by Lee Rowan
“Yes…” Brendan had the odd feeling that by getting into this predicament, even secondhand, he had, in his brother’s eyes, somehow crossed some obscure Rubicon of misbehaving manhood. Or was James so accustomed in his role of father to his own brood that he was trying to be sure his little brother was being given proper guidance? “Thus far I’ve found it easier to simply avoid entanglements.”
“That’s difficult to do in the Service. Still, I’m sure it’s far better to wait for the right girl, if you have the fortitude.” James brought out his pocket-book and extracted a bit of paper and pencil. “Let me give you Major Carlisle’s direction. I saw him at Angelo’s fencing club a few days ago, and I’ll put his club down here, too, in case he’s gone out of town. He’s as horse-mad as you are, spends more time out at his estate than anywhere else.” He scribbled the name and addresses down and gave Brendan the note. “I’ll send him a letter this afternoon begging his assistance for my unworldly younger brother.”
“Thank you, James. I’m sure you’re right, and I’m being foolish....”
“At least you’re looking after a friend, and not in the basket yourself. I do hope you give Carlisle more details than you gave me, or he’ll have a devil of a time giving you any more advice than I could!”
Brendan waited for two nerve-wracking days to be certain that James’ letter had reached Major Carlisle. When he finally screwed up his courage to present himself, he had rehearsed what he had to say so many times that he was afraid he’d be talking in his sleep.
He took a hackney to Carlisle’s home; he had no wish to leave his horse or James’ carriage standing outside while he conducted confidential business. Suffused with a lack of confidence and an ever-mounting anxiety, he found himself presenting his card to a noncommittal butler and standing in a handsome vestibule just off the foyer, admiring the black-and-white floor tiles and carved wooden pillars at either side of the doorway.
“Mr. Townsend?” A deep, well-modulated voice brought him around, and he found his mind protesting, no, not fair! even as he extended a hand to clasp the one extended to him by Major Philip Carlisle.
Major Carlisle’s lean, handsome face, bronze-gold hair, and steady hazel eyes created such an overwhelming impression of male beauty that Brendan was ready to fall to his knees before Carlisle’s high-top boots, and weep. The most dazzling man he’d ever seen—a man who suddenly made him believe in the phrase, love at first sight—and he was here to seek his help in dealing with a situation so disgraceful that he was not sure he could explain it. It was cruel of the Fates to have dealt him this blow.
“Major,” he said, pushing his disordered thoughts aside. “I-I do apologize for intruding. My brother suggested I consult you, but if this time is inconvenient—”
“Well, it is, I’m afraid,” Carlisle said regretfully. “I must leave town for a day or two, but I remember your brother with much gratitude—he pushed me out of the way of a bullet, once—and I am entirely willing to be of service, if I can.”
Of course—preparation for travel would explain the way he was dressed, the trim buckskin breeches and riding boots. Abashed, Brendan apologized, and added, “I should take my leave, sir, and return when you are not pressed for time.”
“Oh, not at all. It’s my valet who’s hard at work; I have little to do while he packs my case. If you will explain your difficulty, I shall endeavor to give you what advice I may. Come, let me offer you some refreshment.”
Brendan followed him down the hallway, much the same way one of James’ spaniels would have trailed behind him. He hoped he could explain the problem without shocking or angering the Major, or sounding like an utter idiot for getting himself into this stupid situation.
CHAPTER 5
Philip Carlisle found himself nonplussed, an unusual circumstance. James Townsend’s letter had been so vague as to be nearly useless. That was unexpected. From their time in the service, he knew James Townsend to be a man who could both think and write clearly, so the source of confusion must have been the younger brother, Brendan.
If that letter had been the only one to arrive in the morning post, he’d have tackled it without reservation—but another letter had arrived at the same time, one that left no doubt that there was a serious issue requiring his intervention. What he needed to do was obvious—put off young Mr. Townsend’s visit to a later date, and leave town with all possible haste. He led his visitor to his study, intending to explain that he had urgent business and make an appointment for the following week.
But something in the young man’s desperation touched his rescuer’s instincts. Brendan Townsend had not gone very far into his explanation before Carlisle realized why James had been so vague in his letter. Either he knew such things must not be set down in black and white, or he had been left in blissful ignorance of how serious the problem really was… and Carlisle suspected the latter.
He wasn’t certain he wanted to deal with this matter at all. He was not unaware of the existence of such establishments, but to find a respectable youngster such as this wandering into one was more than he’d expected. A fine-looking lad, too, much more handsome than his older brother. Had his friend—not much of a friend, in Carlisle’s estimate—been trying to seduce him? Or was it even worse than that?
“I’m not certain I understand,” he said, when Townsend’s exposition stumbled to an awkward halt. “This innkeeper, or whatever he calls himself—is he attempting to blackmail you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” There was no artifice in that denial. “No, I—I don’t mean to sound like a prig, but I should never have put myself into such a compromising position. If I’d had any notion what sort of place it was, I’d never have gone within a mile of it. I could not even bring myself to describe it to my brother!”
Relieved, Carlisle asked, “Then how does it concern you?”
“Well…” Townsend toyed with the glass on the table before him, but he did not empty it, as Carlisle knew a man in desperate trouble might do. “I was there, you see. I knew that my friend was in his cups, but I did nothing to stop him—and before you say it, I also realize that he was so very bosky I might not have been able to do anything more than create a scene. That was part of the reason I did not try—but now I wish that I had.”
Carlisle nodded. This had a familiar sound—the sensible but overly amiable youth drawn into a bad situation by a poor choice of companions. I should have turned Roman and become a priest, Carlisle thought. I seem to spend half my time listening to confessions. “So you are not directly involved in this shambles.”
“No, sir. I was there because I had no idea what sort of place it was—my friend admitted afterward that he knew I would not have gone if he’d been honest about where we were going.”
“What does your friend wish you to do, then? Pull his chestnuts out of the fire, after he lied to you?”
“That’s what it amounts to. From what he has told me, this innkeeper has no credible hold over him. It’s the threat of scandal that worries him… and the fear of what his father may do.”
“A fine time for him to worry about the risk of scandal.” Carlisle shook his head. “So long as there are no witnesses, the customer of an irregular establishment is never at as great a risk as the proprietor. One may leave, the other cannot. Do you think the fellow would make good on his threat?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never met him.”
“And a second, more obvious question—why is he doing this? With no proof of his claim and no witnesses who’d ever come forward, the man is bound to be bluffing.”
“I am afraid my answer is the same. I can only speculate. When I was there, the members of the club seemed quite… taken with my friend’s performance. He’s a handsome young man, and one of the patrons—a very well-dressed older gentleman—seemed anxious to make a closer acquaintance. It may be…” The young man broke off, in obvious embarrassment.
What an utterly wretched situation. “Do you suspect the innkeeper is acting as a pro
curer?”
“I should hate to think so.” He hesitated. “I suppose that may be possible. But if that were the case, why should he not simply relay the gentleman’s invitation? I’ve never met this Dobson, nor do I want to, and my experience of such matters is—” the youngster broke off with a nervous laugh. “I was about to say, regrettably limited, but I’ve no experience of it at all and I can hardly regret that.”
Carlisle frowned. “Investigation must be the first step, then. Until you know something of your opponent, you have no way of guessing his reaction.”
Brendan Townsend spread his hands, palms up. “Sir, I know I must sound incredibly naïve, but that is where I come to a dead end. I have no idea how to set about such inquiries, and the matter is such an unpleasant one that I fear my clumsy efforts would attract the very attention I seek to avoid.”
“I see.” Carlisle glanced at the clock on the mantle. If he were to leave in an hour, two at most, he would be able to reach Twin Oaks this evening and meet with Livingstone early in the morning. “Well, Mr. Townsend, I would be willing to help you with this dilemma, but I have a previous claim on my time. If you are at liberty to accompany me, we might discuss your problem en route, and it may be possible that you can assist me in some way. What do you know of smuggling?”
Townsend blinked in obvious bewilderment. “In the sense of general knowledge, sir, or practical application?” he asked cautiously.
Carlisle saw that his line of reasoning had veered off rather abruptly, and laughed at the delicacy of the young man’s question. “I am not suggesting you join the Free Traders, sir! I breed horses on a small holding out in Kent, and an old friend of mine is the local magistrate. As you might expect, since the place lies near to roads that run between the sea and London, there is a certain amount of smuggling, and, as you might also expect, much of that activity goes unpunished.”
“I have a brother in the Navy,” Townsend said. “He says that in some coastal towns, that’s almost the whole of local industry.”
“Your brother has it right,” Carlisle said. “Well, as a magistrate, my friend is not at all pleased with the situation, but he has no Bow Street Runners to stop it. He tolerates what he must—but one thing he will not tolerate is murder. A young man has been severely beaten, and that is all I know of the situation at the moment. I was asked to come down and see if I can be of assistance.”
“Can the magistrate not bring in the military?”
“He has done the next-best thing; he wrote to me.” Carlisle suddenly realized how vain that must sound, and explained, “I have some experience with these matters. There is an army base at Chatham, not far away, so help can be summoned quickly at need. But he knows that if he brings in the military in force, he’ll never know the truth. Even if the locals may not approve of what happened, they’ll close ranks to protect their own. Since I am a local man, he hopes that I may be able to get a line on who is responsible. I must attend to this as quickly as possible, and I fear this matter outweighs your friend’s difficulty. The man who was attacked lies near death. If he does not recover, I will be hunting a murderer, so if you choose to accompany me, you should know there is a certain amount of danger.”
“I’m a fair shot,” Brendan Townsend said diffidently. “I’m afraid I don’t have my brother’s military experience, though—I’ve never fired at a man.”
Carlisle was impressed by the young man’s honesty as well as his readiness to step up to the challenge. “Never mind that,” he said. “You’ll find the ability appears miraculously, when the other fellow is shooting at you. Can you be ready to leave within the hour?”
“So long as my sister does not require an escort tonight or tomorrow, yes. But I may be forced to return to London before your business is finished.”
Carlisle rose, and offered his hand. “I’ll have my coachman drive you home,” he said. “We shall leave as soon as you return. If you cannot get away, send word back with him, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I come back to town.”
Brendan settled back against the squabs in Carlisle’s well-upholstered chaise, his thoughts spinning. It would not do to be so excited at the thought of spending several hours in a closed carriage with Philip Carlisle.
What a splendid gentleman! The calm, assured manner, the air of easy competence, the willingness to help someone he’d never met before… the warm, firm handshake, kind eyes, and a chest that Brendan wanted only to throw himself upon, be enfolded by those strong arms and feel safe against all the world’s uncertainties… Look at yourself, you dunderhead. You’re smitten, and if you had any sense at all you would cry off before you make matters any worse.
He bit his lip. The older man was tremendously attractive, but Brendan had not missed Carlisle’s slight frown when he explained just what sort of establishment the Arbor was, nor the look of distaste when he revealed what Tony had done there. Major Philip Carlisle was clearly no sodomite, and even if he was willing to consider helping disentangle Tony from his plight, he was obviously repelled by the situation.
As Brendan was, himself. Perhaps it was some hidden effeminacy that made him squeamish of sex with a stranger, but he saw very little connection between what he had wanted, the love he had hoped would develop from the intimately affectionate friendship he’d had with Tony, and the crude physical experience at the club.
Or, he suddenly realized, the crude physical experience in Tony’s hotel room a few days earlier. He could have stopped that in a moment, shoved Tony away. Why had he not done so? Perhaps he had simply become accustomed to sexual satisfaction—so too did a drunkard become accustomed to inebriation. That was hardly an excuse. He should be thankful that his experiment in sodomy had reached such an unsatisfactory conclusion, and give it up as a bad effort. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life in brief, meaningless affairs with men like Tony or that low-life molly in the Arbor, and end like Uncle Cedric, sneaking around to paw at men young enough to be his son? God forbid! It would be better to die than to live that way.
He had to pull himself together and exercise a little self-discipline. Perhaps Tony’s demand for help was a blessing in disguise. He could find a way to free Tony from the threat of blackmail, and free himself as well. Major Carlisle… was obviously a man of normal inclinations and considerable virtue, and it would simply not do to harbor disgraceful desires for him.
If he minded his manners and didn’t make a complete fool of himself, perhaps he could even earn Carlisle’s friendship. He might be of some assistance in the smuggling affair—he might not be experienced, but an able-bodied assistant would surely have some value.
Lost in his ruminations, Brendan was surprised when the carriage came to a stop outside his family home. He thanked the driver and hurried in, only to find everyone in the family out on their own errands and the usually ubiquitous Norwood, for a wonder, occupied with some task in the butler’s pantry.
A quick consultation with his diary assured him that the next two days were his own, so he threw a couple of shirts and neck-cloths into a bag, added a pair of shoes and some smallclothes, then took the time to pen a quick note to his mother and Elspeth, assuring them that he would be in town long before the next event at Almack’s.
As he was pulling on his riding boots, he wondered whether he should leave a note for James as well. Better to do so. Since his brother had known of his appointment with Major Carlisle, he wrote only, “Major C called out of town, am accompanying him and should return by Sunday.” James might wish for more information, but if the note were to fall into the hands of any of the ladies of the household, there could be no possible cause for concern. James knew how to contact Carlisle, at any rate, in case of an emergency.
Halfway down the stair, Brendan realized he would need a warmer outer garment if he meant to go jauntering out into the country, and risked a quick return to his room for his riding coat. Even with this delay, he was pleased to return to the Major’s town house well within the prescribed hour.
>
When he saw a light carriage pulling up before the front door with a pair of matched bays in harness, his attention was once more distracted from his problems. What beauties! Not only were they a true match in color, they were within a hairsbreadth in height and conformation as well, and moved like one soul in two bodies. They came to a stop just before the front steps, standing with their heads high, alert but not fidgeting, awaiting the next command.
“Major Carlisle’s cattle?” Brendan asked the groom holding the reins.
“Aye. Bred ‘em himself. Romulus and Remus.”
“Classic indeed.” Brendan circled them, his case in hand, lost in admiration. If this was the sort of horse Carlisle was breeding, he hoped their sojourn in the countryside would allow time for a visit to the stables.
“I see you’ve met the lads,” Carlisle asked, coming down his front steps. “What do you think of them?”
“A proper pair of high-steppers,” Brendan said admiringly. “They make me wish I were rich, so that if you decided to part with them, I might make an offer.”
“I should have to be in desperate straits to part with these two.” Carlisle patted the nearest horse reassuringly, giving the harness and fittings a quick inspection and apparently finding it all to his liking. “I must warn you, Mr. Townsend—I have a small eccentricity when it comes to travel. I prefer to drive myself whenever possible, and the day looks to be holding fair. Would you mind riding outside?”
“Not in the slightest!”
Carlisle’s eccentricity apparently did not extend to leaving the coachman at home, so he was given the privilege of riding inside while the two gentlemen climbed up to the driver’s box. The Major snapped his whip and the team moved smoothly into motion, joining the flow of traffic through the busy London streets. Brendan recognized that the job of driving a team in these circumstances required a certain amount of concentration, and made no attempt to converse.