by Edith Layton
As though he had known what was to come, Sir Sidney had avoided him for three days, but now, at last, he was run to earth. The baron was then not surprised at his host’s overly glib manner, or at the fact that he drank deep before he addressed his guest again.
“Out with it,” Sir Sidney said then, placing his elbows upon his desktop, resting his many chins in his hands, and looking at his guest owlishly. “I swear, Nicholas, old chap, you’ve put me into a quake. You’ve been so single-minded these last days, all you keep parroting is that you wish private discourse with me. Whatever can it be?” he said, and then went on quickly before the baron could even draw in breath to speak, “I’ve thought of the most incredible things, y’know, m’ boy,” he said, slurring his words just a little, although his guest doubted that the jot of brandy he had drunk had been enough to cause it; Sir Sidney was known as a fellow with a hard head. “I think that I’ve been deliberately avoiding you these past days, that serious phiz of yours sent me into such disarray. I can’t help but think that it’s to do with m’lady fair. You’ve been with her every moment since you’ve arrived here, and don’t think I haven’t noticed it, too.”
Sir Sidney paused, and glowered at his guest. But Nicholas’s face did not change. He sat at his ease, one leg casually thrown across the other, and returned his host’s accusing stare with a bored look. This was a game he understood. But was the fool actually trying to frighten him off, make him so abashed at the discovery of his presumed adultery that he would slink away and let the matter be? If so, the baron thought ruefully, then Sir Sidney was not so clever as he had given him credit for being.
But now Sir Sidney’s face softened, it became, in fact, almost clownish in its innocence as he went on to say, “I know she’s a beauty and I know I don’t deserve her. But if you’ve set your heart at her feet, I want you to know, m’boy, that I’ll look t’other way. She may do as she wishes, so long as she stays here with me.” He waggled his finger at the baron before he added, “Now, there’s plain speaking, lad.”
“It can hardly be plainer,” drawled the baron, “but it also can hardly be more unnecessary. I don’t pine for her, Ollie, and we haven’t the sort of relationship that should give you either a moment’s pause as to her constancy or the slightest upper hand over me.”
Sir Sidney dropped his childish expression and looked genuinely shocked at that bit of information.
“You mustn’t blame her for it. She is dazzling and no doubt obedient to your wishes,” the baron sighed, “but I never mix business with pleasure.”
“You wasn’t so damned particular last time you visited!” Sir Sidney said venomously, all traces of good humor gone.
“I was not upon business then,” the baron said coolly.
Sir Sidney rose and stepped out from behind his desk. He placed his hands behind his back and faced his visitor. He was no longer the charming host, or the offended husband, or the jolly fat man, the baron noted. He was now deadly serious, and very frightened.
“It’s bad news then?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so,” the baron said, not unkindly, as he too rose to his feet and set down his glass upon the desk. “All has been discovered, as they say in the old cliché, but rather than advising you to ‘Fly, at once,’ I am here to tell you that you may as well stay put. For you’re not welcome back at home, sir, and never shall be again. That’s the sum of it. I’m sorry that you had me on your hands for all this time for just this unhappy news. If you had seen me at once, I should have been able to settle the matter immediately. But that is all there is to it. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Ollie,” the baron said as he turned to go.
“Wait!” Sir Sidney cried. “Wait, Stafford. I must speak with you.”
The baron paused. It was this that he had disliked about the assignment initially, this possibility that Sir Sidney would plead with him for mercy. For he had no authority to change anything. He only had the task of bringing the news. He attempted to explain this to his host, but Sir Sidney motioned to him to sit again. He was so very visibly upset, that in all conscience the baron could do little else but agree.
“For God’s sake, Stafford,” Sir Sidney said, his face grown very white and beads of moisture apparent upon it, “what am I to do?”
“There’s nothing to do,” Nicholas said on a sigh. “It’s been decided. If I were you, I should consider myself lucky that there is nothing else to it. Exile may not be comfortable, but it is, I understand, a great deal less uncomfortable than hanging.”
“If you were me,” Sir Sidney said, swinging about to address the baron with a glittering eye. “You cannot know what it is to be me! Look at you. Look at me. My God, man, how can you know what it is to be me?”
The baron made as if to speak, but Sir Sidney waved him to silence with a trembling, flapping hand. “If I were you, then no, I should not have done as I did. What would have been the point of it? For it wasn’t done for conviction’s sake, Nicholas, nor in malice. But I must have the blunt to keep this place running, to pay for servants, entertainments, luxuries. My estates could not support my life-style. It wasn’t even done for me. But for her. Don’t you see? It was all for her.”
His guest felt supremely uncomfortable. Tears were coming to Sir Sidney’s eyes, the man clearly suffered. But still, knowing his past history and knowing that such a man was many things, but never only a sentimental fool, the baron said nothing and only waited patiently for him to be done with his speech. It was to be a plea for understanding, he knew. He did not have the power to grant the fellow a reprieve, but at least he could hear him out. “You’re a man of the world, Stafford,” Sir Sidney went on, locking his gaze with his guest’s, “but do you know what it is to love completely, even though you know it is folly? I adore her, even though I know she is unfaithful. But I allow her to be so, I even encourage it, all so that she will stay with me. I indulge her in everything. Yet, with all that I give her, I know very well that when my purse empties, she will leave me. And I cannot bear the thought of that. I don’t like myself for it, but there it is. Do you know what it is to be unmanned by love?”
There must have been something, something quickly expressed and as quickly suppressed, in the baron’s face that encouraged his host to go on.
“No, how could you know?” Sir Sidney said brokenly. “Only look at you. Females think themselves privileged to touch you. They dote on you: your form, your face, your voice, do you think I don’t know? She was used to go on about your shoulders, for God’s sake, Stafford. Do you know what it was like to give her a new emerald bracelet and hear her murmuring about your damned bloody shoulders?
“I am not so much older than you, Stafford,” Sir Sidney said, drawing himself up with a curious sort of defenseless dignity, “though you wouldn’t think it. Only five years your senior, in fact. Where is the fairness in that? I was born with this foolish, bandy-legged body. I was born with this insipid face. When I reached my third decade, I lost my hair and what was left of my form and then my honor, because of it. But it was not fair. Why should nature have made me plump and old before my time, and made you so wondrous desirable? Do not condemn me, Stafford. Oh no, not until you think .on the inequality of mankind and the cruelty of chance. I must pay, and pay dearly, for love because of it. You are free to love where you wish because of it.”
“This is nonsense and you know it,” the baron said coldly. “Do you think that patriots are all models of manly beauty? And that traitors are all uncomely? What a simple world that would be. And do you think that having a pleasing aspect guarantees love and happiness? No, if these are actually your reasonings, they are false and inadequate. You had this home, located so neatly near the main routes to Paris, Brussels, and Vienna. You entertained your countrymen, you took their confidences as payment and then sold them for personal gain, whatever the spur. Shall we tell those poor lads maimed and murdered through information given that it was their lot to suffer because you lacked beauty in the eyes of your love?
It’s nonsense, Ollie. If you wish to believe it, then do. But be done with explaining it to me.”
Nicholas shook his head in disbelief and then went on. “But I doubt you believe it yourself. Listen well, Ollie. I only delivered the message. I had no part in making the decision, nor can I alter it in any way.”
“But you can,” Sir Sidney said eagerly. “That’s the point, you can. You’re trusted, you’re in at the top. Your word is as good as any man’s. Better, actually. You could vouch for me, work for me, exonerate me completely. But,” he said hastily, seeing the baron’s expression, “I do not even ask that. Tell them you could not reach me. Tell them you had no chance for speech with me. Give me time, time to see how I can clear myself, for given time, I can.
“Give me time to gather the facts to convince them,” Sir Sidney cried, grasping onto his guest’s coat sleeve with his warm, moist hand. “You have some further business on the Continent, I know that. Forget me for a space, at least until you return home. Or tell them that you sought me out on the way home, rather than on the way going, and missed me, is that so very much to ask?”
“No,” said the baron with finality, “it is not so very much, but it is far too much. I have given my word. I cannot break it. It is not and never was a matter of my personal choice, or my opinion or sympathy, in any wise. Believe me. I had a message to deliver. Merely that. It is out of my hands now. There can be nothing more upon my part.”
“I warn you...” Sir Sidney cried out, his eyes wild with emotion, “I swear you will regret this.”
The baron disengaged his arm from his host’s grim clasp. He said only, “Do not beg me, and do not warn me. Can’t you see?” He gestured impatiently. “It is over, it is done.” Then he bowed politely and said coldly, “I thank you for your hospitality, Sir Sidney. I shall leave now. I do not think we shall meet again. Good day.”
Sir Sidney stood alone in his study and trembled with rage. What he most feared, and had feared for years now, had come to pass. It could have been worse, he knew. Not only had he eluded the hangman’s noose that might have awaited him, but there could have just as easily been a different sort of courier with an entirely different sort of message to deliver: a bland powder to place in his wine, or a keen knife to slip through his ribs. Yet, that might have been kinder for him.
For now that the war was over, he had no more information to sell. With no money coming in, he could never keep up life in his accustomed style for long. When that gaiety ended, he had always thought that he could at least return home. But now, he had not even that. He did not delude himself into thinking that she would remain with him for much longer than it took for his funds to run out. He would have no home, no wife, no future. But he was not the sort of man to give up easily.
He would work with the materials at hand, he thought, as he steadied himself and went to sit behind his desk again. He poured himself another libation and downed it rapidly. The Baron Stafford was not the man he would have chosen to work through, but a man must seize any opportunity when he fought for his life. And then again, he realized, he had always resented Stafford, just as he had said. The baron’s being the chosen messenger had been a greater insult, perhaps they had known that. No matter, it would only mean that what he must do would not be so onerous a task. Oh no, Sir Sidney thought darkly, as he remembered his guest’s departing words, you shall see me again, Stafford, and next time there will be a great deal more that you will offer to do upon your part. I shall see to it. And then, you will not thank me for my hospitality, or for anything, because you will discover that I am a man of my word as well.
“Brussels?” Julia asked.
“Brussels,” the Baron Stafford replied flatly.
She had been sent the message to leave, even as she had sat down to luncheon in her room. It was fortunate that her possessions had never been unpacked in the first place, for she would not have had the time to fold up a handkerchief to carry away with her. Within moments of the notice given, footmen had collected her bags, Celeste had handed her her shawl, and she had gone down the stairs to the waiting carriage. Now, as they departed the drive and reached the main road, the baron spoke of their destination.
This time he rode within the carriage and his horse was led outside. He sat back and relaxed against the squabs and spoke to her for the first time since their strange meeting and parting the previous night. When he had come into the coach, she noted that his face bore the marks of strain. He was paler than usual and there was a grim set to his mouth. She thought that perhaps she had angered him in yet another way, but after a few moments she realized that he was distracted and did not seem to notice her at all. Only when they arrived at the main road, did he relax the set of his shoulders and seem to recollect his surroundings. He actually smiled at her before he spoke. But then he said, “Paris, then Brussels,” and she left off searching his face for his reactions and only reacted to the news.
“But I thought only Paris,” she said.
“We are equally distant from Brussels,” he replied, “and I have heard that Robin was last seen there. If we cannot discover him in Paris, then we shall go to Brussels, of course. But I heard that he was on the move toward Paris. And toward Vienna, and Amsterdam and Egypt, and Constantinople as well, for all I know,” he said gloomily.
He leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes. “But,” he said at length, “it is most likely that he is in Paris, for that information came from a fellow who is only usually three-parts drunk rather than four. And the Belgian location was given me by a fribble whom I would doubt if he told me that it was warm at the equator. No, we look for him in Paris, and only if he is not there, will we travel on.”
Since Julia said nothing in reply, the baron eventually opened his eyes to observe her. She sat with her head lowered, her fingers raveling and unraveling a bit of fringe at the end of her shawl. “You have a reason to dislike Brussels?” he inquired.
“I did not think I should have to go so far,” she said sadly. Raising her head, she said earnestly, “It’s foolishness itself, I know, but each of these places you name is the stuff of fantasy to me. They are names I read of in books or heard in my childhood and never thought to actually visit. When you say Brussels, you may as well say Constantinople or The Indies or indeed, the moon. The mere sound of those incredibly faraway places that I shall be forced to travel to sets me to quaking, and fills me with dread. I know it’s nonsensical, but there it is. I am not a very adventuresome soul, I fear. I should have been just as happy to remain at home for the whole of my life.”
She looked so sorrowful and sounded so forlorn that each of the two others in the coach reacted to her mood. Celeste made a little clucking sound and stopped herself just as she leaned forward to put her arms about her new mistress’s slumping shoulders. She appeared so vulnerable, so pale and golden, so fragile a victim that the baron felt at one and the same time the desires to comfort her, to set her free, to forget his mission just to see her smile, and to shake her thoroughly until the truth spilled from her lovely, deceitful lips.
Instead, he gave himself a imperceptible shake and said, as laconically as if the subject was only of passing interest to him, “Indeed? How odd, then, that such a meek, timid soul should kick over all her traces and fly in the face of convention as you did. Perhaps age has mellowed you, my dear, for I do not think your history shows you to have always been so loathe to seek adventure.” She winced at his words, and turned her head aside so quickly that he felt as though he had delivered an actual physical blow to her again.
“I am sorry,” he said in a muted voice. “It has been a difficult day for me, and I suspect I was only trying to make it so for everyone else.”
He knocked on the window to secure the coachman’s attention as he went on to say, “I believe I’ll ride outside for a while to clear my head. I’ve had too much of Sir Sidney’s hospitality and seem to have picked up some of the manners of his set during my visit. I need some fresh air to c
ounteract it.”
As the coach slowed so that he could disembark and mount his horse, he saw that Julia still sat with her head averted and her eyes downcast.
“We shall rest this night at a very pleasant inn,” he said. When she did not reply, he said as his hand touched the door, preparatory to leaving, “It is quite famous for its cuisine.” She gave no response. As the door swung open, the baron then said in a rush, as though the words must be discharged from him in one breath, “I should be pleased if you would have dinner with me tonight.” Then, as though he realized how foolish such a formal invitation sounded from its recipient’s startled reaction to it, he smiled wryly and added, “You do have the option of refusing me, you know, Miss Hastings. I insist you accompany me to Paris, but I invite you to my dinner table.”
There was a silence as he paused, bent double, at the door to the coach awaiting her reply. The expression upon his cool visage was unreadable.
“Thank you,” Julia said slowly, drawing herself up until she sat erect, “I should be pleased to join you.”
But now, in the one unguarded moment before he swung out of the coach, the expression upon the aristocratic face was discernible. And it was clearly in that brief instant, wary.
“Thank you,” he said unemotionally, and was gone.
The day was fine, and it was a relief for the baron to be away from his two companions, the enigmatic Miss Hastings and her new champion. He smiled to himself as he rode down the country road ahead of the two coaches. He had thought to hire on a maidservant for Miss Hastings’ convenience and it appeared he had instead secured the services of a firm ally for her. For he thought it was entirely possible that no matter what risks he had taken in his life, he might never have been so near to death as he had been in that moment after he done with insulting Miss Hastings. Or at least, so he thought from his quick glimpse toward Celeste’s livid face.