again.” By my fickle luck, arguably either good or bad, this was true; Sherlock Holmes had come here, presumably by following the same reasoning as I had, although arriving at his conclusions a bit more quickly: the greybeard loitering in the street was the great detective in disguise.
And, I realised rather to my own amazement, I did trust my older brother, with my life, although not with my freedom. “If I fail to appear within a reasonable time, he will take action, and I assure you, you will find him a most formidable adversary.”
Silence followed, and there we stood like a tableau, I with my back to the wall and my dagger raised, Geoffrey poised a mere two paces from me with sheerest evil in his eyes, and Lord Rodney on the other side of the billiards table—I did not of course chance a look at him, but I imagined he might be wringing his hands.
Everything depended on Lord Rodney.
And with that thought, the essence of my planned appeal came back to me, and I addressed him with it, although necessarily in a very abbreviated form. “Lord Rodney,” I said levelly, “yours is the title of Lord Whimbrel; yours is the seat in the House of Lords; yours is the authority.” With my left hand I reached into the pocket centred under the front drapery of my dress, where I had at the ready what I needed. I drew it out and—feeling at the wire hanger on its back to make sure I had it upright, for I could not look away from the dastardly Geoffrey, not even for an instant—I held it up, facing it towards Lord Rodney: confronting him with a small portrait in silhouette.
The Honourable Sidney Whimbrel, at Embley, Summer 1853.
His father.
“Lord Rodney Whimbrel,” I addressed that peripheral individual, “I show you the likeness of a great statesman. His place deserves to be held by a worthy scion. How much longer—”
Geoffrey shouted at him, “You fool, don’t just stand there! Hit her with your stick!”
“How much longer are you going to allow your brother’s regrettable impulses to shame your father’s name?”
He did not answer either of us, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him move, reaching for something. Stiffening, I put the silhouette down upon the billiards table lest I need both hands to defend myself—but no, he was not hefting a cue-stick. Rather, he had grasped the bell-pull, summoning a servant—probably the butler.
Another tall, strong, and most unprepossessing man.
Oh, dear.
The billiards-room door opened, and indeed so, I glimpsed a black-suited, poker-straight looming form, but I did not dare to look away from Geoffrey, not even for an eye-blink to see whether the butler had managed to remain expressionless.
And how long the moments seemed, how the silence stretched as I held my ground, waiting to see what Lord Rodney would do.
I am sure the butler quite wondered the same thing, although his voice sounded no less wooden than usual as he inquired, “You rang, my Lord?”
He addressed Lord Rodney, of course, but Geoffrey burst out, “For God’s sake, Billings, fetch the footmen and a rope so we can quell this ugly wench—”
“Silence. I give the orders.” Lord Rodney’s voice wavered; nevertheless, his were the words that mattered. “Billings, kindly escort the Honorable Geoffrey to his chambers and have him remain there.”
“What!” Geoffrey roared, turning on his brother and making towards him as if to attack him much as he wished to attack me. But Billings strode in and caught him by both arms from behind. Geoffrey shouted and flailed as if he intended to create considerable unpleasantness; Lord Rodney rang the bell again as he retreated. “By all means have the footmen assist you if necessary,” he told Billings, and gesturing for me to come with him, he exited the room by another door.
“Do please put that frightening thing away,” he told me the moment we set foot in the corridor.
I sheathed my dagger, but he seemed unwilling to turn his back on me,
And, I realised rather to my own amazement, I did trust my older brother, with my life, although not with my freedom. “If I fail to appear within a reasonable time, he will take action, and I assure you, you will find him a most formidable adversary.”
Silence followed, and there we stood like a tableau, I with my back to the wall and my dagger raised, Geoffrey poised a mere two paces from me with sheerest evil in his eyes, and Lord Rodney on the other side of the billiards table—I did not of course chance a look at him, but I imagined he might be wringing his hands.
Everything depended on Lord Rodney.
And with that thought, the essence of my planned appeal came back to me, and I addressed him with it, although necessarily in a very abbreviated form. “Lord Rodney,” I said levelly, “yours is the title of Lord Whimbrel; yours is the seat in the House of Lords; yours is the authority.” With my left hand I reached into the pocket centred under the front drapery of my dress, where I had at the ready what I needed. I drew it out and—feeling at the wire hanger on its back to make sure I had it upright, for I could not look away from the dastardly Geoffrey, not even for an instant—I held it up, facing it towards Lord Rodney: confronting him with a small portrait in silhouette.
The Honourable Sidney Whimbrel, at Embley, Summer 1853.
His father.
“Lord Rodney Whimbrel,” I addressed that peripheral individual, “I show you the likeness of a great statesman. His place deserves to be held by a worthy scion. How much longer—”
Geoffrey shouted at him, “You fool, don’t just stand there! Hit her with your stick!”
“How much longer are you going to allow your brother’s regrettable impulses to shame your father’s name?”
He did not answer either of us, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him move, reaching for something. Stiffening, I put the silhouette down upon the billiards table lest I need both hands to defend myself—but no, he was not hefting a cue-stick. Rather, he had grasped the bell-pull, summoning a servant—probably the butler.
Another tall, strong, and most unprepossessing man.
Oh, dear.
The billiards-room door opened, and indeed so, I glimpsed a black-suited, poker-straight looming form, but I did not dare to look away from Geoffrey, not even for an eye-blink to see whether the butler had managed to remain expressionless.
And how long the moments seemed, how the silence stretched as I held my ground, waiting to see what Lord Rodney would do.
I am sure the butler quite wondered the same thing, although his voice sounded no less wooden than usual as he inquired, “You rang, my Lord?”
He addressed Lord Rodney, of course, but Geoffrey burst out, “For God’s sake, Billings, fetch the footmen and a rope so we can quell this ugly wench—”
“Silence. I give the orders.” Lord Rodney’s voice wavered; nevertheless, his were the words that mattered. “Billings, kindly escort the Honorable Geoffrey to his chambers and have him remain there.”
“What!” Geoffrey roared, turning on his brother and making towards him as if to attack him much as he wished to attack me. But Billings strode in and caught him by both arms from behind. Geoffrey shouted and flailed as if he intended to create considerable unpleasantness; Lord Rodney rang the bell again as he retreated. “By all means have the footmen assist you if necessary,” he told Billings, and gesturing for me to come with him, he exited the room by another door.
“Do please put that frightening thing away,” he told me the moment we set foot in the corridor.
I sheathed my dagger, but he seemed unwilling to turn his back on me,
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