“Name’s Charlie. What’s yours?”
“Callum.”
He could have made mention that he was Sir Callum Sharp, or even Baron Sharp, but from the dirty rags which Charlie wore, Callum doubted the man would care if he told him he was the Prince Regent.
Callum nodded toward the violin. “Do you play?”
Charlie lifted the instrument to his shoulder and a scratchy sound broke the eerie morning silence of the graveyard. The notes were rough, but he played with such confidence that it almost made his lack of musical ability redundant.
When Charlie had finished the tune, he set the violin back down. “Never had a lesson in my life, but I used to follow a bloke who could play. I watched and I learned enough to get by.” Charlie reached down and picked up a bottle and took a long swig from it before offering it to Callum. “You look like you could do wiv another drink.”
Callum took one step toward him then stopped. Another drink?
“What do you mean?”
“When I saw you come back into Bunhill Fields late last night, you were well and truly rolling drunk. I was surprised you got down those steps without breaking your bloody neck,” replied Charlie.
Callum suddenly remembered kicking the bottle in the dark of the crypt. Then his mind began to fill in the rest of the blanks.
After Eliza had left, he had wandered the cemetery for several hours, lost in his grief. The overwhelming need for a drink of alcohol had led him out into the nearby streets where he had purchased two bottles of gin. Returning to Bunhill, he had sat on an old, broken headstone and drank them both dry.
Little wonder he felt so shabby. And ashamed.
He had promised to go to Follett House and bring Eliza home. But in his current condition, he could not face her.
Charlie offered the bottle to Callum a second time. Callum waved in refusal. “No thanks. I shouldn’t have had anything to drink yesterday. In fact, I shouldn’t be drinking at all.”
The look he got in response was not encouraging. Charlie clearly didn’t believe that Callum had any real regrets over his drinking.
“Your loss. Though I was hoping you might buy me a spot of grub in exchange for some of me gin,” said Charlie.
Callum dipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out some coins. He quickly counted them. “I think we can manage that, but I don’t know this area very well. You will have to show me where we can get food.”
Charlie hurriedly tucked his violin and bow under his arm. Then, with more vigor than his looks suggested he was capable of, he leapt up from the headstone and raced over to where Callum stood. “I thought you’d never ask.”
It was late afternoon before Callum and Charlie finally made their way back to Bunhill Fields. Callum was torn between going home and seeing Eliza and spending time with the cranky old musician who lived in the cemetery.
He should go home, but something told him he needed to be here today. That meeting Charlie was not just a pure coincidence. There was a sense of destiny about it.
At the entrance to his family crypt, they sat down. Charlie pulled out his bottle of gin and took a long sip. Callum was pleased when he didn’t bother to offer him any.
“So, why are you here?” asked Charlie.
“I told you. I buried my father here yesterday,” replied Callum.
Charlie huffed. “Yes, but why are you still here?”
Callum shrugged. Apart from waiting for his hangover to clear, he wasn’t sure himself. It just seemed to be the place he had to be right now. The obvious answer, of course, would be that he didn’t want to leave his father. He had considered that but was still not convinced that was the real reason why.
Charlie set the gin bottle between his knees. He squinted in the sunlight as he looked up at Callum. “I think you’re here because you are looking for answers. And I can tell you this now: you won’t find them at the bottom of a bottle. I should know. I’ve been to the bottom of enough of ’em.”
Callum studied the wizened old Charlie for a minute before getting to his feet and glancing back at the Sharp family crypt. Something told him he would not also find the answers he was seeking in the cold, dark tomb of his forebears. “I need to walk.”
He set off in the opposite direction from the main gate, wandering in and out of headstones for the rest of the afternoon. The cemetery covered a large area and there were thousands upon thousands of graves.
At one point, he rested next to the grave of Daniel Defoe, the author of Robinson Crusoe, feeling himself very much a man marooned on an island.
As darkness settled once more over the graves, from the distance came the screeching noise of Charlie and his violin.
“He does love his music.”
As did you not that long ago. You held the heart of music in your soul, but you let it go.
In his struggles with addiction, he had given up those things which brought him joy. He had even attempted to rid himself of Eliza, his beautiful, stubborn wife. Thank God she hadn’t let him.
Losing his father was a trial he would have to endure. He had no say in it; grief would be a burden to bear. What he did have was the choice to embrace life again, to find delight in music, friends—all the things that would balance the light and dark within.
Callum got to his feet and dusted off his coat. Charlie had been right; he had come to Bunhill Fields seeking answers. In the middle of all these long-lost souls, he might just have found some.
In the gathering dark, he slowly made his way back to the Sharp family crypt, following the sound of Charlie’s violin. When he finally found Charlie, he greeted him with a smile.
“How was your journey through the graves?” asked Charlie.
“Enlightening. Though unfortunately, I couldn’t quite get out of earshot of your playing. I will make you a deal.”
He shot Charlie a cheeky wink and mustered a small smile. He liked the old man, sensing a kindred spirit.
“You put your violin away for the rest of evening, and I will buy you a hot supper and a new blanket.”
Chapter Forty-One
Callum woke for the second morning in the crypt. Today, he was sober, and ready to go home. He and Charlie had talked late into the early hours and he’d felt compelled to stay in the cemetery one more night and learn all he could from the old man and his hard life.
He spent a few minutes in silent contemplation of his father before placing his hand on the marble of Sir Thomas’s grave. “Thank you for all you gave me. I promise I will make you proud. I love you, Papa.”
Climbing out into the early morning sunshine, he winced and covered his eyes. It took a minute for him to become used to the brightness.
On a nearby flattened headstone, Charlie slept under his new thick woolen blanket. There were plenty of crypts that he could sleep in, but he was adamant that there would be only one time he went below ground—when he was finally laid to rest.
He shook Charlie’s shoulder, but the old man simply rolled over and turned his back to him. Callum lifted the blanket and covered him up. Wearing the new coat and leather boots Callum had bought for him the previous evening, the old man was sleeping warm and well.
Callum put his hand into his pocket and pulled out all his coins. He tucked them under the old man’s blanket and whispered, “Thou fair hair'd angel of the evening.”
He headed for the front gate of the cemetery. As he neared the entrance, a black carriage drew up. He recognized the Follett family coat of arms on its side and he hurried toward it.
Reid stepped down and immediately made his way over. “Thank God you are alive.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, you bloody fool. Your wife is worried sick, as are the rest of us.”
Callum snorted. “I didn’t think you gave a damn about me.”
“Of course, I care about you. I always have. I am absolutely devastated over your father; he was a great man. I am so sorry, Callum,” said Reid.
“Thank you.”
“You must know I never opposed you marrying Eliza out of any sense of spite. I was always trying to save my sister.”
“Eliza told me the truth about your parents, and it has put a lot of things into perspective. But it also made me more determined than ever not to have her suffer a similar fate to that of your mother. I will do everything I can to stay sober.”
Reid sighed. “You know that I have heard those sorts of words before?”
“Yes, you have.” Callum glanced at his coat and brushed a stray cobweb off its sleeve. He pulled his shoulders back and met Reid’s gaze. “But as my wife says, I am not your father.”
“You say you are not my father, but I am yet to see you behave any different from him.”
Callum nodded. It was true. “I think I am different, but I also know that all addicts hold that opinion of themselves. And I was exactly the same, until Eliza made me realize that I am an addict. I will always be one; and yet she still loves me, still wants me. And I will spend the rest of my life fighting my addictions and doing everything I can to keep her. Not just for her sake, but for mine.”
Reid met his gaze. He still looked skeptical, but Callum understood that was to be expected. It would take time for his brother-in-law to be convinced that he was serious about his ongoing recovery.
“What can I do to help?” replied Reid, stepping forward and offering his hand. They shook hands, a fragile peace established.
No one could stop him from falling back into bad habits—only he could do that—but Reid and their friends did hold one key to Callum’s recovery. The Noble Lords.
Cranky old Charlie had not only opened his eyes to the possibility that he really could change his life and have what he wanted, but that the path to his future would be made easier if he came back to his first love: music.
“Let me rehearse with the Noble Lords. I promise I will be sober. The first time I turn up with even the hint of alcohol on my breath, you can turn me away and I won’t ever come back.”
“The Noble Lords mean that much to you?”
Callum nodded. “Yes, all of you and the music. I understand why you voted me out of the group, but I would like the chance to at least sit in on your practice sessions. I just want to be able to play music again.”
“Let me talk with the others. In the meantime, will you please come back to Follett House with me? I promised Eliza I would bring you home. If we leave now, you can wake her and then come join the rest of us for a hearty breakfast.”
Callum smiled. Seeing Eliza and holding her in his arms again would be a joy.
He turned and gave the cemetery one last look.
God bless you, Charlie.
Chapter Forty-Two
Callum leaned over and planted a long, not-so-chaste kiss on Eliza’s lips. When he pulled away, her cheeks were rosy red.
“What if the servants see?” she said.
He shrugged before kissing her again.
Hand in hand, they walked into the ballroom, Eliza giving him one last smile before heading over to sit in one of the chairs near the fireplace.
Callum continued on, flute case tucked under his arm, and took the seat next to Marco. Owen and Reid gave him a small nod. Kendal added a flourish on the piano.
“Good morning,” said Callum, reaching out a hand to Marco, who accepted it with a smile.
And it was a good morning.
Callum had been sober for ten days straight. Mornings were becoming something he looked forward to now. The fact that he was waking up beside Eliza and sharing those early hours with her had a major bearing on his mood. That, and the late nights when they sat up and simply talked through things, had brought a calmness to his mind he had long missed.
The pain of his father’s loss still simmered close to the surface and there were times when he had to go and have a quiet cry. But he was taking each day as it came— it would be what his father would have wanted.
Yesterday morning at breakfast, Reid had invited Callum to come and rehearse with the others. Eliza had mouthed a silent “thank you” to her brother.
Callum opened the case and took out his flute. As he put it to his lips, Marco nodded and picked up his piccolo. The opening strains of Vivaldi’s “Winter” from The Four Seasons soon filled the room. He and Marco had discussed their plans to play the piece over a pot of peppermint tea the previous evening. Marco, it turned out, was not that much of a drinker, only occasionally indulging in the odd glass of wine.
Kendal soon joined them on the piano, followed by Owen with his violin. Out of the corner of his eye, Callum saw Reid get up from his chair and go to sit with Eliza. After a few minutes of them talking quietly together, Eliza rose from her seat and departed the room.
When the music finally ended, Reid came back to the group. Kendal left his place at the piano and joined them.
“Would you like me to leave?” asked Marco.
“No, this concerns you as well. Reid has something to say to Callum on behalf of the rest of us,” said Owen.
Callum set his flute calmly on his lap. Whatever Reid had to say he would accept it with good grace.
Reid cleared his throat. “I want to apologize to you, Callum. We were supposed to be your friends, but we failed you. I . . . in particular failed you.”
Callum sucked in a ragged breath as tears threatened. He hadn’t expected this from them, especially not Reid.
“From the time I sent you on that mission during Waterloo, I have let you down. I stood in judgement of you based on my history and prejudices. When what I should have done was to try and help.”
Callum wiped away the tears with the heel of his hand but let the next lot fall as Owen gathered him up in a brotherly hug. Kendal patted him on the back, while Marco whispered, “Miei amici.”
“Oh, you caught me unawares. You bastards. Here I am, crying like a child,” said Callum.
“I call for a vote. Those in favor of Callum coming back to the Noble Lords raise your hand,” said Owen.
Callum looked at his friends. Every hand, including Marco’s, was held up high.
Reid smiled. “Welcome back, Callum.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Eliza woke to warm kisses on her cheeks. She giggled when Callum nibbled on her earlobe, but she didn’t stop him.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She rolled onto her back and found him smiling as he leaned over her. She grinned up at him. She would never get tired of his smile. Callum also laughed more these days than he had in a long time.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“The sun is up, and the cock has crowed. That is all you need to know, my love,” he replied.
He shifted back on the bed and Eliza sat up. It was only when she was upright that she caught sight of the case in his hand. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked at it again.
“Is that my old violin case?”
“Yes.” He opened the case and after taking out the violin and bow, he offered them to her. “I got these from Reid last week. I have had the strings on the violin replaced and hairs on the bow changed. Owen graciously tuned it.”
Eliza hadn’t played the violin since before the death of her parents some ten years past; she wasn’t sure if she could remember how to even hold one. “Why?” she asked.
“Because you need to play again. I have seen how your gaze follows the bow when Owen is practicing, and the funny little way the fingers of your left hand mimic the moves over the strings.”
Do I?
She hadn’t even noticed she was doing it. How odd.
“Owen has offered to give you lessons each day to get you back to your old form,” he said.
Eliza put the violin under her chin. The familiar smell of oil and rosin drifted to her nose. She settled the bow on the strings before pulling it across.
A sound like a cat being squished filled the room. Callum winced and quickly relieved her of the violin, setting it down on the bedside ta
ble. “I see you will be needing lessons twice daily,” he said.
“I knew I would be terrible at it,” she replied.
He put an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Eliza’s fingers slipped beneath the blankets and she took a firm hold of his cock. Callum groaned.
“Mind you, there are some things I am quite good at, but even they require daily practice,” she purred.
He brushed her bed-tussled hair back from her face and kissed her lips. Then he deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Eliza loved waking beside Callum, but she especially loved it when he took command of her body.
Callum was putting more sober days together. He made a point of never coming to bed inebriated, for which he was always rewarded. There were still times when he faltered and drank, but with the support of his friends and family, he was slowly getting his life back under control.
Eliza smiled at her husband as he rose over her and settled between her thighs. The morning sun shone on his fair hair and it gleamed.
“How do you want it this morning, Lady Sharp?” he asked, pushing into her body.
She arched her back and gave him a wicked smile. “Hard, deep, and repeatedly.”
As he began to thrust into her body, Eliza sighed.
It was good to be alive.
Epilogue
“I feel like Marco Polo heading for the mysterious east,” said Amelia, leading Eliza, and Lavinia in the front door of Follett House. Behind them trailed a small army of footmen carrying all manner of boxes and parcels.
Eliza grinned. “I don’t think Manchester is that exotic. Besides, our Marco has already been there.”
The three women were returning from a long day of shopping in central London in readiness for the northern leg of the Noble Lords’ tour of England. Manchester was first, followed by Liverpool.
The agent Kendal had employed to hunt down Marco’s old manager had sent word that the blackguard who had stolen all of Marco and his cousins’ money was now in Manchester. With the support of the other Noble Lords, Marco intended to use their visit to the northern city to finally mete out some timely justice.
Callum: Regency Rockstars Page 22
