Rollins walked over to where they stood. “It seems word of the drawings and Rutter’s death have spread to the prisoners. It’s causing all sorts of unrest.”
Oliver frowned. “I hadn’t considered the problems that might cause.”
“If the papers learn of this and the rumors circulating...” Rollins shook his head. “We’re going to have trouble on our hands.”
“The public will latch onto this and even more problems will arise.” Oliver glanced at Hawke to see if he agreed.
“Indeed.” Hawke’s eyes narrowed as he watched Rollins move back to his men to answer another question.
“Do you think that is what Smithby intended?” Oliver asked.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Why else go to all the work of the markings, not to mention Rutter having died in a locked cell?”
“Clever bastard.”
“Other than having the sergeant speak with the guards and encourage their silence, I don’t know what more can be done.”
“But if visitors come and the prisoners talk of this,” Oliver began.
“There’s no chance of containing it. Word will spread quickly.”
“Unless...” Oliver’s thoughts swirled as he considered an idea that came to mind.
“What?” Hawke asked, impatient as always.
“We might not be able to stop the information from leaking, but perhaps we can control what it is.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not sure yet, but if no one here can read Latin or interpret symbols, we could tell them it says whatever we want.”
“As long as it’s believable.”
Oliver smiled, thinking of the possibilities.
“That would certainly anger Smithby,” Hawke said as he returned the smile. “Perhaps I can convince the sergeant to gather any interested reporters for an announcement after you’ve had a chance to study the markings.”
“Perfect. That will give us time to determine a plan.”
“And if we can come up with something to draw Smithby out or at the very least, anger him to the point where he does something rash, all the better.”
“The question is, how much do you trust the police?” Oliver asked as he studied the sergeant. “Will you tell Rollins the truth?”
Hawke mulled over the question. “I don’t believe so. We’ll keep this to ourselves for a time. We already know Smithby has ties to the police. Perhaps by doing so, we’ll be able to ferret out those whom Smithby is paying off.”
“Wouldn’t that be helpful. If so, we might actually make some progress.” He shared the little amount Victor had learned with Hawke.
“Damn. Too bad he couldn’t determine where this Thomas Crawford was going.”
At last the sergeant joined them. “Any luck?”
“I’ll need to check the meanings of some of these,” Oliver explained. “I should have something for you shortly.”
“The sooner the better, my lord,” he replied. “Otherwise I’ll have a riot on my hands, and no one will be willing to work here anymore.”
Oliver glanced over at the guards who stood by the door, their uneasiness clearly visible as they stared at the markings. “Let us see what we can do to keep this from helping Smithby.”
Chapter Thirteen
“‘I am as honest as I can afford to be,’ is an observation common in the mouth of those who really and truly earn their bread and acquire a creditable reputation by the sweat of their brow. It never seems to occur to them that such an admission is equal to a confession of dishonesty...”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia’s father looked up from his notes as she entered the library that afternoon.
“Anything from Frost?” he asked with a hopeful look on his face. “He said he’d come by today and assist me.”
“I remember, Father, but no, I haven’t heard anything from him.”
The disappointed droop to his mouth and slim shoulders reminded her of a young child who’d been denied a treat, not that she had much experience with children. She pushed aside the tug of regret that such a gift was not to be hers. Her father came before her own wants.
She didn’t care to disappoint him, which was exactly what Oliver was doing. There had been several occasions in the past when such a disappointment led to illness, or at the very least, despondency, and confined her father to his room. That path held danger, as Julia feared he’d decide the next life was preferable over this one. She couldn’t bear that, nor would she allow it to happen. Not until he’d reached a ripe old age.
“Shall I send him a message?” Julia asked even as she tried to tamp down her anger. Did Oliver not realize her father had taken him at his word? Did that word mean nothing?
But as an image of Oliver formed in her mind, her anger fell away. She remained convinced that Oliver was battling some issues of his own. She sensed the same despondency in him from which her father often suffered. It had been in his eyes when she’d called upon him earlier this week.
There had to be some reason he chose to lock himself away in that big house for days or even weeks at a time. She couldn’t help but think of the several times he’d seemed so uncomfortable when at a social outing. Why was that?
His behavior must be caused by something that occurred during his time in the Navy. She doubted he’d always suffered like this. A strong, capable man like him wouldn’t choose to go into the military if he despised crowds and people, let alone the Navy where one was confined to a ship for months at a time.
No, his reclusive behavior had to be caused by something that happened during his Navy years. Captain Hawke had come home injured. She’d hazard a guess that Oliver had as well, but perhaps his injuries were internal rather than external.
“No need to send a message,” her father said at last. “I’m certain he’s quite busy.”
Surely his schedule wasn’t the problem. What urgent matter would take the time of a medieval scholar? He studied the past for heaven’s sake. There was nothing pressing about that. Still, she wished she could aid him somehow.
“Maybe he’ll come on the morrow.” The wistful lilt of her father’s voice did not bode well.
“Shall we review what you’ve discovered thus far in your research?” Julia asked. “Perhaps talking it through with me will provide assistance.”
“No need, dear. I don’t believe you’d understand.”
“I’d be happy to try.”
Her father shook his head, not even bothering to look at her as he picked up his pen and shifted his attention to the book once more. She swallowed back her hurt. Why did it still bother her after she’d lived with his dismissal all her life? When her mother lived, his attention had been focused on his wife. She and her brother had only each other during their childhood until Aunt Matilda had joined them soon after her mother’s death.
The situation only made Julia more frustrated with Oliver. He’d placed her in an unfortunate position. Now what was she to do? She would give him a piece of her mind when he finally decided to make an appearance.
Blast him.
She smoothed the skirt of the pale blue gown she’d donned with Oliver in mind. How silly of her to want to look her best. She swallowed hard, refusing to focus on her disappointment at his absence. Surely her happiness wasn’t becoming dependent on him. That would never do.
~*~
Back in his library, Oliver ran his finger slowly along a vellum page, seeking information about one of the symbols he’d copied from the prison cell wall. He’d seen the symbol before but couldn’t remember exactly where.
“Anything?” Hawke asked, having stopped his pacing to stare over Oliver’s shoulder.
“You’ll be the first to know as soon as I find something.”
“Humph.” Hawke turned away to begin pacing again, his limp barely discernible.
“You are aware that your behavior is not assisting me in any way?” Oliver couldn’t help but shake his head at his friend.
&
nbsp; “Then give me something productive to do. I can look through one of those books as easily as you.”
“No, thank you. These books are delicate, ancient texts. I shudder to think of you paging through them with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.”
Hawke glared at him.
“What?” Oliver asked, his gaze never leaving the page though he could feel the weight of his friend’s stare. “I only speak the truth.”
Hawke resumed his pacing but slower this time, apparently attempting to be less distracting. Several quiet minutes passed as Oliver jotted down the possible interpretations of the symbol before moving on to the next one he’d copied on the paper.
“Did you actually visit the museum?” Hawke asked.
Oliver glanced up at the question, surprised his friend knew. Then Hawke held up the pamphlet Oliver had taken yesterday. “Yes,” Oliver answered. “With the Earl of Burnham and Lady Julia. We toured the medieval artifacts exhibit.”
Hawke’s brow rose as he drew closer. “What ho? Visiting a museum with the lady and her father? What does that mean?”
Oliver couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling that rolled through him at Hawke’s words. Not that he was embarrassed by the outing. He just didn’t care to discuss it. “It means I went to the museum with them.”
“And?” Hawke prodded.
“There is no ‘and’. I have nothing more to report.”
“You’ve been in Lady Julia’s company more than once now. Several times, in fact.” The innuendo in his friend’s tone was impossible to ignore.
“As you well know, her father has the book I need.” Suddenly he remembered his promise to pay a visit to Lord Burnham that day to assist him. “Damn.”
“What?” Hawke asked as he hurried forward.
Oliver held up a hand. “Nothing to do with the current task. I forgot I was supposed to do something today.”
“It involves Lady Julia?”
“Indirectly. More to do with her father. I promised to spend some time with the earl today to assist him in our research. He seems despondent at times. I thought some company might aid him.”
“Then you must truly care for his daughter.”
“I didn’t say that.” Oliver was careful not to meet Hawke’s gaze. The man was far too observant.
“But surely you know what she must be thinking.”
“I don’t follow your logic.” Or rather, he refused to try.
Hawke shook his head. “If you’re spending time with her father, she has every reason to believe you’re interested in courting her.”
“She knows I’m not.” But he couldn’t say that with certainty. Not after the kisses and everything else they’d shared.
“Unless you told her some reason as to why you can never marry, that has to be what she’s thinking. Believe me, I received a lecture from my brother on the same topic. Most women in the ton of marriageable age attend social events to find a husband.” Hawke walked closer to Oliver’s desk. “Is there any reason why Lady Julia wouldn’t marry?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Perfect,” Hawke declared. “The two of you are good together.”
“You can’t be serious.” Oliver sat back in his chair, unable to believe where this conversation was going.
“She’s attractive, intelligent, and kind from what little I know of her. Letitia is quite fond of her. Lady Julia will make an excellent wife.”
“I don’t intend to marry.” Oliver did his best to study the book on his desk again, anything to halt Hawke’s words.
“You’re the heir. I believe you must.”
“My cousin will inherit. He’ll be a fine earl.” He’d considered the matter from every angle. It was the only solution.
“What does your father think of your plan?”
“I haven’t yet discussed it with him.”
“I can see why. He’ll be appalled.” Hawke shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you wish to marry?”
“While Miss Fairchild is obviously the perfect match for you, I don’t believe a lady exists that could understand my...issues.”
“What issues are those?”
Oliver threw down his pen, frustrated that Hawke wouldn’t let it go. “We’ve already discussed them or have you so quickly forgotten?”
“Are you referring to your anger?”
“Of course.” That very anger which he tried so hard to contain threatened to rear its ugly head. He drew a deep breath and told himself to release it.
“Frost.” Hawke stood directly in front of his desk and leaned forward with both his hands on it, his face mere inches from Oliver’s. “Have you considered my suggestions about forgiving yourself and finding something with which to replace the anger?”
His quiet tone eased Oliver’s irritation. “Easier said than done.”
Oliver still feared his anger would erupt and anyone nearby would take the brunt of it. The blind rage that had filled him in battle scared the hell out of him. How could he begin to describe what it was like? The thick black fog that smothered him, turned him into a machine that could destroy so easily. It eliminated all thought and switched on some sort of instinctive power he couldn’t control.
One of the men who’d served under him had witnessed it and told Oliver his actions fit the definition of ‘beserk,’ an ancient Scandinavian warrior frenzied in battle and said to be invulnerable.
The idea of that happening again made him shudder. He had no way of controlling it. God forbid anyone he cared for was in his path if it happened again. When it happened again.
Hawke drew back, still studying him. “You may remember that I was never close to my father.” When Oliver nodded, he continued, “The things he told me from a young age made me believe that my life held little value. I suppose I joined the Navy to prove him—and myself—wrong.”
Oliver knew Hawke had risked his life to save others. Now the motivation behind that brave, heroic behavior was clearer.
“Meeting Letitia changed my way of thinking. It took some time before I could grasp the idea that I do matter. In all honesty, my life was not going well after leaving the military. I missed having an objective that gave me a reason to rise each morning. Discovering Smithby and the effort to stop him gave me an intention again, but it didn’t fill the emptiness inside.”
“I know to what you’re referring,” Oliver admitted. “It’s hard to feel relevant by merely existing. Not after the higher purpose we served in the Navy.”
Hawke nodded. “When I learned how Letitia was fighting a battle in her own way, it changed my thinking.”
Oliver frowned, hard pressed to believe the admirable woman Hawke was to marry had such problems.
“Many people are fighting, Oliver. And while those battles may not seem important to us, to them, the stakes are high. To them, it’s life or death. Letitia’s family treats her more like a servant than a daughter and sister. That treatment was slowly wearing her down until she was beginning to believe it. Understanding what she was going through helped me come to terms with my past, my beliefs, but more importantly, what I wanted for my future.”
Future? The word was not one Oliver had considered. He couldn’t picture what it might look like.
“I would ask you to seriously think about what you want your future to be. Living alone is no easy task. Neither is living life to its fullest. But one is infinitely more satisfying than the other and has the potential of true happiness.”
When Hawke paused, Oliver nodded. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I know it’s not easy for you to share something so personal, and I don’t take your confidence lightly.”
“There’s one other aspect you should consider.”
“Oh?”
“Hers. You may not intend to, but you could be ruining her reputation and any chance she has to make a match.”
“I hardly think—”
“Nor did I. But society is unforgiving. The slightest tarnish is all it
takes. What might be of little consequence to you might mean no one else will offer for her.”
Oliver could only clench his jaw as he remembered the feel of her in his arms, of the kisses they’d shared. They could have easily been seen while in the garden at the ball. Or she might have been seen when she called on him. Then what? He had no desire to cause her harm in any way.
“I’d urge you to think long and hard about the future, Frost. If you’re like I was, my focus was on one day. That was all I could handle. But now...” He shifted his gaze to the window as his words faded. “Now I see the future so clearly, and instead of being empty, I’m happy. I want to live each day to the fullest so I don’t miss a moment of it. That’s a far cry from where I was a few weeks ago.”
Oliver couldn’t help but envy the gleam of joy in his friend’s eyes. It had been a long time since he’d felt like that. Yet it was difficult to believe it was possible or that he deserved to feel that way again. Not when the darkness was such a big part of him, looming over him.
“I only ask you to think on all I’ve said.” Hawke held Oliver’s gaze once more. “If you want to speak further of what happened in Ethiopia, I’d be pleased to. You’re not alone in this.”
Then why do I feel like I am?
He doubted Hawke would be able to understand what frightened him about living. And if he tried to explain further, he feared Hawke would be appalled at his behavior.
“What do you think of the clues thus far?” Hawke asked.
Oliver welcomed the change in the conversation. He needed to consider what Hawke had told him, especially for Julia’s sake. He already feared his darkness would spill out onto her. He certainly didn’t want to ruin her life by losing control in her company, nor did he want to ruin her chances of making a good match.
Where did that leave him? Should he find a way to sever his ties with her? Step away completely? If only he had a strong enough will to do so.
In truth, he feared that if he released her light, he’d be cast into darkness even further. The idea frightened him more than he cared to admit.
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 14