Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “Nonsense. Do you even realize what you’re saying, or is this some drunken fantasy?”

  “No fantasy, no; and, yes, I do unner… understand what I’m saying. I’ve a son. Alex Durand’s boy. Ewan. That’s my child. Mine and Bridge’s. My boy.”

  Tears began to fill Matthew’s eyes, all his bravado gone. Years before he had fought Alex Durand over her, shocking everyone and causing his close friendship with George Darcy to cool for months. His marriage had nearly ended because of that woman. Then she was gone overnight, running off with none other than – Alex Durand.

  After glancing about the room Mark put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. True or not, this was unwise to discuss openly in a tavern. “We cannot talk here.”

  “Why? There’s no one here but you and I… me… I… and that revolting barkeep, no offence, sir. Besides, he’s too far away to hear anything, aren’t you? See, he agrees. You do believe me, don’t you? You ‘member I kept Bridge in that house years ago; she and her nasty sister; and… and, you knew she and I were lovers, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I remember.”

  “Well. There you go.” Matthew poked Mark’s chest for emphasis. “The bitch gave birth to my son and never told me. Never knew. No. There should be a law against that, right? Her cripple, Durand, has raised my son, instead of me. Durand watched him grow, ‘stead of me.” Matthew grew more and more incoherent the more upset he became. “I need someone – anyone – to know about m’son – if something were t’happen to me someone must know. You believe me. You do believe me, right?”

  “Yes, of course I do, calm down and lower your voice! Is that what this night has been all about; why we had to come out here to bloody Whitechapel of all places, to this rat hole for a drink, instead of enjoying the comforts of home, or better yet, White’s? Damn me. So, you believe Bridget gave birth to your son with no one in the family suspecting? Would not Anne Marie have said something? She is married to the woman’s brother-in-law, correct? Would she not have said something by now?”

  “Never did. Visit them, I mean. Maybe she never knew, either. Maybe no one told her. Sneaky Scots. It was only Jamie who went up there all the years, alone or with Birdy so she could visit with Bridget. Always thought that was odd. He knew though, Jamie did, the bastard. He knew. Deal with him when they’re home.”

  “Then perhaps you should forget all this until you can speak with Jamie.”

  “Why? You still don’t believe me! Bridget as much as admitted it to me!”

  “So that was the true reason you visited them.”

  “Not them – her. I sent Durand on a wild goose chase so I could meet with her alone. Told her I bloody well will have my son with me, whether she likes it or not. I threatened her – well, him actually. The cripple. Told her I’d ruin his career, and when she looked so smug about that, I told her I have things I could tell her husband, intimacies she and I did together, enjoyed immensely. They’d break him, Mark. They would destroy any man. I should love to see that.”

  “Be serious, Matthew. I know you would never do that.”

  “No, probably not – but, she doesn’t! Bloody hell, Mark, he’s my son. I want to know him. I don’t want Durand to be the man he looks up to – it should be me.”

  “It sounds like you’re more interested in revenge on Durand than gaining a son.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “On your side, of course. Always your side. Always.” Mark tightened his grip on Matthew’s shoulder. “Listen to me, you may, however, be jumping to some very dangerous conclusions here, voicing them out loud in a public place.”

  “Thank you so very much for nothing! You know, I was afraid to tell you, afraid of your ridicule.” Matthew shrugged off his brother’s hand. “Damn it, you’re one person I hoped would stand with me, Mark!”

  “All right, all right. Fact is, I do believe you. Damn it, this is dangerous. What exactly did she say?”

  “Bitch told me she had no choice but to marry Durand nine years ago, because she was carrying a child. And before you say anything – yes, I am certain boy’s mine and not Durand’s! My god, you only have to see him once to know the truth of it. She claims she wrote to me for help but that I ignored her letters. Mark, there were no letters; never. No. Never received any letters from her. What does that tell you? Tells me she’s a liar, natural born. I know she was never with Durand while we were together. No! She couldn’t have been. She was mine, damn it. Mine.” He backed into a chair and stumbled, then righted himself.

  Mark sighed. “Say no more about this for now, please. For your sake, for Bridget’s sake, and most important of all, for that boy’s sake – keep quiet.”

  “I have my rights.”

  “No, you do not. Matt, be reasonable. You have no recourse that would not harm the child, ruin his life.”

  “It will be all right, Mark; you’ll see.” Suddenly feeling ill again, Matthew turned from his brother and began to search for a pail as he headed for the door. “I have a plan, I know what I’m about. And, I shall have my boy with me, one way or the other. The bitch’ll protest, but I’m convinced that after a while she’ll come to realize she was always mine, still is…”

  Dear God. Mark stopped listening at that point. There it was, plain as day. Matthew foolishly, madly, blindly, loved that one woman still, and probably always would. “Bollocks. You’re hopeless, Matthew.”

  “Ha! And don’t I know it! (hiccup) You do realize, Marky, that you are my dearest friend. Love you like a brother.”

  “You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

  “Jus’ a little one? All right, all right, I won’t. There’s one thing more. I must ask a flavor of you. I mean a favor.”

  “I’ll do whatever you wish, just put on your hat. Wherever is Deacon with that ridiculous carriage of yours? Oh, there he is.” Before Mark could signal for him the driver was already turning the coach around and heading their way.

  “Where did I put that thing?” Matthew patted his coat then reached into his vest and pulled out an envelope. “Here.” He drunkenly presented it with both hands, as if it were sacred. “Would you deliver this to her for me?”

  “To whom? Bridget?”

  “No, Mark, the Duke of Kent. Yes, Bridget.”

  “No need to be snippy. What’s in this, might I ask? I’ll not be party to any revenge on the woman, Matt. You’ll regret it tomorrow and hate me for agreeing to it.”

  “This has nothing to do with revenge.”

  “Well, what is it then?’

  “Fifty-thousand pounds.”

  Mark nearly fainted. “Are you insane! Fifty - thous… You’re drunk! Put that away.” He looked around, greatly relieved to see the street completely empty.

  “Are you refusing me? How often do I ask favors of you, Mark?”

  “Almost daily. Why do you think I travel so often?”

  “Listen to me, this is important. It’s for m’boy. If something were to happen to me, if I should die–”

  “Never say that, Matt.”

  “Never know what could happen. None of us expected Mama to die, did we? None of us are immoral, excuse me, immortal And, I am not asking Bridget to reveal anything to him, nor to anyone else; but, I need to know I’ve contributed something to his life other than some long ago bed romp. Please, do this. Would myself, but doubt she’d admit me again. Not that I would blame her. She was a wee bit upset with me when I left. Besides, she always liked you better than she liked me – well, everyone does, don’t they? Funny, she was the only person outside of family who could tell us apart, did you know that? Please, Mark?”

  Mark struggled against the impulse to either kick his brother in the ass or hug him in pity. God, what misery it must be to love someone this much. “Very well – but, really, you idiot! Of all the damn places you choose to hand this to me, it had to be here in one of the worst areas of the city.” Mark checked once again for anyone watching before he took the parcel.

  “W
anted to be certain no one we knew would be around to see us.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly done that.” Mark stared at the package before slipping it into his coat. “Do you know – aside from your fearsome temper – this is your worst flaw.”

  “My penmanship?”’

  “No, idiot. It’s your rashness. Practically in your dotage and you still rarely consider consequences.” He disliked carrying so much blunt on his person; but, better him than his drunken brother.

  “Tell me everything she says. Hope she’s impressed by the amount.”

  “You know, there are times when I fear for your sanity.”

  Matthew nodded. “If I had a pound for every person who’s told me that – but, enough of that… so, you’ll do it then?”

  “Yes, of course I will, but it will have to wait until my return, all right? You know I’d do anything for you, short of murder.”

  “That’s my brother! Remember when I talked you into straddling Magdalen Bell Tower at Oxford – au naturale? Won us forty pounds each.”

  “Actually, I received one hundred pounds for that, I only gave you forty.”

  “So, you see, this is not much to ask really.”

  “Don’t push your luck. What’s wrong? Blast, are you going to be ill?”

  “Yes, planning on it.”

  The coachman had reached them by now, jumped down from his perch and opened the carriage door. “Help me here, Deacon, would you? Good thing you were waiting nearby. I feared you’d gone to visit a pub yourself for the night.” The two men began to push Matthew into the small, sporting carriage. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

  “Not ‘ardly, sir. Not leavin’ a beauty like this out for some dragsman. Besides, I’m accustomed to no sleep. Was on either middle or mornin’ watch for over ten years in Royal Navy; prefer the solitude. And, I’m big enough so no one dare test me. You know ‘ow that is, sir, being a big ‘un yerself. Night crawlers don’t bother us much.”

  “Excellent point and true enough – watch his head there – ooh. Bloody hell. Sorry Matt, that’ll leave a mark. For heaven’s sake, how many legs does he have?”

  “’e is looking a bit green, sir, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. Now, back to what you were saying, my brother and I both learned long ago to never let our guard down merely because we were bigger than the ruffians; there’s no excuse for carelessness. Where are his arms?”

  “Oh, My God! Have I lost my arms?”

  “Shut up, Matthew and pull your knees up… or something. Tell me again why you insisted on using this ridiculous looking contraption?”

  “Wanted to show it to you, rides like the wind when I drive, but Deacon was needed, because knew we’d be the worse for wear – at least I am.”

  “Was the interior this small on the way here? Oh, well. Don’t suppose you could move over a little? Matthew? Has he passed out?”

  “Ssh! Tryin’ to sleep.”

  “Next time you suggest us both driving in this oversized pram I’ll shove the entire carriage up your arse. What do you think about that, hmmm? Don’t bother answering, I don’t care really. Is all of him inside, Deacon – any odd bits dangling? Excellent. I’ll need to sit on the floor on the way home, although it’ll be extremely uncomfortable. Drop me off first, if you would, then you can bring Lord High and Mighty Fitzwilliam to his house and personally hand him over to that awful valet of his. Tell him my instructions are he have cook prepare a proper meal and – Matthew! Oh, sweet Jesu, no!”

  The sounds and scents of retching filled the morning air – as well as the floor of the carriage. “And there goes the only place left to sit! Thank you so very much, you imbecile.”

  “What smells so awful – oops, think I’m going to be sick again…”

  “Aim away from me!” Mark jumped back, covering his nose with his handkerchief. “That truly is disgusting. Hard to believe all that came from inside you since we haven’t eaten in hours. Although… I do believe I see bits of a chicken wing there. At least I think it’s chicken…”

  “How’ll you get ‘ome, sir? You can’t sit in there, and there’s no room up by me. It’s only a single seat. Perhaps, if you can drive this rig, I could walk, see if I can find a horse tram anywheres.”

  “Drive this? I’d be sick myself if I’m anywhere near this carriage now; my stomach’s not much better than his. Not to worry, Deacon, you go on, and thank you for offering. I shall walk until I see a cab to hail.”

  “A cab? ‘ere? Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. Not many in these parts. Best thing would be to ‘ead west if you’re goin’ to walk. Cabbies begin appearin’ about six blocks that direction. And, remember, stay in busy areas.”

  “Will do, Deacon.” Laughing, Mark turned to the left and began to walk. “You take care now.”

  “’Scuse me, sir.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s wrong way.”

  “Are you certain? Oh, yes, I suppose it is.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Absolutely. Probably.” Mark looked around. “Damn, at one time I knew this city like the back of my hand, certainly it will all come back to me.”

  Matthew groaned from somewhere in the carriage. “You’ll be at Uncle Wills’ on Boxing (hiccup) Day, then?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Come to the house… tomorrow for Christmas Eve… we’ll have a sip of brandy.”

  “Matthew, listen to me and try to focus on what I am saying. I’ll be with Bunny’s family. Besides, the way you look you’ll sleep till Boxing Day.”

  Matthew’s obscene hand gesture out the window was his only reply to that. “Can’t believe you’re going to ask Miss Bunny to marry you. Trouble and strife… take a wife…”

  “A Happy Christmas to Amanda. And, Matt, remember, I love you, brother.”

  Why had he suddenly blurted out that last bit? Sentimentality was seldom uttered between the two.

  “Course you do. You best be careful. You’re the baby of the two of us and my responsibility.”

  “Idiot.” Mark then turned to the driver. “Drive him straight home.”

  “That I will, sir. That I will. And, if I can be so bold, sir – in keepin’ with our previous words – eyes open, sir.”

  “Yes, yes. Not to worry, Deacon. Off with you now.”

  As the carriage disappeared around a corner Mark rubbed his whiskered cheek. Now what to do? If he was seriously considering proposing to Bunny (and, he still had his doubts, ring or no ring) he’d better have a wash and shave before meeting her – true, she was generally affable, but every woman had limits. Well, nothing for it but to start off and pray for a passing acquaintance to give him a lift, or perhaps there’d be an inn along the way where he could sink into a nice hot tub. Now which way did Deacon say was West again? Ah yes; he turned up his collar, hunched his shoulders against the cold, and headed… west?

  Inside, the innkeeper who had been surreptitiously watching the wealthy coves for hours grunted at the sight of the expensive coach stopping for them. ‘Twin’ marks like these might be considered ‘good luck’, a profitable omen. And those two, dressed to the nines like they was – why, coulda been big money in this for one of ‘is regulars, he’d bet his sorry life on it. Missed opportunity, that’s what this was. After all, there’d be no reason for gents like those to be slummin’ unless they was up to no good, was there? Could ‘ave ‘em followed, mebbe… but ‘e’d ‘ave to tread careful like; didn’t want no coppers comin’ round again. Nah, they was leavin’, wasn’t worth the risk.

  That was when he saw something that took his breath away.

  Did I just see one of them toffs slip a package t’other? ‘e did! Bless my soul. That is very interestin’. Very interestin’ indeed. Looks like bloke what received package is upset t’other even had that thing on ‘im, let alone givin’ it to ‘im in broad daylight an’ all. And now they’s gettin’ away. No! I tell a lie, only one is leavin’ in carriage. Will
you look at that! Bloody ‘ell, the gent what ‘as the parcel is walkin’.

  Running hands through his sparse hair the tavern owner laughed out loud with glee. This ‘ere be a rare stroke o’luck! “Charlie! Monkey Mike! Get over ‘ere.” He motioned to two nasty looking fellows in the shadows, a pair he employed specifically for bug hunting – robbing and cheating the drunks that stumbled out the door. The men strolled over, ready as always to make an easy killing.

  “M’boys, got a special job ‘ere. It’ll need a bit o’finesse, if you catch my meanin’. Involves gentry.” Resting arms across his henchmen’s shoulders, he grinned broadly. “But, if I be right, we may make us a quite a score this very day.”

  Charlie’s smile was more a curl of his lip. “Do we kill ‘im as well?”

  “Cor, never said any such a thing, did I? Perish the thought. ‘owever… we don’t want loose ends neither, do we?”

  Chapter 9

  Mark walked on, lost in thought, unable to concentrate on anything other than what his brother had confided to him. Matthew must be wrong – at least Mark prayed he was. News like this would break their father’s heart if he ever found out. Oh, the old man might drive the family crazy – often he was worse to deal with than the children – but, his family adored him. On the other hand, his desire for securing the family title through to another generation was becoming a bone of contention between his sons and him. It had become an obsession with the old man. A loud obsession. Oh, how often had he shouted at them that he needed this settled so that he could join his wife? To think that, after all the wait and worry, there might finally be an heir, but one who would never be able to succeed him.

  And, what of the gossip. Well, the family has weathered those storms before, that was certain. Hadn’t he and Matthew been born into the world a suspicious two months prematurely? What about Harry’s daughter of whom no one spoke? The Fitzwilliam’s are a powerful family Mark mused; important enough in this town to often have been given a blind eye for certain indiscretions. Odd that his father had sired so many sons, yet none of them had produced a legitimate male heir yet.