Kaleidoscope: A Regency Novella (12 page)

“All this waiting is making me twitchy.” For the hundredth time, Luke looked out the carriage window toward the townhouse where David kept his mistress.

“Waiting is what I do best,” Tremaine said. He seemed languidly relaxed, although how this could be the case was beyond Luke.

For one thing, it was impossible to breathe within the confines of the carriage. Wherever had Tremaine found the thing? Submerged in the Thames? It smelled of damp and mold and something even less savory, although the latter might have been coming from the two large men sitting on the opposite seat.

Luke suspected that Tremaine did indeed plan to use torture. He was going to jam David’s head into the armpit of one of his hired bullyboys, at which point David would confess to any crime, including high treason, just to get his nose away from the stench before he smothered.

“Ah, here he comes,” Tremaine said. He nodded to the two ruffians, who exited the carriage with surprising stealth.

Luke craned his neck to try to watch the men, but they disappeared into the shadows of the surrounding buildings. David was an obvious target, strolling along the sidewalk, evidently on his way to a cabstand a block away.

Two dark shapes detached themselves from the gloom and hurled toward David, knocking him off his feet. There was a scuffle on the ground, then one of the big men stood up and draped an unconscious smaller form over his shoulder. In less than a minute Tremaine swung open the carriage door and the first of the thugs entered, dragging the limp body after him.

A large feed sack had been pulled over David’s head. This extended to below his waist. Rope coiled around the sacking. This rope both held the material in place and secured David’s arms against his torso. The first big man pulled David upright on the seat while the second entered the carriage and squeezed in next to David. The trussed-up figure was firmly lodged between two big men.

“I just tapped him,” the first to enter said. “He should come to soon.”

Tremaine nodded and rapped on the roof with his cane. The carriage jerked into motion. To make more room, one of the men put his arm over the back of the seat and grasped David by the opposite shoulder. The change in position increased the reek within the confined space. Luke hoped David regained consciousness quickly or he might never give them the information they sought. Instead, he would become a victim of murder by miasma.

They’d only traveled about four blocks when David started moaning. This was quickly followed by loud cursing and jerking about. Tremaine casually leaned forward and jabbed his cane into the chest of the shrouded figure. “If you want to get out of this alive,
mon ami
, you will sit very quietly and not make a sound except to answer my questions.”

Luke hoped his mouth was not hanging open with shock. The voice he heard was nothing like Tremaine’s. Instead, the words seemed to be uttered by a lisping Frenchman using schoolboy English.

“Say yes if you understand me,” the French Tremaine said, pressing the tip of the cane with greater force.

“Yes.”

“So, very good. Now would you be so kind as to tell us what you have done with the gemstones Lady Greyling intended for our use?”

The sack wavered back and forth, following the frantic motion of David’s shaking head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any gems.” His voice was high and breathless.

“Oh, it is so sad that you lie to us, no? Your pretty ladybird, she will miss your tupping.”

Before David could make sense of what had been said, the big men grabbed his thighs, pulling them part and anchoring each leg under one of their massive ones. In the odd chance David had missed the intent, Tremaine reached out to unbutton his fall, saying, “Pierre, give me the razor.”

Luke didn’t know where he should look. If they were really going to bare David’s privates, he had no desire to see them. They had been far enough apart in age that they had never seen who could pee further into the lake or, when they were older, who could get the first cock stand. Looking at his older half-brother’s organ would be like looking at his father’s.

Luke had never thought of himself as squeamish, but in this instance, he definitely was.

David relieved his quandary by blurting out, “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.” before the first button was loosened.

“So, where are Lady Greyling’s jewels?” Tremaine asked.

“Gone. Sold. But my step-mother hadn’t intended the stones to go to anyone other than her son. I made up the story about their being given to French émigrés to cover the fact that they were gone. I made it up, truly. They were never supposed to be yours.”

Gone. Sold.
That quickly ended all Luke’s hopes. At least he now knew. He slumped in the seat.

“And they were never supposed to be yours either,” Tremaine growled. He grabbed the front of David’s fall and gave a pull that lifted him off the seat and sent buttons popping.

“I know. I’m sorry.” David screamed. “I was in debt to the moneylenders. I was sure if I had a stake, I could win enough money to pay the loans back. And even have enough to cover the worth of the jewels. I was going to give Lucien the money. I was. But I lost. I didn’t have anything to give him. So I did the next best thing. I arranged for Lucien to marry an heiress.”

Tremaine looked at Luke for clarification, but all Luke could do was shrug. He had no idea what David was talking about.

“And did this brother of yours marry this heiress? Did her money make up for what you’d stolen from him?” Tremaine asked.

High-pitched, hysterical laughter came from behind the hood. “No. He didn’t. The damned fool threw it all away. I convinced Lady Belinda Fuquay, the most passionate and wonderful woman I ever knew, to name my brother Lucien as the father of our child. I couldn’t marry her. I was already stuck with Patience.”

His head moved from side to side, as if he were trying to see if his audience was sympathetic. “It wouldn’t have been odd for me to spend time with my niece or nephew. I’d get to know my own child. My brother Lucien would have a wealthier and more accommodating wife than he could ever have hoped for. It was the perfect solution.”

Luke couldn’t believe that in the rapid tumble of words, he heard a note of pride. Pride? As if David thought he’d done something good. Did the man not mourn the loss of Lady Belinda? Of his unborn child? Could he not empathize with the hell he’d put Luke through?

“The bloodless vicar-to-be refused to marry her,” David said with a chuckle. “Can you imagine?”

It was then that Luke hit him. He balled up his fist and aimed for where he thought David’s nose should be. Gentleman Jackson’s tutelage paid off. He felt cartilage break beneath his hand. And it felt good. Damned good. He decided to hit him again and again.

His mind blanked as his fists moved. He had no idea how long he would have continued, or how much time had already passed for that matter, when one of Tremaine’s ruffians’ fists connected with Luke’s own jaw, knocking him back in his seat.

Tremaine was suddenly squatting in front of him, hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into the squabs. “Luke, what the hell are you doing. Are you trying to kill the man?”

Luke really had no idea. He knew he wanted to hurt David as he’d been hurt. “He took my life,” he said. “Not just money. He. Took. My. Life. He stole my youth and my optimism. He ruined every hope I ever had. He alienated me from my parents. He made me a pariah to my peers. And you ask me if I want to kill him? No, I want him to suffer for all eternity. This ‘bloodless vicar-to-be’ wants him screaming in pain for the rest of his natural life. And I’d like that life of pain to be a very long one.”

Tremaine shook his head and turned toward the other seat. The two ruffians had removed the sack from David, who slumped back against one of the big men. His nose sat at an odd angle. Blood flowed from it to mingle with that coming from his mouth and running down from cuts on his forehead.

Tremaine leaned over, sweeping his hands over the unconscious man. “I must say you’ve made a mess of him, but I don’t think his injuries are fatal.” Tremaine turned back to Luke. “I can understand your anger. It’s certainly legitimate. So the question now is… what do you want to do with the son of a bitch?”

The rage drained out of Luke, leaving him exhausted and empty. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and tried to draw a deep breath in the fetid air. His hands hurt. Unsurprising, now he could see the damage that they’d done. He’d done. He flexed his knuckles, almost enjoying the pain.

What did he want to do with David? Luke wanted his half-brother to feel the loss and powerlessness that had dogged Luke’s last few years. He wanted David to somehow give him back his peers’ respect and his family’s affection.

“I’d like to take David to our father’s,” Luke said.

Tremaine gave him a dubious look. “You want to barge into the Marquess of Greyling’s townhouse in the small hours of the morning dragging along another of his sons, whom you’ve just beaten to a pulp. Do I have that right?”

“Yes.”

“I’d advise against it.”

Luke looked his friend directly in the face. “If you were me, you’d do it. You know you would. There’s no time like the present for the old man to find out how wrong his assumptions about me and his precious David have been. And given the slightest opportunity, David will crawl away like the worm he is. Before he disappears and changes his story, I want this addressed tonight. Now.”

Tremaine held his stare for a heartbeat and then nodded. “We need to let our muscular associates off first. I don’t think they’d appreciate the notice of a marquess. And, to be honest, I’d just as soon stay in the coach. This is a family matter, and family matters are a quagmire I try never to walk through.”

True to his word, Tremaine directed the carriage to Luke’s family home. David regained consciousness before the two ruffians departed, but even after they had slipped away, he did nothing but whimper. Every time Luke looked in his direction, David cringed.

David seemed to have finally realized that the kind and compassionate man Luke had once been was irrevocably changed. The happy and optimistic vicar-to-be had been killed by lies and false gossip—and David had been the cause. Luke wanted David to be afraid of him and continued to stare at him.

As the carriage slowed, Tremaine captured Luke’s attention by pressing a pistol into his hand. Luke was surprised to see that his friend had wrapped his cravat around the lower portion of his face so David couldn’t identify him. “You may need this, monsieur,” the French sounding Tremaine said. “I have found that butlers and footmen tend to resist late night visits to their master.”

The weapon was uncomfortable in his hand. “Is it loaded?”

He couldn’t see Tremaine’s mouth, but a smile crinkled around his eyes. “
Mon ami
, there is never a need for an unloaded gun.”

Luke nodded his understanding if not his agreement. The carriage came to a stop, and Luke reached across to take hold of David’s arm. Tremaine pushed open the door with the comment, “If this scum gives you any trouble, shoot him in the
vulgaire
. He seems extremely fond of them.”

From his reaction, it was obvious that David understood the instructions, and quickly exited the coach. He hadn’t anticipated the carriage stairs would not be lowered, however, and fell to his knees. Luke jumped down after him, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him, stumbling, up the stairs to the door.

Luke repeatedly banged the brass knocker with authority. This door had been closed to him for much too long. He was not returning as a repentant prodigal son. No, he was Azrael, the angel of retribution, and his time had come.

A sleepy footman cracked open the door. Without waiting for any conversation, Luke kicked the door fully open, knocking the footman back onto his rear. Luke strode in, dragging a whimpering David behind him. “Lord Lucien and Lord David are here to see their father, the Marquess of Greyling,” Luke formally announced to the prone man. “Please tell him we will await him in the office.”

As the man scrambled to his feet, Luke added, “If you think to return with help to evict us, please know that I will happily shoot sniveling David here. Just imagine how difficult it will be to clean up all the blood, brains, and other body parts splattered about. It will be much nicer if our father just meets us in the office…in say, less than ten minutes. If he takes longer, I’ll leave. Bits and pieces of David will, of course, remain.”

The footman scuttled away. Marching down the hall, Luke towed David in his wake. When they entered the office, Luke motioned his brother into one of the chairs surrounding the cold grate. Luke rested his buttocks on the edge of the desk.

“You know, I never liked this room,” Luke said, looking around at the dark paneling and hunting prints. “Every time I was summoned here, I always received a dressing down. Well, maybe it’s appropriate that we settle this here.” He chuckled. “Although for now, its major advantage is its location on the ground floor. You don’t look like you’d want to go up too many stairs in your condition.” Luke smiled and waited for David to say something, but his brother remained mute.

Luke toyed with the pistol. He’d never liked guns of any sort and was surprised no one had thought to challenge him. He really doubted he could make himself shoot the thing. But there was something very seductive about the feeling of power that came from holding it.

He was casually swinging a foot back and forth, wondering if he were turning into Tremaine, when his father entered dressed in a hastily donned banyan. Noise in the hall suggested that others had come with him but wisely had not come in.

“Ah, here is Pater.” Luke waved the gun in the general direction of the fireplace. “Have a seat across from David. He has a great deal to tell you.”

The marquess looked with horror at David’s battered and bruised face. “Good Lord, Lucien. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“No. I think I’ve finally found them. But do sit down. My half-brother’s tale takes a while. His excuses add so much length to the narrative.”