Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 17

MR. MOUNTJOY

Sunday 27th February 1898

After our dalliance at my club some two months ago, Sebastian left a note on the pillow which said:

If you need to correspond for any reason write a note addressed to Mr. Mountjoy and have a runner leave it with a reception clerk at Claridges. It will find my hand.

I respected his need to work and so had used this way of communication only once. But now, after his prolonged absence, I began to worry.

Claridges Hotel had reopened a year ago after its original premises on Brook Street, Mayfair were demolished in 1894 to make way for the new building. It was now a five-star affair and sister to the Savoy. I still did not know how addressing a letter to an unknown man at Claridges would lead to it reaching Sebastian, but events were proceeding that he needed to know about. Or at least this is what I told myself as I penned the letter. I knew in my heart of hearts that I missed him terribly, and if there was anything I could do to bring him back to me, I would do it. And so I tasked a runner to take the letter to Mr. Mountjoy at Claridges and sent up a prayer of hope it would find my lover’s hand.

****

Another day passed with no word from Sebastian and I did not understand the silence. I was already riddled with doubt and confusion. Had I done something wrong? Was Sebastian in trouble? Was he even in the country? So much about him was still a mystery to me. I went about my work day in a daze unable to shift the feelings of unease. It was not like him to be incommunicado for so long.

Today I had a meeting with my accountant at half past twelve. I decided to walk instead of taking a hack. It was a pleasant first day of March and arriving on foot would help me blow away the mental cobwebs.

I left my office with plenty of time to spare so I could take a shortcut through Grosvenor Square Gardens and enjoy the gifts of nature. My heart lifted at hearing the birds singing in the trees and observing the joyful spring crocuses, in violet, yellow and white popping their heads up and embracing the sun. I thanked God for this blessed day and tried my best to adjust my anxious headspace. I was being ridiculous. Sebastian was clearly busy and would come to me when he could. He said he loved me, and I loved him dearly in return. Sebastian had revealed his heart to me and I could not dare consider his affection to be a falsehood. I scolded myself, for I really should be more trusting.

I walked along the wide path and observed nannies from the aristocratic houses that lined Grosvenor Square pushing perambulators or walking with their boisterous charges. I smiled as a little girl with hair as black as night paused to sniff the spring flowers. I was aware of a lightness of being after days stuck in my office, or in my house. I vouched that I should walk in the parks of London more often for the fresh air invigorated my soul. All was well in the world as I strode past couples taking a promenade with a chaperone following on several steps behind to give the young lovers a little privacy. And then I looked up to see a couple walking towards me, arm in arm. The girl was tawny skinned with her long dark hair piled attractively, and secured by a small toque hat dressed with feathers and violet silk flowers. She wore a pretty violet and yellow silk dress with a French neckline. The gentleman on her arm wore a bowler hat, a suit of Harris Tweed and his jaw was framed by a well-groomed dark ginger beard. Our eyes met as I passed the couple and the man looked straight through me. My heart stopped. I pivoted to see the couple walking away from me. I wanted to call the man’s name, but which one? I could not breathe. The look he gave me said he did not recognize me, and such a public cut shredded my heart to ribbons. Sebastian and his young lady continued to promenade around the park and, shamefully, with confusion and anger bubbling in my chest, I followed them. Why did Sebastian appear to be courting this exotic young lady? Was this the reason for his silence? Was he on an investigation? Or had he thrown me over for this…this slip of a girl?

The couple paused in the middle of Grosvenor Square gardens, among the sculptures of grand gentlemen, spring blooms, and benches where nursemaids sat rocking their charges to slumber. I moved to a secluded place behind the broad trunk of a leaf-bare willow tree. I watched as the girl opened her purse and retrieved a small brown paper bag. She opened it and began to toss crumbs onto the ground for the pigeons. She giggled as the birds swarmed her feet and pecked at the crumbs. A cock pigeon danced and displayed his colourful tail feathers to attract the hens. Sebastian leaned to the girl’s ear and said something. She turned to face him, standing intimately close. He took her small pretty face in his hands and spoke gently to her—as he had done to me many times, and then he laid a kiss on her brow. It was then that the girl’s dark eyes looked up and met mine. I shuddered at the discovery. The girl said something to Sebastian and he turned. When our eyes met I felt as if a stick of dynamite had exploded in my chest, caving me in on myself. Horrified by that dagger look I turned and with my walking steps quickening to a run, I heard Sebastian calling, “Benedict, wait, please, it’s not what you think!”

Not what I think? How dare he! My eyes did not deceive, I was all too aware of the intimacy between him and the young woman. I became deaf to him then, and made my eyes blind to love. I had been such a fool. I hurried through the iron gates and stepped straight up into a waiting hack.

Forgetting the appointment with my accountant I barked, “Beresford Square, quick as you can,” and the driver set off moving into the traffic. I was shaking uncontrollably and felt tears leap to my eyes. I was not used to expressing such strong emotion, especially not in public. I felt emasculated and did not want to look back, I could not let myself see his face again, but I did, I turned and observed Sebastian, appearing stricken standing at the curb watching my hack move away. The young lady in the spring dress ran to his side. I turned away and did not look back this time. I set my sights forward and hardened my heart. I had been betrayed once more and vowed I would never permit myself to love again.

****

The days that followed were the hardest of my life. I did not go to work, citing illness, but the truth was that I found I could not eat, and sleep was impossible without brandy and a few drops of Laudanum.

I informed my servants that Foxford Robins was no longer welcome in my home, and should he arrive at the door he was to be turned away. I could not abide the pitiful looks my domestic servants gave me and so I took to spending my time in my study with a decanter of brandy and my Bible. I had been seduced by the promise of companionship and pleasure. I was a sinner. Clearly, Sebastian’s betrayal was a sign. A broken heart was my punishment for veering off my godly celibate path. I was a damnable fool to believe a master thief could also have a true heart. Angrily, I decided that Sebastian was yet another rogue, a liar, a user and a vagabond.

Foxford Robins came to my door every day at breakfast, and I bristled each time I heard the doorbell chime. As instructed, Wilkins turned him away. Even though I could not make out the words, I heard the regretful tone in his voice as he spoke to Sebastian at the door.

Mrs. Twigg became sharp with me as if I was the one behaving inappropriately by not inviting Robins into my home. The maid servants became even mousier than before, and I fear I snapped at them a time or two when they came to enquire at my study door.

The days dragged and my thoughts did not stray far from memories of Sebastian. I recalled the first time I saw him, in his disguise as John Edwards of Massachusetts. I’d felt an immediate attraction, a sudden bond with this stranger whose keen eye and fascinating conversation had made me feel more alive in those hours together on the Caledonian Sleeper than I had done in many years. I recalled how, in the guise of Artur Engels we had shared many looks of longing across the vast rooms of Dunecht Hall that confused me greatly, for I believed I knew those eyes, knew how their gaze made my innards twist and flutter, and yet the man was a stranger. I did not yet understand the mercurial nature of Sebastian Cavell. When he looked into my eyes I was seen for the first time in my life, I was wanted, accepted. We shared something complicated, yet beautifully simple, and even though it appeared he had another lover, could I have been so wrong about his feelings for me? Was he such a talented actor that none of what we had shared was true? The more my thoughts spun, the more I retreated into myself, so much so that Wilkins sent for Dr. Hawthorne. I was furious about that and wished everyone would just leave me alone to lick my wounds.

The cycle of self-pity was halted abruptly five days later when I was awoken in the dead of night by the weight of an intruder…sitting at the end of my bed.

****