Has she been crying? She looks for all the world as if she is about to fall apart.
Something was very wrong.
He crossed the floor and bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. His father moved forward on the sofa but did not stand and offer him his customary hug. Instead, he pointed to the chair opposite. “Have a seat.”
Callum frowned. Something was very wrong. The last time his parents had behaved this way had been the morning they had broken the news of his grandfather’s death.
Lady Sharp picked up a small bell from the side table and rang it. A footman appeared and she ordered tea. “Would you like something to eat, Callum, or have you already had breakfast?” she asked.
Apart from the lukewarm cup of tea that he had managed before leaving Follett House, he hadn’t eaten anything this morning. Normally he would have asked for food, but the worry lines around his mother’s mouth pushed all thoughts of sustenance from his mind. The traces of tears were now unmistakable on her face.
“No thank you. I will take an early luncheon after I leave here,” he replied.
Once the footman had left the room, his parents exchanged a look. Sir Thomas nodded and looked at Callum. “We have grave news.”
Lady Sharp screwed her eyes closed and turned away. Distress lined her face. Her husband reached out and took a hold of her hand before giving it a gentle squeeze.
Callum held his breath.
“I have seen my physician and after I explained how poorly I have been feeling of late, he decided to give me a thorough examination. He poked and prodded then announced that he had discovered a large growth on my liver. His prognosis is that I do not have long to live. A matter of weeks at this stage,” he said.
Callum blinked slowly, unsure of what he had heard. “Could you please repeat what you just said? I am certain I must have misunderstood.”
“No, you me heard correctly,” said Sir Thomas.
“But how can this be? You are the fittest and healthiest man I know,” replied Callum.
None of this made sense. His father lived a good life ate well and rarely partook of any sort of vice. He should be the last person who was ill, let alone facing an early death.
“It is a tumor and an aggressive one if my rapidly failing health is any indication. The physician and a surgeon have conferred and agreed that it is inoperable. A prescription of laudanum for any discomfort has been made, but other than that there is nothing that can be done for me. We must all prepare ourselves for the trials ahead,” explained his father.
Lady Sharp let out a sob and her husband turned to her, brushing a kiss on her tear-stained cheek. She sat, shaking her head at him. “No, I can’t stand to lose you,” she whispered.
“It’s alright, my love. We all have to go sometime; I just wish I had more time with you.”
Callum fiddled with his signet ring, spinning it round and round his finger. His brain was still struggling to absorb his father’s words. None of this was right; and it was damn well not fair.
No. This cannot be happening. He is a young man. Men of his age don’t die.
Unfortunately, war had taught him that young men were not spared the touch of death. Many of his friends who had fallen during Waterloo had had youth on their side. But while those men had been his colleagues and fellow soldiers, men whom he had grieved, they were not his blood.
This was his beloved sire. A man he thought the world of, who was a major part of his life.
“Are you sure? Could there be a mistake? Have you sought a second opinion? I could ask the royal physician to examine you,” he said.
“It has been growing for some time. I can feel it under my skin. And the physician who examined me is a senior fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons. The man knows what I am facing,” replied Sir Thomas.
Lady Sharp dabbed at her tears and rallied. “This has come as a shock to us all, but we must make preparations. Your father and I discussed some things last night before making a decision. We need to keep this a private matter within the family until the very end.”
Callum blinked again. He was all for racing out the front door and shouting it to the world. Declaring that he would not stand for it. That something must be done. His parents were taking this all with far too much grace, whereas he had never been one for calmly accepting bad news. He wanted to fight.
“But why do we need to keep it a secret?” replied Callum.
From the table beside him, Sir Thomas retrieved a large folio. He opened it and took out a piece of paper.
“This is why,” he said, handing it to Callum.
Callum stared at the paper. He had never seen it before. It was a share certificate listing the name of an unfamiliar company. Royal Jubilee Mines.
“What is this?” he asked.
“The key to our, well, your future. It is a forty-five percent ownership in a gold-mining company which has just made a significant find in one of the American states. The company is trying to keep news of the find quiet for as long as possible so that we can buy up more land in the surrounding area. My concern is that the other shareholders of the Royal Jubilee Mines may try to squeeze me out if they discover that I am dying,” replied Sir Thomas.
Callum looked to his mother, then back to his father. Sir Thomas was staring death in the face, and yet there he was, more concerned about money than what he was going through.
“I couldn’t care less about some bloody mine in the Americas. You are about to . . .” He didn’t want to say the word. Death was the end of all hope. He shook his head in disbelief as he handed his father back the share certificate.
His father offered him a knowing look. “I understand that this is all a bit much for you to absorb at such short notice, so I suggest you take some time to become accustomed to this dreadful news. Once you have got your head around it, then we can discuss the financial side of things.”
Callum moved forward in his chair and faced his mother. Her eyes were filled once more with tears. She was clearly trying to be strong in this difficult moment. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she must be going through. This was her husband, the love of her life they were discussing. The man she was about to lose forever.
She swallowed deeply and blinked back her tears. “We must make plans for the future. Time is unfortunately not something we have on our side. By making preparations now and in private it will protect us from the storm which is to come,” she said.
Callum didn’t want to hear any of this. He got to his feet and began to pace the room. When the footman reappeared a short time later carrying a tea tray, he was standing looking out the drawing room window. As soon as the pot and cups were set down on the low serving table, Lady Sharp poured them all a drink and dismissed the footman.
“Come and sit, Callum,” she said.
He put his hand against the glass of the window and peered out. In the street below, various carriages and coaches rolled slowly by. London continued on, unaware of the tragedy that was unfolding within these very walls.
I don’t want tea. I need something stronger.
Gritting his teeth, he turned from the window and resumed his seat. He picked up his cup of tea and quietly drank it. For the sake of his parents, he would do all that he could to remain calm. He took a deep breath, then swallowed down his tears along with the tea.
The room was eerily silent, but inside he was screaming.
Chapter Fifteen
The loud bang of the front door stopped Eliza in her tracks.
“What the?”
She turned from her intended destination of the upstairs drawing room and hurried down the stairs. As she reached the foyer, Mister Green appeared at the top of the other set of stairs which led to the kitchens. He gave her an I have no idea look as he raced to the front door and out into the street.
When he eventually returned, closing the door quietly behind him, he was grim-faced. He glanced at the entrance to the ballroom before addressing Eliza. “Sir Callum’s valet has handed
in his notice, effective immediately.”
“Oh. Did he say why?” she replied, slightly perplexed.
It was a dangerous question. Over the past weeks, Callum had probably given his long-suffering valet a dozen good reasons as to why he should quit his employ. Eliza dreaded to think what the straw which had finally broken the camel’s back looked like.
Mister Green took several hesitant steps toward her. “He said he can tolerate a certain level of poor behavior from a gentleman, as it comes with the position. However, Sir Callum has fallen well below that with his latest efforts.”
He glanced a look in the direction of the ballroom. Eliza pursed her lips and headed toward the door. The butler followed closely behind.
In the middle of the ballroom, Callum lay on his back unconscious, snoring loudly. His shirt was covered in wet stains and the room stank of vomit.
“Lady Eliza, please. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. Let me get some of the servants to assist Sir Callum,” said Mister Green.
She stood and stared at Callum. She had seen him drunk before, even had a conversation with him while he was under the influence of one of his horrible cannabis cigars, but nothing came close to what she was now seeing.
Oh, Callum, what have you done to yourself? I would do anything to help you.
Eliza straightened her spine and reminded herself that he was no longer her problem. She had to put her days of longing for him firmly in the past.
“Go and get a bucket and some cleaning cloths,” she instructed.
Mister Green hesitated; she pointed toward the door. Cleaning up Callum’s disgusting mess was only a part of the problem. Finding him another valet was just one more thing to add to her already extensive list of things to do for the day.
Eliza bent and vigorously shook Callum’s shoulder. He barely stirred, muttering something which she could not fully comprehend. Something about gold and bloody thieves.
“Come on, Callum. You need to get up. If Reid sees you like this there will be hell to pay,” she said.
No sooner had she said the words, than the sound of the front door being opened, and the cheerful whistling of her brother announced his arrival.
Ruddy hell.
Nothing was going right for her this morning. She quickly crossed to the door and stepping out into the foyer, closed it behind her.
“Hello. How was your morning?” she asked.
Reid scowled and she immediately regretted her all too cheerful demeanor. Eliza was many things, but vivacious was not one of them.
“Fine,” he slowly drawled, his gaze never leaving hers.
“That’s good. Have you eaten? If you haven’t, then come upstairs and I shall organize some hot food.”
She attempted to put an arm around him and guide him toward the staircase, but Reid stood his ground. “What is going on?” he asked.
Her slim hopes that Reid would not discover Callum’s disgraceful state died the instant two footmen appeared in the foyer carrying buckets and a blanket. They marched over to the ballroom and went inside. Eliza winced as Reid’s gaze followed them.
“What happened in the ballroom?” he asked.
Eliza was stuck as to what to say. Her first thought was to continue to offer her brother food in the hope that Reid’s stomach would overcome his interest in the mundane goings on of the household.
The decision was taken out of her hands when Mister Green made his way downstairs, carrying a clean shirt and a pair of trousers. He stopped when he reached the ground floor and saw Reid.
“Mister Green are you attending to Sir Callum in the ballroom?” asked Reid. The cool tone of his voice did little to hide his obvious displeasure.
Mister Green looked to Eliza. She nodded. There was no point in him getting into trouble with his master; knowing Reid, he would probably still have plenty of anger to go around after he was finished tearing the flesh off Callum.
The butler cleared his throat. “Yes, my lord.”
The door of the ballroom opened, and the two footmen reappeared. They were half-dragging, half-carrying Callum between them. With great difficulty, Callum put one foot in front of the other and they made slow, painful progress toward the staircase. Eliza held her breath.
Reid turned to her, ignoring Callum and the awkward spectacle.
“Eliza, could I have a word?”
She reluctantly followed Reid upstairs to his study, and he closed the door behind them. He pointed to the low leather couch against the wall and Eliza took a seat. She didn’t make herself too comfortable; rather, she sat forward on the couch, her back ramrod straight and one foot forward. She was ready for fight or flight.
While Reid removed his coat and scarf, she looked around the room. The study was a plain, functional space with little decoration. Papers were piled on the desk. Their father had liked it that way and after his death, Reid had maintained its businesslike air.
Eliza didn’t particularly like the room. It was where Reid always brought her when he wished to discuss delicate matters or wanted to pull her into line. Most of their arguments regarding money had been conducted in Reid’s study.
He hung his coat and scarf over his desk chair and joined her on the couch. Eliza frowned and shuffled along on the seat. This was not the usual way that they conducted a conversation in this room. For forever and a day it had been Reid on one couch, Eliza on the other, facing off against one another. It was disconcerting when he came and took the spot right next to her.
“Shall I call for some coffee?” he asked.
Her senses all pricked up at once. Reid never called for coffee—not unless he was about to take her to task over something. The Follett siblings were both dyed-in-the-wool coffee-drinkers.
She shook her head, preferring that he got things done and dusted, here and now. She could go and drink a gallon of coffee in the privacy of her sitting room later. “If you are going to yell at me, could you please just go ahead and do it? I have a busy day ahead of me,” she huffed.
He reached out and took a hold of her hand. The tender look on his face filled her with trepidation. Her brother’s temper she could handle; his pity she could not.
“Do you know why I didn’t even bother to look at Callum just now?” he asked.
She sighed. “No, but I expect you are going to tell me.”
“It’s because I have seen it all before. The only difference that I can now perceive between each of his drunken episodes is that they are steadily getting worse.”
Reid was right. Much as it pained her, the truth was undeniable. Even in the short time that he had been living at Windmill Street, she had noticed that Callum was not only getting drunk every night, but that he was getting deeper into his cups each time.
“What do you want me to do about it?” she asked.
Reid placed his other hand over hers and turned to meet her gaze. “I am glad you asked. What I would like you to do is to consider allowing other gentlemen to make your acquaintance and court you.”
Other men? “I am not interested in meeting other men.”
Matters with Callum had only just come to a heartbreaking end; the wound was still fresh, too raw to consider attempting to move on.
Reid sighed. “Because of Callum? Eliza, you have to find someone else.”
She met his gaze. She had loved Callum for countless years; he was not someone who you simply got over when you decided it was time. Moving on seemed an impossible task.
“Callum is a problem without an obvious solution,” said Reid.
She was not to be so easily dissuaded. “That is not good enough. He wasn’t always like this. Something happened to make him change.”
“Callum experienced some things during the final hours of the battle at Waterloo which he flatly refuses to discuss with anyone. Kendal and Owen have tried to talk to him, but to no avail. He isn’t listening to any of us, Eliza—not even you.”
“He was badly wounded. That has to have had an effect on him,” she repli
ed.
She remembered that moment when she first saw Callum walking slowly down the gangplank being aided by Reid and Owen. How her elation had quickly turned to dismay when she saw his arm in a sling. He had been cunning in keeping it from her. When the names of the dead and wounded had been sent back to England, Callum had somehow managed to keep his name off the list.
But if one of the bullets in his back had been a mere inch or so closer to his spine his name would have been on the list of the dead published in The Times and there would have been nothing, he could have done to stop it.
She shivered at the memory, still unable to shake off its powerful effect on her.
“I know he has struggled during the past months, and for a time I thought perhaps he was starting to overcome his problems. But as you can see from this morning, it is clear he is not,” said Reid.
“And what about you? What have you done to help him?” she pressed.
Reid was not normally a cold or callous man, but his handling of the situation left much to be desired. It was all well and good that he was determined to keep Callum and her apart; what wasn’t good enough was that he was abandoning his friend in the process.
Reid had been Callum’s commanding officer. He had to know something of what had happened to him during the fighting.
“You have to do more. If you expect me to even consider spending time with other men, let alone allowing one to become a potential suitor, you must do your all to help Callum.” She got to her feet; the way ahead clear in her mind. Wherever she and Callum were didn’t matter—only saving him did. “I will strike a bargain with you, Reid. You do more to help Callum, and I will seriously consider your request.”
Reid looked away in the direction of the tall bookcase which lined the opposite wall. He didn’t seem the least bit happy about her proposal, but at least he appeared to be giving it serious consideration. He turned back to her, his face a study in resigned frustration. “Alright. I will see what can be done. But you know Callum as well as I do; he is stubborn to his boots. He has resisted all attempts by the rest of us to help him thus far. I am not sure what else I can do. The only thing I do know is that for Callum to get control of his life once more, he has to want to do it. No one can force him. None of us can live his life for him, least of all you, Eliza.”
Callum: Regency Rockstars Page 8