The Purloined Papers (18 page)

“Many people make fortunes from investments,” he reminded her.

“And many win fortunes at cards. But Peter and Father never did, and I doubt Peter will change. They shared an arrogant belief that their abilities were superior, when in fact, both were credulous and inept. They always believed that their next venture would succeed. Father died before he lost his last stake, but Peter still believes. I don’t want to be nearby when his money runs out.”

His heart broke for her, for she was truly alone, without even family to fall back on. But there was little he could do beyond see her settled before he reported to his regiment, and it was possible he couldn’t manage even that. By the time he found a cottage elsewhere, there might be no time to reach London sufficiently intact to convince Major Barnfield that he was well. But he’d promised…

“Tomorrow we will visit Rose Cottage,” he said briskly. “Decide what is good and bad about it and where you want to move. I will find you a cottage.”

“Thank you, Andrew. You are a true friend.”

“We will leave at nine. If Laura objects, I’ll deal with her.”

He left her. If he stayed any longer, he would kiss her. And that was impossible. Never again would he risk her friendship. It was a miracle that she’d forgiven his last lapse. But he had to keep a tight rein on his libido. She was far more tempting than eleven years ago.

Stop thinking about her
, he scolded himself. She was a friend, nothing more. Kevin’s sister and a childhood playmate. He should not be imagining that sable hair spread across a pillow or those tapered fingers sliding across his chest.

His temperature soared, making him swear. Not wanting to face the drawing room while wearing pantaloons that revealed every bulge, he headed for the library. He should stick to the loose canvas overalls he’d worn on the Peninsula.

The library was occupied.

“Join us,” invited Gray when Andrew hesitated in the doorway.

Thomas stood before the fireplace, sipping wine. A broad smile stretched his face. “Congratulate me, Drew,” he demanded.

“Why?  Did you earn a first in Latin and not mention it?”

Thomas snorted. “Of course not. You know I hate school. I’ve tried a thousand times to convince William that Oxford is a waste of money.”

“William does not think so.”

“We will see,” said Gray, gesturing with a glass of wine. “I’ve suggested a compromise.”

Andrew poured brandy. “A compromise.”  He wasn’t going to like this. Like Laura, this brother-in-law was a manipulator. Unlike Laura, Gray’s schemes sought to better the victim’s life, but he sometimes acted before learning all the facts – which was why he’d spent three years under society’s censure before Mary rescued his reputation.

Gray crossed his ankles. “Thomas wants to join the navy.”

“He would hate it. I’ve traveled on enough naval vessels to know how brutal they can be. I wouldn’t wish that life on a dog.”

Thomas gasped.

“Ships can be unpleasant,” agreed Gray, gesturing Thomas to silence. “But conditions vary widely. I think he should decide for himself.” 

“Easier said than done. The navy might have dropped press gangs now that the war is over, but they are still too short of men to let one go if he decides he doesn’t like the life. Officers are in even higher demand than sailors.”

“True. Which is why I’m offering him a berth on the
Gray Gull
– fourth mate, which on my ships is a learning position. It is due back in October. Its next voyage will be to China, so he would be gone a year. If he’s still interested when he returns, we can discuss permanent employment. If not, he will return to Oxford without protest.”

It was a dream offer, Andrew had to admit. A chance for Thomas to prove his mettle with no strings attached. Gray’s ships had a reputation for humane conditions and good health as well as profitability. Yet he couldn’t like it. Humane or not, life at sea was tedious, uncomfortable, and dangerous.

“Is that truly what you want?” he asked Thomas, staring into his brother’s eyes.

“It is.”

“Why?  If school stifles you, ships will be worse. Gray’s vessels may be more spacious than most, but not by much. Have you ever been aboard a ship?  Cramped quarters. Monotonous food. No escape for weeks on end, and when you do anchor, you have no more than a few hours ashore in a place where you don’t even speak the language.”

“But I need to see such places, Andrew. I know everyone laughs at Laura’s quest for adventure, but I always understood. I’m the same way.”  Passion heated his voice. “I need to cross oceans, see other lands, discover different ways of life. And I need to do it myself, not read about other people’s exploits.”

The words struck a chord. Andrew had felt the same as a young man, which was why he’d not protested the assumption that he would be a soldier.

Wanderlust, he’d called the urge in the secret recesses of his mind. The need to see what was around the corner or beyond the next hill. As a soldier he’d indulged wanderlust to its fullest, visiting South America, North America, most of Europe, and parts of Africa. He’d seen mountains that put England’s hills to shame, oceans both hot and cold, impenetrable jungles, fetid swamps, miles-wide rivers, deserts that lacked a single blade of grass.

After eleven years, the wanderlust was dead. Maybe it had succumbed to the horror of battle, for he’d faced war at the end of every journey. Or maybe it was the discovery that people were the same, no matter how exotic they appeared at first glance. Remove the odd clothes and strange voices and they were no different from his neighbors: goals, fears, squabbles, joys – all the same. In the end, the need to explore had succumbed to hardship, cynicism, and pain.

The admission explained that buried voice that hoped his leg would remain weak. He had no interest in India – not in its sights, its people, or even the chance to amass a fortune. He wanted to stay in England – surely there was some job he was qualified to do. Maybe in a few years, he and Chloe could—

He stifled the thought, forcing his mind back to Thomas. His course was set, with no way to turn back. But he couldn’t let Thomas end like him – trapped, impoverished, unable to support a family.

“I know it won’t be easy,” Thomas was saying. “But I love the sea, and I need to try.”

“I understand the temptation, Thomas. And you will probably enjoy your first voyage. The unknown casts powerful lures. But that thrill doesn’t last. You need to consider the future. I’ve known many men who bought colors or went to sea and later came to regret it. But by then they had no alternative – no other skills, no means of support, no possibility of apprenticing for another job. Finish school so you will always have choices.”

Thomas shuddered. “I cannot manage another term, Andrew. Not now. My mind cannot stay focused on books. But you needn’t fear. I could find a post as a secretary today if need be. Not that I want to. Working for a government official or lord would be as confining as school. I have to try this. Perhaps I’m following a fantasy, as Laura is wont to do, in which case I will meekly return to school and work harder. But if I don’t try, I will hate myself forever.”

Andrew nodded, recognizing Thomas’s determination – and also his sense. The boy had grown so much since his last visit home. It was hard to admit that he was no longer a child or even a stripling. Eighteen made him a man. “Then I’ll back you when you approach William. But he won’t be happy about it.”

“He forgets that I am not like him. I own no estate, so I’m free to leave. I don’t enjoy farming and don’t wish to be dependent on him. I’ve no interest in the church or in government. One soldier in the family is quite enough. But I’ve been fascinated by the sea for as long as I can remember. I used to ride to the cliffs just to gaze at the water.”

“As I said, I’ll back your decision. But there’s more to being a sailor than gazing at the ocean. It is a dangerous life. Whether you are navy or merchant, you will see battle before long. Piracy is on the rise in many seas.”

“That’s true,” said Gray, shaking his head. “I’ve lost two ships to pirates in as many years. Others have lost more. My vessels now carry heavier armaments, and every man aboard must know how to use them. I demand regular drills.”

Andrew nodded. He didn’t like to think of his baby brother in such danger, but by eighteen Andrew had been a seasoned warrior, with the South American campaign behind him.

As he congratulated Thomas on his good fortune, envy dulled his fears. Thomas was lucky – or perhaps he was more aware of his dreams than Andrew had been. If someone had offered an apprenticeship eleven years ago, would he have had the sense to take it?  Or would duty have held sway?

He finally escaped the library and headed upstairs to think. It had been a nerve-wracking day – Laura’s scheming, Chloe’s new plans, Thomas….

So many problems and so little he could do to address any of them. His head spun.

William stopped him at the top of the stairs. “There you are.”  He sounded relieved. “Fields House has a new crisis.”

“What now?”  He retraced his steps to the hall.

“Fire.”

“How bad?”

“Gramling and the staff extinguished it before sending the groom to fetch me. But Sir Peter is injured. It started in his room.”

Andrew cursed as they climbed into William’s carriage. Would this day never end?  “What happened?  Or don’t you know?”

“According to the groom, Sir Peter was in an odd humor all day, alternating between fury and euphoria, and drinking heavily. He left at four, returning at five so angry that he refused dinner. He shut himself in the library until retiring at eight. Within an hour Gramling smelled smoke. A lamp had tipped over, setting Peter’s room ablaze.”

“Why summon you instead of the doctor?”

“Gramling sent for both. The groom stopped here, then left to find Dr. Murphy, who is supposedly attending Mrs. Berger’s lying-in.”

“In which case, he may not arrive until morning. Mrs. Berger pays well. Peter does not.”  He grimaced. “Did you tell Chloe?”

“No. Peter is not at death’s door, according to the groom. I want to learn more before informing her. Settling Laura will keep her fully occupied this evening.”

They fell silent as the carriage raced through the night, but Andrew couldn’t relax. Two accidents separated by a reckless break-in. Something was very wrong at Fields House.

* * * *

Peter was asleep under the influence of laudanum. Gramling and Mrs. Harper hovered in the hall.

“Tell me about the fire,” William ordered.

Gramling’s hands were singed, but the house was safe. The damage was confined to Peter’s bedroom.

“It started when an oil lamp overturned, soaking the bedcurtains,” Gramling croaked, his voice roughened by smoke. “It’s a miracle Sir Peter survived. The flames had spread to the wall and floor.”

“How much wine had he consumed?”

“I can’t rightly say, for he often rides out. He’s put away several bottles since the funeral – though one cannot blame a man for drowning his grief.”

Andrew nearly snorted. Any grief arose from poverty, which was why Andrew couldn’t acquit him of the burglary. His desperate search for valuables could have caused damage he had to explain.

“How much today?” asked William, pressing for specifics.

“Three bottles. Possibly more. I haven’t checked the brandy decanter in the library. And he was out for an hour.”

“How badly was he hurt?”

“He will recover, but the burns on his hands and face will leave scars. We moved him into the master’s bed and left Sally to watch him.”

William nodded.

As Andrew followed them into Peter’s room, acrid smoke thrust him back into the stinging hell of Waterloo. He fought down the memories, chaining them in the corner where they belonged. It took only a moment to realize what had unleashed them. What was black powder doing in a bedchamber?

Gramling had shoved the windows open to admit sweeter air, but the stench was still strong enough to make William cough. Flames had reduced one bedpost to cinders.

“He knocked the lamp over,” said Gramling, pointing to the marble-topped table beside the bed. His tone suggested that an inebriated Peter often blundered through the house, leaving destruction in his wake.

Andrew studied the room. Water soaked the carpet. One wall was charred. Only the frame remained from the bed – the linens, mattress, and hangings must have been tossed out the window.

Atop the table, an oil lamp lay on its side. Next to it sat a full glass of wine, a plate of biscuits, and a dueling pistol.

But if Peter expected the burglar to return, why had he drunk so much wine?  Anyone with intelligence knew that being three sheets to the wind made shooting impossible.

There were other oddities. Only the lamp was disturbed, though the other items lay between it and the bed. The biscuits were sooty but unburned, so no oil had splashed on them. Nor had it spilled on the table.

He leaned closer, squinting in the dim candlelight. No burn marks marred the marble, though oil should have left traces. And while the table legs nearest the bed were blackened, their wood wasn’t cracked, though the bedpost half a foot away had burned to cinders.

He examined the pistol. Its powder was intact, so it was not the source of the stench.

“Peter didn’t start this fire,” he said softly to William, pointing out his observations. “After he passed out – if he’d been conscious, he would have finished the wine – someone poured oil over the bed, added black powder to make the flames hotter, set the lamp on its side, then struck a spark and left.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“The same man who ransacked the house on Monday.”  Which would drop Peter from his list of suspects.

William cursed.

“You talk to Gramling,” Andrew murmured. “I’ll see Sally. Her ears are sharper.”

* * * *

Andrew drew Sally away from the bed. Peter was sleeping fitfully, groaning as the laudanum wore off. “Did you hear anything before the fire started?” he murmured.

“Just Sir Peter staggering up the stairs. We was in the servants’ hall, eating dinner, when he returned.”