Ginger shrugged. “Well then. All right. Send a message to my mum—she can read. And write. When do we start?”
“Breakfast time, I assume,” Maurice cut in, his voice considerably less terrifying. “My brother has already started preparing it, if the egg on his shirtsleeves is anything to go by.” His eyes narrowed. “Or the egg on his friend’s collar.”
There was a moment of short, penetrating silence. Gabriel made sure to keep his back straight, fighting the urge to wilt under Maurice’s gaze.
“Well. These things aside...” Maurice’s tone had the faint, elegant swoop of a falling blade. “I have news. News which concerns you. When I say you, I mean—”
Caroline gently cleared her throat. “Ginger, I’m afraid I must ask you perform me a service—seeing as you’re clearly so strong.” She smiled at Ginger, who puffed his scrawny chest out with pride. “My ankle hurts terribly. Please could you help me walk to the sitting room? There is a sofa in there I can sit upon.”
“I’ll help you.” Gabriel said the words at the same time as both Edward and Maurice.
“But I want Ginger.” Caroline’s smile remained perfectly pleasant, but her eyes were expressive as usual. Let me remove the child from this very adult conversation, you dolts. “Do you mind? I can pay you for your services.”
“You’re a lady, miss. Ladies don’t pay.” Ginger offered his arm to Caroline, smiling as she carefully pretended to lean on it. “At least, not for the first trip.”
“A wise rule.” Hobbling down the corridor, her rueful eyes darting back to the group of gentlemen, Caroline was soon out of sight. Gabriel caught the disappointment in her final stare, feeling it curdle in his stomach.
“Well?” Gabriel turned back to Maurice, who was watching Caroline walk away with a surprising flash of wistfulness in his dark green eyes.
“I tracked down the jeweller. And his receipts for the past decade.” Maurice paused. “One of the last receipts in an ungodly pile of dubious accounting practices, but there it was. A receipt for the Madingley necklace, broken down into its constituent parts.” He pulled a tattered, ageing piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. “Look at the signature.”
Gabriel craned his neck to look at the scribbled mark. He could barely make out the name—but from Edward’s gasp, he knew it had to be important.
Leo Ridens. A strange name. A name that meant something in Latin.
“Laughing Lion.” He said it to himself, wondering. “Where does it come from, Caddonfell?”
“It comes from Edward’s...club. One of their group pseudonyms. It means that one of the Beasts helped the Duke of Sussex break up that necklace, and it means that they might know why.” Maurice sighed. “One of the original four. You know what that means.”
Gabriel looked at Edward. He was silent, his face white.
“It means I have to go to the Society. I have to look through the records. I know your feelings on the matter, but there’s nothing else for it. We can—”
“No.” The fury in Edward’s voice was swift and frightening. “Absolutely not.”
“Now is not the time for niceties, brother, and you know it.” Maurice exhaled sharply. “I have obeyed your whims regarding this matter for as long as it’s been expedient, but—”
“Let me make this extremely clear.” Edward’s finger trembled as he pointed it at Maurice. “Those men are under my protection. My insistence on their privacy is not a whim—it is, thanks to the sordid methods of men like you, a necessity. The only way you will get to the Society records is by walking over my dead body.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Maurice snapped. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I remember Adam Richardson. Perhaps you don’t.” Edward paused. “I remember his face when he saw the papers. The face of his wife—his wife, who had always known, and was his most dear and constant friend. I remember him fleeing London under cover of darkness, all alone, never to return—all because a blackmailer gained access to the headquarters under false pretences. A blackmailer involved in a ridiculous game of one-upmanship with you.” He sighed shakily. “I can never resist my particular temptations, and I know it’s a family trait. I’m not going to put you in a situation where you could betray me so utterly. And...and if one of the Society members can be proved to have done this thing, it’s my duty to uncover it.” He shook his head. “Even if I can’t believe it.”
“You cannot leave this house.” Maurice spoke slowly, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You put your life at risk if you leave this house. You are not going to the heart of London to search for incriminating evidence.”
“The lives of men who trust me are put at risk if anyone else goes. That is my final word, and you shall respect it.” Gabriel had never heard Edward sound so sure of himself. “I will go. I will disguise myself. And...and I will take someone with me, someone unknown, to help avoid suspicion. Someone strong enough to fight off attackers, if needs be.”
Gabriel didn’t understand the full import of Edward’s words until Maurice turned to face him, his expression dripping with disgust. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? No one knows him, and I’ll need a partner. A protector. A comrade.” Edward shook his head, clearly trying to find a correct word. “A person. I will need a person.”
A partner. A protector. Gabriel couldn’t believe it. Edward... Edward wanted him to help. Wanted him to be there.
He wasn’t pushing him away. If anything, he was drawing him closer.
“Not this person. Not him.” Maurice narrowed his eyes. “If you think I am going to let you go alone to London, with him, you have to be completely—”
“London?” Ginger’s thin, reedy voice filled the air as he ran back down the corridor, his gangly figure full of eagerness. “You’ll need a food-taster in London too. Mum says you can’t trust the grub there. Let me go with you—I’ve never seen London.” Ginger looked eagerly from Gabriel to Edward. “My mum was there when she were in service. Don’t tell her I’m going, though—she’ll have my hide.”
Maurice’s smile at this development was positively catlike. He looked gleefully at the oblivious Ginger, before turning back to Edward. “What a wonderful idea. No one will be expecting a child to travel with you—and we already know he’s a fast runner.” He folded his arms. “I don’t see how you could object. At all.”
Edward’s scowl said differently. The two brothers stared at one another, the tension growing between them—until, with an annoyed sigh, Gabriel stepped between them.
“No objections. Excellent idea.” He stared defiantly into Maurice’s cool gaze. “When do we leave?”
The slight curl at the corner of Maurice’s lips let Gabriel know that he’d scored a palpable if tiny hit. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Wonderful.” Gabriel stood his ground. “It’s going to be a successful trip.”
Turning on his heel, he began to walk towards Caroline’s room. He managed to exchange a single glance with Edward as he left him with Maurice—a glance that, while brief, managed to communicate all that lay in Edward’s expressive gaze.
Thank you for coming with me. Thank you for convincing him.
And what we just did downstairs? We’ll be doing that again.
* * *
Maurice only had time to scowl at his brother once more before Edward turned, stalking away in a huff. That left him and Ginger staring at one another in a silent corridor, the morning sun only just beginning to make itself felt on the richly patterned carpet.
Maurice looked at the boy, finding nothing to improve his mood. He would serve a useful purpose in London, acting as a foil to Edward’s more...impulsive tendencies, but apart from that he looked to be a waste of breath. Frightened eyes, raw cheeks, scrawny neck...
...and a small string of cheap red beads clutched in his fingers. A string of beads Maurice had last seen in Lady
Ploverdale’s hand, vanishing into the pocket of her apron.
Ginger had filched them. He probably didn’t even know he’d done it; there was a note of surprise in the boy’s eyes as he looked down at his own hand, then back up.
Unfortunately, ignorance meant very little to Maurice. With a rapid, snake-like movement, his hand caught hold of Ginger’s fist.
“Let me ask you something.” Maurice held the child’s fist lightly in his own. “The lady and gentlemen you have just met...they are good people. Some of them foolish, on occasion, but good. Now...do you think I am good?”
Ginger shook his head. He tried to twist away, but Maurice tightened his fist just enough to still his hand.
“Well done. That means you’re intelligent. It is a rare quality in adults, let alone children. And because you are intelligent, I know that you will listen extremely carefully to what I am going to say next.”
He lowered his voice. Ginger watched him, unblinking, waiting.
“Steal everything that you know should belong to you. Food, water, clothes, warmth...sun and shoes and all the plum pudding at Christmas you can.” Maurice smiled. “Life is cruel. It will not give you these things—you have to take them. Anything you need in this house, that you know should belong to you by right...take it. I will not stop you.” Maurice drew the boy closer. “But only the things that should belong to you. That are precious to you, and you alone. Now...is that string of beads precious to you, and you alone?”
Ginger shook his head. His eyes were beginning to fill with tears.
“Well done again. Those are precious to Lady Ploverdale. Not to you. She had them first, and wanted them first, and so they are not for you.” Maurice’s fist tightened again. “So you are going to go and put them back, without alerting her, and you are never to touch another thing she shows a preference for. Or you will make me angry.” He knelt down, looking into Ginger’s eyes. “You haven’t seen me angry. Would you like to?”
Another terrified shake of the head.
“Such wisdom in a boy so young. It gives me hope for the future. Now...go.” Maurice released the boy with a flick of his wrist, watching him run back to Caroline’s bedroom.
Smiling, he walked to a large cupboard that smelled of mothballs. Removing a slim, sharp piece of metal from his pocket, he picked the lock with neat efficiency. The cupboard doors swung open, revealing a piled assortment of childhood clothes and shoes.
Steal everything that you know should belong to you. Maurice believed that maxim with all his heart. He’d developed it as a child, watching his father pulling a plate of sweets away from his mother.
He had never found the courage necessary to go into this cupboard and start picking away at the pieces of a childhood better forgotten. He hoped Ginger started with a pair of shoes.
Chapter Thirty-One
The carriage set off at a brisk rattle, an anonymous, drab coach that had arrived in the middle of the night, and left five minutes after it. Gabriel still didn’t quite understand how Maurice procured items so very quickly—but he did know that the driver looked both sleepless and terrified.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching the early morning countryside flash past in the faint grey light of dawn. Ginger’s head lolled on his arm as the boy slept soundly, with what looked like a clean if second-hand pair of shoes on his feet.
Gabriel patted his waistcoat pocket, where the painstakingly written letter from Ginger’s mother rested. The letter was polite but cold, in the simply formed letters of a woman with barely any schooling; Ginger was permitted to stay at the house for as long as he was useful. Gabriel, respecting Ginger’s wishes, hadn’t mentioned London; the trip seemed so absurd in any case, an impossible gamble, that the fewer people who knew about it, the better.
He looked down at the boy, brooding. Ginger should have been noticed earlier. Gabriel prided himself on paying attention to all that occurred in Hardcote; poverty, even among people who shunned the church, was not to be tolerated. He let his arm settle on the boy’s shoulder, watching the child curl into a deeper sleep as the carriage slowly reached the outskirts of London.
“I have a question for you.” Edward’s voice was low. “Two, actually. The first is what you think of my hair.”
Gabriel smiled. He’d never known the first thing about the more laborious aspects of personal grooming—he’d always let his hair fall where it wanted, and shaved when he was becoming disreputable. Caroline, however, had known enough about the dyeing properties of every herb and flower in the Hardcote gardens to turn Edward’s hair an arresting shade of tawny brown—the dark stain of elderberries and the stink of burnt cork had clung to the bathroom for at least four hours.
As a disguise it worked surprisingly well. Add plain, ill-fitting clothes, and it turned him into the complete opposite of the blond, ballroom-dwelling creature in all the scandal sheets.
“Well?” Edward brushed a stray lock away from his eyes. “Do I look rough and workmanlike?”
Gabriel had to laugh, albeit quietly. “No. You look like a hedonist pirate. One who lounges in silk hammocks between raids.”
“Alas, my true self will always shine through.” Edward smiled ruefully. “A useless layabout.”
Gabriel leaned forward, making sure not to disturb the sleeping boy. “Something of a layabout, yes.” He whispered into Edward’s ear. “But a ravishing one.”
Edward’s answering smile warmed the air in the carriage by at least five degrees. Gabriel looked hungrily at his mouth, waiting for his response—knowing that it would inflame him, and lacking the moral rectitude to do anything about it.
He also didn’t wish to speak of anything more serious. Well, he did, but he knew that he wouldn’t get anywhere with Edward; the man was in one of his bright, brittle moods where any flicker of emotion was locked tightly away. The involvement of one of the Society members with the Duke of Sussex, even if unconnected to the later scandal, had to hurt Edward very deeply...but his friend seemed determined to say nothing about it.
Friend. That was another thing that needed discussing: exactly what that word meant. Gabriel had friends; none of his friends, true and constant as they were, gave him the deep, firework-thrill that thudded through his heart when he looked at Edward...
Edward’s voice was a silken purr. “Gabriel...who recently scandalised all respectable members of the ton by riding astride through Vauxhall Gardens?”
Perhaps this conversation was going to be a little less inflaming that he’d hoped. “What?”
“Come now, don’t tease. You heard me. Now...what was the question I just asked you?” Edward smiled a little wider, clearly enjoying Gabriel’s confusion. “Forgive me. Mind like a sieve.”
“What? Who...who scandalised the ton riding naked through Regent’s Park, I think.” Gabriel leaned forward. “Edward, are you all right? Do you feel unwell?”
“Not at all. It was Vauxhall Gardens—and astride, not naked. I can’t imagine why your head is full of nakedness, but I’ll be investigating later.” Edward bit his lip, and Gabriel found his head full of thoughts that couldn’t be spoken aloud. “One last time. What was the question I just asked you?”
“I—who scandalised all respectable members of the ton riding astride through Vauxhall Gardens?” Gabriel found himself growing obscurely worried. “Why is this relevant?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” Edward leaned forward, his lips deliciously close to Gabriel’s own. “You’ll see.”
With a sudden rush of air, of shattering noise and screeching wheels, Gabriel found himself being thrown bodily out of the carriage.
He scrabbled desperately for the door handle as the road rose up to meet him, mud splattering over his knees as he thudded against the cobblestones. “Hey!” He caught sight of Edward’s devilish smile—and Ginger’s confused face—as the carriage merrily clattered away. “You—Hey!”
Rising hurriedly to his feet, confused beyond measure, he stared at the drab London street he’d been thrown onto. It looked thoroughly anonymous in every respect, grey and worn in the early morning light—right down to the shabby shopfront currently housing his confused reflection.
The shabby shopfront with a firmly closed door. A firmly closed door, with a worn brass knocker...a knocker in the shape of a lion.
A laughing lion. Leo Ridens.
Gabriel pushed open the door, mildly surprised to find it opened easily, wondering what the infamous Society of Beasts would look like.
What would it be full of? Classical statuary? Antiquarian relics? Men in various states of undress, lounging around eating grapes?
Hats. Many, many hats.
The headquarters of the infamous Society of Beasts seemed to be...a somewhat disorderly milliner’s shop.
“I...” Gabriel looked at the packed shelves, finding nothing more than an increasingly showy array of unfashionable hats. “I... Is anyone here?”
He turned around. He appeared to be all alone.
Had he made a mistake? Gabriel looked at the dusty walls again, the grime-spattered floor, wondering what he had missed. It was this door, yes, and definitely this small, cramped room that he’d tumbled in front of...
“Sir? Do you require assistance?”
Gabriel jumped. A staidly dressed young woman sat in the corner of the room, sewing a flashy bundle of pheasant plumes onto a forest-green bonnet. She had been so silent, so still, that she had simply blended into the background.
He bowed hurriedly. “I... I fear I have lost my way.”
“I doubt that.” The woman spoke very precisely, her vowels considerably more aristocratic than Gabriel had expected. She was younger, too; there was something about her pale skin, her air of complete self-possession, that definitely suggested noble birth. “Men who find themselves here know exactly why they’re here.” She looked up, eyes frank and curious. “But they normally know the correct question to ask.”
The Vicar and the Rake (Society of Beasts) Page 14