A Minor Inconvenience

by Sarah Granger

  “Including presenting the Marquess to you,” Hugh said. “I’m sorry for that. I think Lindsay did not realise quite how determined Mama can be when she is set upon something.”

  “Oh, it is not so bad after all, for it turns out Lord Esdale is a most interesting gentleman. Did you know, he has such a collection of rose bushes? He is attempting to develop new ones, with different colours and scents and which are resistant to disease.”

  “I did not know that,” Hugh said, attempting to suppress the twitching of his lips at how exciting Sophia evidently found such an undertaking.

  She changed direction with a dizzying speed that reminded him of Emily. “Oh, but, Hugh, I am so glad you have come because I need—I wish…” Her voice suddenly became suspended and there were tears in her eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked disturbed, moving forward. And then the composed young lady Sophia had become disappeared as his little sister wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her face against his chest and squeezed him tightly.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “It is no matter,” he said, stroking her hair and doubtless disordering a style that had taken hours to create. “I’m glad all is well. All is well now?”

  She nodded and finally let go of him. There were still tears in her eyes, but she was smiling once more. “It is the most curious thing,” she said, “but Lavinia has heard that Stanton has left London all of a sudden. Nobody seems to know why.”

  “That is curious indeed,” Hugh said, and wondered just what magic Theo possessed.

  He left shortly thereafter and was delighted to find upon his return to Ryder Street a note from Theo inviting him to dinner the following evening. Hugh felt that a letter of acceptance was scarcely necessary, but he penned one anyway, and found he was smiling as he did so.

  …

  As soon as he arrived at Horse Guards on Wednesday, Hugh felt that something was going on. There was an unusual hum of activity, and everyone who strode the corridors appeared to be doing so urgently. Colonel Dalrymple dropped at least double the usual amount of paperwork on him and Courtenay with a terse request that it all be finished that day. As Hugh stared somewhat hopelessly at the mounds of paper before him, Courtenay leaned in his direction.

  “Do you think Wellington’s about to move?” he asked quietly.

  “Perhaps.” Hugh had no more idea than Courtenay on that, but he could not think what else could cause the air of urgency and barely stifled excitement that permeated even as far as their quiet office.

  “I should like to know why, when we are miles from any battle, we appear about to be buried anyway,” Courtenay complained, pushing at the teetering piles of papers on his desk.

  Sudden anger burned in Hugh at Courtenay’s careless remark, and he turned his attention to his own papers to hide his reaction. Early in their acquaintance, Courtenay had confessed without a shred of shame that when his father had insisted upon buying a commission in the 52nd for his younger son, his favourite and influential uncle, Sir Charles Grenville, had stepped in to ensure Courtenay was assigned to Horse Guards, where the greatest danger he would face would be expiring from an excess of tedium. He had never seen action. He had never had to bury friends after a battle, nor had to see the gallant men—on both sides—who were tumbled into holes in the ground and left there. Hugh took a deep breath to steady himself, then started to read through Colonel Dalrymple’s requirements.

  The volume of work meant he left Horse Guards later than usual that afternoon, and when he left, Courtenay was still, most unusually, hard at work. Hugh thought about offering to help, but as Courtenay had managed to disappear part of the way through the afternoon and come back smelling of smoke and drink, as if he had visited a tavern or a coffeehouse, he decided against it. Instead, Hugh walked round to Half Moon Street, for his mother’s strictures on not making himself a stranger were still ringing in his ears. He also wanted to be quite happy in his mind that all was still well with Sophia.

  He stayed for a couple of hours, during which time he was regaled with his mama’s activities in minute detail and able to see that Sophia appeared to be quite her old self once more. At the point his mama was about to give him an exhaustive rendition of the visit she had made to the milliners that morning, Hugh decided discretion had much to recommend it and retreated, apologetically explaining that he had another commitment.

  He had not long returned to Ryder Street and was about to get changed for another pleasant evening with Theo when there came a pounding on the front door of his lodgings. Moments later, James pushed past a ruffled-looking Murray into the sitting room and closed the door in his face.

  “James, really,” Hugh remonstrated, standing and moving towards James.

  “No, you must hear this, Hugh. We have at last caught our spy!”

  “Oh, that is capital news,” Hugh said warmly. “Was he at the War Office?”

  It was all James could do to contain his mirth at Hugh’s question. “Don’t be so stupid, Hugh—it’s Theo Lindsay!”

  Hugh shook his head, his ears ringing. He must have misheard, misunderstood. “What did you say?”

  “Lindsay was arrested an hour ago for murder and treason.”

  “Theo? For murder? Treason?”

  “For God’s sake, Hugh, stop parroting me in such a fashion. You sound half-witted.”

  Hugh’s knees threatened to buckle, and he took a stumbling few steps and sank down in the nearest chair. “I don’t understand,” he said to James. “How can this be? It’s nonsense—why has it been allowed to happen?”

  “Nonsense?” James demanded, his air of excitement and pleasure quite vanished at Hugh’s unsatisfactory reaction. “You are the one talking nonsense, Hugh—it was you who put us on to Lindsay in the first place.”

  “What?” Hugh’s mouth was so dry he could scarcely get the word out.

  “Telling us about how he came and went at will, and honestly, Hugh, befriending you and Courtenay like that? Courtenay is a niffynaffy fellow, and you, well… A man of Lindsay’s reputation and address must have had ulterior motives.”

  There was such a rushing in Hugh’s ears he could scarcely hear James’s words as his brother plunged on. “Then that whole farrago of nonsense over the missing memorandum and Lindsay being the one to find it? That did not seem suspicious to you?”

  “But I was the one—”

  James continued, disregarding Hugh entirely. “And he has some most unsavoury contacts, not to mention expending such energies to ensure you felt indebted to him and would doubtless do whatever seemingly harmless thing he wished. Come, Hugh—you were the perfect target, with George at the War Office and me on Wellington’s Staff and you being, well, you. I daresay he could have asked you for Wellington’s plan of attack and because he wore a uniform you would have thought nothing of it!”

  “James.” Hugh had meant it in anger, but it came out sounding despairing. “I would not—I would never—but Theo did not, would not—God, this is all a terrible, terrible mistake.”

  “Perhaps you would care to inform Colonel Badham of that. Once we have buried him, that is. For it was he whom Lindsay spitted upon a knife, leaving him to die in his own office. We can only think Badham discovered him searching his papers and had to be disposed of.”

  “But why do you think it was Theo?” God alive, would James never give him a straight answer?

  “Oh, as to that, fellow obviously had his pocket ripped in the struggle with Badham, for they found his snuffbox hidden beneath the desk where it had fallen out of sight. But the net was already tightening around him, Hugh—this was simply the final nail in the coffin.” James laughed suddenly. “Bit of a shame that it turned out to be a literal one for poor old Badham.”

  Hugh raised a hand to his head. He felt fevered, as though in the very worst sort of dream from which he would shortly wake,
doubtless to find himself back in the hospital in Salamanca, for he had not had such vivid dreams since then. “I don’t understand,” he said. “This is Theo.”

  “And that’s why I came to see you, Hugh, to tell you personally, for you have been rather too friendly with someone who is clearly a spy and a traitor. You must take great care to be above reproach from now on. People will allow you to have been bamboozled, but you must be on your guard from now on. Any sign of liking for Lindsay, or any suggestion you might allow such a situation to happen again, and you could be in grave trouble. Do you understand me, Hugh?”

  Hugh nodded mutely.

  “Good. Oh, and you are not to tell a soul of this—we can’t have word getting back to the French that we have taken Lindsay. It may be that we can get out of him who his contacts are and feed them false information. The only people to know are the generals at Horse Guards and Dalrymple, who found Badham’s body.”

  “How is it you know?”

  “Because I’m the one who went to the Adjutant General with my suspicions about Lindsay, after consulting George. The AG called me in for interview just minutes ago to inform me of what had happened. So far as you are concerned, Lindsay has presumably returned to his regiment and didn’t bother telling you or Courtenay because you were merely casual acquaintances. Now, Hugh, I must be going—I am promised to Elinor tonight and she doesn’t like it above half if I’m late.”

  “James, please,” and Hugh could not care that he was begging, desperation so clear in his voice, because it made James turn back from where he was already opening the door. “Surely the Adjutant General does not agree with your assessment of Colonel Lindsay?”

  James laughed. “Oh, Hugh, you slow-top—the AG is the one who told me they’ve got the right man. There’s no doubt about it, you know.”

  Hugh was vaguely aware of James’s departure, but it seemed as if he were in a dream. This couldn’t be happening. It was madness. So desperate were they to find the spy that they seized upon the man least likely to be one, just so they could say they had done their duty. But it would all be all right in the end because Theo would prove his innocence at the court martial.

  Unless, if they were indeed so sure of his guilt as James indicated, they would not listen to him.

  The room spun around Hugh as he thought of it, of Theo brought up before them and sentenced to die because they would not hear him. They had no evidence to speak of but still they’d arrested him, so why would they listen to anything Theo had to say? They must. They had to. Hugh too would tell them they had it wrong, so very badly wrong, and surely they would listen to him, with George and James for brothers.

  Bile rose in his throat as James’s words came back to him—it was Hugh’s words that had cast suspicion on Theo in the first place. It was Hugh’s wretched stupidity that could cost Theo his good name and his life.

  Hugh sat in his chair as the fire died, and the candles finally guttered and went out. He supposed Murray must have looked in at some point, but he was unaware of it. He sat in the creeping chill of the dark room, and as the light of dawn began to edge around the curtains, he wished to God he had died at Salamanca.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sometime later, Murray appeared and asked carefully if Hugh was yet ready to shave and dress. He could not think about such frippery nonsense as neckcloths and boots and snuffboxes—

  The world suddenly crashed in on him, and his heart pounded wildly.

  “That’s it!” He would have leaped to his feet had he not been so cold and stiff. “Murray, you are a wonder. Now quick, I must be ready for Horse Guards immediately.”

  He had never been so thankful for the proximity of his lodgings to the offices, for it was not much more than twenty minutes’ walk, even for him. He had no idea how long he waited there, but eventually he was told by the subaltern who organised Colonel Dalrymple’s diary that he would see Captain Fanshawe now.

  The colonel was an imposing figure in the uniform of the King’s Own Hussars, the splendour of the whiskers upon his face matched by that of the bristling eyebrows that were set above penetrating hazel eyes.

  “Sir, I wish to speak to you about Colonel Lindsay.”

  “That’s a bad business and no mistake. Have a seat, Fanshawe.” The colonel got up somewhat ponderously from behind his large desk and walked around to prop his generous figure against its front. He folded his arms and looked at Hugh. “You mustn’t feel too bad about being gulled,” he said. “He was very good at what he did, dirty business though it is.”

  “But, sir, that’s the thing—I have information that shows he is not guilty.”

  Colonel Dalrymple stood up straight all of a sudden. “Have you indeed? Tell me.”

  “Lindsay told me some days ago that his snuffbox was missing, that his man could not find it anywhere. He thinks it was stolen.”

  The colonel sighed slightly and let himself lean back against his desk once more as he inspected his boots before speaking. “And you think that somebody stole it purely in order to implicate him in a murder that had not at that point occurred and which must have been spur of the moment for there is no other reason to wish poor old Badham harm?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hugh said, but his clear certainty came out sounding a little too much like bravado in the face of the colonel’s scepticism.

  “How many snuffboxes does Lindsay own? How can you know if this is the same one? How can you know if he was even telling the truth—the man’s a damned spy, Fanshawe. Even if he was telling the truth, what is to say he had not since recovered the box and neglected to inform you of such a minor event?”

  “Yes, sir, but it should be entered into the record because it is relevant.” It also spoke to Theo’s innocence, but Hugh could see that didn’t matter to the colonel—he already believed Theo guilty.

  “I shall see your account is brought to the right ears,” Dalrymple said, beginning to stand up. “If that is all, Fanshawe?”

  “Actually, sir, it is not,” Hugh said firmly, causing those eyebrows to raise in surprise before the colonel settled back down on the desk.

  “There are two more things: firstly, Major Fanshawe gave me to understand that Colonel Lindsay was suspected because he was the one who retrieved Colonel Badham’s missing memorandum. But, sir, that was not Lindsay—it was me.” He swallowed despite himself. “Colonel Lindsay merely came into our office to ask if either of us had seen it. I found it tucked inside one of the regimental books that I had neglected to return to Colonel Badham the previous Friday evening as I should have done.”

  “And Lindsay asked you to give it to him, did he not? Your other point?”

  Hugh moistened his lips and squared his shoulders. “Colonel Lindsay would not do such a thing, sir,” he said, holding Dalrymple’s gaze. “He has fought against the French, he has been injured when doing so, and he is a truly honourable man. He would not, sir, engage in such business as espionage. It is not in his character.”

  The colonel cleared his throat gruffly as he got to his feet and walked back around the desk to lower himself into his seat. He steepled his hands together and looked across them at Hugh from beneath those remarkable eyebrows.

  “Fanshawe, I am about to give you a piece of advice that I suggest you listen to. Lindsay is as good as hanged already. If you continue on this ill-advised crusade, it is entirely possible you will join him. That would be a great pity for I believe you to be guilty of nothing more than quite remarkable naïveté and a misplaced sense of loyalty. I suggest you turn your mind to the results of Lindsay’s espionage and swiftly reconsider where your loyalty lies. There are men out there who would have died if he had his way, cut down by enemy ambushes. Your men and your friends would likely be among the dead.”

  He finally allowed his penetrating gaze to drop from Hugh’s face as he said more quietly, “You can never know what truly lies in another’s heart fro
m the words they use. Their actions are the only thing that can tell you that.” After a moment’s silent reflection, he looked up again. “Now, back to work, Fanshawe. As long as you do as I suggest, none of what has happened will be held against you, you have my word on that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hugh groped his way blindly out of the office. By the time he reached his own desk, he was trembling. They were determined Theo was guilty. He would be hanged. Cold sweat prickled down his spine and he thought he would be sick.

  …

  “God’s truth,” Courtenay said when he came into the office later and found Hugh staring into thin air. “What the devil happened to you, Fanshawe? Found your way to Covent Garden at last and expired from the shock of it all?”

  Hugh didn’t bother responding. There was no point. There had been no point in providing evidence that might clear Theo, and there would be no point in expecting the forthcoming court martial to be fair. The result was a fait accompli. Theo would be hanged. Hugh looked out over the parade ground and wondered where they would do it.

  He couldn’t bear it. It was his fault, and it was Theo, and he could not allow it to happen.

  He left the office, Courtenay’s surprised exclamation at his sudden exit hanging in the air behind him.

  …

  James was still at home, enjoying the morning paper and a cup of coffee in the morning room in Half Moon Street. He looked surprised to see Hugh, but not unwelcoming.

  “What can I do for you? Should you not be pushing sheets of paper around your desk by now?”

  Hugh seated himself. “Will you tell me where Colonel Lindsay is being held?” he asked. “I should like to see him and tell him what I think of his perfidy.”

  “Quite right,” James approved. “I shall make enquiries for you.”