slipper-shod feet rested on the striped satin cover of the footstool and her elegant hands were clasped decorously in front of her. She had dressed for dinner in some glowing fabric--shot silk perhaps--of a shade between brown and green. She wore a turban of the same hue. The fabric brought out the brilliance of her hazel eyes, which, bright and calm, were fixed upon Wilson.

  Sarah was not calm. She had been seated at her mother's side when he entered. Now she jumped up from her perch and fairly flung herself onto the sopha by his side.

  "Where are they, Robin?"

  "The children? I don't know, my dear. Richard didn't tell me. I gather that Mrs. Foster and her son and aunt are with them."

  "Thank God. If anything had happened to them--"

  "Did my son account for his extraordinary conduct, Robert?" the dowager interrupted, her measured tones overriding Sarah's emotional outburst.

  The sounds and stench of Newgate were still vivid in Wilson's mind. He drew a long, purifying breath and explained what he knew. Sarah punctuated his tale with distressed exclamations. The dowager said nothing. She watched him, unwinking as a Buddha. She had gone rather white, however, and when he came to his interview with the imprisoned footpad she closed her eyes briefly. Wilson could have sworn her lips formed a name, but no sound reached him.

  "I've asked Newsham and George to meet me here tomorrow at eleven," he concluded. "Richard will drop the charges when Newsham can be brought to agree to his terms."

  "Then he means to prevent a scandal?"

  Wilson met the dowager's brilliant gaze. "I believe so. If Newsham cooperates."

  "He will cooperate," the dowager said with finality.

  A brief silence ensued. Sarah broke it. "Is Richard coming early?"

  "He's not coming here at all. He agreed to let me deal with Newsham."

  "If I were Richard I'd want to see Newsham writhe," Sarah burst out.

  "If you were Richard you'd probably wish to strangle Newsham." Wilson gave Sarah's hand a reassuring squeeze. It was ice cold. "At first Richard asked me to arrange a meeting. It was my idea to spare him the interview. He has been under considerable strain, and I doubt Newsham is capable of dealing with him civilly."

  Wilson thought of the carriage ride from Newgate, Richard still and tense in the corner seat. It had occurred to Wilson that Newsham's arrogance might well prove the last straw. With that in mind he had volunteered to deal with Newsham alone, but he had half expected a sharp setdown.

  Instead Richard stared at him with painful intensity. "Should you be more likely to succeed without me?"

  After a moment Wilson said honestly, "I think you need have no apprehensions either way. George's marplot has put Newsham in your hands. Name your terms. I'll convey them for you."

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  Richard drew a ragged breath. "Very well. If you will be so kind." And, after a pause, "I've been afraid I'd lose my temper and say something actionable."

  "Or draw his grace's noble cork?"

  "Or worse." Richard did not smile.

  "I have my own bone to pick," Wilson said comfortably. "Let me at him."

  "Fire-eater." Richard leaned back against the squabs, eyes closed. "I'll have to have a guarantee of some sort."

  "Yes, in writing." The carriage swayed turning a corner and Wilson, who was leaning forward, grabbed the strap. "Tell me your terms, Richard."

  "They haven't changed. No interference of any kind with me or my children or my friends." He opened his eyes and smiled at Wilson. "Or with any publisher unlucky enough to take me on. I nearly forgot that."

  "Nothing else?"

  "My God, isn't that enough?"

  Wilson cleared his throat. "You're too easy by far."

  "I'm out for peace, not revenge," Richard retorted. "Revenge is too damned exhausting. Boring, too. Have you ever read The Revenger's Tragedy?"

  "Beaumont and Fletcher?"

  "Tourneur, I think. Tedious stuff. Pure fustian."

  At that very literary conclusion Wilson had to laugh. As they came once more to the noisome street in which Richard's quarters lay, Wilson turned the conversation to practicalities. Remembering the footpads, he waited until Richard had disappeared into the house, then caused his coachman to drive home.

  Now, safe on his own turf, Wilson met the dowager's enquiring gaze. "I expect a response from Newsham before dinner, if he has not gone out to his club."

  "We need not spoil our dinner with waiting. Richard will be very much obliged to you, Robert, as I am." The duchess added, in measured tones, "You are a man of sound good sense."

  Wilson flushed with pleasure even as a wry inner voice told him that the dowager--and Newsham--would indeed be obliged to him.

  They made an excellent dinner. The saddle of mutton had travelled from Yorkshire with the dowager. Superb. The turbot was fresh as May.

  When the ladies had withdrawn, Wilson's butler brought him a reply from Newsham on a silver salver. Tomorrow at eleven. Wilson savoured his port and rehearsed his strategy.

  Next morning apprehension made his breakfast sit less easy than his dinner. Sarah picked at her buttered eggs and toast. Both of them drank too much coffee. The dowager was breaking her fast with tea and toast fingers in her own suite, so they were alone. Breakfast with Sarah was Wilson's favourite meal, but this morning they stared at one another and made nervous small talk.

  The dowager rarely appeared belowstairs before one o'clock, so Wilson was startled, and not best pleased, to find her seated in the morning room when he and Sarah entered to await Newsham.

  Sarah was also surprised. "Maman! You need not face Newsham. Ought you? Your heart..."

  "Face Newsham, indeed. He will have to face me. Do stop dithering, Sally." The duchess set her elegant jaw and would not be budged.

  Promptly at eleven Newsham was announced. Looking as much like an icicle as was possible in a man of his complexion, the duke entered the room with Lord George, who looked sheepish, trailing behind. Wilson was consoled to see that the dowager's presence flustered her sons. It had flustered him, too.

  The formalities over, Newsham took the offensive. "George has something to say to you."

  Lord George writhed. "Dash it, Keighley, not now!" He rolled a wild eye in the dowager's direction. She regarded him stonily.

  "Now," Newsham said, grim.

  "I hired the footpads." Lord George looked almost as miserable as he deserved to be.

  Wilson gave him a cold stare. "I know you did."

  "Without Newsham's knowledge," Lord George muttered.

  "That I find hard to credit."

  George scowled. "I can think for myself. Thing is, Keighley told me of his plan to send Falk abroad. Thought I'd help it along. Seemed to be working."

  "Which of you corrupted Richard's publisher?" Scorn flushed Sarah's cheeks. Becomingly, Wilson thought. "Of all the low, despicable, mean-minded--"

  "Sarah." Wilson shook his head. No. Not yet.

  Sarah bit her lip. "Well, George?"

  "Dash it, that was all Keighley's doing."

  A silence fell.

  "Thank you, George." Newsham took a pinch of snuff. "I am very much obliged to you in everything."

  "By God, you are obliged to me," George shot back. "I found the scent again when you'd lost it. I found the copyist chap, didn't I? You was out of Town."

  Newsham withered his brother with a stare, turning to Wilson. "At no time did George tell me of his private assassins."

  "Assassins! No such thing." George was rosy with honest indignation. "Couple of bullyboys I met at a cockfight. Useful to me more than once. I told 'em to rough Falk up a bit. No intent to kill, either time."

  "You relieve my mind, Geor
ge." Wilson had taken his station by the fire, for the weather was chilly. "Richard had partial use of his right arm before your thugs set upon him. They contrived to finish what the French begun. His arm is now useless. I trust you're proud of your cowardly little private army." Out of patience, he turned on Newsham. "Do you understand that there's no point in pretending innocence?"

  Newsham's tight mouth crimped with distaste. "I had nothing to do with the two assaults. So long as you understand that." The duke was seated in a gilt chair. One hand smoothed the velvet of the armrest.

  "Oh, I understand it. A magistrate might find it incredible, in the light of your other intimidations. After all, it's a fairly drastic step to deprive a man of his livelihood. From there to direct assault is no great leap."

  Newsham's eyes flashed. "If George hadn't interfered Falk would be long gone."

  "Don't flatter yourself, duke. Richard is not a coward, whatever you and George may be. He now has you at point non plus. Admit it."

  Newsham's hands clenched. Wilson thought the duke would rise and walk out, but he did not. "Very well. He has me at point non plus. Thanks to George." He shot his brother a venomous glance.

  Wilson stuck to his guns. "What do you offer?"

  "I'll double the annuity and settle five hundred pounds on both brats if Falk will leave the country at once."

  Wilson stared, half admiring the man's effrontery. From her seat on the sopha Sarah began to splutter.

  The dowager intervened. "You mistake the gravity of the situation, Newsham."

  Wilson cast her a grateful look. "Between the threats in the letter you writ Richard on your father's death and this latest imbroglio, Richard has sufficient evidence for the courts."

  "He'd never win an action at law." Newsham's eyes were hard with contempt.

  "Do you wish to be brought to trial? You surprise me."

  Newsham's eyes dropped.

  "I think Richard ought to lay charges," Sarah burst out. "You should be flayed, both of you."

  "Sally..."

  She subsided, fuming.

  The dowager kept calm. "I shall write my memoirs, Newsham. I have often been tempted to do so since your father's death."

  Aghast, Newsham and George spoke together.

  "By God, madam..."

  "No, dash it, Mama, do you wish to destroy us all?"

  Wilson, as startled as they, was hard put not to laugh. From being rather pale Newsham had turned a rich plum colour.

  "Odd though it may seem, I do not, George." The dowager turned to regard the duke. "If I thought you meant to continue this ill-advised persecution of your brother, Newsham, I should take up my pen at once. I have interesting memories." She took a short, quick breath. It was the first sign that she was not as placid as she appeared to be. "Sarah!"

  Sarah went to her mother's chair.

  "Your arm, my dear." The dowager rose slowly and stood leaning on her taller daughter. Her sons must, perforce, stand, too. She stared Newsham down. "I am weary of you all. Newsham, you will submit to whatever terms Colonel Falk requires, and you will go abroad for a calendar year, bag and baggage. Those are my terms. Take George with you. He needs a keeper." She walked to the door, still leaning on Sarah. "Come, Sally. Robert will deal with your brothers freer in our absence." Sarah looked too stunned to rebel.

  Wilson was enjoying himself for the first time in a month. The door closed on the ladies. For a frozen moment none of the three men moved. Then Newsham began to pace.

  George collapsed into his chair. "She can't mean it."

  "Shall you put her to the test?"

  "Be still, George, if you can say nothing intelligent." Newsham came to a halt at Wilson's side. "Tell me what I must do." He was so close Wilson could see tiny beads of sweat on his immaculately shaven upper lip.

  Wilson walked to the empty sopha and seated himself with deliberation, crossing one pantaloon-clad leg over the other and admiring the gleam of his Hessians. "Richard wants what he always wanted--to be left in peace. I tried to persuade him to ask for reparations, but the fact is he wants nothing whatever to do with either of you. Quixotic, but there it is."

  Lord George took a step forward. "What of the succession?"

  "Content you. There is the dowager's sworn statement. Besides, Richard has already given Newsham his word that he will make no claim on the estate. Richard's word is not in question."

  "I say!" Lord George flushed at the insult.

  Newsham was too dispirited to resent the implications of Wilson's remark. "What else?"

  "I require a stronger guarantee than your word this time, Newsham." Turning the screws.

  The duke's mouth thinned.

  Bland, Wilson went on, "I want a written statement of culpability from you and from George. I mean to call in witnesses to your signatures."

  Newsham made a strangling noise in his throat.

  Wilson gave him a straight look. "If ever I hear of the least interference, if Richard or his children or Mrs. Foster or Matthew Foster should suffer an accident of any sort, I shall see to it that you are prosecuted to the full extent of the law. In the House of Lords, if need be. Is that clear?"

  "No, dash it," George protested. "Might be overturned in a carriage."

  "Then you'd both best pray for their safety." Wilson now felt no amusement at all. "I warn you, I'm in earnest. And no more tampering with publishers and copyists. If Richard's livelihood is interrupted again, I'll see to it myself that copies of his memoir are sent to every leader of the Ton and the entire peerage, with a gloss for the slow-witted. And you can send Richard the galleys of the book you purloined from his printer, Newsham. I trust you haven't destroyed them as well as the plates."

  "The galleys are with my solicitor."

  "I want the book in Richard's hands by two o'clock. That gives you little time to write your sordid confessions, so you'll have to be brisk about it. From the beginning of your persecution, Newsham, if you please. Eighteen eight, I believe. There is paper. Write."

  To Wilson's surprise there were no more protests. He knew that Newsham was now his enemy, and discovered, with the same relief he had felt as a child when he discovered a guy was only a turnip dressed to frighten children, that he didn't mind at all.

  34

  When Wilson called for his carriage at half past two, having tucked into a cold nuncheon with restored appetite, he found that he was not to carry the good news solus. Bonneted and buttoned into their best pelisses, Sarah and the dowager awaited him in the foyer. Her grace was leaning on a silver-headed cane.

  "No, Duchess. Absolutely not."

  The duchess gave him a cool stare. "Do you deny me your escort?"

  "Yes, ma'am, and you'd not go far in that neighbourhood without it, I assure you."

  "I'm not afraid of a few vulgar loungers."

  "Then you ought to be afraid of three flights of very steep, badly lit stairs."

  She blinked at that. "You could carry me up."

  "I can scarce carry myself up." He softened. "Indeed, ma'am, you need not exert yourself. I'll bear any message you like."

  "Sarah?"

  "Perhaps he's right, Maman. Pray allow James to help you to your rooms. I'll go with Robert and report to you afterwards."

  "Oh, very well," the dowager grumbled. She was an elderly lady, after all, and she sounded elderly. "I consider you vastly disobliging, Robert. Is he well?"

  "Richard?" The abrupt question startled Wilson. The dowager had shown no great interest in Richard's health after Water-loo, when she had had more cause for concern.

  "He seemed well enough," Wilson admitted when he had mastered his surprise. "Tired, and not in an easy frame of mind. I daresay he'll cheer up when Sarah and I have given him the good word. Now we must go or he'll be imagining I've failed him."

  Sarah's concept of London extended as far as St. James's Palace. She was a creature of Westminster, and indeed, of the safer precincts of that borough. There were worse kennels in London, but in all conscienc
e Richard's chosen territory was bad enough.

  As it had on the previous day, the carriage attracted a swarm of beggars and urchins, some hopeful, some merely curious, but all vocal. By the time she and Wilson had passed the slatternly landlady, Sarah had heard more direct insults than in her life to that point. Fortunately most of the comments were couched in terms so obscure Wilson doubted she understood them. Sarah was not pigeonlivered, however. In the dim, skylit hallway he could see spots of colour burning on her cheekbones, but her chin was up. Her husband regarded her with a sympathy he was too out of breath to express.

  "Go in to him, Robin," she said quietly. "Warn him I've come. He does not expect me."

  "Very well." Wilson tried the door and found it unlatched.

  Richard was leaning on the table reading from a stack of galley proofs. He looked over his shoulder as Wilson entered. "Hullo. In good time. Is this your doing?" He tapped the papers.

  "Yes. I induced Newsham to disgorge his spoils."

  "I'm obliged to you."

  "Richard, I've brought Sarah."

  Richard straightened and turned. "Well, good God, don't leave her out in that hallway!"

  Amused by this display of brotherly protectiveness, Wilson pulled the door wide. "Come in, my dear. Richard is not disposed to eat you."

  After one incredulous look round the cold, half furnished room, Sarah forced a smile. "I'm glad to see you well, Richard."

  "Thank you." Richard turned back to Wilson. "Did something go amiss?"

  "No."

  Richard let out a long breath and shoved his hair from his forehead. "I thought it must be so when Newsham's servant brought the galleys. Newsham gave you a written assurance?"

  "The duke and George. Assurances and confessions. I have them here." Wilson patted his breast pocket. "You'll want to read them and decide what to do with them." He drew the carefully folded sheets out.

  Richard went to the window. The room was poorly lit. He fumbled the papers open one-handed. "If Sarah wants to risk it,. the cane chair should bear her," he said absently.