Bar Sinister (32 page)

Wilson flushed with pleasure even as a wry inner voice told him that the dowager--and
Newsham--would indeed be obliged to him.

They made an excellent dinner. The saddle of mutton had travelled from Yorkshire with
the dowager. Superb. The turbot was fresh as May.

When the ladies had withdrawn, Wilson's butler brought him a reply from Newsham on a
silver salver. Tomorrow at eleven. Wilson savoured his port and rehearsed his strategy.

Next morning apprehension made his breakfast sit less easy than his dinner. Sarah picked
at her buttered eggs and toast. Both of them drank too much coffee. The dowager was breaking her
fast with tea and toast fingers in her own suite, so they were alone. Breakfast with Sarah was
Wilson's favourite meal, but this morning they stared at one another and made nervous small
talk.

The dowager rarely appeared belowstairs before one o'clock, so Wilson was startled, and
not best pleased, to find her seated in the morning room when he and Sarah entered to await
Newsham.

Sarah was also surprised.
"Maman!
You need not face Newsham. Ought you?
Your heart..."

"Face Newsham, indeed. He will have to face me. Do stop dithering, Sally." The duchess
set her elegant jaw and would not be budged.

Promptly at eleven Newsham was announced. Looking as much like an icicle as was
possible in a man of his complexion, the duke entered the room with Lord George, who looked
sheepish, trailing behind. Wilson was consoled to see that the dowager's presence flustered her
sons. It had flustered him, too.

The formalities over, Newsham took the offensive. "George has something to say to
you."

Lord George writhed. "Dash it, Keighley, not now!" He rolled a wild eye in the
dowager's direction. She regarded him stonily.

"Now," Newsham said, grim.

"I
hired the footpads." Lord George looked almost as miserable as he deserved
to be.

Wilson gave him a cold stare. "I know you did."

"Without Newsham's knowledge," Lord George muttered.

"That I find hard to credit."

George scowled. "I can think for myself. Thing is, Keighley told me of his plan to send
Falk abroad. Thought I'd help it along. Seemed to be working."

"Which of you corrupted Richard's publisher?" Scorn flushed Sarah's cheeks. Becomingly,
Wilson thought. "Of all the low, despicable, mean-minded--"

"Sarah." Wilson shook his head.
No. Not yet.

Sarah bit her lip. "Well, George?"

"Dash it, that was all Keighley's doing."

A silence fell.

"Thank you, George." Newsham took a pinch of snuff. "I am very much obliged to you in
everything."

"By God, you are obliged to me," George shot back. "I found the scent again when you'd
lost it.
I
found the copyist chap, didn't I? You was out of Town."

Newsham withered his brother with a stare, turning to Wilson. "At no time did George
tell me of his private assassins."

"Assassins! No such thing." George was rosy with honest indignation. "Couple of
bullyboys I met at a cockfight. Useful to me more than once. I told 'em to rough Falk up a bit. No
intent to kill, either time."

"You relieve my mind, George." Wilson had taken his station by the fire, for the weather
was chilly. "Richard had partial use of his right arm before your thugs set upon him. They contrived
to finish what the French begun. His arm is now useless. I trust you're proud of your cowardly little
private army." Out of patience, he turned on Newsham. "Do you understand that there's no point
in pretending innocence?"

Newsham's tight mouth crimped with distaste. "I had nothing to do with the two assaults.
So long as you understand that." The duke was seated in a gilt chair. One hand smoothed the velvet
of the armrest.

"Oh,
I
understand it. A magistrate might find it incredible, in the light of your
other intimidations. After all, it's a fairly drastic step to deprive a man of his livelihood. From there
to direct assault is no great leap."

Newsham's eyes flashed. "If George hadn't interfered Falk would be long gone."

"Don't flatter yourself, duke.
Richard
is not a coward, whatever you and
George may be. He now has you at
point non plus.
Admit it."

Newsham's hands clenched. Wilson thought the duke would rise and walk out, but he did
not. "Very well. He has me at
point non plus.
Thanks to George." He shot his brother a
venomous glance.

Wilson stuck to his guns. "What do you offer?"

"I'll double the annuity and settle five hundred pounds on both brats if Falk will leave the
country at once."

Wilson stared, half admiring the man's effrontery. From her seat on the sopha Sarah
began to splutter.

The dowager intervened. "You mistake the gravity of the situation, Newsham."

Wilson cast her a grateful look. "Between the threats in the letter you writ Richard on
your father's death and this latest imbroglio, Richard has sufficient evidence for the courts."

"He'd never win an action at law." Newsham's eyes were hard with contempt.

"Do you wish to be brought to trial? You surprise me."

Newsham's eyes dropped.

"I
think Richard ought to lay charges," Sarah burst out. "You should be flayed,
both of you."

"Sally..."

She subsided, fuming.

The dowager kept calm. "I shall write
my
memoirs, Newsham. I have often
been tempted to do so since your father's death."

Aghast, Newsham and George spoke together.

"By God, madam..."

"No, dash it, Mama, do you wish to destroy us all?"

Wilson, as startled as they, was hard put not to laugh. From being rather pale Newsham
had turned a rich plum colour.

"Odd though it may seem, I do not, George." The dowager turned to regard the duke.
"If I thought you meant to continue this ill-advised persecution of your brother, Newsham, I should
take up my pen at once. I have interesting memories." She took a short, quick breath. It was the
first sign that she was not as placid as she appeared to be. "Sarah!"

Sarah went to her mother's chair.

"Your arm, my dear." The dowager rose slowly and stood leaning on her taller daughter.
Her sons must, perforce, stand, too. She stared Newsham down. "I am weary of you all.
Newsham, you will submit to whatever terms Colonel Falk requires, and you will go abroad for a
calendar year, bag and baggage. Those are
my
terms. Take George with you. He needs a
keeper." She walked to the door, still leaning on Sarah. "Come, Sally. Robert will deal with your
brothers freer in our absence." Sarah looked too stunned to rebel.

Wilson was enjoying himself for the first time in a month. The door closed on the ladies.
For a frozen moment none of the three men moved. Then Newsham began to pace.

George collapsed into his chair. "She can't mean it."

"Shall you put her to the test?"

"Be still, George, if you can say nothing intelligent." Newsham came to a halt at Wilson's
side. "Tell me what I must do." He was so close Wilson could see tiny beads of sweat on his
immaculately shaven upper lip.

Wilson walked to the empty sopha and seated himself with deliberation, crossing one
pantaloon-clad leg over the other and admiring the gleam of his Hessians. "Richard wants what he
always wanted--to be left in peace. I tried to persuade him to ask for reparations, but the fact is he
wants nothing whatever to do with either of you. Quixotic, but there it is."

Lord George took a step forward. "What of the succession?"

"Content you. There is the dowager's sworn statement. Besides, Richard has already
given Newsham his word that he will make no claim on the estate.
Richard's
word is not
in question."

"I say!" Lord George flushed at the insult.

Newsham was too dispirited to resent the implications of Wilson's remark. "What
else?"

"I require a stronger guarantee than your word this time, Newsham." Turning the
screws.

The duke's mouth thinned.

Bland, Wilson went on, "I want a written statement of culpability from you and from
George. I mean to call in witnesses to your signatures."

Newsham made a strangling noise in his throat.

Wilson gave him a straight look. "If ever I hear of the least interference, if Richard or his
children or Mrs. Foster or Matthew Foster should suffer an accident of any sort, I shall see to it that
you are prosecuted to the full extent of the law. In the House of Lords, if need be. Is that
clear?"

"No, dash it," George protested. "Might be overturned in a carriage."

"Then you'd both best pray for their safety." Wilson now felt no amusement at all. "I
warn you, I'm in earnest. And no more tampering with publishers and copyists. If Richard's
livelihood is interrupted again, I'll see to it myself that copies of his memoir are sent to every leader
of the Ton and the entire peerage, with a gloss for the slow-witted. And you can send Richard the
galleys of the book you purloined from his printer, Newsham. I trust you haven't destroyed them as
well as the plates."

"The galleys are with my solicitor."

"I want the book in Richard's hands by two o'clock. That gives you little time to write
your sordid confessions, so you'll have to be brisk about it. From the beginning of your
persecution, Newsham, if you please. Eighteen eight, I believe. There is paper. Write."

To Wilson's surprise there were no more protests. He knew that Newsham was now his
enemy, and discovered, with the same relief he had felt as a child when he discovered a guy was
only a turnip dressed to frighten children, that he didn't mind at all.

When Wilson called for his carriage at half past two, having tucked into a cold nuncheon
with restored appetite, he found that he was not to carry the good news
solus.
Bonneted
and buttoned into their best pelisses, Sarah and the dowager awaited him in the foyer. Her grace
was leaning on a silver-headed cane.

"No, Duchess. Absolutely not."

The duchess gave him a cool stare. "Do you deny me your escort?"

"Yes, ma'am, and you'd not go far in that neighbourhood without it, I assure you."

"I'm not afraid of a few vulgar loungers."

"Then you ought to be afraid of three flights of very steep, badly lit stairs."

She blinked at that. "You could carry me up."

"I can scarce carry myself up." He softened. "Indeed, ma'am, you need not exert
yourself. I'll bear any message you like."

"Sarah?"

"Perhaps he's right,
Maman.
Pray allow James to help you to your rooms. I'll go
with Robert and report to you afterwards."

"Oh, very well," the dowager grumbled. She was an elderly lady, after all, and she
sounded elderly. "I consider you vastly disobliging, Robert. Is he well?"

"Richard?" The abrupt question startled Wilson. The dowager had shown no great
interest in Richard's health after Water-loo, when she had had more cause for concern.

"He seemed well enough," Wilson admitted when he had mastered his surprise. "Tired,
and not in an easy frame of mind. I daresay he'll cheer up when Sarah and I have given him the good
word. Now we must go or he'll be imagining I've failed him."

Sarah's concept of London extended as far as St. James's Palace. She was a creature of
Westminster, and indeed, of the safer precincts of that borough. There were worse kennels in
London, but in all conscience Richard's chosen territory was bad enough.

As it had on the previous day, the carriage attracted a swarm of beggars and urchins,
some hopeful, some merely curious, but all vocal. By the time she and Wilson had passed the
slatternly landlady, Sarah had heard more direct insults than in her life to that point. Fortunately
most of the comments were couched in terms so obscure Wilson doubted she understood them.
Sarah was not pigeonlivered, however. In the dim, skylit hallway he could see spots of colour
burning on her cheekbones, but her chin was up. Her husband regarded her with a sympathy he was
too out of breath to express.

"Go in to him, Robin," she said quietly. "Warn him I've come. He does not expect
me."

"Very well." Wilson tried the door and found it unlatched.

Richard was leaning on the table reading from a stack of galley proofs. He looked over his
shoulder as Wilson entered. "Hullo. In good time. Is this your doing?" He tapped the papers.

"Yes. I induced Newsham to disgorge his spoils."

"I'm obliged to you."

"Richard, I've brought Sarah."

Richard straightened and turned. "Well, good God, don't leave her out in that
hallway!"

Amused by this display of brotherly protectiveness, Wilson pulled the door wide. "Come
in, my dear. Richard is not disposed to eat you."

After one incredulous look round the cold, half furnished room, Sarah forced a smile.
"I'm glad to see you well, Richard."

"Thank you." Richard turned back to Wilson. "Did something go amiss?"

"No."

Richard let out a long breath and shoved his hair from his forehead. "I thought it must be
so when Newsham's servant brought the galleys. Newsham gave you a written assurance?"

"The duke and George. Assurances and confessions. I have them here." Wilson patted his
breast pocket. "You'll want to read them and decide what to do with them." He drew the carefully
folded sheets out.

Richard went to the window. The room was poorly lit. He fumbled the papers open
one-handed. "If Sarah wants to risk it,. the cane chair should bear her," he said absently.

Sarah was watching her brother. When Wilson pulled the chair for her she came out of
her trance and made a
moue
of distaste. She sat, keeping her skirts raised above the grimy
floorboards. Wilson lifted Richard's wet cloak from the other chair and sat as well. The chair
creaked but held him.

Either Richard had been out or the damp cloak lied. He was dressed for it. This time he
had slipped his right arm through his coat sleeve. The right shoulder was already noticeably lower
than the left. Wilson felt another stab of anger. Damn George and his hirelings to perdition. That
morning George had been embarrassed, resentful, indignant, but he had shown no remorse at all.
Wilson thought him incapable of it.