Band Sinister

by KJ Charles

  “Not even if he wants you to?” Corvin gave him a sideways look. “You might be his only opportunity, you know.”

  “I’m not a charitable institution for the relief of frustration,” Philip said. “And some people consider their moral principles more important than the call of their pricks, Corvin.”

  “Moral principles,” John muttered. “Moral cowardice, more like.”

  “For God’s sake, let him alone,” Philip snapped. “It’s all very well for us, isn’t it? It was certainly very well for me, with you two to show me the ropes and a title falling into my hands. I grew up armoured against all the things he fears, the stones the world throws at one, and he didn’t, so I’m not going to call him a coward for flinching. And nor, my friend, are you.”

  John had his hands and his eyebrows raised high. “Fine. I hear you. I take it back.”

  Corvin didn’t comment. He did, however, interlace his fingers behind his head and begin whistling. His musical skills did not match his appreciation of the art, and it took a moment for Philip to identify the tune as “Love Will Find Out the Way.”

  He told Corvin to sod off. It didn’t relieve his feelings at all.

  GUY WAS HIDING WITH his sister again the next morning. Philip found things to do in the study—this was not at all the same as lying in wait, despite John’s sarcastic comments on the subject—and caught his guest as he emerged into the corridor.

  “Guy. Marvellous. I wondered if you might introduce me to your sister today. I feel entirely remiss in my duties as a host.”

  That was, as intended, impossible to refuse. Guy begged a half-hour’s grace, manfully meeting Philip’s gaze as he did it, and alerted Miss Frisby to an impending visitor, and very soon Philip was once again in the sickroom with Amanda and Guy Frisby.

  Miss Frisby awake proved to be a very vibrant individual. Like her brother, her features were by themselves no more than moderately pleasing to the eye; it was animation that made her attractive, and she was very animated indeed. She had darkish brown hair, simply dressed, sparkling brown eyes to Guy’s hazel, and a generously plump form of the sort that both John and Corvin liked, and she was scanning Philip with fascinated examination. He had a vague feeling she might take notes at any moment.

  Guy made the introductions with an understandable stiffness. Philip bowed over her hand. “Miss Frisby. A belated welcome to Rookwood Hall, and please accept my sympathy for the circumstances of your visit.”

  “Thank you. And I am terribly sorry for trespassing on your land, and now invading your house so. I dare say you may think I had my just deserts.”

  She had her splinted leg attached to a block, which was in turn attached to two bricks hanging off the end of the bed. It looked excruciating. “On the contrary,” Philip said. “I can only apologise for whatever it was that caused your horse to throw you. I shall order the rabbit holes filled at once.”

  “It was a squirrel. Bluebell was startled.”

  “In that case, I shall have them all shot.”

  Miss Frisby gurgled with laughter, to his satisfaction. “Please don’t. The poor squirrels, and poor Bluebell. I was so glad she wasn’t harmed. Quite seriously, Sir Philip, Guy told me not to overwhelm you with thanks, but I am very sorry, and very grateful for your hospitality, to me and to my brother. Dr. Martelo tells me we will be imposing on you for an absurd length of time, and I feel terribly awkward to spoil your party.”

  “Parties can be repaired more easily than bones,” Philip said. “Don’t give it another thought. Speaking of the doctor, he has advised me at length, as is his wont, about the need to keep your spirits up in the face of whatever Gothic tortures he’s inflicting on you.” Amanda gave a startled yelp of laughter that sounded almost alarmed. Guy went instantly red. Philip scanned the sentence for indecency, couldn’t detect anything that would bring a blush to a reasonable cheek, and gave a mental shrug. “Is there anything I can provide—?”

  “Oh, not at all!” Amanda said earnestly. “Mr. Street and Mr. Salcombe have been telling me the most wonderful things about rocks and—what’s the word?—fossilised things. Animals in stone, you know. It’s given me the most marvellous ideas for— That is, it’s wonderfully interesting. And Mr. Caulfield played the violin for me and explained how it works, and Dr. Martelo is telling me all about medicine, and Lisbon, and his travels, and really, breaking my leg has been the most fascinating time I’ve had in years.”

  Philip threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Frisby, you may have hit on the answer for reluctant scholars.”

  “If you’re suggesting we should break schoolboys’ legs to make them attend...” Guy said, then paused with a comical look of consideration that sent Amanda into a fit of gurgling and made Philip laugh again.

  He stayed for half an hour, thoroughly enjoying himself, although aware of the maid’s disapproving presence in the corner. Amanda Frisby was a joy in herself, but it was her effect on Guy that Philip liked most. After his initial wary guard-dog hackles had flattened, he’d relaxed in her presence, joking and laughing, his changeable eyes bright with pleasure. That was delightful to watch, and Philip knew an urge to see if he could elicit the same unselfconscious enjoyment, but there was something else too, something that underlay every interaction of the pair.

  Guy loved his sister. It was as simple and complex as that. Guy loved his sister overwhelmingly, and Amanda Frisby was bright and confident and happy in the way people were when they had never doubted in their hearts that they were loved. In the way, in fact, her older brother was not.

  Guy had given her that certainty. Philip was sure of it, and the knowledge felt like a clenched fist in his chest.

  He bowed out reluctantly after that half-hour, promising to visit again and to order her a selection of novels and periodicals. Guy stayed with her, but emerged for luncheon, and Philip caught him in the hallway after they’d eaten, and when he didn’t feel irritatingly aware of Corvin and John’s carefully neutral expressions.

  “I am quite sure it’s time for your mandated fresh air,” he said. “David will have your hide otherwise.”

  “I thought I’d go for a proper tramp,” Guy said. “Up to the Gallows Oak, perhaps.”

  Philip had no idea what that was. “Perfect. I feel like stretching my legs myself. I shall join you.”

  “It will probably be very stony.” Guy shot a look down at Philip’s Hessians, which were well polished and had rather pleasing tassels. “And thorny. And it’s a good four miles each way.”

  “I detect a challenge,” Philip said. “Wait for me while I change.”

  “Uh—”

  “Even better, there’s John. Introduce him to Miss Frisby, would you? David has insisted she be kept amused and entertained.” He gave John an assessing look, then shrugged. “Needs must. I suppose you could talk about drawing.”

  John responded in equally uncomplimentary fashion, but took Guy off to make the introductions. Philip changed, reflecting he’d managed that rather neatly, and set off with Guy in his second-best boots, feeling as close to a countryman as ever he did, which was not greatly.

  It was a lovely day for a walk. The early summer sunshine was warm but not oppressive, there was a breeze, and the shady lanes of Yarlcote were shot with green and gold light.

  “What is this Gallows Tree to which we head?” Philip asked after a few moments of nothing but birdsong and the scuff of feet. “It sounds rather gloomy for such a pleasant afternoon.”

  “It’s just a tree on a hill. Very good for climbing, for children, and you get a wonderful view.”

  “And the name?”

  “We used to hang people from it, or so they say, but that was stopped years ago.”

  “I am relieved. Any particular reason?”

  “Well, it’s hardly proper legal procedure. Oh, you mean, what were they hanged for? Terrible bloody murders and highway robbery, that sort of thing. Or at least, that’s what I think, but you know how children invent things to scare one ano
ther. I told Amanda any number of ghastly tales. We used to sit in the branches with apples and a hunk of bread and I’d make up stories for her, until she was old enough to make up stories for me. Hers were far worse. She gave me nightmares once. I woke up screaming and babbling about Rawhead and Bloody Bones, and Nurse wanted to know where I’d heard such a thing, and I was too embarrassed to say my eight-year-old sister had scared the daylights out of me. She has always had the most lurid imagination.” His lips were curved in a smile that Philip would bet he didn’t realise he was wearing.

  “Miss Frisby is a remarkable young lady,” Philip observed. “She’s better company with a broken leg than most people in full health.”

  “Thank you,” Guy said. “She is, isn’t she? I—well, she’s the best sister a man could ask for. I’m awfully proud of her.”

  “I can see why. She has a lively mind, intellectual curiosity, a great deal of charm, and courage on top of all. She reminds me very much of you.”

  Guy’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard. I mean— Why does she remind me of you? I mean, you of me?”

  Philip counted on his fingers. “Lively mind, intellect, charm, courage. I think that was all.”

  Guy shook his head. “That’s not like me.”

  “It’s very like you. The difference is, I suspect, that Miss Frisby grew up with an older brother to cherish and protect her from the world’s blows, and you did not. It makes a great difference when one is shielded from these things, as I know; it made all the difference in the world when I came to live with Corvin. I don’t know how it is to be the one doing the shielding: I never had to do that. But I do know that it wears one down when one’s life is at the mercy of people who ignore their responsibilities.”

  He was guessing; Guy’s long silence told him he’d guessed right. Philip glanced over, saw the man had his face averted, and looked away. If they were really going to walk eight miles in total to see a tree, he had time.

  “It does rather,” Guy said at last, sounding stifled. “I don’t know why we’re talking about me. There are surely more interesting subjects.”

  “You interest me.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so. I didn’t really expect a Rookwood to be kind—uh—”

  “Quite. No, don’t apologise, there’s really no need.”

  “I am sorry, though,” Guy said. “The accidental remarks are almost as bad as the deliberate ones. I had a friend at school who would say things like, ‘Does your mother know you’re out?’—just jokes, you know, but he’d look at me and apologise every time, and it rubs rather.”

  “We were in a gambling hell of the worst sort once,” Philip said reminiscently. “A filthy hole, full of sharps. There was a fellow there with a gentleman’s birth and upbringing, if not manners. He swore continually, and every time he called someone a bastard he looked over at me, winked, and said, ‘No offence.’ He did it perhaps four times. On the fifth occasion, Corvin leaned forward, said, ‘No offence to you either,’ and threw a full glass of gin in his face.”

  Guy gaped. “Was that when—you know?”

  “Good God, no, it wasn’t a killing matter. He leapt up to take Corvin by the throat, reasonably enough, so John punched him in the head, which brought the conversation to an end, and the doormen dragged him out by the heels.”

  “Oh. That’s, uh...”

  Philip grinned. “I can’t have shocked you. We are the Murder, after all.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather got used to the idea that you and your friends aren’t the disreputable set everyone says.”

  “Oh, I think we’re disreputable by most standards. I don’t think we’re wicked, but public opinion doesn’t pay much attention to that.”

  “It’s unfair.”

  “Not in our case. We’ve cultivated public perception like a rare orchid.”

  “I don’t understand why,” Guy said. “That is, I suppose I understand that you don’t care to win good opinions, but why would you deliberately court bad ones?”

  “Well, Corvin enjoys the attention, and it’s been of immense professional help to John. It’s something of a dogfight for anyone to succeed in his line of work. His dubious aristocratic connections and the whiff of brimstone gave him an edge, which his talent for excoriating humour turned into a blade. As for me, I find Society’s cold shoulder saves a great deal of time. It keeps matchmakers at a distance, and I prefer to socialise with people who are either like-minded or open-minded.”

  “I’m not sure I’m either of those things.”

  “You saw me with Corvin, and didn’t run to the nearest magistrate to demand the full force of the law.”

  “I might have done, though. Shouldn’t you be more careful?”

  “I am,” Philip said. “I don’t let judgemental, narrow-souled, ignorant people over my threshold. And if I had found myself afflicted with one in your person, I assure you I’d have...” He considered. “Probably locked the door.”

  Guy made a strangled noise. “You could be arrested! Does that not bother you?”

  “In terms of the risk and inconvenience, yes. As a point of moral principle, no. I see no crime in doing as I please with my own body. If it was good enough for the Greeks, the Romans, and the Spartans, it’s good enough for me.”

  Guy opened his mouth, stopped, and held up a finger, asking for thinking time. Philip let him think, strolling on down the lane. They’d emerged from the shade and the sun was bright, the gentle rise of the landscape around them very green. Philip had travelled the far more dramatic landscapes of Europe: mountains, valleys, forests, and foaming rivers, operatic in their beauty. England felt more like a long, slow breath.

  “I see what you mean,” Guy said at last. “That is—I suppose you don’t want to argue about how the New Testament has replaced the teachings of the ancients.”

  “I’m game if you are,” Philip lied. “But I don’t believe anything is good or bad because I am told so by authority. We find ourselves on this earth with a capacity for reason and a wealth of history from which to learn. I believe we are obliged to think for ourselves, and reach our own conclusions about what is right and wrong, which may not be the conclusions foisted on us by church or law.”

  “We still have to obey the law.”

  “If a man with a pistol tells us what to do, we will probably obey him too. That doesn’t make it right, only convenient.”

  “Yes, but... All right, say I agree. Just for the sake of argument. Suppose we say there is no harm in—in intimacy of that sort, between men, outside marriage. Do the other precepts of morality not apply?”

  “Which precepts? I would say that if all parties have a free choice—”

  “Yes, but what about—about fidelity? If there is no marriage, I mean?”

  “I don’t think either of us is in a position to argue that marriage is a guarantee of fidelity.”

  “Perhaps not.” Guy was decidedly red in the face, and not just because the road was winding notably upward. “But it should be, shouldn’t it? I mean, if one has made a promise?”

  “A forced promise is no promise,” Philip said. “Every day women are required to love, honour, and obey men of poor character, whom they frequently barely know. If they don’t love and there’s nothing to honour, they can hardly be expected to obey with grace. Or to stay faithful to men who show no inclination to reciprocate, come to that.”

  “No, no, no,” Guy said. “I won’t have that argument. ‘It’s all right if everybody else does it’? That way lies every sort of wrong. If you’re going to discard conventional morality, you have to offer better.”

  “Define ‘better’.” Philip was enjoying this enormously. Guy had forgotten his nerves in the urge to talk, and was evidently thrashing out ideas in his own head as well as arguing. “Who is to say that fidelity is a good in itself, rather than a means to secure the inheritance of property to the paternal line? Why should we confine ourselves to one per
son only?”

  “Because it’s right!” Guy cried out, stopping and swinging round. He looked actually distressed. “Because if someone loves you, truly loves and—and adores you and gives you their heart, and you disregard that gift, that affection to—to approach others for your own pleasure, that’s not right. Not for man or woman or anyone. It’s betraying someone who loves you, and that’s cruel, and I wouldn’t expect it of—” He snapped his mouth shut, colour flaming treacherously over his cheeks.

  “Expect it of whom?” Philip asked, and realised with a tingle across his skin that he might be able to guess. “Someone who you think has been kind?”

  Guy turned his face away. Philip cast his mind back, felt a brief urge to kick himself, and sent the absent Corvin a heartfelt curse.

  “Guy.” He waited for the man to turn back, which he did with visible reluctance. “I think we may have been speaking at cross purposes. Are you under the impression, at all, that Corvin and I are lovers in more than the physical sense? That I have his heart?”

  “I didn’t mean to overhear,” Guy said stiffly. “It’s none of my business.”

  Philip had no idea what part he’d witnessed, but he knew Corvin’s lovemaking well enough. “If anything you overheard led you to imagine that Corvin and I have any sort of quasi-matrimonial relationship, you couldn’t be more wrong. He’s very prone to endearments.” Beloved, my sweet, my angel. “John says he does it because it’s easier than remembering all the names. That’s a gross slur,” he added hastily, lest Guy have an apoplexy. “But not entirely inaccurate in principle. He is very dear to me, but I assure you that there is no question of fidelity, or wish for it, on his part or mine.”

  “Then why were you—” Guy blurted out.

  “Amusement. It’s a pleasant way to spend one’s time.”

  “Is that all? We’re men, not beasts. Shouldn’t we strive for more than amusement?”

  “Undeniably we should, but I don’t see why that should rule amusement out entirely. ‘To everything there is a season; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing.’ Ecclesiastes.”