A club member? Gabriel opened his mouth, closing it again when nothing useful came out.
“Oi!” The man’s shout rang through the building. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
Gabriel reached out a hand, dragging Ginger through the door by the scruff of his neck. Dropping the book, he turned to face a shocked-looking Edward.
“Time to go.” Gabriel swallowed. “Time to go, quickly.”
* * *
It had been a very long time since Gabriel had been forced to run anywhere. Pounding the cobblestones of London’s streets, outpaced by a fleet-footed Ginger and trailed by a panting, cursing Edward, he silently blamed himself for lifting heavy things instead of concentrating on speed. It had seemed logical in Hardcote, where more roofs needed fixing than races needed running...but here, being chased by ruffians, it was probably going to kill him.
Ruffians, plural. Three ruffians, to be precise—one of them, in the quick look that he managed to snatch, holding what looked like a weapon. A pistol, and a scowl that meant the swift and judicious use of said pistol on anyone guilty of trespassing.
“What did the man look like? You didn’t let me look at him!” Edward’s shouted plea was almost lost in the rush of hurrying feet. “Dark? Fair?”
“Fair! Like you, normally, but...less!” Gabriel concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, the street a panicked blur of trees and confused faces as they wheeled around a corner.
“Oh, good God.” Edward stopped, smiling. “That’ll be Lambert. We should turn back, and perhaps he’ll help—”
A shot ran out, and the colour drained from Edward’s face.
As the cries of passers-by split the air, Gabriel reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “We have to move. Now.” He sighed with relief as the anonymous black carriage they’d travelled in pulled up. Ginger stood atop it, a cream-bun still visible in his pocket, frantically beckoning the both of them. “Get in, and—”
Edward gripped his jacket, sharply moving him aside as a bullet whistled past his shoulder. Gabriel gasped at the sudden bloom of blood on Edward’s shirt.
Edward’s face was even more ashen than before.
“Must be Frakes.” His smile was ghastly. “He’s a good shot. Perhaps a little too good.” He stumbled, flinching, and Gabriel threw his arms around him. “Must tell him to...practice less...”
“Ginger!” Gabriel shouted, his throat hoarse, his heart suddenly beating far, far too fast as he bundled Edward into the carriage. “Get down here now!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Several hours later, Hardcote House lay in secretive darkness. Only at the kitchen windows, mullioned in swirled glass, did a few candles burn.
Gabriel stood in the kitchen doorway, blearily rubbing his eyes as the events of the day caught up with him. A cup of coffee, pushed into his hands by a determinedly expressionless Bryce, who had quickly bundled a curious Ginger off to the library with a plate of biscuits and a blanket, did less to clarify events than he had hoped. Buttons stared from the windowsill, his paws placed primly beneath him, gazing at everyone with an air of great offence.
Caroline sat silently in a chair, her ankle placed on a cushion, her hair in disarray. Maurice glared at the assembled company from two chairs away, impeccably dressed down to the look that Gabriel had begun to categorise as “quietly murderous.” At the head of the table was Edward, stubbled and defenceless with his shoulder bandaged, every inch of him radiating the rakish vulnerability that had Gabriel halfway between flying and falling...
And there, lounging at the table casually enough to be welcome guests, were three strangers—strangers to Gabriel, at least. Three men, tall and well made, one of them the blond man from the Society’s corridor, all of them talking with an intimacy that had begun to make him nervous.
The huge, tall man bristling with muscular energy, well, he could be the bear. The redheaded one could be the sable; he was sleek, a little too manicured for comfort. The one he had seen in the corridor, the one who looked a little like Edward...well, it seemed unlikely, but Gabriel supposed he had to be the wolf. Even though, if anything, the man’s determinedly pleasant expression made him seem a little more like a sheep.
The Society of Beasts. Infamous. Ignoble. And all of them, apparently, equal parts amused and irritated.
Which one had worked for the Duke of Sussex in the past? Would he admit his collaboration...and would he be able to give them a key to the man’s downfall?
“Well, we managed to give you a damn good chase in the carriage. Took us about an hour to realise who on earth you bastards were, of course—no one else would be going to Hardcote. And you can’t blame me for trying to shoot you, Caddonfell. That dark mop on your head made fools of all of us. And it’s only a flesh wound, anyway—I’d say the sling is exaggerating matters. Hardly more than a scratch. But was that display really all the defence you can muster?” The tallest one, whose rough, deeply lined face screamed soldier without even wearing a uniform, shook his head. “My grandmother could have seen us off with more spirit.”
“Come now, Frakes.” The blond, pleasant-faced gentleman smiled. “We’re not all as ready for war as you. We all know Lord Maurice prefers to fight with words. Preferably scandalous ones in torn envelopes.”
Maurice said nothing. His gaze flickered from Edward, to Gabriel, to the men, as if waiting for the first sign of weakness.
“He’d have trouble fighting with anything else here.” The tall, pale redhead who lounged in the kitchen chair like an indolent cat gestured to the assembled company. “Caddonfell has never been known to raise a fist in anger—although you probably should have fought off the barber with a little more spirit, given the atrocious colour of your hair. Bryce must be at least a little out of condition with all this lounging about in the countryside, and a lady of such clear quality would never stoop to gutter tactics...” His hazel eyes came to rest on Gabriel, and widened. “But then again, I could be mistaken. Apparently you’ve engaged a...woodcutter? Bricklayer?”
“The Reverend Sir Gabriel Winters.” Maurice spoke very flatly. “Vicar of Hardcote Parish. Sympathetic to our cause.”
“My.” The man took in Gabriel with frank, shameless interest. “Sunday service must be packed to the rafters. Have you heard about our little Society?”
“Enough, Hartley.” Edward’s irritated snap made Gabriel’s heart beat suddenly, painfully fast. Hartley, with a great show of reluctance, pulled his eyes away. “How the hell did you know to follow me here?”
“We were going to come here anyway, you dolt.” Frakes smiled. “Although it wasn’t our first idea, with Maurice here doing all but painting a great big French flag on your house in town. But Lambert had an inkling that all was not as it seemed.” He nodded to the easy-faced blond. “He remembered the last time you took in the French coast.”
Lambert shrugged. “It just seemed odd that you’d return there, when all you’d done for two months was complain about heat and flies and sullen-faced French men who barely had the energy to give a good—”
“—defence of Napoleon, or recipe for a good egg dish, or something else suitable for mixed company.” Hartley bowed to Caroline, who gave a weary nod in response. “It simply seemed odd. You’ve always said you’d prefer death to discomfort, Caddonfell. It’s one of the most admirable things about you.”
“So we put our heads together at the club,” Frakes continued, “and came up with a laundry list of places. Checked them all, too. It was only after we’d combed over every coffeehouse, tavern, bathhouse and molly-house in London that we began to think about your countryseat. Hartley wanted to check over the molly-houses once more, of course.”
Hartley gave an elegant shrug. “With Caddonfell in so much danger, I thought it wise to look again.” His gaze slid over to Gabriel for a brief, heavy-lidded instant. “I should have come here immediately.”
“And then you made things extremely easy by turning up, Caddonfell.” Frakes smiled. “Made the investigations a bit useless, but still. You always did have a somewhat performative sense of timing.”
“I wouldn’t blame yourself.” Hartley smiled smugly at Maurice, who raised a single, icy eyebrow. “No one knows your brother like we do. I’d say you’ve still got a good lead. A week or two, even.”
A long, silent moment passed as Maurice looked at Hartley. Gabriel had never seen a face so completely stony.
“Half of London has seen you and your associates pile into a carriage today and not come back. Half of the country, no doubt, has seen you on the road leading to Hardcote.” Maurice’s voice was cold as a tomb. “A week seems...ambitious.”
With a sudden scrape of his chair, Maurice rose. He bowed silently to Caroline, brushing past Gabriel with the faintest hint of a shudder as he left the room. Edward rose, his face anguished, as Caroline put a warning hand on his forearm.
“Let him go.” Her voice was subdued. “He feels as if he’s failed.”
Lambert looked at Gabriel, full of concern. “Has he been sleeping? He doesn’t look well at all.”
“We thought it would be fun for him, really. A little mental exercise.” Hartley looked at Bryce, who shrugged.
“You mean he hasn’t come up with a scheme yet?” A note of alarm crept into Frakes’s voice. “Nothing?”
“Not yet.” Caroline looked past Gabriel as if searching for Maurice’s retreating figure. “A hint of something, perhaps. A shade. But it turned out to be nothing, I think. Or something that will require more investigation, at least—which will take more time than we have.”
“Crikey.” Lambert sighed. “That’s a blow.”
“More than a blow.” Frakes pounded the table, making Caroline jump. “A bloody pistol hole.”
“Speaking of pistols.” Gabriel spoke carefully, not wanting to anger the man. “You caused something of a scene back there. One that might require explaining away—a difficult task, in Maurice’s absence from the capital.”
“What scene?” Frakes asked.
“You shot a pistol in the middle of the capital, in the middle of the day. Twice.”
“Oh, that.” Frakes waved his hand. “As soon as the busybodies know it was me, any hubbub will fade away in the night.”
“You really must read less edifying newsprint, vicar.” Hartley smiled, his grin hovering between gentle teasing and outright mockery. “Frakes is famous for his pistol. Always waving it about in places where it isn’t welcome.”
“Frakes has a little more public sympathy than the rest of us, thanks to what he did at Toulon,” Lambert said.
“Toulon?” Gabriel paused, years of carelessly read newsprint suddenly shining in his mind’s eye. The siege, and the wounding of Napoleon, had been the talk of England—as had the name of the brave soldier who had saved seven of his men from a burning fort. “I—Oh. You’re that Frakes. Captain Frakes.” He looked at Edward, who nodded with a slight smile. “What you did at Toulon was very heroic indeed.”
“I’ll say. Nearly crapped myself with fear for all of it, but I managed.” Frakes shrugged.
“On that note, sirs, I think it’s time that I take my leave.” Caroline rose gracefully, ignoring all muttered apologies with a steely smile. “A new plan must be devised, and quickly.” She looked at the assembled group, apparently not finding much to impress her. “You must attempt to puzzle out who Leo Ridens is, and think about how to find him.”
“What?” Frakes turned to Edward. “We’ve all been the Laughing Lion. What does that have to do with Sussex?”
“His Grace will explain.” Caroline turned to Edward, a new, slightly vulnerable look on her face. “And... I must offer my thanks, sir. My deep, sincere thanks.” She slowly curtseyed as both Gabriel and Edward looked at her, shocked. “Ginger has informed me you pulled my brother out of the path of the bullet. I... I can’t thank you enough.”
“Quite all right.” Edward attempted to smile, but it faltered before it could truly begin. “Instinct, really.”
“A good instinct.” Caroline’s voice was somewhat subdued. “I apologise for assuming you lacked them.”
As if aware of the gravity of the moment and attempting to lighten it, Buttons chose to yawn and mew at the same time. The strange, half-strangled sound brought a smile to everyone’s lips; Caroline curtseyed again, limping slightly, leaving the room with a single, vulnerable look into Gabriel’s eyes.
Gabriel could not recall his sister ever having made an apology to anyone so publicly. His first instinct was to ask Edward what on earth it could all mean; he paused, embarrassed, the presence of the Society keeping him tongue-tied.
“Well, this is something of a pickle.” Lambert spoke gently, sitting down beside Frakes. “I suppose it would be premature to ask about a strategy? A next move?”
Edward stretched, wincing at the movement; Gabriel fought the urge to go to him. “Maurice found evidence that one of the Society has had previous involvement with Sussex. Someone important enough to use our seal—in other words, one of the four of us. Given that my life appears to hang in the balance, I would much prefer it if one of you came clean now.” He stared at his friends; only Gabriel could see the tension that had filled his body. “I don’t care why or how he forced you to do the dirty work of breaking down the Madingley diamonds. I just want to know why he had to do it, so Maurice can begin one of his intrigues.”
The silence around the table was deafening. Eventually the quiet was broken by Hartley, who leaned forward with a raised eyebrow.
“Well. I certainly don’t recall having undertaken some sort of illicit enterprise with a man who has more or less openly loathed the existence of anyone even slightly different to himself for the entirety of his public life. I do not think Frakes or Lambert have either.” He looked at the other two Beasts, whose shocked expressions seemed to confirm what he had said. “I think we would remember if we had. What seems more likely is that one of the lesser Beasts stole our seal and has used it to make mischief.”
“We could make a list of those we suspect.” Lambert nodded gravely. “I have a few names in mind.”
Edward paused, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “In that case, I have two courses of action. I can run away to the Continent at the first opportunity, and live a life of hedonistic indulgence in some anonymous boarding-house until I die of syphilis.” He rolled his eyes. “That would certainly be easy. Or I could remain here, until I find out who did the dirty work for the Duke of Sussex—and then successfully blackmail him into leaving me alone. A difficult, dangerous and thoroughly dull series of problems and solutions, very possibly resulting in my death.” He shrugged, wincing again. “Perhaps I should begin paying my passage to France. Or Italy—I would do well in Italy.”
Even as a joke, Edward’s words rankled Gabriel. Edward couldn’t do it—run away. He simply couldn’t, not after all they had done to keep him safe already. He couldn’t discard his friends, his family...him.
I don’t keep my fencing sabre with me after an hour spent fencing. He thought he could recognise Edward’s reflexive cruelty by now, the barbs he threw out, to avoid anyone getting close.
“As tempting as another country always seems, when fleeing one’s ills, I think escaping now would be even more difficult and dangerous than it was a week ago.” Lambert sighed. “The duke will find out soon enough that you’re not in France—he’ll have men guarding the ports.”
“There are other places you could go. Under cover of darkness.” Hartley paused. “Any of the lesser Beasts would be more than happy to house you.”
“And have them be thrown into danger? No.” Edward sounded stronger now, more sure of himself. “I will stay here. I will make an ending of this here. Not run all over the country like a frightened rabbit.”
Hartley raised an eyebrow. “You ran away once.”
“Yes. I was being cautious—but cautiousness can become cowardice.” Edward’s eyes briefly met Gabriel’s; he could see what this show of bravery was costing him. “This cannot continue indefinitely. I will stay here, and try to puzzle out the mess.”
“We.” Frakes folded his arms. “We will solve this together. You don’t half talk a lot of bollocks, Caddonfell—you need your men around you at a time like this.” He looked at the others. “Well?”
“Of course.” Lambert nodded. “I will stay. Hartley?”
“I wouldn’t leave if you begged me to. I’m astonished I’m actually seeing this place. Lord knows why you never speak of it.” Hartley looked at Gabriel. “The local attractions are astonishing.”
Gabriel looked at Edward, expecting to be rescued from embarrassment, but Edward seemed briefly lost to the world. He sat silently, his gaze solemn, taken over by the helplessness that seemed to engulf him whenever the world set obstacles in his path.
“Well then, Beasts.” Frakes stood, scowling. “We stay here, keep low, and hash this bloody thing out. With a bullet saved for the bastard who stole our seal.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The evening was quiet, subdued, although curiously positive in spirit. Despite the desperate situation, the Society of Beasts seemed cheerful—and Gabriel, although a worrier by nature, found himself swept up in the strange camaraderie. Frakes, Lambert and Hartley seemed so accustomed to scandal, to danger in all its forms, that being sequestered in a country house until further notice was practically a normal occurrence.
The Vicar and the Rake (Society of Beasts) Page 17