Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 60

Charles was fifteen again, and finally going off to school. At last his father had relented, though he grumbled about throwing good blunt after bad and predicted his wayward second son would be sent back down before the quarter was out.

Charles didn’t listen. He’d heard it all before. His father’s grumblings couldn’t touch him now, he was finally getting away and the world lay open before him. The only dark spot in his bright future was the interview immediately ahead. He had to say goodbye to Sophie.

He found her sitting on the lowest branch of the tree where they had first met. Her ebony hair curled down her back and silent tears streamed down her face. He sat down close beside her on the gnarled branch and her head fell to rest on his shoulder. They stayed—silent, beyond words—for a while. Then he gave her a parting gift: a book. Thomas Hope’s Household Furniture and Interior Decoration. She smiled her thanks and he said something to make her laugh.

Her laughter rang out in the quiet glade, fluid, almost tangible, then suddenly it was tangible, moving in sensuous tendrils, surrounding him. No, those were her arms sliding up his hard body, encircling him. They weren’t children any longer. Sophie was a woman in his arms, hot and wanton, eager as she pressed herself against him, pressed her lips to his with a breathless sigh.

Charles moaned and buried his hands in her thick hair, clamped his hard and desperate mouth over hers and tightened his grip on her soft, writhing body.

In an abrupt change of mood that made him want to howl, she pushed him away. The forest had faded, she wiggled from his grasp and marched to his bedchamber door. Turning, she regarded him with a sneer, dark eyes flashing indignation and anger.

‘No, Charles,’ was all she said, then she slammed the door with a crash.

Bang! She slammed it again and the noise made his brainbox rattle.

Bang! Why was she still slamming the door? Somehow the racket had gotten inside his head and was set to explode out through his pounding temples.

‘Don’t you have a key?’ Sophie said, still irritated. Wait, no. That was Jack’s voice.

‘He’s got it in there with him,’ someone answered.

Bang!

‘Damnation!’ Charles shouted, then clutched his head. ‘Stop that bloody racket or I’ll strangle you with my bare hands!’ He lay back, bending over in agony. He wasn’t going to kill anybody; he was going to cast up his accounts right in his own bed. Then he was going to die.

‘At least he’s alive,’ his brother said, laughter and relief in his voice.

Bang!

The last great crash did kill him, or at least sent him spiralling past the pain and into a blessedly quiet, dark void.

He awoke to find his brother and his valet standing over him. Staring in horrified fascination.

‘Any idea where he’s been all this time?’ Jack asked.

Crocker grunted a negative. ‘Two gentlemen brought him in. Found him at Bellamy’s. I don’t know what he’s been drinking, but he didn’t get it there.’ The valet’s cragged face twisted in disgust. ‘I left to brew some coffee and when I come back, the door was locked. Figured I needed to get in here, so I sent a man for you, sir, before I started taking the door down.’

‘You did the right thing.’

Crocker wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ll fetch up a hot bath.’

Charles just moaned and rolled over.

‘When I told you to decide what you wanted, I wasn’t thinking of suicide as an option.’ When he received no response, Jack continued. ‘Well, come along, lay-a-bed! While you’ve been on a three-day binge, I’ve been a busy boy. I’ve brought a visitor for you.’

‘Go away and let me die.’

‘Not today, big brother. Come on, here’s your man with some coffee.’

‘Go. To. Hell,’ Charles said succinctly.

Jack laughed. ‘It looks as if Old Scratch has already ejected one Alden from his domain today, so I dare say I won’t take you up on that.’

‘Coffee, my lord,’ Crocker said, holding a steaming cup and saucer under his nose. Charles tried manfully not to gag and waved him away. A regiment of footmen entered and the racket they made pouring his bath sent him diving back under the covers. But between them, Jack and Crocker got him into the steaming tub and the conviction that he was going to die out of his aching head. After half a pot of coffee he felt almost human again. Almost.

‘I’m not even going to ask what precipitated this,’ Jack said once Charles was propped in a chair, wearing a robe.

‘A woman,’ Crocker said darkly as he cleaned away the shaving implements. He had the grace to flush when Charles eyed him with distaste, but stood firm. ‘Nothing else brings a man so low.’

‘Lord knows you’re entitled to a binge, but we need to get back to business now,’ said Jack. ‘I meant it when I said I had brought you a visitor, and trust me, you’ll want to hear what he has to say.’

Charles heaved a great sigh and allowed Crocker to brush back his wet hair. Lord, every strand on his head was a needle of fire piercing his scalp. ‘Bad enough you expect me to be coherent, you shan’t get me to dress. Unless I see him here, he’ll have to wait.’

‘I’ll bring him up.’

When Jack came back he had a stripling lad with him. Charles grimaced at his brother and hoped the sight of such dissipation wouldn’t ruin the boy.

‘Charles, this is Mr Lionel Humbert, apprentice typesetter. Mr Humbert, Lord Dayle.’

The boy bobbed his head and wrung his hat in his hands. ‘Good morning, my lord.’

‘A debatable opinion, but I’m not up to arguing it, Mr Humbert.’ He indicated a chair close by. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

The boy paled. ‘No, thank you, my lord. I mean, I’ll stand, my lord.’

‘Do you care for coffee?’ Charles tried to put the poor boy at ease.

‘No. I mean, I do sir, but I better not drink it now. I’m too nervous, sir.’

At least they had gone from ‘my lord’ to ‘sir'.

‘Don’t be nervous. I may look a fright, but I don’t eat young men for breakfast. Tell me, what can I do for you this morning, Mr Humbert?’

The boy glanced at Jack, who nodded encouragingly. ‘I think I’m to do something for you, sir. You see, I’m apprenticed to Mr Prescott, a printer.’

‘One of Mr Prescott’s accounts is with the Oracle, Charles,’ said Jack.

‘My sympathy is with you, for having to deal with the editor of that scandal rag.’

‘Thank you, sir. Mr Griggs is a mite dicked in the nob, if you catch my meaning.’

‘More than a mite, I would say,’ Charles agreed gravely.

‘Tell him about the man we discussed,’ urged Jack.

‘Well, a while back, I delivered the proofs to Mr Griggs, like always. It was about when they started hounding you in their paper, sir, if you’ll forgive me. That’s when I first saw the man that Mr Alden says you are looking for.’

‘A short, dark, wiry man?’ Charles asked, sitting up with interest.

‘Aye, sir. An odd one, that. Moves quick and sharp, like a bird. That’s what made me remember his name.’

‘His name? What was his name, son?’ Charles asked gently.

‘Wren, sir. Wren, like a bird, see?’

‘I do indeed. Smart boy,’ Charles said with approval. ‘Do you know what Wren was doing with Mr Griggs?’

The boy pursed his mouth and thought. ‘Well, it looked summat like he was checking the paper and putting his stamp on it—like Mr Griggs usually does.’

‘Hmm.’

‘They looked at the articles about you, sir. They had a good laugh about ‘em before giving me the go ahead to print.’

‘You’ve indeed been a big help to me, Mr Humbert. Now I want you to think very carefully. Did Wren ever mention who he works for?’

The boy was silent a long moment. ‘Nooo,’ he said, and Charles slumped. ‘But he did say once, “His lordship will be pleased.”’

‘Lordship?’ Charles looked at Jack.

‘Aye, but he said it funny—mean funny, you ken? Like he was mayhap making fun?’

Charles had a sudden thought. ‘Does Wren still come around to look at the proofs?’

‘No, sir. Since Griggs quit riggin’ you in the paper, I haven’t seen him back.’

‘Thank you, Mr Humbert, you have been very helpful indeed.’ He gestured to Crocker. ‘Why don’t you show our young friend down to the kitchens? I’m sure Cook has something for a growing lad. And give him something for being so co-operative.’ Charles rose and shook the boy’s hand. ‘I hope we may do business together again someday.’

The boy, looking relieved, went off with Crocker. Charles sat down and looked at Jack.

‘Thank you. It’s more than we had before.’ He sat silent a moment, before pounding his hand on his chair in frustration. ‘It’s still so little! Why can’t we pin him down?’

‘We have a few days. Perhaps we can find something else.’

‘A few days?’

‘Before your birthday.’

Charles rubbed his temples. Oh, Lord, this could not be good. He wondered what else he’d missed in the past week. ‘My birthday?’

Jack looked at him in surprise and then laughed out loud. ‘If you had been reading your mail instead of bending your elbow, dear brother, you would know that our dearest mother is planning a birthday bash for you.’

‘How bad is it?’

‘You really don’t know? She’s invited a slew of people to a house party this weekend.’

‘A house party? All the way at Fordham?’

‘No, Charles. At Sevenoaks. She means to unveil the new house at the same time.’

Charles slumped in his chair. His gut started roiling again, in time with the percussion in his head. Jack and Crocker had been wrong; he was going to die. He only hoped he could manage it before his birthday.