A Minor Inconvenience

by Sarah Granger

  What friends could possibly be powerful enough to combat a charge of treason? Hugh thought Theo must be deluding himself, and he determined to continue his quiet preparations in case they needed to flee. He would behave as he had promised and not do anything that might look suspicious, but no one would know if he were to spend time working out precisely what they would need to take with them and learning the network of minor roads that could take them north from London.

  As he left Horse Guards, he could not forgo one final glance back at the building. The curtains at Theo’s window were closed tightly, giving no hint of what lay inside as Hugh set his face for home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That night Hugh dreamed of a court martial where he was to speak on Theo’s behalf. He stood before the court, but no matter how hard he tried to say something, the words would not come, and Theo was condemned. As they took Theo out to execute him, James laughed and teased Hugh for being such a slow-top, for if he had only found his tongue, Lindsay would have been saved. But it was the look on Theo’s face as he was marched past Hugh in chains, the look of betrayal and bone-deep disappointment that had Hugh sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping.

  He could not face trying to sleep again, so he spent the rest of the night reading the Atlas before reporting to Horse Guards earlier than usual. He couldn’t help glancing up at Theo’s window before he entered the building, but the only thing to see was that the curtains had been drawn back.

  Remembering Theo’s words about conducting himself as usual, he asked to see Colonel Dalrymple in order to account and apologise for his unusual absence the previous day.

  The colonel’s eyes were uncomfortably penetrating as Hugh made his apology, explaining that he had been unwell.

  “I thought as much,” he said. “I take it you’re fully recovered and wishful to make up for your absence?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He left the colonel’s office with a great pile of papers. Whatever had caused the air of excitement that had been so apparent just the other day was now translated into reams of paperwork, all of which was suddenly urgent.

  It seemed the atmosphere had affected even Courtenay, for he wandered in a little earlier than usual. He gave a great start when he saw Hugh at his desk.

  “Fanshawe, as I live and breathe! I hadn’t expected to see you again—I had numbered you with the deserters, the speed with which you disappeared yesterday.”

  “My apologies. I was unwell,” Hugh returned through teeth that were only very slightly clenched.

  “An excess of sobriety, I suspect,” Courtenay said. “Will you join me tonight to remedy that, for it seems my usual companion has deserted me?”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “You have another engagement,” Courtenay finished ruefully. “It is my bad luck for sharing an office with such a popular fellow, I can see.”

  Hugh kept his head down and continued working. Some days he did not mind Courtenay—occasionally, he was amusing—but at other times the words that came out of his mouth were entirely mean-spirited. He had neither the patience nor the will to put up with it today. The part of his mind that was not concentrating on his work was taken up completely with Theo. He wondered if they were questioning him—James’s words about getting information out of him had raised some alarming images—and how the arrangements for the court martial were progressing. More than anything, he wondered why, if Theo had such powerful friends, they hadn’t yet moved on his behalf and freed him.

  “God damn it,” he swore, as his quill tip splintered under the unusual force he had applied, ugly blobs of ink splattering over the paper to mar his neat list. “Christ!”

  “Really, Fanshawe, have a care. My tender ears, you know.”

  Hugh snatched up the pounce pot and attempted to rescue his memorandum, even though he knew it was a lost cause. It was that or tell Courtenay precisely what he could do with his ears, and quite possibly demonstrate it.

  He gave up on the memorandum finally, took a new pen from his desk and got ready to begin all over again. As he was about to dip the quill into the ink, the pointed clearing of a throat caused him to look up. Most unusually, Courtenay had made the effort of getting to his feet and walking over to Hugh’s desk, where he was now standing, looking unlike his usual mocking self.

  “Is everything all right, Fanshawe?” he asked.

  For one terrible moment, Hugh felt his throat tighten at such kindness because everything was very, very far from all right. Theo was still under arrest and God knew what was happening to him in this very building.

  “Thank you,” he managed. “I think perhaps I am not quite recovered from yesterday’s illness.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, short of taking on your work for you, you must let me know,” Courtenay said, and returned to his desk. Hugh was left feeling both grateful and ashamed, for he had written off Courtenay as a lazy, selfish trifler who found spitefulness to be amusing. While he couldn’t in all conscience discard that judgment entirely, there was evidently more to him than that.

  He reminded himself of that when he was still working hard some hours later and Courtenay pushed back his chair and yawned. “Really, I have achieved today more than enough for an entire month,” he announced to the room at large. “I must call it a day before I turn into the very worst sort of dull fellow, always chained to his desk due to some hare-brained notion of duty. Tell me, Fanshawe, what does duty have to do with paperwork? On second thoughts, please don’t tell me—I think I would likely expire from boredom.” He got to his feet, leaving the messy heaps of papers that characterised his desk. “Are you sure you won’t join me? Lindsay has left me hanging, which I suppose is no more than one might expect from the Rifles.”

  Hugh attempted to hide the jolt that ran through him at the mention of Theo’s name and then bit down on the anger that rose at Courtenay’s careless denigration. If he only knew the truth, he wouldn’t joke about Theo’s sudden absence.

  “I am promised elsewhere,” he said, “but I’m sure you will manage to find some congenial company.”

  “Of that I have not the slightest doubt,” Courtenay said with a knowing smile, before strolling out of the office.

  Hugh stayed later than usual that evening. He told himself it was because he wished to make up for the work he had missed the previous day, but he knew the real reason—in some way, he would feel he was betraying Theo if he were to go, leaving him alone. He finally put aside his papers at almost seven o’clock and struggled to his feet, finding that his leg was stiff from the length of time he had been sitting still.

  The great clock of Horse Guards, the most accurate timepiece in London, was striking the hour when he exited the building. Hugh refused to look up at it, for the mark on the dial that recorded the hour of King Charles’s execution was too terrible a reminder of the danger in which Theo stood. He looked instead towards Theo’s window and found he could breathe more easily as he saw the curtains had been closed.

  Hugh headed for home and spent the evening putting his affairs in order. There were any number of things he needed to make sure were taken care of if he was to disappear. The opprobrium that would attach to his family once he was known to have freed a so-called spy would be regret enough for him to bear; he would not leave things so that his servants might be suspected of complicity, nor leave them without sufficient funds to pay their wages for a time. He also worked out in detail what he and Theo would need to take with them, while not loading the horses so much that they looked suspicious to anyone who marked their passing on a country road. He would need to take both his greatcoat and his Benjamin, for Theo would have no coat with him and the spring nights would be cold.

  Planning and detail were areas in which Hugh excelled, as even James and Courtenay would have to allow. By the time he retired to his bed in the early hours of Saturday morning, Hugh was ready. He hoped that
his plan would not be necessary, but as Saturday dawned while he lay awake in his bed, he found he could not share in Theo’s belief that all would be well. The court martial was due to be held on Monday, and still there was no sign of these supposed friends of Theo’s putting things right. Theo put too much trust in others, Hugh thought. It was an admirable quality in general, but not when the stakes were so high.

  …

  On Saturday evening, Hugh attended the Drurys’ ball. Had it been any other commitment, he would have cried off, but knowing that the Drurys were holding this to celebrate their daughter’s engagement to James, it would have been churlish and ill-mannered in the extreme to have accepted an invitation weeks ago and then neglect to put in an appearance.

  In the throes of an emotion he could not name, he decided to dress for one last time in his uniform. He knew what would be said of him after tomorrow night. He would have no further right to the uniform he had tried so hard to honour, in the service of which he had become crippled. He knew that if he were to hear the tale of another soldier who had behaved in such a way, without knowing the truth—that Theo was innocent and that the court martial would be only a sham—then he would heartily condemn that man for betraying the uniform, whatever his previous actions might have been. But tonight, he still had this right.

  He was late arriving at Half Moon Street, due to the fact he had walked in entirely the wrong direction at first because he wished to check one last time on Theo’s window. The curtains had been closed when he had walked past at seven that evening—they had been open every time during the day that Hugh had happened past—and he knew he was probably being foolish, but he wished to be sure. The curtains were still closed—he had to assume that all was well with Theo.

  Thankfully his choice of attire prevented his mother from scolding him too much for his tardiness, and by the time they arrived at the Drurys, where they were welcomed with genuine warmth, he appeared to have been entirely forgiven. By his mother, at any rate. Emily was another matter.

  “Really, Hugh,” she greeted him with a disappointed tone when she arrived half an hour later to find him standing against one of the walls, watching James and Miss Drury smiling at one another as they danced. “I had thought better of you. You are being dashed unsporting.”

  Hugh roused from his thoughts, which had not been particularly happy ones, to stare at Emily in confusion. He had no idea what he had done to earn her ire.

  “Your uniform,” she explained. “How is poor Mr Ivory supposed to compete with that?”

  “Mr who?” he asked, more lost than ever.

  “Miss Williams’ would-be suitor,” she said. “Really, Hugh—do you not see anything that happens around you?”

  “It would seem not,” he said, a weight settling in his chest.

  Emily looked at him sharply. “In a moment you will tell me how I may help with what is troubling you, but first you must make your bow to Miss Williams, although you will be a little distracted and not speak to her for very long at all. Then you will speak to Mr Ivory and find him a most charming and amusing fellow.”

  Thus organised, Hugh did as he was bidden, noticing with some bemusement the wave of colour that washed up Miss Williams’ face as he approached her. It was not hard to be a little distracted when speaking to her, and he soon excused himself. Mr Ivory turned out to be a pleasant enough young fellow, who appeared somewhat awed by Hugh’s military record and very pleased to make his acquaintance. Mr Ivory was, however, not entirely concentrating upon their conversation, for after Hugh had left Miss Williams, another young gentleman had been introduced to her. Hugh took pity on Mr Ivory and released him quickly so he might fight his corner.

  “That was well done of you,” Emily approved, appearing by his side as if from nowhere. “Now, will you sit with me and tell me what is troubling you?”

  Hugh shook his head, for he could not. Emily knew him too well and saw too much. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Tell me, how is Sophia?”

  He could not ask what he really meant, in case they were overheard, but Emily understood immediately. “Very well indeed,” she said warmly. “Indeed, I had no idea that your sister possessed such an interest in horticulture as she has lately displayed.”

  “She—what?” Hugh’s head was beginning to hurt as he struggled to understand, and a wave of sudden misery broke over him.

  “Oh, Hugh, you are definitely out of sorts tonight.” Emily put her hand to his arm very briefly. “Perhaps a game of cards might better suit you, where you do not have to talk and pretend to be happy when you are not.”

  He took her advice, and the evening was made more tolerable by the company of gentlemen whose only interest was in the cards they held.

  By the time he was finally free to return to his lodgings, Hugh’s headache was well and truly set in, and his heart was heavy. Yet when he walked back to Horse Guards, to check one last time, and found Theo’s curtains still closed with no hint of light escaping, he was filled with renewed determination and a sense of purpose. There was only one course of action possible.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hugh awoke to find Sunday already well under way beneath clear blue skies. Despite the sunshine, a fresh breeze was obviously blowing—as he took a cup of coffee by the window, he saw a gentleman’s hat bowling along, its red-faced owner chasing it. He was still smiling slightly as he turned away to reckon precisely how many hours he had and what he had to do in that time.

  He put down his coffee cup when Murray entered the room, bearing a letter for him that had been delivered only moments before. When he saw the seal on the letter, his heart stopped, then began to pound so fast he could scarcely breathe. The seal was a design with which he was intimately familiar, for it was on the signet ring that was never absent from Theo’s left hand.

  Hugh’s hands were shaking as he broke the seal, panic running through him that somehow he was too late, that Theo was being moved to another prison, that they had brought forward the date of the court martial, anything except what it was he read—Theo was free. He was free and back at Albany and wishful to see Hugh at his earliest possible convenience.

  Hugh had no recollection of how he got to Albany, nor of knocking on the door. He was aware of nothing until the moment he stepped into the sitting room and saw Theo standing there.

  “Oh, God,” he said, and it was wrenched from him. “Theo.”

  He was vaguely aware of the door being closed behind him as he crossed the room as swiftly as his leg would allow and pulled Theo into his arms, unable to contain his joy.

  “God,” he said, “Theo,” as he pressed kisses to his face and his lips, because Theo was here. He was alive. He was safe.

  He must have taken Theo by surprise with the force of his reaction, for it was an instant before his arms came around Hugh, and then he let out a great sigh and held him so close that Hugh felt as though their hearts were beating together.

  “Are you truly cleared?” Hugh asked at last. He knew it must be so, but he had to be sure.

  “I am,” Theo said. He pulled away from Hugh’s hold, gently at first then disentangling himself more abruptly when Hugh would not immediately let him go. “I must talk to you,” he said, and his voice was like his body had suddenly become, full of hard angles.

  Hugh stared at him, not understanding, and Theo turned away. He walked over to the empty fireplace and propped one booted foot on the fireguard.

  “I’ve been released because the real spy has been identified,” he informed the marble mantelpiece. “It’s Courtenay, but he appears to have got wind of his discovery and is nowhere to be found.”

  “Courtenay? Captain Courtenay?”

  “The same.”

  It seemed impossible to Hugh. Courtenay? “Are you sure they have it right this time?” he demanded. “They were convinced it was you when that was evidently nonsensical. I can’t believe Court
enay, of all people—”

  “I’m sure,” Theo interrupted him. He looked up and held Hugh’s eyes, and his gaze was hard. “The French are in possession of misleading information that I gave only to him. There can be no doubt.”

  All of a sudden Hugh felt every inch the slow-top that James so often accused him of being. “How—you—” he started, but he couldn’t find the words he needed, so he settled for the simple plaintive truth. “I don’t understand.”

  “Wellington knew there was a leak at Horse Guards. He was certain who it was not, but there were unknown quantities, particularly among the more junior officers. I agreed to investigate.”

  “So when you went drinking with Courtenay, you were really…” Hugh’s voice died. He stared at Theo, who would not hold his gaze and looked back into the empty grate. “Both of us,” Hugh said. “You suspected both of us and that’s why you befriended me.”

  “Yes.”

  Everything seemed sharp and clear suddenly, as it all fell into place like the tumblers of a lock. “You fed us both false information and waited to see which version reached the French.”

  “I did.”

  It was like being in the Pyrenees again, with the air so thin and the room so cold as the truth slowly took root in Hugh. Theo’s friendship had only ever been a simulation, created to deceive him. The happiness Hugh thought he had found with Theo had never existed.

  “I see,” Hugh said, and his voice did not sound like his own. He made a futile attempt to gather any remaining shreds of dignity around himself. “You have done an exceptional job, Colonel Lindsay, and as an Englishman I must thank you for your devotion to duty, no matter how unpleasant it must have been.”

  He turned to leave, knowing that his voice had splintered at the end and betrayed him.

  “Hugh,” Theo said, sharply, almost desperately.

  Hugh stopped, but he would not, could not, turn around. He didn’t know what more Theo could possibly have to say.