Roots of Evil

by K. C. Wells

  Jonathon inclined his head toward the door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  He needed to clear his head, and Mike needed to cool down. The brisk November wind would accomplish both.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I DON’T know which I dislike more,” Mike said as they exited the house via the dining room’s french doors and walked toward the Italian garden. “The fact that your father came up with that… harebrained notion, or the fact that for a short while back there, he was starting to like me.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “And you wanna know what I found most interesting about that little historic tale he told? The stuff he didn’t say.”

  “Such as what?”

  Thank God. Jonathon hadn’t said a word since they’d left the drawing room, and Mike was starting to panic. He’d expected a rant or at least some kind of backlash the whole while Thomas had been talking. Okay, so it wouldn’t be in Jonathon’s nature to smart-mouth his dad, but was it wrong for him to hope that Jonathon would have told Thomas in no uncertain terms to fuck off?

  And how many times have you heard that word pass his lips?

  Mike had to face reality. Jonathon was definitely a lover, not a fighter.

  “Mike?”

  With a start Mike realized he’d dropped off into his own little world. “Huh?”

  “What stuff didn’t my father say?”

  “Well, he talked about the family being happy and relieved that Ann was finally producing kids. He said William was happy he didn’t have to… you know… do the deed, as you put it, with his wife. What about John?”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, how did he feel in all this? Ann obviously loved him—they had a good relationship. But there he was, kept hidden. A dirty secret. It was down to him that the line continued, but no one knows that. And then there’s William. Was he allowed to have someone in his life? Ann got her man, that’s for sure. She got her itch scratched. But what about William? Because I’m damn sure no one would have turned a blind eye to William having a fella on the side.”

  Jonathon sighed. “We don’t know. I hope he had someone. Perhaps he did. Look at Dominic. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he lived all those years alone. But now we know. He loved Trevor. They had ten years together. It doesn’t matter that Trevor was a secret all that time.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Mike murmured. “You have no idea. Maybe it really tore up Dominic and Trevor to have to keep their love a secret.”

  “The point is, Trevor isn’t a secret now. Maybe one day we’ll dig up something that proves William de Mountford had a male lover, or even a string of lovers. By that time, you know what the reaction will be to that news?” Jonathon smiled. “People will just nod, like it’s nothing.” He stopped at the top of the stone staircase, decorated with urns standing on posts, that led to the ornamental pond. At the far end, statues of two Grecian men faced each other, arms outstretched, poised to spring, as though about to fight. Jonathon pointed to them. “Is it wrong that when I was in my teens, I believed that when no one was looking, they reached each other and made love on the path?”

  Mike snickered. “Actually? Yeah, I can believe that about you.” He gazed out at the structured garden, with its long, thin reflecting pools, the ornate fountain that was dry, and the neatly sculpted lawns. “I had no idea this existed.”

  “There are several different gardens to the rear of the house,” Jonathon told him. “Apparently one of the past owners wanted it to be like a series of rooms, separated by walls and hedges, so you never knew what you were going to find around the corner.” He pointed to the high hedge beyond the fountain. “For instance, anyone going behind there might have a surprise, especially if it’s summertime.”

  “Why? What’s behind there?”

  Another smile, only this one was accompanied by a glint in his eyes. “My naturist garden. It’s a regular little sun-trap. I found it at the end of the summer.”

  “And you’re only telling me now?”

  Jonathon laughed. “I’d known you how long? Besides, you’re still in your probationary period.”

  Mike came to a halt. “Oh really?” Then he caught that glint again. It was no good. They had to discuss the elephant in the room. Or should that be, the garden?

  “Tell me about Ruth Ainsworth.”

  Jonathon raised his eyebrows. “It seems I’m not the only one with a retentive memory.”

  “Ex-copper. It went with the job. Now quit stalling and tell me who she is—and more importantly, why you’re not freaking out about her.”

  Jonathon sat on a nearby low wall, tugging his jacket around him. “My father is correct. I’ve known Ruth most of my life. When you have as many social gatherings as our family, you get to see the same faces again and again, especially those who are of a similar age. I can remember Christmas parties when I was maybe nine or ten, and Ruth was this little thing with a ponytail tied up in a bright blue ribbon. Her favorite color, I think. Her parents knew mine from way back—university, maybe—and they stayed friends. Same social networks, same clubs… you get the picture.”

  “Another old family?” Mike guessed, joining him on the wall.

  “Pretty much. What surprises me is my father saying she’d be up for all this. I recall an engagement a while back, but it got broken off. One or both of them changed their minds, apparently. Now, maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but the Ruth I knew wasn’t into the idea of marriage much.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “We lost touch when I moved to Manchester and spent less time around my family. But that wasn’t all that long ago. A year, at most.”

  “Jonathon, if I ask you a blunt, personal question, would you answer it?” Mike couldn’t let this drop.

  “It depends how personal, Mr. Probationary Boyfriend.” Jonathon’s eyes twinkled.

  Mike took hold of his courage. “It’s just… part of me wonders why you don’t stand up to him and tell him to—”

  Jonathon flashed that wry smile. “Tell him to go do something involving sex and travel?”

  Mike snorted. “Another way of putting it, but yeah.”

  Jonathon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “I’m trying to keep the peace. And believe it or not, I’m trying not to rub his nose in my sexual orientation, so to speak. It’s my hope that he’ll come around, one day. When I get married, I want him there, wishing me all the best for the future. That’s not going to happen if I alienate him. And besides, you heard him. I don’t think he’d force me to marry Ruth, or whoever. But he’s not at the stage yet where he can truly accept that I’m gay, for all the things he says. So until then, I have to bide my time… and buy a little time too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Jonathon shivered. “It means it’s time to get the hell inside, because my arse is just about frozen to this wall.” He got up and held out a hand to Mike. “And as for the rest, you’ll have to trust me.”

  Mike grasped his hand firmly, allowing himself to be hoisted to his feet. “Never mind frozen. My arse is numb.” He walked at Jonathon’s side as they made their way back to the house, his mind going over that last statement.

  You’ll have to trust me.

  Mike pushed down that niggle of unease. Why, Jonathon? What are you going to do?

  “I did have one wicked thought,” Jonathon said as they walked briskly.

  “What was that?”

  “I’d love the murderer to be Joshua Brent, just to see the look on my father’s face.”

  The laughter that rumbled out of him echoed against the walls of the house. “You’ve got an evil mind.”

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing,” Jonathon retorted.

  Yeah. No comment.

  BY THE time dinner arrived, Mike was climbing the walls. He’d been on his best behavior, the sarcasm had been nonexistent, and he’d even tried to engage Thomas in conversation. I
t had been about as successful as trying to braid fog. And he couldn’t wait for Thomas to leave. Unfortunately, there was still breakfast—and possibly lunch—to endure.

  Thomas wiped his lips with his napkin before placing it beside his dessert plate. “That was delicious. You’ve found yourself a good cook.”

  Jonathon smiled. “I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment. Do you still smoke a cigar after dinner, or has your doctor finally convinced you to quit?”

  Thomas coughed harshly. “No, I don’t, and that is down to your mother. And before you ask, no, I will not tell you how she got me to quit. Now, what’s this I hear about another murder in the village?”

  “News travels fast,” Mike murmured.

  Thomas glanced at him. “Not really. I had drinks with Brent in London this past week. He told me all about it.”

  Jonathon widened his eyes. “Drinks? At your club, perchance? You really are keeping in with him, aren’t you?”

  “You never know when you’ll need friends in high places. At least this murder is nothing to do with us.”

  Jonathon’s gaze met his, and Mike couldn’t miss that evil glint. No. Don’t do it. We’re almost there. Don’t get Thomas all worked up.

  “Well, strictly speaking, she was my tenant.”

  Thomas stilled. “You are not to get involved, do you hear me? I will not have the lord of the manor running around chasing clues like some little old lady amateur detective.”

  Jonathon bit his lip. “I always did like Miss Marple.”

  Mike did his best not to snort.

  “Leave it to the professionals, Jonathon.” Thomas stared at Mike. “And you should be convincing him to stay out of this.”

  Mike let out a loud chuckle. “I might not have known your son for long, but even I know how futile it is to tell Jonathon not to do something. Red rag to a bull.”

  To his surprise Thomas echoed his chuckle. “Yes. You’re quite right—I should have known better. How does the saying go? ‘A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.’ You cannot convince Jonathon to change his mind once he’s decided upon a course of action. And as that is a family trait which I recognize, in this case the fault lies solely in his genes.”

  Jonathon cleared his throat. “Then maybe I need to break away from past patterns of behavior.”

  Both Mike and Thomas gazed at him in confusion.

  “Meaning what, precisely?”

  Mike had been about to ask the same thing.

  Jonathon lifted his chin and locked gazes with his father. “I’ll meet with Ruth.”

  Silence.

  Mike blinked, but his tongue refused to work.

  “To what end?” Thomas asked quietly.

  Jonathon narrowed his gaze. “That would count as pushing your luck tonight, Father. We both know you want this, so be content with knowing I will meet with her. Not that I am promising anything, do you understand?”

  Thomas nodded, appearing as if he were in a dream.

  Mike was in a dream, all right.

  It was beginning to feel like a nightmare.

  WHEN THOMAS declared himself tired and bade them good night, Mike was still no clearer about what the hell had happened—or how he wanted to deal with its implications. He kept his mouth shut, but when they reached Jonathon’s bedroom, he couldn’t remain silent a second longer.

  “Look, I might go home tonight.” Mike’s pulse was rapid, his hands clammy.

  Jonathon came to a dead stop, his eyes full of confusion. “What?”

  Mike scrubbed his hand through his hair. “You… you dropped a pretty huge bombshell tonight, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  Jonathon sighed. “Come in here for a second.” He pushed open the door, led Mike to the bed, and waited until he’d sat on the foot of it. Jonathon switched on the bedside lamp, then came to stand in front of him. “First of all, I know how all that must have sounded.”

  Mike snorted. “It sounded like you were agreeing to meet the woman you’re gonna marry.”

  Jonathon blinked. “I did no such thing. Your brain heard one thing and made a connection. Understandable. But all I did was agree to meet her.”

  Mike did his best to recall Jonathon’s exact words. “You’re right. I jumped to a conclusion. But why meet her at all? Unless you really are considering marrying her. That part about breaking away from past patterns of behavior…. My brain didn’t conjure up that part, did it? And what was that, if not another way of saying….” Mike didn’t know what to think anymore.

  Jonathon knelt at his feet. “Which brings me to my second point. Do you trust me?”

  Mike’s throat seized. “I thought I did,” he croaked.

  Jonathon’s gaze locked on his. “Then you need to go on trusting me.” He took Mike’s hands in his. “I have a plan. I’d love to tell you about it, but I have to… discuss it with Ruth first. There are a couple of things I’m not sure of, and I don’t want to talk about this, only to find I’ve got it completely wrong.” He brought Mike’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “All you need to know is that nothing is going to change between us. I wouldn’t let anything or anyone—and that includes my father—come between us.”

  Mike stared at Jonathon’s earnest expression. “This plan of yours… is your father going to like it?”

  Jonathon’s lips twitched. “Oh, I sincerely doubt it.”

  Mike gave a single nod. “Then I’ll wait until you’re ready to share.” He smiled. “I’ll trust you.”

  Jonathon beamed. “That’s what matters to me right now—that the man I love trusts me.” Beautiful brown eyes focused on him.

  Oh, holy hell.

  Mike searched for the right response, the right words that could even begin to communicate how deeply Jonathon had just touched him.

  There was only one way to go.

  “I love you too.” His heart pounded, flooding him with an exhilaration that left him dizzy.

  Jonathon’s face lit up. “Good to know. Now… do you still want to go back to the pub tonight?” Lamplight sparkled in his eyes.

  Mike unbuttoned Jonathon’s collar in a leisurely manner and worked his way lower.

  Jonathon grinned. “And there’s my answer.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE WINDOWS to the dining room were closed, but that didn’t stop the sound of the church bells from filtering through. Jonathon smiled as he helped himself to their traditional Sunday cooked breakfast. Ivy had sourced some local sausages, and they were plump and succulent-looking. The bacon came from Paul Drake’s farm, and seeing the thick pink rashers always gave Jonathon a crisis of conscience.

  “Stop it,” Mike muttered beside him, lifting a couple of rashers onto his plate. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “But… this might have been Maisie.” Jonathon had gotten into the habit of walking to Paul’s farm, where he chatted with the pig farmer while they leaned over the sty and laughed at the antics of the piglets. Maisie had been a sweet-tempered sow who loved it when Paul scratched her back with a stick.

  Mike sighed. “And if you thought that way about all your food, you’d never eat. If you want to become a vegan, now’s the time to tell me. You know, so I can get out before I get in too deep.” He bit his lip. “Oops. We’re already past that. I guess I’m stuck with you, vegan or carnivore.”

  “Before you get in too deep? Is that a euphemism for being in love with me?” Warmth filled him.

  Mike gazed at him over his glasses. “You just wanna hear me say it again, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Jonathon replied promptly. “I also want another kiss before my father walks in here. I don’t think he’d approve of public displays of affection.”

  Mike put down his plate, cupped Jonathon’s cheek in his large, gentle hand, and kissed him unhurriedly on the lips. Jonathon closed his eyes and lost himself in the tender kiss. Mike broke away but brought his forehead to Jonathon’s.

  “I love you.” His words were soft.<
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  The sound of the door opening had them separating, and Mike resumed his task of filling his plate. Jonathon turned to greet his father. “Good morning. If you’d like cereal or porridge, please ring for Janet. Otherwise, there’s a cooked breakfast here.”

  Father strode across the dining room, smiling at the old-fashioned sideboard covered with trays. “This reminds me of breakfasts here when your grandfather was alive. It set you up for the day.”

  “Which is probably where I got the idea from.” Jonathon pointed to the scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausages. “These are local. The black puddings are sent from Bury. I got a taste for them when I lived in Manchester. And Ivy makes the bread herself from flour produced at the water mill.”

  Father nodded in approval. “Excellent. Well, I shall have a good breakfast, and then I shall head back to London, seeing as I accomplished what I set out to do.”

  Jonathon wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

  “You’re fond of sayings, aren’t you, Father? Ever heard the one about putting the cart before the horse? All I said last night is that I would meet with Ruth. Please, do not read more into that statement. And don’t go making plans that include me.”

  Father gazed at him in silence for a moment before glancing at Mike with a sigh. “Do you have more luck persuading him to follow certain courses of action?”

  Mike smiled politely. “That depends on what means I use to persuade him.”

  Jonathon was so thankful not to be drinking his coffee at that moment. A flush rose up his father’s neck, staining his cheeks.

  “Yes, well, breakfast.”

  Jonathon had to admit, Mike had found the perfect way to ensure a quiet meal.

  AS SOON as his father’s Bentley was out of sight, Jonathon heaved a sigh of relief. “Hopefully we won’t see him for a while.” He turned to Mike. “Now, can we get back to the important stuff?”