Band Sinister

by KJ Charles

  “Your case is that you’ll take a living with me thrown in,” Amanda said. “No, thank you.”

  “Permit me a little time to speak,” Mr. Dent repeated with a fixed smile. “I hope we can reach an understanding.”

  “Certainly,” Aunt Beatrice said, rising. “Guy, with me please.”

  “Certainly not,” Amanda said, grabbing his hand. “Considering all the fuss about me when I was constantly chaperoned in Rookwood Hall, I’m surprised you would suggest such a thing, Aunt.”

  “Guy,” Aunt Beatrice repeated.

  “I am a man of the cloth, Mr. Frisby,” Mr. Dent said. “I assure you, there can be no impropriety in my holding private conversation with your sister.”

  “But she has told you no, twice,” Guy said. “I think you should take it for an answer.”

  “I will not have this ingratitude,” Aunt Beatrice said. “I cannot and I will not tolerate any further indiscretions from this side of the family. Lord Paul has borne enough at the hands of my sister and her family. I will not see my daughters suffer because of your indiscriminate intercourse with the worst elements of society. Amanda will marry, and learn to behave as a wife should.”

  “I am not yours to dispose of,” Amanda said through her teeth. “And I can’t get up and walk out of this horrid conversation because of my stupid leg, but if I could, I would be leaving the room now.”

  “Mr. Dent,” Guy said, meeting the man’s eyes. “You’ve heard Amanda’s wishes. I think you’ve been misinformed about her availability, and suitability. I’m very sorry you’ve found yourself in this position, which I’m sure is as uncomfortable for you as anyone, but it would be right to withdraw your suit now.”

  Aunt Beatrice was going purple. “He will do no such thing if he wishes my continued patronage. You have been living on my charity for years. I have funded this worthless family out of kindness to the children of one whose career I can only regard with horror and disgust, I exerted myself to educate you and to give Amanda a Season, for which I was repaid with nothing but insult and humiliation, and now you reject the last hope your sister has of regaining her character. I will not have it. She will make this marriage or I shall cut you both off without a penny.”

  Guy squeezed Amanda’s hand. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to do that. I’m sorry, Aunt, but I will not see Amanda forced into a match she finds repellent. Er, no offence, Mr. Dent.”

  Aunt Beatrice snorted. “And how do you propose to live?”

  “Guy will find work,” Amanda said. “We’ll go far away. You needn’t worry that I’ll come to London or take up a career as a courtesan, Aunt; I should hate to cause you any more unhappiness by my existence. But I won’t marry on your say-so, and that’s all.”

  “All,” Aunt Beatrice repeated. “All. After everything I have done for you, all the efforts I made to rescue you from the shame of your mother and the depredations of that contemptible sot your father. I bought the mortgages myself to preserve your home when your own father was prepared to see you thrown into the streets on his death. I have never charged one penny of interest. I have always striven to do right by this branch of the family despite the gross instability of character you display. And now when I have been humiliated once more, when my own child’s marriage is put at risk by your wild behaviour, when I have arranged not just a means to hide yourselves but a way to restore Amanda’s soiled name, you refuse my offer of Mr. Dent’s hand.” Her voice was rising and wobbling slightly. Guy wondered for an improbable second if she might cry. “I have had enough of you both. Too much. I shall not give you one penny more, not if you beg me. How you can be so wicked and so ungrateful— I wish I had left you to rot as your parents did! You will do as I say or I shall call in the mortgages immediately!”

  Guy felt a stab of panic. He’d feared this, tried to steel himself, but the reality was still terrifying. Amanda gave a cry of protest. Mr. Dent held up his hands, speaking firmly. “Lady Paul, Mr. and Miss Frisby, please. Let us seek reconciliation if any such is possible. I think, if we all take some time for prayer and reflection—”

  There was a knock at the door, so loud it resounded. Guy hadn’t heard anyone approaching; he hadn’t been listening. He hoped Mrs. Harbottle would get rid of whoever it was.

  “We’ve had plenty of prayer and reflection,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. This was how it would be; there was no choice. “I don’t think more will help. You must do as you choose, Aunt Beatrice, but we’ve made our decision. And I am sorry to say this, but when Amanda has been so clear she doesn’t want to marry Mr. Dent, threatening her into it is not worthy of you.”

  Aunt Beatrice reddened. “You will both starve in the streets. How can you possibly support yourselves? You have no more common sense than a pair of babies. And who would ever trust Guy with employment?”

  Amanda drew herself upright, a martial look in her eyes, but at that moment Mrs. Harbottle shrieked, a cry of pure domestic outrage. Swift footsteps sounded in the hall, the door opened with some force—slammed, almost—and Philip walked in.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Philip!”

  Guy had said that out loud, he realised. Also, he was on his feet, staring, with one arm outstretched. Other than that, he’d kept his countenance rather well. He pulled his hand back and tried again. “Sir Philip. Uh—what—”

  “Sir!” Aunt Beatrice was swelling. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Guy Frisby, is this individual in the habit of visiting this house?”

  “Never been here in my life.” Philip looked decidedly travel-worn, as crumpled as though he’d spent hours in a coach and not stopped to straighten his cravat. “Lady Paul, Miss Frisby, Mr. Frisby, sir.” He sketched a very perfunctory bow in the room’s general direction. “I come as postman.”

  “What?”

  “Postman. I have a letter which Miss Frisby ought to read at once.”

  “You interrupt a private family gathering!” Aunt Beatrice informed him.

  “What letter?” Amanda demanded.

  Philip drew a paper from his pocket. “This. While you read it, I need two words with your brother. In private.”

  “I cannot think you have anything to say to my nephew, sir.”

  “Wrong,” Philip said. “Mr. Frisby?”

  “I, uh—” Philip’s eyes were intent on his, widening slightly as Guy hesitated. Amanda put a hand to his thigh and shoved. “The situation is a little awkward. I can’t leave Mr. Dent here with Amanda.”

  “Doubtless Lady Paul will chaperone.”

  “Yes, but she’s just declined his very flattering proposal.”

  “I should hope so. Lord Paul would surely object.”

  Aunt Beatrice gave a gasp of rage; Amanda squeaked gleefully. Guy gritted his teeth. “No, Amanda declined it, and Mr. Dent is Lady Paul’s chaplain and she has put forward his suit, so you see—”

  “Say no more. One moment.” Philip strode out without ceremony. Guy stared after him, suddenly terrified this was another abrupt departure and having to stop himself from crying out after him. But there was the sound of his shout outside, and a second pair of feet, and when Philip came back in, David Martelo was with him.

  “Oh,” Amanda said.

  “This gentleman is Miss Frisby’s physician,” Philip said. “I’m sure he has many questions of a medical nature to ask. Oh, and the letter.” He handed it over to Amanda, who didn’t even look at him as she took it. “Right. Mr. Frisby, is there somewhere we might speak?”

  Guy followed him out, dreamlike, ignoring the babble of voices from the room they’d left, and took him into the dining room. Philip closed the door, and said, “Christ, you look awful.”

  “I probably do, yes. It’s been—not pleasant.”

  “I’m sure it has. I am sorry, Guy, extremely sorry. I was a prick of the first water, and I am going to beg your forgiveness in detail shortly, but I need to know, right now: Is Amanda inclined to David? If he proposed, would she accept?”

&n
bsp; “Like a shot. Is—is that why you’re here?”

  “It’s one reason,” Philip said, and the look in his eyes was everything that had been missing from Guy’s life. “Beloved—”

  Amanda’s scream cut over his words. “Guy! Guy!”

  Guy ran, flinging the door open and crashing into the parlour. He didn’t know what catastrophic scene he expected, but the room was entirely as he’d left it, except that Amanda, on the couch, was shrieking like a kettle come to the boil. “Guy!”

  “What is it?”

  She flapped the paper she held. “Forty pounds! Forty! Pounds! Forty!”

  “What is?”

  “My publisher! They want my next book! They’ll pay me forty—” Her voice rose so high that it ceased to be audible.

  “Book?” Aunt Beatrice demanded.

  “Amanda’s an author. It’s not under her name, don’t worry. Forty? Manda—”

  “Don’t, for heaven’s sake, accept it,” Philip said. “It’s the first one we got in writing, but Theo—Mrs. Swann, the Gothic novelist, he’s a crony of John Raven’s—says you can use this to get a better offer elsewhere, and then use that to force this up. He advises you to try for sixty at least.”

  “Sixty pounds?” Amanda said at a pitch that threatened the glassware.

  “It’s a success,” David told her. “A truly magnificent one. You’ve done superbly.”

  “Everyone’s reading it,” Philip agreed. “Apparently a certain nobleman considers himself to be portrayed, unflatteringly, in your villain, and his very public discontent has attracted a great deal of attention Darkdown’s way.”

  “Oh, God bless him,” Guy said.

  Aunt Beatrice looked positively ill. “You cannot— Another scandal— I will not permit it. I won’t!”

  “But it is not up to you to permit, and you can’t stop me.” Amanda’s tone was soft, but it was not gentle in the slightest. “You washed your hands of me, Aunt Beatrice, if you recall. I don’t need your permission for anything at all, ever again.”

  “On that subject,” Philip said. “Excuse the haste, but I have business of my own to conduct. I introduced Dr. Martelo here as Miss Frisby’s physician, in which capacity I engaged and paid him. Yes? Good. David, you’re dismissed. Without notice, or a character, come to that. The point I am making is that you are no longer her doctor.”

  “Thank you, Philip.” David was watching Amanda’s face. “Miss Frisby—Amanda— Could I possibly have private speech with you?”

  “No, sir, you may not,” Aunt Beatrice said.

  Amanda shot her a glare. “Of course you can.”

  “Amanda Frisby! I shall not move from this room.”

  “Oh, this stupid leg,” Amanda said. “Guy, help me up.”

  “No, don’t move,” David said. He looked around at the spectators, exhaled in an ‘oh well’ sort of way, and went down to his knees in front of the couch. Guy squeaked. Amanda yelped.

  “Amanda,” David said, ignoring the audience with impressive focus. “I couldn’t express myself before but I venture to hope that you understood, that you could tell—”

  “Yes,” Amanda said urgently.

  “Er, good. But now I am free to speak, and I must tell you how ardently—”

  “No, yes,” Amanda cut in. “Yes, David. Of course I’ll marry you.”

  He blinked. “Really?”

  She reached for his hands. David grabbed hers. Guy put his own hand to his mouth, fighting back tears, and felt Philip squeeze his shoulder. Aunt Beatrice was wide-eyed and decidedly pink. She wouldn’t like the rejection of her own plans but to have Amanda safely married must surely satisfy her, Guy thought.

  “The only thing—no, please let me finish a sentence, darling, I had an entire speech planned,” David said. “The only thing is, there’s something we must discuss first.”

  “You’ll want me to convert,” Amanda agreed. “I don’t know anything about it, so you’ll have to explain, but I’m perfectly happy to, in principle.”

  Guy had forgotten that part. He winced as Aunt Beatrice almost shrieked, “Convert?”

  “David is Jewish,” Amanda told her. “Will I have to study an awful lot?”

  “You’ll have to take instruction.” David looked stunned. Amanda could have that effect when she’d made up her mind about things. “If you’re sure you still want to, once we’ve talked properly about what it means for you. Which we are going to do first,” he added, with decision. Guy wished him luck.

  Aunt Beatrice slumped back in her chair. “This is too much. I will not countenance it. Guy Frisby, as a Christian—”

  “I will see my sister loved and happy,” Guy completed. “And I’ll be honoured to welcome David to the family.”

  “Not to mine. I will speak to Lord Paul. I will cut you off. You will be as dead to us all.”

  Amanda shrugged. It was a small movement, but lethally clear. Aunt Beatrice’s face darkened worryingly. “You insolent baggage!”

  “Lady Paul,” Mr. Dent said. “I beg you to compose yourself. A straying sheep is better brought back to the path with charity than with anger.”

  “I’m not a sheep,” Amanda said. “And I have had enough of Aunt Beatrice’s charity for a lifetime.”

  “That’s not quite fair, Manda,” Guy said. It wasn’t unfair either, but he didn’t want Amanda to say anything she’d regret when her temper cooled, and he did not like the way his aunt looked. “Aunt Beatrice saved our home and gave us the means to live in it, and we must not forget how—” Kind stuck in his throat. “How generous she has been. Aunt Beatrice, I’m sorry we’ve been such a trial to you, but I can’t let you insult my sister, so I think you should go home. I hope we can part on civilised terms, and you are very welcome to renounce us in public if that helps Anne. We won’t force ourselves on your notice again until you’re willing to accept Amanda and her husband.”

  Aunt Beatrice’s mouth opened, fishlike. Guy turned to the chaplain. “Mr. Dent, I am sorry you’ve been caught up in this. Thank you for your consideration to my sister. I hope you find a new, er, helpmeet very soon. I really don’t think Amanda and you would have suited.”

  “No,” Mr. Dent said. He sounded funereally calm still but his cheekbones were burning red. “I cannot disagree. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Frisby. I believe I would be best to take my leave.”

  “We shall both leave,” Aunt Beatrice panted. “Instruct my woman to pack.”

  David was looking at her. “Lady Paul, I do not like your colour. No, don’t attempt to rise. Speaking as a physician—”

  Guy felt a tug on his sleeve. “Our cue to exit,” Philip murmured. “Come on.”

  GUY LED THE WAY INTO the garden. It was mostly taken up by vegetables, and entirely overlooked by the back of the house. They stopped in the middle of two beds, beans climbing up stakes on one side, the dark green leaves of a healthy potato crop rising on the other. Philip glanced around. “Is there anywhere private we could speak? An outbuilding?”

  “Only a lean-to full of sacks and spades.”

  “Could we fit in there? If you wouldn’t mind the squeeze.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that at all, but it’s really not—”

  “No. Well then.” Philip pushed a hand through his hair. Guy didn’t think he’d ever seen him look like this: tired, messy, uncertain. “Beloved, I am so sorry. Of all the damn fool ways to leave you, when you were caught in the devil’s own trap and I knew it. You needed me and I failed you, and I really will try not to be such a damned swine again. Without attempting to excuse myself, I will only say that to see you leaving me was more painful than I had thought possible. When you’re afraid, you hide, but when I’m afraid, I hit out, and that is precisely what I did then. Corvin assures me I am utterly intolerable when in love.”

  Guy tried a smile. It wobbled a little. “He’s wrong.”

  “Yes, well, you tell him that,” Philip said. “He and John have taken turns shouting at me for four solid days. T
he words ‘best thing that ever happened to you’ have only been exceeded in use by ‘stupid prick’.”

  “They said that?”

  “Repeatedly. They have both taken up the Frisby cause, you understand. Corvin’s performance at Vauxhall Gardens was spectacular even by his standards: if anyone in London doesn’t know he’s Lord Darkdown by now, it’s not his fault. And John and his scribbler friend joined forces against London’s publishing trade, which might almost make one sorry for publishers.”

  Guy put his hand to his mouth, needing to hide his expression. To feel as though Corvin and John cared for him and not just for Philip, as though they might be his friends too... He had to swallow to speak. “That’s quite extraordinarily kind of them both. More than kind. I can’t honestly tell you what that meant, to hear about the money then. We’d just been given the choice, you see, to have Aunt Beatrice call in the mortgage, or for Amanda to marry Mr. Dent.”

  Philip’s brows snapped together. “That cadaverous piece of work? He was happy to take a wife on such terms, was he?”

  “I don’t know about happy. He’s Aunt Beatrice’s chaplain and she promised him an excellent living to do it. I can’t imagine he enjoys his current position, and Aunt Beatrice would doubtless not have been pleasant if he’d refused the idea. I don’t think it was fair of her, either to him or to Amanda.”

  “It was most certainly not. You were more generous than I would have been.”

  Guy could well believe that. Philip was close enough that Guy could see the tension in his stance. He wished they could touch, that he was in Philip’s arms and not standing and chatting in a garden as though they were mere acquaintances. “She did her best for us, by her lights. She wasn’t kind, and she was wrong about a lot of things, but we have given her a great deal to put up with, and it must be dreadful to be always so utterly consumed by what other people might think. Well, it is. I know it is because that’s how I spent my life feeling, as though everyone was talking about me and I could only stop it if I hid. Because you’re right. I do hide when I’m afraid, and I’m always afraid. I hid in this house, and behind a row of books, and under a lot of convention, and even in a disguise of having to look after Amanda, because while I had to look after her, I couldn’t possibly do anything else. I think I’d have spent my whole life hiding if I hadn’t met you.”