by KJ Charles
“Down on this side.” Alec had put both hats out of the way of the treacherous wind. “Jerry?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you mean it?”
Jerry rested his elbows on his thighs. “Everything I said on the way up? Yes. I love you. I don’t know if you want me to, or if you even believe me, and I don’t blame you if you don’t.”
“I want you to. I...think I believe you.”
“Don’t rush into it. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, and I don’t deserve you anyway. I can’t imagine why you haven’t been swept away by someone honest and decent and just perverse enough for your enjoyment.”
“Honest, decent people probably aren’t that perverse.”
“Nonsense. There are dozens of perfectly good respectable men who’d enjoy taking you in hand. And, conversely, dozens of thieves and fences and magsmen who would shudder at the idea. Your tastes don’t require a criminal mind.”
“Your criminal mind does very well.” Alec brushed his finger over a little bloom of yellow lichen, growing outward in round scabs. “Are you truly not angry about what I did?”
“I’m not going to deny I found it somewhat trying,” Jerry said. “I shall consider it a salutary reminder that you’re a bad man to cross.”
Alec’s mouth opened. “I am not. That’s you.”
“Alec, my sweet, you trampled me, Temp, and your family underfoot, and no less effectively because you did it in velvet slippers. I’m genuinely impressed. And, let’s face it, I’m in no position to complain about other people’s wrongdoing.”
“There is that,” Alec agreed. “You never said why you do it—your line of work, I mean.”
“Oh, well.” Jerry leaned back on the stone, propped on his elbows. “Idleness, disinclination to sell my labour to a plutocrat, spite. Ha. Do you know, I actually believed you when you told me that was your motivation?”
“Why is it yours?” Alec pushed.
“It’s the usual tedious tale. Do you really want to know?” Jerry clearly read the answer in his face, because he sighed. “If you must. How it started... I joined the army at eighteen. The devil with university, I couldn’t wait to go. I had ambitions for Afghanistan, the North-West Frontier, the Great Game. Grammar-school boy on the make, you know.”
Alec could imagine it: Jerry, weatherbeaten and keen-eyed, on some bare mountain peak, looking over the world, scheming for his country. “Oh.”
“Mmm. But then—well, bluntly, my commanding officer selected me for the honour of being his latest fuck, and made it clear that my life would become unpleasant if I didn’t oblige. I should doubtless have reported him for improper advances, but I couldn’t. For one thing, it would be my word against his and he was well connected; more, though, I harboured some sort of fellow feeling for a fellow queer, even if he was a prick. It seemed wrong to ruin a man’s career for tastes I share myself. And, since I’m confessing, I had some idea that ploughing my CO—that being very much what he wanted—might in some way make up for being ordered to do it. Well, it didn’t. And the fellow feeling was just as much a figment of my imagination, because once he’d had enough of me he threw me to the wolves without a second’s hesitation.”
“How do you mean?”
“I found myself hauled into a room of senior brass, informed that allegations had been made but the matter was to be handled privately for everyone’s sake, and given a choice between accepting a quiet dishonourable discharge or facing an open court which would be heavily rigged against me. The reason he was untouchable, I may say, is that he was a marquess’s heir, and a royal cousin. Apparently I was one in a long line of juniors through his career, used and removed with the quiet connivance of people paid to clear up this particular officer’s mess. ‘Weeding out the sodomites,’ someone called it, as if he were performing a public service by seeing who he could screw.”
“My God,” Alec said. “But that’s—”
“All of a piece,” Jerry said over him. “The nobleman does as he pleases and discards his leavings. My commanding officer, your father, Lord Alfred Douglas walking away as Wilde stands in the dock. One law for us and another for them, every time.” He exhaled hard. “I sound like a social reformer, don’t I? If I were a different man I might have become one. As it is, I was fucking furious. I had nowhere to go and an invisible, indelible mark on my record, of the kind that can’t be erased or challenged because it’s a matter of a quiet word, old chap and the job offer is withdrawn. I could have gone to India, as the usual dumping-ground for the Empire’s black sheep, but I didn’t feel like exiling myself, or bullying natives. I wanted to take it out on people who deserved it.
“And then I had word of a man who needed someone to pass as a gentleman, for a job. You might have heard of Harry the Valet?”
“The jewel thief?” Alec said. “I’ve read about him, in the papers.”
“Hasn’t everyone. Yes, well, he needed a hand, I needed money, and I felt like sticking it to the upper classes, so I helped him out and got two hundred pounds for my efforts. I did a couple more jobs with him, since it seemed better than work, but he was too fond of seeing his name in print for my liking and has a weakness for the ladies that I suspect will be his undoing one day. So we parted ways, I met Templeton, and here we are.”
“Yes. Um. Jerry? Were, or are, you and Mr. Lane, uh, together?” He’d wanted to ask that for some time and hadn’t previously found the nerve.
“Lovers? Christ, no. He doesn’t incline that way, and wouldn’t be to my taste if he did. Not only is he a gorilla, he’s a romantic.”
“Mr. Lane? Really?”
“Under the hulking exterior beats the heart of a boy who never sodding grew up. With all that’s past, Templeton still dreams. I stopped dreaming a long time ago.” He paused. “At least, I thought I had. It might be possible to argue I’ve started again.” He smiled at whatever Alec’s face showed, and brushed a quick kiss over his lips. “Anyway. My bond, if that’s the expression, with Templeton is probably that we amplify one another’s more objectionable qualities. He was looking to score points against the world as much as I was, and the idea of living off the idle rich appealed strongly to us both.”
“That sounds rather Robin Hood.”
“Robin Hood gave to the poor. We give to ourselves. Also to locksmiths, servants, police officers et cetera, in vast profusion. The variable key for the Bramah lock cost us a fortune; we had to do those two jobs Lazarus was boring on about to pay for it. Bribes cost; our fence takes, and deserves, a big cut; and jewellers are as much thieves as anyone. You wouldn’t believe the mark-down on gems without provenance. Plus all the effort in learning to drill safes, to pick locks, memorising railway timetables and the layout of stations, dah di dah. Really, a life of crime is not the primrose path it’s cracked up to be.”
“I wish you’d write it up for the paper,” Alec said wistfully. “True Revelations of a Jewel Thief, illustrated, in ten parts. Honestly, it would sell like hot cakes.”
Jerry grinned. “It would certainly dispel anyone’s idea of glamour. I don’t mean to complain; I’ve done very nicely. But that’s it. If you were hoping I’m secretly funding an orphanage or some such, I’m sorry to disappoint: I steal because it pays. Granted, I only steal from people who can afford to be robbed, but that’s not a moral principle. It’s just that poor people don’t have jewels.”
Alec nodded. The breeze had picked up a little; it ruffled his hair and kept the sun from being too oppressive. It would still burn him, no matter how good it felt.
“I think I understand. You were angry, you’re still angry. I’m angry too. I’m just wondering—”
“If the game is worth the candle. I know.”
“If you go to gaol for theft,” Alec said, looking out over the moor. “Or if I see my stepmother in the dock, perhaps even hanged, and know I brought that about, and have my father know it.”
“Not quite the same thing,” Jerry pointed out. “If I’m gaoled it will be because
I commit crimes, and that goes for your father and stepmother too. Their acts, their consequences.”
“But it’s my acts if I make them face the consequences they’d otherwise escape.”
Jerry nodded. “It’s as per that chap under Waterloo Bridge, isn’t it? You didn’t want his head kicked in, despite the fact that he clearly deserved it and the lack of other options.”
“There was always not kicking him in the head.”
“No, I can’t see that working at all. Whereas this... I don’t know, Alec. Your mother was murdered, and the fact that it was twenty years ago doesn’t make her less dead, or your father less guilty. But you aren’t an impartial dispenser of justice. This is your father.”
“Cara died. If he hadn’t cut her off—”
“Oh, I’m not arguing. He ought to face justice, if one believes in justice at all. But you’ll be actively responsible for the consequences, you’ll be playing a part in destroying an old man’s life, and while there are people who could count themselves an instrument of Fate, or say, He deserves it and feel nothing more, I don’t think you’re one of them. Ugh. I don’t know.”
“Nor do I. If making the Duke and Duchess face justice could bring Cara back, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second, but it won’t. Susan’s an avenger, she’s quite ready to see him punished—”
“He’s not her father,” Jerry said. “It’s harder to see someone pay for their crimes when you have family feeling, or indeed fellow feeling, for them. The trick is to ascertain whether they have the slightest feeling for you.”
“Yes. That is the trick, isn’t it? What would you do?”
There was a long silence. He twisted round to see Jerry frowning, his eyebrows at a Mephistophelean slant. “Jerry?”
“I’m thinking. Let me mull that one over. Is that a hawk?”
“A red kite.” Alec watched the bird hanging in the sky, riding the air apparently without effort. “I love the way they float.”
“I like the way they drop. Straight down on a mouse which, one must assume, has no idea of the predator fifty feet overhead. Death from above, in a second.”
Alec shuddered. Jerry watched the kite a moment longer, then pushed himself up. “I suppose we should go down for lunch shortly. It strikes me that whatever you decide, the first step is for me to get into that safe and see if the ring is there, because if not, all this soul-searching is moot. Can you go ahead with the sketch?”
Alec nodded. “If she’ll let me. This is probably a stupid question, but could you not steal her key?”
“It’s not a stupid question. I know people who’ve spent hours working on doors while there was a window open in the next room. Sadly, no; her key is treated as the key to a fortune should be. It’s locked in the Duke’s own safe, of which the key is guarded by the butler. The palaver involved in breaking that Russian doll of security would take as long and risk more attention. No; I’ll open the safe while Temp intercepts the servants. What would be ideal is if Lazarus could be persuaded not to be there. It doubles the risk, and frankly, if she’s caught opening the safe, there goes her credibility in the entire business.”
“Yes, I see that. She doesn’t trust you, though.”
“In other circumstances she’d be right not to.” Jerry took Alec’s hand, running his thumb along the knuckles, then brushed a kiss over it. “I meant what I said: I will do what you want through this. I think it would be better to persuade Lazarus to be entirely elsewhere with witnesses while I open the safe, but if you have even the slightest fear I’m running a con on you, then don’t. And this is not a test, Alec, or a challenge, or a request for you to prove something. I’m a dishonest man and you are well within your rights to treat me as such. But I’m also a practical one, and I can see multiple possible outcomes, all of which will go better if Lazarus doesn’t appear to be involved in this game. I suspect she knows that. Decide as you wish.”
Alec wanted to say, I trust you. He almost did. Jerry tugged his hand and rose. “Come on. If you’re sure we can’t walk into the blue, we’d better get back down there.”
Alec stood too. “I suppose so. Jerry? I do want you to love me. I don’t think there’s anything I want more—up here.”
Jerry cupped the back of his head, kissed him gently. “Then you’re in luck. Now all I have to do is make you believe it down there.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
That afternoon, Alec took Susan for a walk around the garden, and filled her in on the events of the morning and Jerry’s request. It went down as well as he’d expected.
“You want Crozier and James to open the safe, unsupervised, while I make myself scarce. Right. And what do you think are the odds of them emptying it and vanishing before the Duchess opens it for her evening toilette?”
“It’s not easy to vanish from Castle Speight,” Alec pointed out. “And I don’t think Jerry would.”
“James would.”
“I don’t think Jerry would let him.”
“You mistake me,” Susan said. “James would cheerfully make whatever assurances and promises Crozier has made to you, and then empty the safe and disappear. Crozier has been his partner in crime for years. They’re two of a kind. QED.”
“I don’t think it has been demonstrandumned, though. Demonstrated. Jerry isn’t James.”
“Give it time, and him a chance,” Susan said grimly. “I’m sorry, but if you expect me to believe that he’s looking out for your best interests—”
“Why is that hard to believe? Is it so entirely impossible he might care about me?”
Susan’s mouth opened slightly. “No, of course not. This isn’t about you, it’s about him.”
“But you don’t know him. You know me.”
Susan put her hands on her hips. “I know his sort.”
“People like your father?”
“Guvnor. Yes, like him, because he’s a bastard too. Alec, you want to see the best in people.”
“You mean I’m gullible.”
“I mean what I said. You’re worrying over whether you can turn the Duchess over for the murder of her own husband because your father’s given you the time of day for once in a decade. The first spark of human feeling you get from him, the first sign he’s noticed you exist, and you start fretting about how he’s going to feel when his chickens come home to roost. Whereas if he had cared about not even your feelings but your lives, Cara wouldn’t be dead. Caring about people who don’t give a curse is a fool’s game.”
“And you don’t think Jerry gives a curse for me.”
Susan exhaled. “I have no idea. I’ve had two conversations with him and found neither of them impressive.”
“I’ve had a lot more than that. And he’s right, anyway. He has to get into that safe, and he has to do it without being caught, and if something goes wrong and you’re caught with him—”
Susan set her teeth. “Granted. Nevertheless—”
“No, not nevertheless,” Alec said. “I think you should let him do it alone. I want you to. And I think it should be up to me to decide.”
“You started this conversation by asking me what I thought,” Susan pointed out.
“And now I know what I think. What you said about my father is absolutely right, but it isn’t everything. Because this isn’t only about my father. It’s about me.”
“And Cara, and your mother, and Mr. Clayton.”
“And me,” Alec repeated doggedly. “I count. Maybe I count more than the others, because I’m still alive, and I have to live with myself after all this. You may think I’m too soft; perhaps I am. But I have to decide for myself what to do about my own father, and I have to decide whether I’m going to trust people—”
“Crozier’s not people. He’s a thief.”
“You lived on the street, and when you were eight you found someone you could trust completely,” Alec said. “Someone who saved you and loved you and looked after you. I lived in a castle, and when I was eight my father murdered my mother. I don’t
think we’re going to agree on learning to trust.”
“Do you know, Cara said something very like that to me once? Except she was saying, And yet we completely agree, which disproves your point somewhat. If you want to take a leap of faith on Crozier, does it have to be this one?”
“Yes,” Alec said. “I think he’s right. I think he needs to get into the safe with the most secrecy possible, and if he gets caught I’ll need you to get him out of trouble somehow.” Susan choked. “And in any case, I want to try. I’ve spent my life hoping people don’t let me down and waiting for them to do exactly that and believing it’s inevitable and thinking it’s my fault. I don’t want to do that any more.”
“I grasp that you want to trust him, but he won’t become any more trustworthy for the wishing it. For God’s sake, Alec. We have put too much into this to make a mess of it now.”
“We don’t even know if the ring is in the safe,” Alec said. “Let’s get past that hurdle first.”
THEY CLEARED A PRELIMINARY hurdle that evening, at pre-prandial drinks. The Duchess gave Alec her usual cold nod, then crooked a finger for his attention. “Alexander. The Duke tells me you have requested permission to paint my portrait.”
“If that meets your pleasure, ma’am.” Alec could feel Susan and Jerry in the room, circling like sharks, well out of one another’s range.
“It is His Grace’s wish that I grant your request,” the Duchess said in measured tones. “Naturally, I shall do as he asks. You may begin after dinner.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Alec said, bowing. He could see Jerry in the background, casually sliding a finger across his neck. “Unfortunately, the light of candles is not nearly as good as daylight.”
“Some of us ladies prefer candlelight for that very reason,” Mrs. Forbes remarked archly. She was well into her third drink of the evening. “Of course Her Grace isn’t quite at that stage yet.”
The Duchess stiffened. Alec said, “A final portrait can be in whatever light and to whatever style one wishes, but I’d never do a preliminary sketch by candlelight. The essence of a face lies in the bones, and the eyes. That’s the underpinning of a portrait, and what needs the most accurate observation. If the artist doesn’t have the real essence of the face first, I don’t believe any portrait can succeed in capturing what makes the person unique, and beautiful.”
