Released

by Adella J. Harris

  “I haven’t seen him, sir, and the plates are undisturbed.”

  Perhaps he really wasn’t feeling well. But he hadn’t seemed ill the night before. “Perhaps I should check his room and be sure he hasn’t caught a chill.”

  “He’s not there, sir, or he wasn’t when Bessie went to light the fire.”

  Then where was Jim? Lionel had a terrible, sinking feeling. “Perhaps Mrs. O’Brien knows something.”

  “I can inquire for you, sir.”

  “No, I’ll go.” He wanted to hear it for himself.

  If Harrison thought that odd, he didn’t comment. “Very good, sir. I’ll see your tea is kept warm.”

  The kitchen was the usual bustle of food preparation. Lionel ignored it and went straight to the heart of the chaos. “Mrs. O’Brien, have you seen Mr. Smith today?”

  “Yes, sir. He left a bit before six. I packed him a nice breakfast and a lunch to take with him.”

  “Oh.” Jim was gone. Lionel had finally sorted himself out, and it was too late. Jim was gone.

  “Was that wrong of me, sir?”

  “No, not at all. I didn’t think he was leaving today, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But he did have his things with him.”

  It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his. “Yes, of course. I should have asked him more explicitly. Did he say where he was going?”

  “I didn’t think to ask, sir.”

  “No, neither did I. Thank you, Mrs. O’Brien.” Lionel turned to leave the kitchen.

  “Perhaps he asked Mr. Garrett for a ride somewhere?” Mrs. O’Brien called after him.

  “Perhaps he did. I suppose I could ask him.” Jim wouldn’t have asked for a ride if he were trying to escape, but he might have asked for directions, if not to where he was going, at least to somewhere in the same direction. It was worth a try, at least. Lionel hurried out to the stables. But why would Jim run from him now, and after the night they’d shared?

  The night they’d shared. He’d been saying good-bye. The whole time they’d been together at Hensley House, Lionel had never said a word about how he felt; he’d been too afraid of what Jim would think. And there Jim had been all that time, probably thinking that Lionel was seeing him as a convenient warm body, not as someone to be cherished. And Jim had said he loved him, when he’d been too tired to move or answer. That was it; Jim had thought he was asleep. How long had Jim felt that way? Lionel knew he should have said something, should have gone to see him after they’d met the man from Dixon’s on the road. No, sooner, as soon as he’d known he needed Jim. If only he’d said something, anything. Now it was too late, and Lionel had no idea how to find Jim and fix it.

  --*--

  Little Poltern was too close to Lincoln-on-Marsh for Jim’s liking, but it was as far as the friendly farmer who’d picked him up was going, so he pretended it was just perfect. The farmer let him down in the main square, which happened to have a solicitor’s office. Now, Jim knew he couldn’t travel too far on foot and sleeping rough if he wanted to be taken seriously by anyone selling property, and traveling too far otherwise would cut into his funds. So he couldn’t turn down a possible lead, even if it was too close to Lionel. To Dixon, he told himself. It didn’t matter where Lionel was.

  The office was small, with little more than a desk and some files. The man behind the desk was of indeterminate age, dressed neatly but conservatively, someone who wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for a place like Mistress Rosamond’s. He looked up when Jim entered. “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking to buy property in the country. A cottage.”

  “I’d be happy to be of assistance. Mr. Quincy.”

  “Jim— James Smith.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith. Please sit, and we can discuss how I may be of assistance.”

  Jim sat across from the solicitor and described the sort of place he was looking for, trying to pretend he belonged there and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the man. At least Lionel’s old suit made him look like he belonged there. He explained what he’d budgeted for the purchase, giving a number lower than what he could comfortably afford to be safe.

  Mr. Quincy leaned back in his chair when Jim had finished speaking. “I do know of one property that might suit. However, it is not in Little Poltern. I’m afraid it would be two hours by carriage to reach it.”

  “Towards Lincoln-on-Marsh?”

  “No, the opposite direction, in fact.”

  Jim tried to tell himself that was a good thing. “I wasn’t particularly concerned about the area. I’ve been visiting friends and thought I’d look on the way back. I’ve been living in London; I simply want to be in the country and away from the city. The specific location is unimportant.”

  “Then I will arrange for someone to take you there. When would be convenient?”

  “Anytime.” Remembering his finances, he added, “The sooner the better. I’d like to be moved and settled as soon as possible.”

  “Then I will drive you out there myself today.”

  Jim tried not to sound too excited. “If it’s not inconvenient.”

  “Not at all. I am actually the owner. I feel it’s best to disclose these sorts of things at once, don’t you?”

  Jim wondered why the solicitor waited as long as he had but nodded as if he agreed.

  “It was an inheritance, so I’d like to get it off my hands. There has been some other interest, but as you say you have cash in hand, I am certainly willing to give you preference. Shall we say one o’clock? That will let you get settled at the inn.”

  “That should suit. Thank you.” Jim took his leave and went to secure a room at the inn, as it seemed to be expected of him.

  Lionel wandered back to the house no better off than when he’d left. No one in the stables had seen Jim that morning. If he asked any further, they would know something was different about Jim as a guest. No, he’d have to use logic to figure this out.

  He’d try London first. Jim knew London; there was a good chance he’d go back there. And if he didn’t, Lionel knew it too. He could figure out where to look next, where to look for clues to Jim’s past, something productive. He started back to the house to begin making arrangements to leave.

  Lionel had barely made it into the hallway when the door to the study opened, and Randall called to him. “Lionel, I was wondering where you got to. Come and try this excellent Scotch.”

  Lionel fought down the urge to point out that the Scotch was his, and he was the one who ought to be inviting people to partake in it, and Randall would not have been on that list. He’d had it put out the night before so he could share it with Jim later in the evening. That was the thing to do—keep Jim in the front of his mind. That would remind him to keep his temper so he could get whatever Randall wanted over with and get started for London. He crossed the hall and went into the study.

  Randall flopped down in the best armchair and almost spilled his Scotch on the arm. Lionel resisted the urge to chastise him, but he did allow himself to ask, “Isn’t it a bit early?”

  “Why would it be?”

  Lionel sat at the desk so he would have plenty of small objects to handle when he felt like strangling Randall. “So what brings you to Hensley House?”

  “I wanted to see how the preparations were going.”

  “The preparations?” Lionel racked his brain trying to think of anything Randall would be preparing for.

  “For the house party. How are they going? Is the menu set? Have you gotten the guest rooms arranged? When were the invitations sent out?”

  “The house party? What house party?”

  “How could you forget, Lionel? You always host one around now for our good clients. You’ve done it for years.”

  When the business was taken completely and irrevocably out of his hands, Lionel had stopped thinking about anything but the injustice of it. “That was when Father was around. Now that you’re in charge and I’m not, I�
��m sure they’d rather assemble at your place.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. Everyone loves Mrs. O’Brien’s cooking. And your woods are so much better than mine for hunting. And I have a houseguest.”

  From the way he said it, Lionel was sure that was the crux of the problem. The houseguest was most likely female and a member of Jim’s former profession. He pretended to believe the other matters were more pressing. “Then you should hire a temporary chef for the party. I’m afraid there’s not much you can do about the woods, but I will try to get Jameson to recommend someone to replace your current gamekeeper. Is it still Bennet? He’s been there since we were boys, probably since Father was a boy. Just pension him off to a cottage on the grounds.”

  “You make it sound so simple. And no, it’s not Bennet. He retired to Scotland with his daughter years ago. And none of my guest rooms are in order. And they’re all counting on coming to your house. Why, Romley was talking about it just last week when he came to discuss renewing their contract. Which isn’t closed, by the way.”

  Lionel sighed. His first instinct was to tell Randall to figure it out for himself, but Randall had probably staked most of the company’s claims on impressing the clients with the house party at Hensley House. And it would probably be in bad taste to tell him to use the family house he’d inherited lock, stock, and barrel from Father this soon after the man’s death. And his own home was usually in various states of disarray, mainly because he didn’t pay the staff well enough to attract the first-rate applicants. He resented Randall for getting the business, but he didn’t want to see him lose all of the best clients before he’d even settled into the office, and not only because then he’d be expected to bail him out. “Once more, Randall. But next year it will look odd if you don’t have them all to the family place.” There, that would get him out of future parties.

  “I suppose it would. Well, as the guest list hasn’t been set, here’s a list of people I’ve promised invitations to. You can use that as a guest list. I’ll let you get on it. I’ll tell everyone you were so upset about the old man’s passing that you were a little late getting out the invitations. They’ve all been expecting it, so two weeks’ notice will be more than sufficient for them.”

  But not for the servants. He’d have to tell Harrison to hire as many people as he needed to from the village. “Won’t it look odd having a house party while we’re in mourning?”

  “It’s business, not pleasure. Let me know what’s been finalized.”

  Lionel brought the list to his desk. There would be no running to London to look for Jim just yet. He hoped Jim was all right. He had said he had money, enough for a small place. It would be harder to find him outside of London but not impossible. Lionel read the list of names then added one of his own to the end. Sir Robert Farnsdale. Robert was known for burying himself in business and only leaving London to look after it, but Lionel knew he could be counted on to drop everything and help if he knew it was a serious matter, and Robert knew Madame Rosamond’s and many of the other places Jim may have worked before. And they’d been friends too long for Lionel to have to worry about asking for help finding a former prostitute he’d lost is heart to. After all, he’d been the one Robert had come to after he’d had his heart broken the first time he’d been brave enough to tell a lover he wanted to try something unusual, a little fool named Cecil Mercer who’d insisted he loved being paddled then ran out the door as soon as Robert had arrived with one. No, Robert would understand. And Lionel could ask him for help at Hensley Hall just as well as in London. It was definitely the sort of thing to be asked in person, though, not committed to paper. With a sigh, he rang for Harrison to let him know that the staff was about to be very inconvenienced.

  --*--

  Jim’s first thought when he woke up was that Lionel wasn’t there. Then he remembered he was at an inn and not Hensley House. He wouldn’t be returning to Hensley House. He would have his own place. The cottage Mr. Quincy had shown him had been nice, close enough to what he wanted to suit, and only a little over what he had felt he could comfortably afford. He’d feigned cool interest—which had been easier than it would have been a few days before—and finally agreed to purchase if the matter could be handled quickly, leaving out that fewer nights spent at the inn meant a great deal to his financial situation. He’d given Mr. Quincy a sizable down payment and been promised everything would be ready the next afternoon. This afternoon, he realized.

  Jim pulled himself out of bed and dressed. This was what he’d said he wanted, the reason he had gone to Dixon’s to begin with. A nice little cottage with a garden. No thoughts of Sir Lionel, who was probably much too busy to think of him anyway. No, this was much better. He’d just pick up the key and start his new life. He collected up his bag and went to settle his bill.

  As Jim crossed the square to Mr. Quincy’s office, he knew he ought to be ecstatic. A few days before, it would have taken all his self-control not to run across the square at dawn and wait outside of Mr. Quincy’s office until the solicitor arrived with the key. Now he could barely keep putting one foot in front of the other. He was about to get exactly what he wanted. The little house wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured, but it was close enough, and the back garden was large enough to please him. The previous owners had grown herbs and vegetables, so there was a start. He’d be close enough to the village to hire help if he needed and visit the shops, but far enough away that he could play at being the town eccentric if he wanted and not have to worry about his past being found out. In short, it was just what he would have asked for during those two years bending over for anyone Dixon told him to. So why was each step so difficult?

  As if he really had to ask that question. Lionel was only a few miles away, but it may as well have been another country. It was lucky he’d gotten away when he had, or he might still be there, warming the man’s bed and trying to hide what he really wanted from him. Lionel had been so kind to him. It would have been easier if Lionel had simply expected Jim to please him while he was there, or had taken his pleasure and ignored Jim’s, or even thrown him down and forced himself on him. But he was too much of a gentleman. Every time Jim had gone to him, he’d acted as if Jim were important, worth something beyond the bedroom. Of course, Lionel didn’t know his past, not all of it. And it was best that Jim had left before he found out about it, as he would with Dixon and Murdoc and surely Balford just down the road. Jim opened the door to Mr. Quincy’s office. This was the best outcome he could have hoped for. He simply had to remind himself of what he’d wanted to begin with.

  Jim sensed something was off as soon as he walked into the office. Mr. Quincy didn’t stand when he entered as he had before, didn’t extend his hand or even greet him. Jim felt a frisson of panic, but he told himself there was no way this man knew about his past. Who would tell him? None of Dixon’s set would have any reason to come here, and the only other one in the county who knew any of it was Lionel, and he would never believe Lionel would betray him. Perhaps he had some business worry on his mind. Jim pasted on his most reassuring smile and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Quincy. I’m here to pick up the keys.”

  “How dare you!”

  Jim froze. “I don’t understand.” What had changed? What had gone wrong? He was certain Lionel was the only person who knew about his past here.

  “You don’t understand? You were going to let me allow trash like you onto my property, living among my tenants? What were you planning, to set up your filthy, unnatural business again? Out. Out before I call the magistrate. I should call him. The only reason I’m not is the disgrace it would bring on this parish.”

  “But...” How had he found out? “I wouldn’t...”

  “Out!” Mr. Quincy’s face was turning red as he stabbed his finger at the door.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t understand the situation, sir,” said one of the last voices Jim wanted to hear. Balford, the stable-master at Lord Dixon’s estate. He stepped out from behind the door, the picture of
respectful humility. “His kind are usually a bit thick.” He waited until Mr. Quincy had turned to gesture crudely on what he meant by thick.

  Jim knew when he was defeated. Balford knew more than enough about his past to make good on any threat. He made one last effort to salvage something. “My security money?”

  “That’s it. The magistrate. I should have known the likes of you wouldn’t know mercy when you saw it.”

  The threat of the magistrate still struck terror in him. Prostitution might be ignored, but not sodomy. Jim turned and all but ran from the office. Of course they wouldn’t return his money to him. He was a common whore. Why would anyone think anything else of him? Just because Lionel... But of course Lionel hadn’t known what he was. He had some idea of a high-class brothel like Madame Rosamond’s. Lionel would never understand Lord Dixon’s. Jim had a little money left but not enough for a house. Not enough for anything other than a return to London and a return to the brothels. He was already on the road when he remembered that Lionel was the magistrate in the area at the moment. Not that that would have helped. He never would have asked Lionel to intervene on his behalf, not for something like this. It would ruin Lionel’s reputation, and his cottage wasn’t worth that.

  Chapter 15

  ***

  LIONEL HAD NEVER NOTICED HOW LITTLE his staff needed him to function. Once he’d approved the expenses for the house party and the hiring of extra staff and the ordering of food, he didn’t seem to be necessary. His opinion was asked often enough, but it was simplest to agree with whatever Mrs. O’Brien, Mrs. Barton, and Harrison decided. Lionel wondered if his staff sensed he wanted to be away, or if they had always been this helpful when he had an event to arrange, and he’d simply never noticed it before. Either way, it was a relief, as he’d slept badly the last three nights, waking often to realize Jim wasn’t there and he had no idea where he was, or even if he was safe. He didn’t think he could wait for Robert to arrive before he did something to look for Jim. And as he wasn’t needed to plan the house party, he could simply tell Harrison to approve whatever of Mrs. O’Brien’s food requests and Mrs. Barton’s staff requests seemed reasonable to him and leave as soon as his obligation as magistrate was finished.