A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) (18 page)

“Oh my God.” The guilt was a clutching hand at Harry’s heart. “He was looking for me last night, but we were going to bed.” If Dom had intended to warn Harry, he could have passed that on to Silas….“Oh Christ.”

Richard gripped his arm. “Harry, is it likely to come out that you used to work at this damned place?”

“I don’t know.” Harry felt sick and cold. “Silas won’t say anything about me, I’m sure.” But if the press was discovered, if they flogged Silas again…Harry had seen the scars on his back. He was so strong, but any man could break. “George Charkin, though, Silas’s other assistant—”

“Silas’s
assistant,
” Julius and Richard chorused.

“I don’t know if he’ll say anything about me. It depends…” Harry swallowed. “What they do to them.”

Secret printing and distribution of seditious pamphlets, including the thrice-damned
Gallows Tree.
The law would not be kind if the press was discovered. Would George incriminate him, in an effort to avert punishment, or as vengeance for his good fortune? Surely not, Harry told himself, and tried to believe it.

Richard put a hand through his hair. “If you don’t anticipate immediate disaster, we can only wait for Dominic, and hope that Harry’s association with this accursed shop is not revealed. Harry, you must behave as normal.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Nonsense,” Julius said crisply. “We shall ride, I shall take you to a tailor’s to replace that repulsive puce coat, and your Hessians are sadly worn. Perhaps a trip to Hoby’s. Richard, you will kindly let us know where to meet Dominic once he has discharged his duties.”

“I’ll send a note here.” Richard’s gaze flickered over them. “Don’t get caught.”

He left them there. Harry turned to Julius, and found himself enfolded in his sinewy arms. Julius was strong, for all his slenderness, and Harry collapsed into him. “Oh God. Why would Dominic do this?”

“Because he is a tiresome, meddling nuisance with an overactive sense of duty. My dear, what is the worst that can happen regarding this bookshop?”

“How do you mean?” Harry hedged.

“Are you simply concerned that you will be revealed to have worked as a shopboy before your return to your birthright?” Julius asked. “Or is there something more? What I mean, dear Harry, is, why are you quite such a fish-belly shade of white, and what happens in the damned place to concern you so?”

Harry stared at the sheets. He didn’t want to say this aloud, but if he couldn’t trust Julius he couldn’t trust anyone.

“You know that last night Absalom was speaking of seditious pamphlets,” he began carefully.

Julius groaned. “Are you going to tell me that the literature you peddled there went beyond the law?”

“You might say so, yes.” Harry swallowed, then blurted it out. “Silas is Jack Cade.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jack Cade. The pamphleteer who wrote
The Gallows Tree.
”

“The one that Absalom was talking about last night? The one that has sent the Home Secretary into a frenzy? Your Silas wrote that?”

“And a lot more. He writes the Jack Cade pamphlets, and I helped him distribute them, and…there’s a hand press at the shop,” he finished in a rush. “He prints them there.”

“Jack Cade.” Julius sounded as though he was still assimilating the news. “Your Silas is— Sweet Lord Jesus, Harry!”

“You won’t tell anyone.”

Julius actually laughed. “Oh my God. No, I shan’t tell anyone that you were part of Jack Cade’s flagrant treason! Curse it, you idiot boy, you could have—”

“Been gaoled for it, or worse,” Harry interrupted. “I know that. And if I hadn’t worked for Silas I could have starved in the street, because I was seventeen and homeless and there was no work to be had, so I had no choice, but nobody’s going to care about that, are they?” He gripped Julius’s arm, feeling the panic swell. “If they find the press—or if they already know—Silas will be arrested, he’ll be flogged—”

“That’s the risk he takes,” Julius said. “What’s the risk to you?”

“George might talk. He could name me, if they ask him for accomplices, and they will.”

“I see. But I will not have you arrested, and nor will Richard. He will speak to Dominic.”

“Dominic wants Jack Cade hanged. He’s said as much half a dozen times.” Harry had steeled himself, every time the subject came up, against a betraying flinch, or protest, or shout.

“Yes, he does, but that is, if I may say so, Silas’s problem. The question for us is whether this press will be found and whether your former friends will incriminate you. There is damn all we can do about that except wait.”

“The shop’s been raided before without anyone finding the press. It’s well hidden.”

“Well, please God.” Julius pulled back a little, taking Harry by the shoulders. “Meanwhile, we dress, we go to Hoby’s, and we show ourselves entirely unconcerned by any sordid events in Ludgate. Yes?”

“And what if they arrest me?” Harry asked. His mouth felt unpleasantly dry.

“Then the combined forces of Richard’s money, Absalom’s legal intelligence, and Dominic’s influence, which he will exert or I shall hurt him in a way he
won’t
like, will keep you out of gaol, and I will get you out of the country. You will not be imprisoned. I will not have it.”

Harry nodded shakily. He wanted to run, he always did when the hounds closed in, but he could hear the cavalry officer in Julius’s voice, and he clung to that strength. “Yes. Thank you. I wish we could stay in bed.”

“So do I,” Julius said. “But
noblesse oblige,
so get up.”

Julius had every intention of punching Dominic when they next met. Aside from battle, the last man he had fought had been his twin at the age of twenty, but the thought of landing Dominic a facer was all that sustained him through an endless day. They spent hours at Hoby’s, chattering with other customers about tassels, heel height, and boot-blacking recipes, with Harry attempting to conceal his nerves manfully and unsuccessfully. By the time Richard’s note summoned them to his house, Harry looked positively green, and Julius felt positively murderous.

The only thing that prevented him launching into Dominic on sight was that he looked far, far worse than Harry.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” Julius asked, not bothering with niceties.

Dominic was hunched on a chair in Richard’s book room, engaged in what Julius could only call wringing his hands. He didn’t look up. Julius cast a glance at Richard, who stood by the chair, and received only a helpless shrug.

Dominic was over-concerned by duty, in Julius’s opinion, but this seemed excessive. “Get him a drink,” he ordered.

“I don’t need a drink,” Dominic told the floor. His voice sounded odd.

“Then may I suggest you tell us what in the name of Pandemonium is going on?” Julius said forcibly. “Why the devil did you raid that place? What happened—”

“What about Silas?” Harry interrupted. “Silas Mason, the owner. Did you arrest him? Is he in gaol?”

Dominic flinched at that, just a fractional movement. “No. He—isn’t arrested. There was no evidence on which to, to…”

“No evidence,” Julius repeated. “Nothing to link Harry to this damned place? Oh for God’s sake, Frey, sit up, pull yourself together, and talk to us!” That came out at more volume than he’d intended but it had an effect. Dominic jerked himself to a more respectable position, raising his head.

“Yes. I beg your pardon. Uh…There’s a man called Thaddeus Skelton. He works in the Home Office with me. Ambitious, and very strong against radicals. Yesterday he informed me that information had been laid against Theobald’s Bookshop. That its owner, Silas Mason, was involved in printing and disseminating treason, and that there would be a raid today.”

“Who laid the information?” Harry asked.

“Just against this man Mason, not Harry?” Julius demanded.

“Against Mason, and I don’t know where it came from. I recognized it as Harry’s shop, of course. So I…went with Skelton….Oh, God.” He doubled over, arms wrapped around himself, as though something hurt.

“What the devil happened?” demanded Julius. “Were they looking for something in particular?”

“The information laid suggested he was linked to a notorious pamphleteer, Jack Cade. He might
be
Cade. God almighty, he might be Cade.” That came out in a whisper.

“Did they find anything?” Harry demanded.

“No. Our men made a damned mess of the place looking, but if there is anything illicit going on at the bookshop—
don’t tell me
—if there is, we didn’t find it.”

Harry sat down, abruptly, as though relief had weakened his legs. “Was anyone hurt?”

“They, Mason and his assistant, were both…manhandled,” Dominic admitted. “But not arrested.”

“Was this what you wanted to tell me last night?”

“I shouldn’t have done,” Dominic said with sudden harshness. “I was wrong to try. It was a matter of duty.”

“Your efforts were entirely useless, if that makes you feel better,” Julius remarked.

“Do be quiet.” Richard put his hand lightly on Dominic’s shoulder. “Dom? Is there something else?”

“Skelton is a protégé of Lord Maltravers. He’ll know Maltravers’s business. If he finds evidence of Harry’s involvement at Theobald’s, we may assume he will pass it to his patron.”

“If Maltravers learns information discreditable to my cousin,” Richard growled, “he will do well to keep it to himself.”

“Will they raid the shop again?” Harry asked Dominic. “Does this Skelton intend to arrest Silas, do you think?”

Dominic dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You seem to be taking this very hard, considering it is merely a matter of duty,” Julius observed.

“Go to hell. Oh God, Rich, help me.” Dominic reached out one hand, blindly seeking, and Richard stepped forward and took it.

“I’m here. Julius, Harry, excuse us.” His tone was uncompromising. Julius bit back what he wanted to say and they left the room in silence, shutting themselves into the drawing room instead, where Harry made a noise of stifled frustration and anger, and slapped his hand against the wall.

“Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with Dominic, but on the whole, this could be worse,” Julius said. “It seems to me that so far you have little to worry about.”

“Except Silas. I need to see Silas.”

“No, that is the last thing you need to do. Don’t be a fool.”

“I have to.” Harry spun to face him. “If they’d found—anything, he’d be in gaol now. And the shop’s been damaged, his stock taken, and he’s poor as a church mouse as it is. I can’t just go on my way, keep my position safe, and ignore him. What kind of gentleman would that make me?”

“A safer and more sensible one.” Julius blew out a long breath. “And probably not one I would like so well. May I accompany you?”

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. “Best not, I think.”

“It’s five o’clock now and we are engaged to Higham’s fiancée’s dance at nine. If you are not with me by then, I shall assume you are in
durance vile
and come to your rescue.”

“Don’t joke.” Harry made a face. “And could you lend me some money?”

It was worse than Harry had thought. The door of the bookshop, at least, appeared intact, but one of the windows was smashed, and the inside was in a state of chaos. A free-standing shelf had been pulled over, and there were papers all over the floor, books splayed and broken-backed, a higgledy pile of rubbish.

Silas looked around then turned silently back to his tidying as Harry came in. He was in shirtsleeves, dusty and sweaty, and Harry had never seen him look so grim. He looked older, even, as though this had been one blow too many.

Harry stripped off his own coat, draped it over a broken stool, and bent to help. He was a good five minutes picking books up before Silas spoke.

“You’ll get your fine clothes dirty.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“People to wash them for you?”

“I didn’t mean that. Silas, what happened?”

“Raid.”

“I know, that, but—”

“It was a raid.” Silas sat back on his powerful haunches. His face was marked red, one eye a little swollen. “Home Office. George took a blow to the head, and his one good coat torn off his back. They were looking for treason.” He snorted. “Didn’t find it.”

Harry glanced over at the trapdoor to the printing cellar. The heavy bookshelf over it, which moved on ingenious castors and kept it concealed, had not been shifted.

Silas had followed his gaze. “Aye, closed it up this morning. Lucky, eh?”

“Very lucky. Dominic Frey told me the place had been wrecked.” Harry kept an eye on Silas’s expression. “I told you he was a friend, and you said you knew his name.”

“I know who he is now,” Silas snarled. “He stood there while those bastards wrecked my shop and
watched
—” He broke off with a strangled noise.

“He did try to warn me. He couldn’t find me, but he tried. Silas, what is it that you do on Wednesday evenings? Because the thing is, Dominic—”

“I was you,” Silas said, “I’d shut my mouth now.”

“Right.”

“And keep it shut.”

“Right.”

They picked up more books in silence.

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked eventually. Silas shook his head. Harry pressed on. “You can’t print anything for a while. Not until you’re sure they aren’t watching.”

“I won’t be muzzled,” Silas growled.

“You’ve got to be more cautious.” Harry slapped a book onto the desk. “You went too far with
The Gallows Tree.
You have to pull back. No,
listen.
You told my father when he had to flee the country, and I’m telling you now. I can’t see you gaoled again.”

“Aye, and you don’t want to face it either,” said Silas ferociously. “You don’t want your fine name dragged into this.”

“No, I don’t. But I have people who’ll protect me. They won’t protect you.”

Silas’s jaw was set. “The Manchester dead deserve justice. I will not be silenced.”

He never would. “At least move the press?”

“Going to.” Silas didn’t say to where, and Harry didn’t ask.

“I brought something. Money,” he said instead. “I’ll send more.”