“Yes, they did. Now he lives in the vicinity of City Hall and is a clerk for one of the many officials there.”
“Did he know anything useful for the police investigation?”
“Allegedly he barely said a word.” Bishop must have known a lot, but kept his mouth shut. Something must have frightened him so he was too afraid to divulge anything. Therefore, out of fear, he’d preserved Dimitri’s memory. “I’m certain he had nothing to do with the murder, if that’s what you’re implying.” He was as sure of that as anyone could be. Bishop was a good-natured fool – not capable of committing such a gruesome deed or even being an accessory to it.
“I didn’t mean to hint at anything definite,” Hyacinth said.
They cloaked themselves in the kind of silence that had reigned previously.
It didn’t last long, when several young men in the next street unintentionally blocked their way. With displeasure he recognised, among them, the sons of various nobles who frequented the same social strata as Hyacinth and he. They most certainly knew about the unpleasant events on the evening of the ball.
That suspicion was confirmed when the small group did part to let them through, but shouted after them.
To his annoyance he also saw that they were not only shouting but also following them.
“Ah, Your Hideousness and his dear husband,” exclaimed Tom Pidgeon, the tallest of them, who wanted to show off in front of his friends.
Raucous, mocking laughter broke out.
“By God, that nose! How can he live with it? I’d cut it off,” another whispered into a hand covering his mouth and snickered derisively.
Vrila noticed Hyacinth cast a worried look at him, but he was accustomed to ignoring such insults and continued on with head held high. He wished he could spare the lad such scenes. His desire was fulfilled as little as his wish that the bastards would leave his spouse out of it.
“But we mustn’t call the young man hideous. He has such a pretty face.”
“But surely he did not go to any school, Tom,” the one nearest him interjected.
“You’re right. Pretty he is, but I believe his head must be rather empty. People say he’s so stupid he can’t even read.”
Vrila was not used to that, and he’d also not get used to that.
With a jerk, he yanked the umbrella from his young man’s hand, who had lowered his head in shame, tossed it up to grab it by the tip and spun around.
He employed the handle of the umbrella to pull Tom Pidgeon closer by gruffly hooking his neck with its wooden crook.
“What did you say?” he demanded with a scowl and stared into Tom Pidgeon’s bulging, frightened eyes.
The others stepped back. No one had counted on a reaction. They had believed they could play their usual game with Vrila, and he’d have allowed them to. However, they had dragged Hyacinth into it.
“Nothing, Sir,” the blond fellow choked forth and shook his head vehemently.
“No, no. You did say something. I believe you stated that you’re envious because my husband is so much smarter than you. Wasn’t that so?”
“Yes, Sir, that… that’s right; that’s what I said. I said, how smart your spouse is.” The little asshole nodded and looked like he might wet himself.
It was pathetic how fast some people would trim their sails to the wind as soon as the slightest spark of danger flashed.
“So it is, and I warn you against ever doubting that again,” Vrila replied with a brusque voice and released Pidgeon then turned to Hyacinth whose wide-open, green eyes looked stunned.
He wrapped a protective arm around his waist. “We’re leaving.”
*
As they rounded the corner, Hyacinth drew cold air deep into his lungs. He had to admit he’d been frightened. There was no fooling around with those types; he knew them fleetingly from a few unpleasant encounters. When they’d followed him and Vrila, he’d feared they might become violent. However, he had not doubted for one moment that Vrila would protect him should anyone want to harm him. But he hadn’t expected him to defend his honour so passionately.
“Please, can you stop for a second?” he whispered and grabbed hold of his husband’s sleeve.
Vrila turned to him and placed his fingers on his elbow. He seemed worried. “You’re pale. Do you feel ill?”
He looked down in embarrassment. “I… I was afraid.”
“You don’t need to be afraid when I’m with you. I know how to protect you,” was the grim reply as if Hyacinth had doubted him.
“I know,” he said in an almost imperceptible voice and tried to restrain his heart from racing – and not because of those fellows. His fingers were still clutching the fabric of Vrila’s coat, when he bent forward to kiss his husband on the cheek.
To his horror and resentment, he was spurned. “Won’t you ever stop trying to kiss me all the time?!” Vrila snapped and pushed him away before he could touch him with his lips.
“What’s wrong with that?” Hyacinth asked, painfully affected. A shiver ran through him when his husband’s dark eyes stared coldly into his.
“It’s inappropriate!” Vrila moved a step further back as if he needed to defend himself from Hyacinth and his expressions of affection. That really did hurt.
Not to let it show, he straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. “You defended me. It’s just my way of saying thank you.”
“You shouldn’t be constantly thanking me for things that should be obvious to anyone! It’s only natural that I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch, just like in Elwood! And damn it, of course I defend your honour! What do you think I am by assuming I wouldn’t?!”
“What kind of feeble-minded statement is that?! I only know too well that what you do for me is not obvious! I’ve experienced enough shit that this is clear to me! On top of that, you completely disregarded your own honour when those filthy hounds berated you!” God, those insults had enraged him! He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.
“How am I supposed to rebuke them for telling the truth? I am hideous, and my damn nose is longer than the shitty river!” The pain in Vrila’s voice was hardly bearable as he pointed to the Meln. “You on the other hand are anything but stupid and I won’t abide any fools speaking to you like that!”
With those words, which honestly shocked Hyacinth, Vrila left him standing there and hurried off to the Pecan Bridge. It could already be seen through the mist.
Hyacinth’s heart throbbed so hard against his breastbone it hurt. Vrila’s self-loathing truly could neither be overlooked nor denied. Tears almost overcame him. He pressed his fingertips against his eyelids to stop them. A trembling breath sounded from his tight throat. Aware of how much his husband detested himself hurt more than his rebuke, and that was saying a lot.
It wasn’t disdained self-pity Vrila felt. Self-pity was defined by the circumstance in which someone feels sorry for himself and is convinced he doesn’t deserve the bad treatment he’s been subjected to. But Vrila was convinced that those bastards were right and seemed to believe he deserved the scorn and mockery that met him at every turn.
Hurriedly he started walking to catch up – whereby he kept some distance and unhappily stared at his husband whose back was as straight as a candle, while he marched like a soldier being taken to the gallows, accepting his fate like a man.
Before Hyacinth realised it, a warm trickle ran down one of his frigid cheeks. He forcefully swiped at it then chided himself for not knowing better how to pull himself together. In addition to the fact that he was a coward, he was also a weakling and – he conceded to those idiots back there – a boy who couldn’t even read properly. The circumstance under which Vrila had heard him stammering at Mr Wiplay’s shamed him deeply.
His spouse was highly intelligent and educated – he was a physician, damn it! Now he had to be satisfied with a husband so gravely lacking in education.
*
Finally, Hyacinth was pattering along.
; Vrila wouldn’t have been pleased to have to go back and fetch him. However, he would have done so, unable to justify leaving him alone.
God, how much he’d wanted that kiss! But he couldn’t have accepted it because he deemed himself unworthy…
The turmoil inside him was nearly unbearable. Especially for him. He wasn’t used to dealing with the many emotions now befalling him – thanks to that endearing person three steps behind him who’d made his head spin.
Without anyone having raised a hand against him, his stomach felt like it had been punched.
He looked over at the Pecan Bridge, which spanned the broad Meln, and noticed a man sitting on its balustrades. He looked suspiciously like Sergei. The wind was blowing in his locks, while he was staring with hostility at the water as if it had hurt him in some way.
With two fingers to his lips, Vrila whistled for Perkovic who instantly awoke from his reverie and raised his head. Their gazes met, and the man leapt down from the railing to wait for him beside one of the tall iron pylons. Like Vrila, he also stuck his hands deep in his coat pockets to protect them from the frost.
“Gavrii? What is it?”
”Where’s Haggard? Did you two take Fowler back to Elwood?”
“Before that he wanted to go to the market. Provided himself a few days’ worth of food with your money.”
Incredulously Vrila raised his eyebrows and leaned his back against the balustrade of cold stone. “Food?”
Perkovic mimicked his movements. “A small bottle of beer was part of it,” he admitted with a mumble. “If you ask me, Fowler doesn’t drink much. His brother’s murder, not his taste for alcohol, robbed him of his reason.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Hyacinth greeted Sergei with a curt nod and joined them, taking care to keep a safe distance from Vrila who swallowed hard, displeased by the present circumstances.
“What brings you two here?”
Vrila had to clear his throat before he could respond: “Hyacinth would like you to visit the asylum and gather some information about Fowler.”
“To Fortlock?” Perkovic didn’t appear particularly enthusiastic; nevertheless he agreed without having to be asked again: “It’s fine by me.”
Was he doing it for the lad? Certainly… Grinding his teeth, he wondered what there was between the two. He brushed the cold drizzle from his face and in his pockets balled his hands into fists so tightly they hurt.
“What should I be asking?”
Hyacinth interjected: “It’s only important to know when he was there, when they released him. Anything else you can find out is a bonus.”
“Do I get a reward for it?” Perkovic asked with a filthy grin, appearing to devour Hyacinth with his eyes.
“As a reward I won’t knock your teeth in, my friend,” Vrila snarled and pushed against Sergei’s chest to force the man to direct his eyes away from his husband.
“You’re in a mood again today.” Perkovic shook his head and gave him a disapproving glare. “Do you really believe Vincent Fowler’s death has something to do with the secret society?”
“We won’t know until we know when his murder occurred,” Hyacinth responded in a voice that had taken on an urgent tone as if he expected Sergei to dash off right then.
Perkovic was also aware of the undertone: “Yes, yes, I’ll do it, but not right away. First, I have to think about what I’m going to say.”
“You just act like Mr Fowler is an old friend and you want to know when he was there, just to help jog his memory,” Hyacinth replied – still agitated.
“Head over there early in the morning.” Vrila came to his assistance. “We’re playing cards tomorrow evening. A good time to discuss your new findings with us, don’t you think?”
With a nod, Sergei agreed. “Good idea. Maybe this knowledge will help us along.” He sighed quietly. “Let’s hope so.”
Once again he wondered why Perkovic was so committed to solving Dimitri’s murder. He hadn’t known him. Dimitri wouldn’t have had anything to do with someone like Sergei. A man without a name and standing – and without a house and courtyard – had been worth nothing to Dimitri.
What issue did Perkovic have with the secret society? He never said anything about it and never replied properly when someone questioned him about his motives.
“Are you also invited to Bartie’s this evening?” Hyacinth asked. Apparently he found the silence uncomfortable.
Sergei grunted with scorn. “Are you serious? Good ole Bartholomew tolerates me at Gavrii’s house, but he wouldn’t let me in his for any price. And certainly not at all when he puts on one of his fine events.”
Once more they cloaked themselves in silence interrupted only by the rippling Meln. That day few people were on the streets. Most had locked themselves in their warm rooms to shield themselves from the winter cold. No one could blame them.
With a sigh Vrila pulled out a coin and gave it to Sergei. “Find an inn where you can warm yourself at its hearth.”
Perkovic’s terse nod was sufficient thanks for him, and he turned to his husband: “We should go home now.”
They set out for the house without saying a word to one another.
Chapter 9
Vrila still felt discomfited, although he and Hyacinth had been standing for a while in the small ballroom of Bartie’s massive house which served as the site for the host’s soirées. The latter had barely devoted any time to them and had spoken only a few standard greetings.
To his immense relief, Vrila noticed no one among the many guests who had been present that unfortunate night six days ago to witness Hyacinth being denounced and humiliated.
Therefore, all contemptuous glares were directed at him. He was used to them, since few people regarded him any differently. That he could live with. Also with the fact that they avoided contact with him like the Devil shied from holy water. He only sensed discomfort concerning the question of what his young husband must think about it all. Of course, the boy knew what people thought of his spouse, but having to endure such an evening at his side was quite a different matter.
After they’d argued once again that afternoon, he’d found it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the icy mood between them.
They were standing in a corner clutching their champagne glasses. Hyacinth’s fingers seemed just as clenched around the stem of his glass as his own were. Vrila wished he could break the silence and say something persuasive enough to bring him back from his dismal aloofness – to which Hyacinth had relegated himself – but he couldn’t think of anything. He wasn’t especially well-practised in connecting with other people, certainly no secret to anyone who’d dealt with him for more than a minute.
He was terribly despondent as he observed out of the corner of an eye the exceptional profile framed by light-blond locks set in well-groomed waves.
The young man at his side cleared his throat before, to Vrila’s astonishment, finally uttering words to end his silent protest.
“Will you teach me a few things about medicine?”
Hyacinth’s gentle voice caused him to flinch so intensely he almost dropped his glass. Heavens, his pulse was racing.
“If you’d like,” he replied hoarsely.
“Seymour thinks he doesn’t know enough to give me an understanding of it. But I’m interested in what knowledge a doctor has to offer. Therefore for me it’s very fortunate to be married to one.”
“If only he weren’t such an exasperating fellow, hmm?” Vrila found it difficult to express those words as a quip since he meant them as a stern self-criticism.
Hyacinth avoided looking at him and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “He has a few peculiar mannerisms,” he stated in a barely audible voice then added in an even softer tone: “That I can put up with.”
Had he actually said that? Did he mean it seriously? Vrila faced sparkling green eyes, gleaming even brighter than usual in the light of so many candles. His heart felt like it had stopped.
“Hey, you two?” Bartie cheerfully interrupted their conversation which had taken such an unexpected turn. “May I borrow your husband for a few minutes, my boy?”
“If you’ll return him to me safe and sound.”
Bartholomew jutted his chin and grinned. “Is it that important to you?”
“Indeed it is,” Hyacinth replied in an earnest tone and sounded as if it were truly of great significance.
Vrila was overwhelmed. Thus, without any resistance, he allowed Bartie to lead him outside to the terrace.
How could the boy speak so kindly to and about him after he’d acted like the biggest arsehole on earth?
In a flash of despair, he rumpled his hair and noticed his forehead was damp with sweat.
“You seem unhappy,” Bartie said when the large glass door shut behind them. “Even more than usual.”
Instead of a response, Vrila directly broached the subject that had been on his mind all evening: “Bartie, you do have influence and influential friends.”
Bushy, white eyebrows arched. “Yes?”
“Hyacinth wants to attend the École de Supériorité. I … I don’t know how I can make that happen and … I thought, you might perhaps have some advice for me.”
Bartholomew seemed irritated. No wonder. Since they had known one another, the man had never heard Vrila ask anyone for anything. “Well, I can’t make promises, but I could enquire if something can be done about it.”
“That would be excellent. Thank you,” Vrila uttered with relief then took a generous swallow of champagne, causing his face to flush.
“Between the boy and you ... is there anything going on? I sensed something there.”
In horror he exhaled a breath. It formed tiny cloudlets. “What kind of nonsense is that? I could be his father.”
“But you aren’t.” The fine gentleman smiled, and Vrila believed he heard a hint of innuendo in his voice.
Good Heavens, could the man feel how deeply Vrila’s longing had intensified during the course of that day – just because he’d seen Hyacinth at the tailor’s without a shirt on?
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 17