She poured him more coffee, then added milk. "I suppose you should be flattered they think you have such power, and proud of yourself that they didn’t have anything they could use to blackmail you."
"Well, they could try. Anyone can. I mean, there is criminal conversation with a married woman, for example. Then there is the mere accusation of sodomy. I’ve seen perfectly respectable men fall apart and be willing to pay anything to keep that quiet."
She nodded. "But surely without eyewitness testimony—"
"Whispering is often enough to wreck people’s lives."
She frowned then, and looked at him hard. "What was it Sebastian said about the whispering?"
"‘It’s harder to kill a whisper than even a shouted calumny.’"
"Interesting."
"So what sort of gossip or rumour could it have been?"
"And for what purpose?"
He sighed heavily, and shook his head as though trying to clear it. "I don’t know. It’s just so hard to think."
"Well, why don’t I remake the bed and you get in and try to get some rest," she suggested.
He began to protest, "Neither of us have had a wink—"
She smiled gently. "You were snoring pretty well for a time there. In any event, I’m not tired, and I have some work to do. And with any luck George will be here soon to tell us some news. Perhaps the house didn’t turn out so bad as it looked after all? Maybe your friends got out the front?"
He sighed. "A forlorn hope, but we can only pray."
She rested her hand on his forearm. "I will with you if you like," she offered.
"Thank you." He took her hand and bowed his head. When he was finished, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her.
To his surprise the rampant urgency he had felt before was gone, replaced by a certainty he had never felt in his entire life. He led her over to the bed and lay down on it. "Can you just come in and sleep beside me?"
She hesitated only a moment. "If you think it will help."
He nodded. "I know it will. I also want to try to get the dream back. Perhaps it will be easier if you’re right by my side."
Alistair soon dozed off, but his sleep was dreamless. Viola let him sleep onwards, relaxing against his huge frame, and allowed herself to sleep as well.
George tapped on the door at about nine.
She called softly, "Come in," softly.
He frowned when he saw them together in the bed even though they were on top of the coverlet, and she could see a muscle working in his jaw.
But he simply said, "We think we found Sebastian. Alive. I’ll know more later. Philip Marshall’s house is still burning, and there is a bounty on your head. Both of you. Him for murder, you for arson. They say he killed Gribbens, and say you killed the Marshalls."
"Oh God."
Alistair, wide awake by now, asserted, "Maybe I should just leave, turn myself in so all of you—"
Viola and George both shook their heads. "The old Alistair Grant would do that. Forget he ever existed. If you come out of hiding they’ll kill you."
"But the lies—"
"Never mind them."
"How can I when they want to hunt us down like animals!"
"Ignore it. You're not going anywhere for the time being. We need to keep you under wraps. Sebastian should be able to tell us more soon, and then we'll know how to act.
"Come and eat and then rest. You’ve both been through hell. And I have a feeling this is only the beginning. So take my advice and rest up, and I’ll see you again as soon as I have any more news."
Alistair stayed him with one hand. "Why are you helping me?"
George's expression never changed. "I told you. You’ll pay me back one day, I’ll make sure of it."
"I don’t believe you."
"Tell George the dream," Viola urged now, confident that George was truly on their side, and was also clever enough to perhaps be a help in making sense of it all.
Alistair hesitated for a moment, blushing. But time was of the essence, and two heads or even three might prove better than one.
He left out only the more personal parts of the dream. George listened thoughtfully, with a certain degree of skepticism, Alistair could tell. Hell, he would have been doubtful himself about the realism of the dream and the future portents it contained had he not experienced it all first-hand.
"So the words were castle, fields and ray."
"Yes. I don’t know, I keep thinking of that lovely watercolour my friend Randall gave me. The fields, the rainbow, the fact that Viola seemed to see something in the picture when we were both in such danger. It all seems to fit."
"What castle do you think it could be?" George asked.
Alistair tried to think if he had seen one in the dream, then shook his head. "I don’t know. It could be anywhere."
"Are there any where your friends live, in Somerset, I believe you said?" George asked quietly.
Alistair thought for a moment. "Yes, there are, two. One splendid, one ancient and spooky. Castle Eltham, and Ferncliffe Castle."
Alistair could have sworn he saw George stiffen, but all he said was, "Are they near this forest?"
"Not really. Not so I could tell. Several miles away from each."
"Does this man Randall live near either castle?"
He nodded. "Everything is within a few miles of each other."
George shook his head after a time. There was strange look in his eyes, as if a shocking thought had suddenly occurred to him.
But he certainly wasn’t giving anything away as he said to Alistair, "Forgive me, but I can’t see what a few different places in Somerset have to do with a murder here in London. Let’s look closer to home here. The Tower of London, Windsor Castle?"
"Elephant and Castle," Alistair said.
George poked the fire vigorously as they all began to speculate and Viola noted them down.
Alistair gave up in the end. "Too many imponderables. The trouble is that Gribbens worked for Lord Harrowby. If he wasn’t trying to blackmail or expose him in some way, it could have been any number of—"
"Harrowby, you say?" George asked, perking up. "I’m sure a top government minister has a lot to hide. Especially in this day and age."
Viola looked at her friend. "Why George, I didn’t know you took such an interest in politics."
"Always pays to know which side your bread is buttered on," he said with a shrug, and ready himself to leave. "It’s nearly noon. We’ll have to wait until nightfall now to sift through the Marshall house. In the meantime I’ll see if anyone can find anything on Harrowby and Gribbens.
"Thanks, George."
"See you," he said gruffly, and with a last long look at Alistair, he left.
"What flew up his nose, do you think?" Alistair wondered aloud after he had left.
"You for certain," she said truthfully, as she began to clear away the remains of their meal.
Alistair blushed. "Were you and he, well—"
She shook her head firmly. "No, I already told you. He’s my brother’s friend. That’s all."
"All right, but he must be blind or daft."
Viola smiled slightly. "No, I think he’s like you. George keeps his life clean, uncluttered. No messes to have to worry about."
Alistair laughed bitterly. "Aye, not a single person to mourn for me. Death would be so inconvenient for the wife and kiddies, don’t you know."
"Now stop that!" she reprimanded, sounding truly shocked.
He reached for her hand and gave a meaning look. "I have to say though, some messes are most definitely worth it."
She giggled. "I had noticed. I mean, you certainly enjoyed it, and I’m glad I can give you such pleasure."
"And there can be so much more, but only when we’re safe," he murmured, drawing her closer to him.
"If we’re on the run, we might never be safe. And we might not have that much time left. Carpe diem. Seize the day."
"More like your breasts if you keep lookin
g at me like that."
"I promise, I won’t have a word of complaint."
Alistair stepped away from her. "If you don’t mind, I’d very much like to get another change of clothes, a proper bath. I’m still stinking of smoke. Can we get some clean—"
She nodded. "Yes, I’ll get more. We’ll take you down to the bathhouse the back way. Soak as long as you like, and try not to worry so much. We’ll figure this out, I promise."
"I’m going to try to dream again. Perhaps I can get more clues."
Viola shook her head. "I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. You get so, well agitated on so many different levels, it can’t be good for you. I hate seeing you so upset."
"Upset? Lusty, more like!" he laughed in chagrin.
"It’s all right. If there were a female equivalent you’d see it on me."
"Really?" he asked, his eyes lighting up.
"Really."
His handsome mouth twisted wryly. "On that happy note, I really need that bath. A cold one."
"I’ll get the clothes and so on, and take you down."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alistair soaked in hot water first and scrubbed the stench of smoke from his skin. Then he emptied the tub, and filled it with cold.
He sat there until he could barely feel his own bottom against the hard porcelain, and contemplated all he had experienced, all the thought he knew.
But that was just the trouble. Things he had taken for granted as being true were suddenly uncertain, and he was lost in London amongst strangers. Strangers who haunted his dreams.
Philip and his wife Jasmine had been quite, well, mystical. Superstitious, he would have called it. But time and again his friends had been brought together, evincing what Philip said was a clear demonstration of the so-called great chain of being. That everyone and everything in the universe was linked, interdependent.
Alistair had heard the phrase before used to justify the divine right of kings. That they ruled at the top of a pyramid, and by virtue of the power invested in them by God, were free to rule over their subjects as they saw fit.
Alistair grimaced with distaste as he hauled himself out of the tub and began to dry himself off. Some of the ministers also acted like demigods. Man, proud man, dressed in a little brief authority...
The long reign of George III had pretty much started and ended with revolution, one in America, the other in France. And with war. Now George IV, formerly known as the Prince Regent or Prinny, was on the throne.
It had only been a couple of weeks, but Alistair was filled with a sinking feeling of dread. Prinny's ministers were pretty much the same as they had always been. The only trouble was, they had lived in fear of the old King regaining his mental faculties. Now that he was gone, so long as Prinny ruled, they were safe.
It was a chilling thought. The king was well into his fifties already, by no means a young man, and he had no heir. His brother William was next in line to the throne. But he had no legitimate children, only ten bastards begot upon an actress, whom the populace of England would never ever sanction as a legitimate wife or group of potential heirs.
No, whatever way one looked at it, England was looking upon some extremely turbulent times, unless the Ministers could hold things together. Not by being so repressive, but by seeking reform.
Now decently clad once more and feeling much refreshed, Alistair went outside to find Viola waiting for him.
"I was thinking about Harrowby," he said without preamble.
Viola blinked. "Er, yes?"
"The only thing I can gather would be some sort of political juggling. Now that there is a new regime, Harrowby as head of the Privy Council might be doing all sorts of plotting and scheming in order to get more power. They’d all be at it, from Sidmouth down to Castlereagh." A flicker of recollection came to Alistair now. "That name, Henry. I forgot to mention it to George."
"Does he live by the castle or forest?"
Alistair thought for a moment. "Henry would be just about the closest to both, yes, though he isn't the least political compared with his brother and many of the other Rakehells. And he and Clifford share the same house anyway, Stone Court, so I'm not sure why they would single him out. "
"Who else would be close by?"
"Martin Jerome and his wife, who is Blake Sanderson’s assistant, and Blake's old house, now owned by Lawrence Howard, another old school friend not long back from India."
Viola looked thoughtful at this piece of news.
"What is it? You look worried," he observed, taking her arm.
"Not worried," she said, leading him into the kitchen for dinner. "It’s just all of your friends are obviously very close, and you were babbling last night about them all being in trouble. Perhaps Lawrence has changed after all these years, is causing some trouble for you without you—"
"Oh no. Lawrence has a volatile temper when roused, but he’s certainly not dangerous. In fact, I would stake anything he would help anyone in a crisis, give his right arm if need be, then his left."
"He sounds a good friend."
He shrugged one shoulder. "For a time he wanted revenge on a couple of us because he thought they had stolen from him, Randall and Matthew, but he married Matthew’s sister Juliet, and he owns the Howard Tea Company. He is most prosperous and hard-working. He has a wonderful factory just east of Tower Bridge."
"He sounds very ambitious," she said with some misgivings.
"I’m telling you, he’s as straight as a die. In fact, if we ever got into trouble, I would say he would be the best man to smuggle us out of the country in one piece."
Viola stared at him. "You’re not seriously thinking we ought to flee England—"
To her dismay, he actually nodded. "Too many people are dead, and if George is that worried about us. I think I should consider bringing you to safety and then—"
"Oh no, I'm not leaving you in the lurch—"
But Alistair continued on heedlessly, "In fact, I think I ought to go to the bank, withdraw some cash for emergencies, and give it to Lawrence to place for us in an overseas bank. I would prefer the Continent, rather than India. I know he has good trade connections for his tea. Perhaps Portugal..."
"I’m not going anywhere until I know Sebastian is safe," she said firmly.
"But you’ll consider it?" he asked hopefully.
Her lips compressed, but she agreed at last, "Yes, if we have no other choice, then most certainly we shall. Both of us."
"Good. Let’s go then. My banker is in Bank Street."
"But it's time to eat, and George said not to—"
"I need to get to the bank, withdraw some funds. Need to see the insurance company about my house having burnt down."
"But those men. Do you not think they’ll be lying in wait for you? And will they not simply turn you in for the reward?"
Alistair shook his head. "They can’t—"
"This is a dreadful mistake. I just know it."
But Alistair was already pushing his way out the kitchen door, and though Bob tried to stop him as he stormed through the bar, Alistair palmed the weapon he had lifted from off the table the previous evening when Emma had left it. He had stowed it in one of the dresser drawers and slipped it into his pocket. He now slipped it out of his pocket and into Bob’s face.
"I’m leaving. I’ll be back."
"You’re mad," Bob said with a shake of his head.
"It’s my neck. Look after her for me."
"Oh no, I’m not being left behind," Viola said spiritedly.
Alistair shook his head as he continued to stride straight out into the street. "You can’t come with me. It’s not safe."
"Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be going, Alistair."
"I need to—"
"I know it’s not what you’re used to, but we have our lives. Money doesn’t matter so much—"
"You can say that after you and Sebastian both lost the people you were affianced to?" he threw over his shoulder.
She
hurried to catch up with him. "Like you said, they were no great losses if they were so mercenary," she said with a shrug.
"Go back inside."
"No. We go together, or not at all."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5 Page 79