by Alison Jack
‘Lou, you're assuming the Sponsors have a better nature,’ said Matilda, her voice even more bitter than before. ‘I've never seen evidence of one in Faye.’
‘Why do you constantly insist on trying to put yourself in danger, Louis?’ added Lysander. ‘You're staying here even if I have to chain you down.’
‘Looks like His Lordshit's son imprisoning thing is catching on,’ said Louis to Theo in an attempt to lighten the mood. Theo didn't even smile at his friend's bad joke.
‘I can't help feeling it's all my fault,’ he said. ‘Before I took off the Unsponsored had homes, Louis had a place at the Games, Applethwaite was free. I escaped from His Lordshit, but at what cost? In light of what's happened to Dex, I really think the only thing I can do is give myself up…’
‘Don't you dare!’ Alan's voice took everyone by surprise as he raised his head and glared at Theo. ‘Don't you dare, Theo! What would that achieve? His Lordshit would have both you and…Dex…’
Controlling himself with a tremendous effort, Alan carried on in an admirably strong voice.
‘His Lordshit – may he rot in hell – would have both you and Dex at his mercy; and Matty would be sitting up here feeling like I do right now…’
As Alan sank his head back onto his knees, withdrawing from the conversation once more, Matilda turned to Theo.
‘Satisfied, Theo?’ she said, looking into her boyfriend's eyes. ‘Never, ever say anything that stupid again!’
Thoroughly chastened, Theo promised that he wouldn't.
‘Good,’ said Louis, ‘I'm glad we've got that sorted. Self-pity doesn't suit you, Theo. So what do we do now? Wait for His Lordshit to contact us?’
‘We're assuming His Lordshit's put the thugs up to this, are we?’ asked Abi, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘It wouldn't be the first time Dyer's acted on his own…’
‘Dyer acted alone that time, darling,’ Jess interrupted, her voice as bitter as her daughter's. ‘I think we can assume that when the thugs act as a collective it's on His Lordshit's instructions.’
‘In answer to your question, Louis, I'd say we wait for His Lordshit to contact us,’ said Lysander. ‘I know it's difficult when every instinct says to beg for Dex's release, but when His Lordshit's in the mind to behave like this, my experience is that begging's the last thing you should do…’
‘Couldn't agree more,’ Theo added. ‘And I should know! When His Lordshit's in tyrant mode, which he clearly is at the moment, the way to guarantee the worst will happen is to plead for mercy. Don't even let him know we're worried…’
‘I should think he'll guess we're worried,’ said Matilda, looking a little confused.
‘He can guess all he likes, but what he wants is evidence. He feeds off other people's misery. I recommend that we don't react at all, get His Lordshit baffled. He'll contact us soon enough.’
Before anyone could reply, Georgie let out a howl. ‘It's driving me mad!’ she shrieked. ‘Why can't we DO something?’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, like tell those thugs in the street we want to speak to His Lordshit NOW! Tell him to let Dex go unharmed or, I don't know…we'll…I don't know…’
‘You heard Theo and Lysander, Georgie,’ said Chris gently. ‘It'll only make things worse for Dex…’
‘How much worse can things get for him, Chris?’ Georgie demanded, starting to cry again. ‘He's in a van full of violent thugs, at least one of whom we know to be a murderer…’
‘…Georgie, don't…’
‘…While we're sitting here waiting and tiptoeing round His Lordshit's ego, God knows what's happening to Dex. They've probably beaten him to a pulp by now. He might even be dead…’
‘Georgie, please…’ started Matilda, but the damage was done. Leaping up from his foetal position in the corner of the stage, Alan ran across the bar and disappeared into the inn's living quarters, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-three
As the weeks hurtled inexorably towards the start of the Games, Lord William's security guards were regularly in confrontation with the Unsponsored, whose ranks seemed to be swelling in London with every passing day. Lord William, cocooned in his inner sanctum, found himself positively revelling in the notion of the battles going on outside, his imagination going into overdrive as he dreamed of increasingly brutal ways to crush the underclass. The television reporters covering the daily protests of the Unsponsored rebels had got wise to the fact it wasn't a good career move to interview Maxwell Barrington; however handsome, charismatic and perfect for television the young man might seem.
Max wasn't thwarted at all by this. The Unsponsored newsletter was no longer a secret; instead Max, Cathie and the Unsponsored living in and around the network's headquarters distributed the newsletter freely to the public, Sponsored or Unsponsored. A lot of the Sponsored, for so long threatened and brainwashed by their Sponsors, were finally finding themselves exposed to alternative opinions, some for the first time in their lives. Once they had delivered their message for the day, the Unsponsored would disappear rapidly into the warren of redundant industrial buildings they had made their home, leaving the Sponsor authorities at a loss.
On his return to London, Lord William had immediately sent Rosanna in the other direction. Ignoring the fact that his elder daughter had been doing all that was asked of her, Lord William considered her to have failed and decided exile in Applethwaite to be adequate punishment.
‘It looks like I'll have to do the job in London myself,’ he roared at his daughter as she climbed into the car waiting to take her and a couple of security guards back to Applethwaite. ‘Hopefully even you can manage to keep that village in order.’
Lord William's top Sponsors were becoming increasingly anxious about His Lordship's apparent indifference to the battleground on the capital's streets. With the Games now less than a month away, they'd expected His Lordship to be coming down hard on the Unsponsored. Instead, he continued to underestimate the problem as it grew and grew.
‘They're only a few underclass,’ he'd say, turning off the informative news bulletins and greeting his Sponsors with a smile. Far more interesting to Lord William was the fact he once again had a prisoner languishing in the faded luxury of the fourth-floor bedroom that had once housed Theo. Time that would have been better spent discussing the Unsponsored rebels, His Lordship preferred to utilise taunting the rather beaten-up American who had started appearing in the armchair, previously favoured by Theo, whenever the inner circle gathered. Although less insolent than Theo, Dexter Montfiore was steadfast in his criticism of the Scheme's methods of control, and several beatings at the hands of Stephen Dyer had done nothing to shake the man's resolve. Lord William, a self-confessed homophobe, was proud of the fact that he despised any man who could find another man attractive, but he couldn't help but have a grudging respect for the nerve of his prisoner. Therefore, His Lordship found himself allowing Dex to join him in his office each day, just as he'd once allowed Theo the same privilege.
‘Didn't your limp-wristed apology for a boyfriend teach you to play?’ asked Lord William one day, watching Dex's attempts to get a tune out of Theo's old guitar. When Dex ignored him, Lord William snapped, ‘Montfiore, reply when I speak to you!’
‘I would, Your Lordship,’ said Dex, meeting Lord William's gaze despite one eye being so swollen he could hardly open it, ‘only I didn't understand the question.’
‘Do you want me to instruct Dyer to teach you another lesson, faggot?’ roared Lord William, as usual losing his temper in the face of Dex's refusal to show fear, or any other emotion for that matter.
‘I guess you're going to do that whatever I say, so if it's all the same to you I'll not voice an opinion.’ Dex was quite right on that subject. Although Lord William sought out the company of his prisoner on a daily basis, it always ended with Dex's unruffled demeanour annoying His Lordship so much that one of the thugs, usually the despicable Dyer, was instructed to ‘tea
ch the poof a lesson’, before locking Dex back in Theo's old bedroom.
Lord William left it well over a week before contacting the Applethwaite Unsponsored, hoping that his continued silence would break the spirit of both them and Dex. Regularly, His Lordship taunted Dex with Alan's lack of contact.
‘Ahh, looks like Santiago didn't love you after all, Montfiore. What a shame. No doubt Faye's on hand to jump into the space you left in his bed…’
Once again, Dex did his best to stare at Lord William, both eyes now no more than slits thanks to another pummelling from Dyer. To Lord William's dismay, Dex was smiling.
‘Nice try, Your Lordship; but as you and I both know, Alan's cut off from the rest of the country, which kind of handicaps him a bit. I guess that we'll just have to hang on until you decide the time's right to speak to him.’
Dex was actually very concerned about how the highly strung Alan was coping, knowing that Alan was likely to be going out of his mind with worry. However, Dex would have cut out his own tongue before he'd have voiced this concern to Lord William.
Since the abduction of Dex, the occupants of The White Lion had done their best to carry on as normal. Alan stayed locked in his bedroom for the remainder of the day of Dex's disappearance, refusing even Matilda's frequent offers of company. However, the following morning Alan was the first one up, busying himself making tea or coffee for his friends as each of them appeared in the kitchen.
‘I could have done that, Dad,’ said Matilda, gently trying to take the kettle from Alan.
‘That's very kind of you, Matty darling, but I'm still capable of putting the kettle on.’
Throughout the day, Alan continued to politely but firmly turn down the well-meant offers of his daughter and friends to do everything for him. By mid-morning, he'd thrown himself into a frenzy of cleaning.
‘Dad, that doesn't need to be done now,’ said Matilda, attempting to stop Alan from moving all the band's gear from the stage in order to give it a thorough cleaning. Once again, Alan gently rebuffed his daughter's pleas to get him to sit down and relax.
‘Why not, darling?’ he asked, looking at his daughter with pain-filled eyes. ‘The stage may not need cleaning, but I need to clean it.’
‘But, Dad…’ began Matilda, interrupted by Lysander.
‘Let your dad carry on, Matty. It'll beat brooding, I should know.’
‘Yes, but he can't move Dex's…I mean the keyboard on his own…’
‘You can mention Dex's name, you know,’ said Alan, closing his eyes briefly. ‘I won't fall apart. When – when that is, not if – when Dex walks back through that door I don't want him to find me falling apart…’
‘Come on, Al,’ said Lysander decisively. ‘I'll help you move Dex's keyboard.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No problem…’
‘I meant, thank you for understanding.’
‘Still no problem, Al. I remember what it was like after Nikki died. Everyone thought they were doing me a favour by telling me to take it easy all the time, when in actual fact more time on my hands to brood was the last thing I needed. I'm guessing it's the same for you.’ Alan nodded, and Lysander continued.
‘It's the same with people trying not to mention Nikki's name, or Dex's in your case, when actually all you want to do…is talk about…sorry, Al; you don't need this…’
Leaning over the keyboard, Alan put a comforting hand on his friend's arm as the tears rolled unchecked down Lysander's face.
‘It's fine, Lysander; really. It'll do me good to remember I'm not the only one hurting,’ he said. ‘Any time you need to talk about Nikki, I'll always listen.’
Alan continued to spend every waking moment cleaning; scrubbing the inn thoroughly from top to bottom before starting at the top once more. He found that keeping himself occupied was his best hope of staying sane as the days passed without word from His Lordship. Taking her lead from Alan, Georgie decided that the inn's dining room needed decorating. Fetching tins of paint from the outhouse she set to work, not even letting up when her husband brought her refreshments and tried to persuade her to take a break. Consequently, both Alan and Georgie were so physically exhausted by the time they fell into their beds at night that, for a while at least, they each managed to get some sleep before consciousness and unwelcome thoughts once more overtook them.
The rest of Dory's Avengers were also having trouble passing the time, which seemed to stretch on interminably as they waited for word from Lord William. Many were found working out in the gym, so well equipped the previous summer by Dex, while Louis continued his training, perfecting his most complex routines as the Games drew ever closer. Neither he nor Gideon alluded once to the fact that their hopes of actually getting to the Games were fading with every day of their imprisonment in The White Lion. It had become an unspoken rule among Dory's Avengers that no one would speak a negative thought; even Alan kept repeating that where there was life, there was hope. The band would play every evening for hours, avoiding songs that required a keyboard player as no one was prepared to step into Dex's shoes. Alan's brilliance on the guitar seemed to have increased with his pain. Unbeknown to Dory's Avengers, Mortimer O'Reilly was regularly found skulking outside the inn as Alan played; the money man often moved to tears by the wonderful music. In deference to the part she felt she had played in Dex's abduction, Faye kept away, fearing that the mere sight of her might enhance Alan's suffering.
The prisoners of The White Lion were well aware that His Lordship hadn't been seen since the day before Dex's capture, and that Lady Rosanna had arrived in Applethwaite instead. Isabelle couldn't resist surreptitious looks out of the window at her elder daughter whenever Rosanna appeared in the street, and she frequently had to admonish the rest of Dory's Avengers for their unkind opinions of Rosanna.
‘Why's Lady Bitch waltzing about out there again?’ was a question often asked, as Rosanna did seem to spend a lot of time hanging around outside the inn. Unbeknown to them, she did this hoping to get a glimpse of Adam, who filled her head the whole time. Dory's Avengers, remembering the harsh, arrogant Lady Rosanna they'd experienced in the past, thought she merely wanted to antagonise them.
‘She's probably looking for someone to bully.’
‘Probably missing Dyer; they're two of a kind.’
‘She must hate being exiled up here, silly bitch. Wonder what she did to piss His Lordshit off that much…’
‘Breathed probably,’ said Theo. ‘That's all she had to do to piss me off…’
‘Theodore,’ snapped Izzy, ‘don't talk about your sister like that!’
‘But, Mum, she hates me. I'm only returning the compliment…’
‘No! The lot of you, please remember that Rosanna is my daughter and show some respect!’
‘Mum, she doesn't deserve any…’
‘Respect for me then, Theodore. Insult His Lordshit all you like, I'll gladly join in; but never, ever insult my daughter in front of me! Whatever she's done, I still love her.’ Point made, Izzy sidled over to the window and, concealing herself behind the curtain, glanced out at her oldest child as a very subdued-looking Rosanna passed by.
Ten days after kidnapping Dexter Montfiore, Lord William finally capitulated. He would have claimed that it was all part of his master plan to contact Applethwaite on that particular day, but in reality he couldn't bear another moment of not knowing how much suffering he was causing Alan and the others in The White Lion. Contacting Rosanna on her laptop, he ordered her to go to The White Lion and stand by to set up a visual link with the Unsponsored.
‘Make sure that poof Santiago is on hand to talk to me,’ he told his impassive daughter. ‘If Theodore's about too, all the better. I'd like him to witness the result of his pathetic little rebellion.’
Expecting Rosanna to whine about having to speak to the Unsponsored, His Lordship was mildly disappointed with her indifferent response.
‘As you wish, Father,’ she said unemotionally. ‘I'll contact you as s
oon as we're ready to proceed.’
‘Take Faye with you!’ ordered His Lordship, disconcerted by Rosanna's lack of reaction. Lord William had no idea of the pain Rosanna was still suffering over losing Adam. Considering himself and Rosanna to have a close relationship, His Lordship didn't realise that there were many things his oldest child wouldn't even consider discussing with him.
Faye was most put out to be sent to The White Lion with Lady Rosanna, but she was disciplined enough not to let it show in front of His Lordship. As she accompanied the younger woman to the pub, Faye mused that it might not be a bad thing. Matilda, no doubt, would have a few choice words to say to her mother, and they would be the least Faye deserved in her own opinion. Anything to alleviate the guilt at having caused Alan so much pain, albeit inadvertently. By the time these thoughts had passed through Faye's head, Rosanna was already rapping her knuckles on the inn's door.
‘What do you want, Rosanna?’ asked Theo from within, holding back from an insult as his mother was still in the bar.
‘Father wishes to make contact, Theodore,’ replied Rosanna, ‘about…er…’ Rosanna had a quick look at the licensees’ names above The White Lion's door, ‘about Dexter Montfiore.’
Rosanna and Faye heard the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door swung open and Rosanna stood face to face with her brother; the brother who resembled both her and their father so much in looks but couldn't be more different in opinions. Hoping that his mother had concealed herself, Theo stood aside to usher Rosanna and Faye into the bar, locking the door behind them. Izzy had reluctantly retreated to the backroom, although Theo wasn't sure that Rosanna would even have noticed their mother. He watched his sister looking around the bar until her gaze fell on Adam, and remained on him.
‘Hello, Adam,’ she said almost shyly. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, Rose, thank you,’ he replied, smiling at his unusually hesitant ex-girlfriend. ‘Would you like a drink? Faye?’
‘I'd love a glass of dry white wine please, Adam,’ said Faye, watching Rosanna's reaction to Adam with interest and starting to understand what had caused the recent change in the young woman's personality.