Heart of Gold (45 page)

Sir Darius nodded. 'Good. We will speak to McKenzie
about it later. But I fear there is another issue that may
not be as easy to resolve.'

Aubrey raised an eyebrow at the prospect of an issue
that was more problematic than that of restoring lost
souls.

Aubrey was exhausted and grimy, but exhilaration was
bubbling up inside him after defying the Soul Stealer. He
wanted to get back to the ball and enjoy himself. He
tried to catch Caroline's eye, but she avoided his gaze.

'Can this wait?' he asked. 'With respect, sir. We should
rejoin the ball as soon as we can. Show the flag, so to
speak.'

His mother bridled. 'No, this cannot wait. I regard this
matter as very, very serious.'

Aubrey scanned the room for clues. His mother's anger
was palpable. Her face was pale – furious pale – and her
eyes were hard. Caroline also looked unhappy, the handkerchief
in her hands seeming to take up most of her
attention.
No
, he corrected himself.
Wistful would be a
better description than unhappy.

His father was grim. Only George looked as befuddled
as Aubrey felt.

His exhilaration began to drain away.

Sir Darius cleared his throat. 'While you were engaged
upstairs, Caroline spoke to your mother. She mentioned
that she was unhappy at the way her place at the university
was withdrawn.'

Aubrey's stomach tried to scurry away and find somewhere
to hide. 'Ah. Yes.'

Lady Rose made a fist and bounced it on the armrest
of the couch. 'I've lived with you too long, Aubrey, not
to be able to sense your machinations. I immediately
sought out the Chancellor of the university.'

'He was at the ball?' Aubrey asked weakly.

'Indeed. Once I apprised him of the situation he telephoned
Professor Lavisher, rousing him from bed.'

Numbly, Aubrey decided it was like standing in the
path of an avalanche. His fate was bearing down on him
with stately, inevitable grandeur. 'The university is a
complex place, as I've found out in my dealings with it,'
he began.

'Don't make matters worse, Aubrey,' Sir Darius advised
wearily.

Aubrey shut his mouth.

'Thank you, Darius,' Lady Rose said. 'Professor
Lavoisier confirmed your part in events, Aubrey. He
remembered you well and expressed surprise at the
Chancellor's enquiries.'

'It wasn't meant to work out like this,' Aubrey said.
Even to his ears, it sounded pathetic.

'Quite,' Lady Rose said. 'But I'm afraid it's a worrying
symptom. You've displayed a careless attitude toward
other people before. You enjoy manipulating them to
your own ends, convinced that you know best. You disregard
their wishes and charge ahead heedlessly. Is this
inaccurate?'

Aubrey felt ill. 'No. It's blunt, but not inaccurate.'

'Good. I mean to be blunt.' She stood. 'Caroline has
asked if she can accompany me on my expedition. I think
it's an excellent idea. I do not believe you are good for
her.' She held out her hand. Caroline rose and took it.

Aubrey leapt to his feet. 'Caroline?'

She looked at him. He saw the anger in her face,
which was hard to bear, but what was worse was the
unmistakeable disappointment in her features. 'You knew
that I wanted to participate in that course, Aubrey. You
knew it and took me away from it anyway.'

'I was going to get you back in. By the end of the
week, certainly.'

Her brow wrinkled. 'And you really think that makes
your actions acceptable?'

She didn't wait for an answer. She nodded to Lady
Rose and they both left the room.

Aubrey studied the floor. 'No,' he said in a small voice.
'I don't suppose it does.'

Sir Darius frowned at his son for a moment then
crossed the room and poured himself a brandy. 'We will
give them some time to leave the embassy gracefully.
Then we will go back down to the ball and show the
Gallians that the alliance with Albion is as strong as ever.
Show the flag, as you put it.'

Stricken, Aubrey lifted his head. 'Father!'

'Listen to me, Aubrey. You've achieved great things in
the past few weeks. Important people will want to thank
you for it, and deservedly, too.' He held up his brandy and
considered it. 'But while you've triumphed on the big
stage, you've tripped over your own feet in other regards,
wouldn't you say?'

Aubrey heard the understanding in his father's voice,
but couldn't meet his gaze. 'Yes, sir.'

'You're feeling despondent, I have no doubt about
that. And so you should. But now comes one of the
hardest lessons of all. In this glittering world you so much
want to be a part of, you must be able to mask your
feelings. You must be able to hold your head up and
perform while feeling like hell inside.' Sir Darius drained
his brandy and put the glass down on a side table. 'It
hurts, but it's possible – and I should know.'

Aubrey looked to George, who had remained silent by
the window during the confrontation. 'George?'

'It's the last thing in the world I feel like doing, old
man, but it seems to be important. I'll be there with you.'

Aubrey knew he was getting more sympathy than he
probably deserved. He stood, straightened his jacket and
sighed. 'Let us go, then.'

F
ROM
A
LBION IS HE, FROM
A
LBION IS HE
.
It adds greatly to his status,
The way other nations rate us,
For he is from Albion, he is from Albion.

The words were stirring and the chorus was in tune,
but Aubrey found it hard to be moved. In front of an
audience full of Gallian and Albionite dignitaries, he
stood, centre stage, the Buccaneer King being feted as the
epitome of Albion manhood. Even Sir Percy Derringford
was there, his soul having been safely restored to him;
Aubrey saw the Albion Ambassador glowering from a
front row seat in between the Prime Ministers of Gallia
and Albion.

The song of praise went on. All Aubrey had to do was
smile and doff his bicorn hat. It left him plenty of time to
brood.

As continental holidays went, he supposed it had been
an interesting one. The Gallian government appeared as
if it was going to last for a while longer. Life in the capital
was getting back to normal. The rampaging dinosaur
had eventually been tracked down, but drowned in the
Garonne marshes before it could be captured. The other
ancient beasts had managed to find their way into the
forests that still kept secrets in this new century.

He'd spent some time with Commander Paul, setting
up a program to restore the souls of the dispossessed
ones. Scores of photographic plates had been found in
Farentino's home, along with extensive journals. Most of
the writing was doom-laden ravings, but Aubrey found
enough to instruct a squad of Gallian magicians from the
Bureau of Exceptional Investigations in the best way to
bring the souls back to the vacant bodies.

While all of this had been happening, he'd been
holding on to his soul through tenacity and some
makeshift spell work. He was prone to fatigue, and a
headache was never far away, but he refused to let it stop
him from doing anything.

A dispassionate part of him had been counting
down, and as the chorus wound up with a thunderous
'
He is (he is) he is (he is) he is from Albion!
' he bowed low
and strutted off the stage, head held high, to rousing
applause.

George was waiting in the wings. He handed him a
glass of water. 'You're doing a fine job, old man. A bit stiff,
here and there, but the audience is loving it.'

'Thank Ivey and Wetherall,' Aubrey muttered. On
stage, the comic baritone and the comic tenor were
engaged in a trippingly fast song which confused calendars
and colanders, with puns on Holy Months and
sifting dates. He watched gloomily, not really caring if
they messed up or not.

'What was in the telegram?' George whispered.

'Telegram? Oh. Craddock sent his congratulations on
bringing matters to a satisfactory conclusion.'

The comic tenor launched into the difficult tongue
twister verse, with alliterative descriptions for each month
of the year, all at breakneck speed. '
Jaded, jaundiced,
January, jejune, jocund January, jolly, joyful January, judicious,
jumped-up January. Friendly, faithful February . . .
'

Aubrey held his breath as the tenor teetered for a
moment, on the edge of disaster, but then rallied and
raced to a red-faced and breathless climax.

The audience erupted, and Aubrey joined in, mechanically.
George made up for his lack of feeling, stamping his
feet and whistling. The curtain came down for interval.
'Well done, Charles.' George pounded the tenor on the
back as he hurried off stage. 'Costume change, Aubrey?'

'Hmm? Oh, right.'

Aubrey followed George through the crowded backstage
area, weaving through old backdrops and props left
over from grand costume dramas. The changing room he
shared with the male cast members was large enough to
accommodate all of them, but only if they didn't move at
all. Changing, as a consequence, became a form of polite
hand-to-hand combat, with elbows and knees finding
sensitive spots more often than not.

George waited outside while Aubrey twisted in the
corner, removing the Albion naval uniform and donning
his buccaneer garb. The dressing room was full of good
cheer and excited Gallian chat, but after a few attempts
to congratulate Aubrey, the others left him alone.

When Aubrey eased out of the dressing room, he saw
that George had wandered over and was chatting with
Sophie Delroy, who was writing an article about the play.
Claude Duval took Aubrey's elbow as he eased out of the
dressing room. 'It is going well, I think?'

'Splendidly, Duval. You've done a fine job.'

'Still, we are only halfway through.' Duvall studied
Aubrey. 'You sing well enough, Fitzwilliam, and you
haven't missed a cue, but your heart is somewhere else, is
it not?'

Aubrey shrugged. 'I want to put on a good show.'

'You are, and I'm sure you will.' Duvall paused. 'Miss
Fitzwilliam. She sent me a telegram to say she couldn't
help with the play.'

'She's left for Albion.'

'Ah. I see. That explains much. You would rather she
were here.'

'Yes.'
So I could talk to her, explain, apologise, do something
instead of moping about.

George came over. 'Hello, Duval. Splendid stuff you're
putting on.'

'Thank you, Doyle. I must get back to the musicians.'

'Where's Sophie?' Aubrey asked George.

'She's gone out into the foyer to see if she can ask your
father some questions for her article.'

'Bright, isn't she?'

'As the noonday sun.' George put his hands in his
pockets. 'You know, old man, I think I'll take up a place
at university, if it's offered.'

'Which place?'

'Prince's College. Reading history.'

'History? I didn't know you'd applied to read history.'

'I'm sure I can organise it. All that genealogy stuff
started me thinking about the past and the people who
lived there. Intriguing, and just perfect for a Renaissance
man.' George rubbed his chin. 'Are you going to study
magic?'

Aubrey shrugged. 'I haven't made up my mind.'

'You have to do something, you know.'

'Why?'

'Because you wouldn't be Aubrey Fitzwilliam if you
weren't hurtling about everywhere dazzling everyone.'

'Perhaps I don't want to be Aubrey Fitzwilliam any
more. I'm tired of being him.'

George nodded. 'Your mother's taking Caroline on an
expedition. The Arctic.'

'I know.'

'She said she never wanted to see you again.'

'Mother or Caroline or both?'

'Caroline.'

'How can I blame her?'

George scratched his ear. 'There's one thing, old man.
At least you've learned what remorse feels like, now.'

'I'd rather not have to.'

'That would mean never making a mistake.'

'An admirable goal, I would have thought.'

'Achievable?'

'Perhaps.' Aubrey sighed. 'What am I going to do,
George?'

'The same as usual. Kick yourself roundly. Swear never
to do whatever you've done again. Then you'll throw
yourself into some adventure or other to take your mind
off things. And most of all you'll ask me what you should
do, then promptly ignore whatever I say.'

A smile struggled onto Aubrey's face. 'Why do you put
up with me?'

'I can't abide dullness.'

The stage manager waved at Aubrey. Together, he and
George hurried to the wings. George slapped Aubrey on
the back. 'Go and dazzle them, old man.'

Aubrey stepped out on the stage, alone, with the spotlight
firmly on him. The small orchestra threw themselves
into 'The Lament of the Buccaneer' and Aubrey
was away.

The second half rollicked along. Plots were foiled.
Mistaken identities were resolved. True love triumphed
and along the way, Aubrey was swept up in the mystery
that was theatre.

By the time the finale came, Aubrey was immersed in
the role. He led the whole crew, becoming the Buccaneer
King surrounded by his henchmen, policemen, schoolgirls
and humorous aristocrats. When the final notes
lifted the rafters, the audience members were on their
feet, applauding with as much vigour as the cast had
displayed.

Aubrey basked in the applause. In the front row, his
father clapped and grinned, and Aubrey was touched
when Sir Darius winked at him. The Prime Minister of
Gallia was bemused, but was applauding enthusiastically.
Even Sir Percy was clapping, if a little begrudgingly.

Aubrey let the acclamation roll over him.
Well
, he
thought,
I've saved another country from ruin. I've found my
grandmother's precious memories. I've discovered that the heir to
the throne of Albion could be the true king of Gallia. I've made
some friends, and hurt someone dear to me. I've stabilised my
soul and then had it wrenched apart from my body again. I'm
older, by a few weeks, and wiser. Definitely wiser. I suppose it
hasn't been your typical Gallian holiday.

He took hands with the junior male lead and the
female lead. They bowed and the applause became even
louder.

Aubrey nodded, they stepped back, and the curtain
came down.