by Lee Rowan
“Yes, I see that, but you’re talking about the authorities. I’m not so worried about them as I am about my father.”
Brendan did not believe that Dobson had anything to gain by such an act, but he knew there was no way he was going to convince Tony. “Very well. Let me see what I can do. Put him off for a week or two. Tell him you are considering his offer.”
“But I need help right now!”
“I can’t give it right now,” Brendan said flatly. “Tony, I must have time to think, and to ask my brother’s advice. I’ll keep your name out of it, never fear, but I know that when he was in the Army, he and his friends got into all manner of scrapes.”
“Nothing like this!”
“I certainly hope not, but I am at a loss to answer you and it may be that James would have some helpful suggestions. It’s the best I can do.” He rose, making sure his clothes were back in their proper order. “I must go now.”
Tony looked crestfallen, but realized he’d get no better answer. “Oh, well. I suppose I can avoid that part of town for a few days.”
“If you can, you should get out of town altogether, go off to some quiet place in the country.”
“No, I could never do that. Not without telling my father why I was leaving.” He poured himself another drink, and looked up hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’d like to spend the night?”
Brendan bit back a retort. “No, thank you. I’m mending my ways, and you might want to consider doing the same.”
Tony looked up, his expression crafty. “I’ll tell Dee that I’m working on you… trying to talk you into coming back to the club.”
“Don’t.” Startled by the hardness of his own voice, Brendan saw the shock on Tony’s face, too, and decided to press on for emphasis. “I mean what I say, Tony. Make no mistake—I am deeply offended by your deceit. You lured me into that club under false pretenses. ‘A club with good food and interesting entertainment,’ you said! Interesting!’ You knew I would never have gone if you’d told me what kind of place it was!”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re so worried about the proprieties—”
“Yes, I am! And it seems I have reason to be. Have you no sense at all?”
“Of course I have! Damn it, you carry on as though I’d given him your name and address.” He pouted. “And what if I did, hey? What would you do?”
He was spoiling for a fight—a sordid squabble, so they might kiss and make up. But Brendan wasn’t about to oblige him, on either account. “I would do nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. If I told the truth—the whole truth—about my visit to his club, you and he would both be hanged. If you do not have the sense to realize that, I am certain he does. If he were foolish enough to come looking for me, I would tell him I had not the slightest notion why you took me there. But he would not dare bring that kind of accusation into my father’s house.”
Tony took another swallow from his flask. “He might… if I brought him.”
Brendan stared at the once-loved face, distorted by anger, fear, and drink. He would not have thought Tony would ever stoop so low—but he’d learned a lot about Tony’s potential, had-n’t he? Forced to the wall, he replied, “Then I would call you a liar. And I’d call you out. That is how a gentleman deals with an unspeakable insult.”
Tony’s face crumpled. “Gentleman? You bastard! I’m just trade, is that it?” His voice took on a mincing tone. “‘The stink of the shop,’ isn’t that what you lordly gentlemen say? My father’s money isn’t like yours, he earned it with his own hard work, not off someone else’s back.”
“This has nothing to do with your father.” Brendan wanted to shout it, but he kept himself under control. Like it or not, he was a gentleman, born and bred, and he was not about to allow this situation turn into a brawl.
“It has everything to do with him.” Tony was starting to go to pieces, and Brendan had no idea what to do. “Everything. Might as well blow my brains out. I’ll do it, too!” he threatened. “See if I don’t! What else can I do?”
Brendan closed his eyes briefly. He wasn’t about to accept Tony’s harebrained, disgusting proposition, but he didn’t want blood on his hands—even if he knew it wasn’t really his responsibility. “No,” he said. “Give me a week. I think you’re a fool to worry about Dobson, but there must be a way to spike his guns. I’ll be in touch. Just—whatever you do, for pity’s sake stay away from The Arbor!”
Brendan left the hotel feeling soiled. How had something that had once seemed so deeply moving, so delightful, deteriorated into something so demeaning? How, how could Tony be so incredibly stupid?
Well, maybe it was not stupidity so much as ignorance. Tony’s father had taught him to get what he wanted with money, wheedling, or threats. Tony probably did not truly understand that Brendan’s family, or any upper-class family, would close ranks against an unsupported accusation of something so outrageous, especially from someone of Tony’s class. If he were to show up at the Townsend home with the keeper of a mollyhouse in tow and the admission that he had lured Brendan to a genuine den of iniquity… he would be turned back out on the street with the threat of a court action for slander. Surely, if he were thinking rationally, he would know that his threats were not only empty, but self-destructive.
What if he was genuinely self-destructive, though? What desperate measures might he be driven to by his panic?
And who was there to go to for advice? James had met Tony once, and had asked Brendan if he wanted their father to intercede with the college to replace his wealthy but trade-tainted roommate with someone of their own class. At the time, of course, that was the last thing he’d wanted, so he’d fobbed his brother off with some nonsense about broadening his experience of the world. He didn’t think James could possibly have guessed the real situation. It was a pity they’d met, since Brendan had few intimate friends and no matter how delicately he phrased his explanation of the problem, James might well deduce who was in trouble.
It would have to be James. This was certainly not something Brendan could take to their father, even if the Viscount weren’t up to his ears in spring planning and planting at Martindale. Their father had an estate manager, of course, but he took a real interest in the management of his properties, and at this time of year he would invariably be out in the fields and orchards, seeing to it that all was going as it should.
Besides, his advice would be the same as it was when his own sons got into scrapes: Tony must apply to his father for influence or money to smooth his way out of trouble and accept the scolding that would go with it, or gird his loins and face the music himself. Which was impossible. Tony was as likely to deal with his own problems as Galahad was likely to begin playing a harpsichord. Neither had the capacity.
Brendan turned his footsteps homeward. He needed to think things through. One good thing about James—he could be trusted to keep a secret, and he was probably so busy with his own affairs that he would not exercise undue curiosity about his younger brother’s concerns. How could James imagine his quiet, sensible younger brother might possibly get himself into serious difficulty?
By the time he arrived at home, Brendan had a general notion of how to present the situation, but he had also come to the conclusion that home was the worst possible place to bring it up. After dinner, he drew James aside, mentioned that he had something to discuss, and asked his brother if they might meet in private somewhere. James suggested White’s, and the following afternoon Brendan met him at the club for a drink.
The very atmosphere of the place was soothing, with its high ceilings and murmured conversations. Comfortable chairs, a table in a quiet corner, a pristine white tablecloth and polished glasses… everything contributed to an air of dignity and security. This was so far removed from Tony’s grubby dilemma they might as well have been on the moon.
James requested a bottle of madiera. “You’re very mysterious with all this, little brother,” he said as the waiter departed. “It isn’t anything in th
e petticoat-line, is it? Or have you begun to have serious thoughts about a lady?”
“I wish it were that simple,” Brendan said. “I have a friend…” Seeing the sudden look of dread on his brother’s face, Brendan stopped himself and laughed. “I know, you must be thinking ‘what has he got himself into, that he can’t even own up to it?’ But honestly, I am asking on behalf of a friend. He is at his wits’ end and hasn’t another soul in the world he can confide in, but I haven’t the experience to know how to advise him.”
“The usual formula is to claim the problem is that of a friend,” James said. “I admit, those four words are the last any responsible man wants to hear within the family.”
Brendan had to smile. “James, I may be naïve, but I would never have landed myself in such a pea-brained predicament.”
James relaxed a bit. “I had to wonder. You’ve always had an old head on those young shoulders, but I do still remember the scrapes you got up to with Ellie when you were both in the nursery. What’s the problem, then?”
Now that he had permission to unburden himself, Brendan realized he could not—at least, not fully—but the return of the waiter with their wine gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.
“My friend did something … indiscreet,” he said, turning the stem of his glass and watching the light reflect through the shimmering liquid. “Very indiscreet, the more so because he did it in front of a number of people. It’s not as bad as it sounds, in a way; the witnesses would never take any action themselves because they were engaged in equally improper behavior. But another party, who had no direct involvement, is attempting to blackmail my friend into doing something even more unsavory by threatening to inform his family of what he has already done.”
James frowned and took a sip of his wine. “You really should consider entering politics,” he said. “You’ve just managed to tell me everything without actually telling me anything.”
“I am sorry,” Brendan shrugged helplessly. “If it were my own problem—but there, I’m back to the beginning. I should never have done anything so stupid. He was drunk.”
“And you’ve never been drunk? After three years at Oxford? The place must have become a positive monastery since my days in those hallowed halls.”
“Of course I have, and I’ve never noticed any monks, but surely there’s a difference between pleasantly muddled and too foxed to remember what one did at the time.”
“There is, little brother, and I’m pleased you are aware of it.” James held up a hand as Brendan started to protest. “No, no, you’re old enough to know, of course. But this friend of yours—I take it he cannot simply go to his family himself—tell the truth and shame the devil?”
“No, not possibly.” Brendan considered old Hillyard—a Tartar if he’d ever seen one. “He’s like a horse with its spirit broken, that will shy at a fence because there’s no heart left in him. His father beat him when he was a boy. May still do, he’s frightened enough. And not just the odd caning, James. I’ve seen the scars.” The sweet taste of madiera could not dispel the ugliness of the words. “The old man might even do murder.”
James’ face reflected his distaste. He was firm with his children, but had rather strong opinions on grown men who would beat women or children. “This unsavory activity your friend took part in—was it illegal?”
“Well, yes, though as far as I know no one was likely to be injured by it. And the worst of it is, he’s likely to cave in and do worse if something’s not done to prevent it. What makes it difficult is that this deed is not something he can do alone, which is how he happened to come to me for help. Why he ever thought I would agree—”
“You’ve refused, I hope!”
“Of course. But he is in a terrible fix. I doubt there’s anyone else he might approach for help in getting out of it, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to proceed—short of telling him to get out of London altogether, which he can’t do because of family obligations.”
“That’s… an interesting situation, I must say. May I assume this trouble is not something he could buy his way out of?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Brendan considered the possibility, then shook his head. “No. I suppose it might be possible, but he hasn’t any money of his own, at least not the sort of sum that might loosen this scoundrel’s grip.”
“That might not be wise in any case,” James said. “I shouldn’t have suggested it. If he could buy back evidence, compromising letters or some such thing, that might be worth doing. But is there such evidence?”
“What do you mean?”
“Legal proof that your friend did whatever it was the villain’s threatening to use against him. You said the witnesses wouldn’t testify?”
“Of course not, they’d—” He caught himself. “James, it’s a peculiar situation. To the best of my knowledge, the only evidence is his signature on a registry, but that really says nothing of the activity in which he was involved. As far as I know there’s no evidence whatsoever.”
“Then what is he afraid of?”
“His father. That’s what it comes down to. I’ve met the old man, and I think he’d be entirely willing to believe the accusation. One look at his son’s face and he’d know it was true.”
James studied the half-glass of madiera before him. “So the real problem is that your friend hasn’t the nerve to tell his blackmailer to go to the devil, lie to his father with a straight face, and settle his own affairs.”
“Yes,” Brendan admitted. “That’s it precisely.” He was fairly sure what James’ next question would be. But he was mistaken.
“Brendan, are you telling me the whole truth when you say you are not involved in this mysterious illegal behavior?”
“Yes.” Well, that was technically true. He’d done nothing but avoid notice at The Arbor. “I can’t believe he did such a stupid thing, and if I’d had the slightest inkling of what he intended—”
“Then why are you trying to settle this for him? It’s admirable to be concerned for a friend’s welfare, little brother, but why not let him stand on his own two feet?”
“Because I know he cannot. And he asked me for help.” He’d asked for a lot more than help, and James was right—but Brendan knew that if he simply turned his back on Tony, he would carry the guilt for the rest of his life. “Tell me, James—your tiger, Achilles. You don’t need a tiger. I know you once said it was a silly affectation to have a boy riding around in your phaeton merely to blow a horn at a crossroads, and he’s really too young for the job. Why did you hire that little ragamuffin?”
James scowled. “It’s not the same sort of thing at all, you Jesuit. Achilles is ten years old and if someone hadn’t done something, he’d have starved in the gutter. He was stealing oats out of my stable, for the love of heaven—he’d nothing else to eat!”
Brendan nodded. “So you had to do something, or stand by and witness a tragedy. And you did the only decent thing you could do.”
“Touché.” James touched his forehead with one finger in a mock salute. “But I still cannot see what there is for you to do. If your friend has no spine, you can hardly nail one on from the outside.”
“I know that. I am sorely disappointed in his character, if you want the truth. But I feel I must help. He is in such a state that he’s threatened to take his own life, and I fear he means it.”
“That’s a pretty threat, isn’t it? Makes him a bit of a blackmailer himself, from the sound of it.”
Brendan’s heart sank. “I know. You have the truth of it. But… James, can you say his lack of character releases me from my promise to help? I wish it did—but if the Watch were to fish his body out of the Thames I’d still carry the guilt of knowing that I might have prevented it.”
James shook his head and glanced about the room as if wishing for distraction. “Well, with our sister being courted by a man of the cloth, I can hardly scold you for being your brother’s keeper, but it’s damned inconvenient. You couldn’t tal
k to Father, either. You simply could not talk to Father. He’d be convinced you were in some dire trouble, and send you on a Continental tour.”
“That might be interesting,” Brendan agreed, “but not helpful.”
James fiddled with his glass. “It is too bad he never took much interest in you. I work with him so closely, and I’ve only just realized how little you two have to do with one another.”
Brendan shrugged. “I have no complaints. Father’s two great passions are Mama and the estate, and he’s done well by all his children. I must be a terrible puzzle to him, but when I look at my unfortunate friend’s predicament, I know how lucky I am.”
“You’re a better friend than he deserves.”
“I wish I were a more resourceful one.”
They stared gloomily at one another. Finally James said, “I think you must talk to the Major.”
“The Major?”
“Carlisle. My commanding officer, in the Peninsular Wars. He has been to our house, but that must have been when you were up at Oxford. He was the sort of leader any man would’ve died for—no nonsense, no coddling, but if one of us had a problem, we knew that if the Major couldn’t resolve it, things were beyond hope. I can give you an introduction, if you like.”
Brendan found himself surprised to realize that it might be easier to discuss this whole affair with a stranger than to sift and sort the facts to avoid scandalizing his brother. “He is discreet?”
“The soul of discretion. In fact…” James looked uncomfortable. “I’d rather not go into detail, but if not for him, I’d have been in some very hot water over a little matter of a Commodore’s wife.”
“James!”
His highly respectable brother’s expression was so pained Brendan almost wanted to laugh. “She wasn’t as careful as—no, I’ll say no more. But I warn you, never dally with a woman whose husband has been too long at sea.” He laughed at Brendan’s startled expression. “For someone who has no interest in the Church, brother, you are too easily shocked. This was before I married, of course, and I was always careful to use French Letters. I’m sure Father gave you the same advice.”
