by KJ Charles
“Maybe. But it would require cast-iron proof to force his hand, and I don’t have that. He’s got significantly more on me than I do on him.”
“That hasn’t worked out well,” Will agreed. “How come he hasn’t used it before?”
“I honestly can’t say. Possibly he’s amusing himself watching me flail around. Possibly he wants me to make his daughter a marchioness.”
“Could you?”
“Certainly, if my brother Chingford were removed from this mortal coil.”
“You don’t seriously think Waring would have your brother killed. Do you?”
Kim shrugged. “Are you familiar with Charles the First’s belief in the Divine Right of Kings? Lord Waring is much that way for his own benefit. There is nothing to which he does not believe himself entitled.”
“Charles the First got his head cut off,” Will pointed out. “I’m on the Cromwell side myself.”
A smile flitted over Kim’s face, there and gone. “Glad to hear it. Thank you, Will. And I’m so sorry for all of this, I truly am. I’ve brought you nothing but trouble, and I realise how shitty it was not to say anything for so long, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t—”
“I know.”
He wished they could pull over somewhere secluded, but they were on the outskirts of Metroland now, new red brick houses carpeting the land as the city grew like a tumour. There was no seclusion to be had.
“You haven’t told Phoebe any of this?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure you’ve a right to keep it from her. I know you’re trying to protect her—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kim said. “I’m protecting myself. Of course I should have told her, though damned if I know exactly when, since there was never a single point when I tipped from ignorance to certainty. I simply haven’t had the guts.”
“You’re afraid of how she’ll react?”
“I’m afraid she’ll hate me. I’m afraid she won’t believe me, or that she’ll choose her father over me, or worst of all, that she’ll forgive me. I’m afraid it will knock the joy out of her. Her life is going to be divided into Before and After by this, whatever happens, and I wanted to make Before as long as possible because After will not be good. You needn’t tell me I’m a coward. I already know.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Will said. “I’m sorry for the things I said before.”
“Why? You were right. I’ve treated you abominably.”
“You have, yes. And you drank my Scotch.”
“That carried its own punishment.”
“But I don’t know what else you could have done, except bring your own booze. This is the stuff of nightmares. I’d have done no better in your place, and probably worse. And it is going to end horribly because there’s no way for it to end well, but I’m telling you now, that won’t be your fault.”
“Of course it will.”
“You need to stop that,” Will said. “Right now. You’ve got plenty to feel guilty about, but if learning her old man is a criminal mastermind hurts Phoebe, that’s his fault. What are you going to do, let him carry on regardless? Zodiac have killed people, blackmailed people, tortured people. They chained me up in a room for six days and for all I know I’d be there now if you hadn’t come to get me. Mrs. Appleby’s a harmless woman who’s been turned into a criminal. Leinster’s dead. If you can stop Capricorn, the only thing you should feel guilty for would be turning your back on what needs doing.”
“Ah, yes. One must always sacrifice love on the altar of duty.” Kim’s jaw was tense. “Because only duty matters. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.”
“Beaumont loves Mrs. Appleby. Someone probably loved Leinster.”
“But I don’t care about them. I’m sure I should, but I don’t. I’m going to put out the light in Phoebe’s eyes, and no matter whose fault it is, I’ll extinguish my own soul doing it.”
The Daimler purred on.
“Here’s the thing, though,” Will said after a while. “I told you Maisie was at Etchil an hour or two ago, and we’re in the car now, and you’re driving pretty fast. Why’s that?”
“Because I do not want a woman Waring doesn’t value in an isolated house with him as he works out how to best use her against me or you.”
“Right. And that’s not ‘duty’, that’s doing the right thing to stop an innocent woman getting hurt. Two innocent women, because do you think Phoebe would forgive herself if something happened to Maisie?”
“I know she wouldn’t. I know you’re right. I know.”
“You want to stop him. You’re doing your best. So how about you don’t hand him yet another weapon by loading yourself with so much guilt you can’t move under it? Bloody hell, Kim, I’ve killed more men than you ever will, and I’m not wandering about repenting at people. Do your damned job.”
There was a short silence.
“You really do have a way with words,” Kim said at last.
“Be dramatic on your day off. We’ve got to stop Waring doing anything to Maisie, and while we’re there we might as well find the evidence he’s Capricorn, right?”
“Easy as that?”
Will shrugged. “You seem to be pretty good at locks these days. Get into his study. Or tell him lies, that’s your area. Tell him you got more from Mrs. Skyrme than you did. Something.”
They drove in silence for a while. Will thought about the situation, going over what he knew, what he could do, what their chances were. It wasn’t pretty.
Kim pulled off the main road at Berkhampstead and onto a smaller road through fields, lined overhead with skeletal branches and the odd burst of pink blossom.
“Questions,” Will said. “First, are we going to have more trouble with that policeman?”
“No. I put my lawyers abreast of it, and more to the point told DS everything. This is very much the Private Bureau’s area of expertise.”
“Everything?” Will repeated. “You don’t mean us?”
“He doesn’t like not knowing things. Don’t worry about it.” Kim glanced over at what must have been a dumbfounded expression. “I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know or couldn’t have found out. The pressing issue here is a policeman on the Zodiac payroll, and Sergeant Thomas is currently being skinned like a rabbit. Don’t give it another thought. And the same for Fuller, by the way. It’s dealt with.”
That was something. “Thanks,” Will said. “Second, then: what are we going to do when we get there? Do I tell Maisie what’s going on? Get her out of there?”
“That is indeed the question. I was inclined to say we remove her from the situation at once, but I doubt that would go down well. All Waring has to do to make us look like fools is nothing, but if he chooses to hurt her, we’ll be heavily outnumbered. We’re on the back foot here.”
“That’s a good place to throw a punch from. How outnumbered?”
“I have to assume he’ll have staff in the know, ready to follow orders, but I don’t know how many. And there’s always Johnnie Cheveley.”
“Phoebe said he’d be there. You don’t think—”
“Oh, yes I do,” Kim said grimly. “He’s deep in Waring’s business and trying very hard to marry his daughter. If I were Waring, I wouldn’t have someone that close that I couldn’t trust.”
“Isn’t he meant to be a gentleman?”
“Heavens, yes. His father was an earl. Really, it seems noblesse doesn’t oblige anyone any more.” Kim gave a mirthless smile. “Cheveley’s family was cut off at the knees by death duties during the war, leaving him, as the youngest son, with nothing. He harbours a great deal of resentment about it. I have often wondered if Waring picked him up because they have such similar characters, actually. Entitlement, arrogance, and a sense of superiority that takes anything less than full submission as a personal affront.”
“He doesn’t have a tattoo.”
“No. Maybe he hasn’t been admitted to the inner circle, or maybe Waring is grooming him f
or the leadership in the future, although that argues a willingness to give away power that I don’t associate with him. Maybe upper-class members aren’t required to bear the brand. Or maybe I’m wrong, but I doubt it. We should consider him hostile until proven otherwise.”
“No problem there,” Will said. “All right, third question: what’s your aim for Waring? Arrest? A trial? Nasty accident?”
There was a long silence. Kim turned the car down a narrower lane.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Even if I had irrefutable evidence, he’s got the funds and the network to bribe and blackmail his way out of trouble. It would be extraordinarily difficult to make a case stick. This is why the Private Bureau is the one taking Zodiac on.”
“Because you don’t do things the legal way.”
“In a word.”
“Do you want him dead?” Will said bluntly. “I need to know.”
Kim grimaced. “Not at your hands. He’s Phoebe’s father and a viscount, and this is Hertfordshire, not the Wild West.”
“It feels like the Wild West.”
“The rules are certainly flexible from here on in. We’re going to have to improvise.”
“We did that before. We’ve done it a few times. I don’t know anyone I’d rather have in a tight spot than you.”
“That wasn’t the impression I had yesterday.” Kim spoke as if it were a joke, and maybe another time it could have been.
“All right, stop the car,” Will said. “Stop it.”
Kim brought the Daimler to a halt. Will glanced around. They were in a country lane, trees on either side, nobody in sight. He reached to cup Kim’s face, felt him tense.
“Listen. We’ve given each other a bit of a kicking over the last few months. You’ve been pretty foul to me sometimes, and I’ve said things that weren’t fair along with some that were. But I wouldn’t have bothered with any of it, wouldn’t have given a tinker’s curse, if you weren’t...” He wished he had words for what Kim was, the aching pain and the starlight, the beauty and the ugliness. “Do you know Lepanto?”
“The Chesterton poem?”
“There was a bit I was trying to remember when I was chained up in that bloody room. I looked it up afterwards. ‘Dim drums throbbing in the hills half heard, Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred, Where risen from a doubtful seat and half-attainted stall, The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall.’”
Kim’s lips parted. Will held his eyes, willing him to believe. “That’s you.”
“It truly isn’t.”
“The last knight. He’s got a bad reputation and maybe he deserves it, but he’s still taking up arms, fighting the battles other people don’t want because somebody’s got to do it. That’s what you make me think of—sometimes, anyway. That’s what I see, and I reckon it’s what Lord Waring is scared of.”
“You think he is?”
“If he’s not, he’s going to find out his mistake. I’m with you, Kim. I’m in this. Let’s get a war on.”
Kim stared at him, eyes wide, and Will didn’t even think. He just kissed him, hard, and felt Kim’s mouth responding desperately, hands clutching his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. Kissing in the open because nothing at all mattered at this moment but to know they were together. The rest could wait for later, if there was a later.
“Will,” Kim whispered at last, against his lips. “I don’t want to do this.”
“I know.”
“You’re with me?”
Will reached up for one of his hands and gripped it. “Right here. Not going anywhere.”
Kim’s shoulders heaved. “Thank you.”
They held on for a few silent seconds, drawing strength. “Come on, Lord Arthur,” Will said at last. “We’ve a battle to fight.”
Kim took a deep breath, straightening his back. “If I’m a knight, does that make you my squire?”
“Sod off.”
“Yeoman, then. You look like a yeoman.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“A horny-handed son of toil.”
“Did you say horny-handed?”
“I know your hands. If the cap fits...”
Will told him to sod off again. Kim started the car. They drove on, towards a reckoning.
Chapter Fifteen
Etchil wasn’t a palace along the lines of Althorp or Deene Park or suchlike, but it was impressive all the same. It was an old mansion in red brick with a lot of chimneys and windows, and they’d driven for a couple of minutes on a winding road through open grounds to get there. Nice for some.
Kim brought the Daimler to a halt and checked his wristwatch, which Will still found a rather silly affectation in a civilian. “Quarter past five. We’re here in time for cocktails, although it’s always time for cocktails. Hello, there.” He swung out of the car to greet a distinguished man in tails who had come to greet him. “How are you? I hope that trick elbow’s better. Sorry to spring extra guests on you at no notice.”
“It is of no import at all, Lord Arthur. My elbow is quite comfortable, thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. My pal, Will Darling.”
This must be his host. Will wasn’t entirely sure how to greet a viscount at all, let alone one who he knew to be a criminal. He extended a hand, and snatched it back when the man bowed instead, doing a good impression of not having seen it. “Welcome to Etchil, Mr. Darling. My name is Benson. Don’t hesitate to mention anything we can do to make you comfortable.”
Will shot a glance at Kim, who said, “Thank you, Benson. Where’s Phoebe?”
“In the Italian garden, I believe, Lord Arthur.”
“We’ll go through.”
He sauntered into the house. Will followed at his heels. “Who was that?” he muttered.
“Butler.”
“What about our bags?”
“They’ll be brought in.”
“They won’t unpack them, will they? I’ve got my—you know, in there.”
Kim swung on his heel to a man in livery who had apparently materialised out of nowhere to bring their luggage in. “By the way, just leave Darling’s bag in his room, will you? Thanks.”
Will would have added an excuse. Kim simply turned back and walked on. Clearly being a lord meant not having to justify yourself. That explained a lot.
The interior of the house was quite something. The great hall was stone-flagged and wood-panelled, with a gigantic fireplace topped with a stuffed stag’s head and a pair of muskets. There was a magnificent oak flight of stairs that plucked at Will’s long-dormant joinery experience, huge furniture, a big painting of a battle scene from the Napoleonic wars, all frothing horses and gunsmoke, some full-length portraits of people in olden-days clothes, and a lot of weaponry. There were no fewer than six sets of crossed swords, spears, and sabres on the walls, plus some tattered and faded military flags. Will attempted not to look like a day-tripper, gawping at the museum around him.
Kim led the way at a brisk trot through a panelled room that was mostly book-lined and another that was all cream wallpaper and paintings of horses, and into an airy sitting room with a glass-panelled door out to the gardens.
“Here we go,” he said, and opened the door.
He strode out. Will tagged along, shivering at the cold and wondering why anyone would stand around outside in a British mid-March. The answer came as Kim turned down a gravel path through a gate in an ivy-covered wall and into a walled garden that was about five degrees warmer thanks to a brazier. There were carved stone Roman masks on the pale yellow stone walls, a grapevine on wires overhead, and enough bushes and statues scattered around to give Will an idea of what this must be like in summer. He bet it would be beautiful.
The party seemed to be here: Maisie, Phoebe, Johnnie Cheveley, and a distinguished-looking older man, in tweed with a bit of a paunch. They all held champagne glasses and cigarettes.
“Hello, Fee,” Kim said.
Phoebe turned with
a shriek that set the other heads turning. Maisie nearly dropped her glass.
“Kim? Dearest, what on earth are you doing here? This is so utterly typical.” Phoebe gave him her gloved hands as she spoke. Kim kissed them both like a film actor. “And Will! How absolutely lovely. Was I expecting you both?”
“You were not,” Kim said. “But I got your father’s message.” He turned to the older man with a smile.
“Arthur, my boy.” Lord Waring held out a hand. “Good to see you.”
Kim shook the hand. “And this is my friend William Darling. Will, Lord Waring.”
Lord Waring turned and looked Will in the eyes.
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Something snakey, some reptilian air of cruelty or menacing look, something to advertise that this man was behind kidnapping, extortion, murder. What he got was a direct gaze of slow, deliberate assessment, and then a society smile. “Welcome to Etchil, Mr. Darling. A pleasure to have you here, having heard so much of you.”
“What message did you send Kim, Daddy?” Phoebe asked. There was a tiny line between her eyebrows.
“Why, I thought it would be pleasant to make a party of things, since we have Miss Jones,” Waring said. “And I have very much wanted a chat with Arthur. Come and see me once you’ve had a drink and a chance to dress, will you? A small thing to discuss before dinner. Bring your friend.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Excellent. John, give our guests a drink.”
Waring turned and strode off to the house. Cheveley said, “Good to meet you again, Darling. Bubbles?”
Will took the proffered champagne with a word of thanks and sipped it. The taste was far drier than he’d expected, almost biscuitty, and delicious. He had another sip.
“Lord Waring does us well with his cellar,” Cheveley remarked. “Don’t miss the brandy later. I think this is your first visit? You’ll find the house rather impressive, I suspect. Do ask the staff if you get lost.”
There was no sneer in his voice, just a warm, friendly effort to put Will at ease. It might have been the most patronising thing he’d ever heard. “Thanks,” he said. “Hey, Maisie, I fancy stretching my legs after that ride in the motor. Show me the grounds?”
