Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 18

FORGIVENESS

I should have done as Detective Inspector Dancer suggested and changed all the window locks, not just those on the ground floor, for I knew exactly who was in my room. I lay stiffly hoping he had not realized I’d awoken. Part of me wanted to hit out at him like a frightened child, and wound the man who had hurt me. But, an outburst of that nature was not becoming of a gentleman. Even though Sebastian Cavell had broken my heart, I still retained my dignity.

“I know you’re awake,” Sebastian said in a soft whisper that sent chills up my spine. “I’ve watched you sleep many times dear heart, and I noted how your breathing changes when you move from dreams to alertness.”

I wished he had not addressed me with that affectionate moniker. “Go away. You are not welcome in my home,” I said petulantly. The moments of silence that followed my reprimand felt like hours.

“I…I would like to apologize for what occurred…in the park. You took me by surprise.”

Oh, I was sure I had! I rolled to my side, away from him and curled in on myself, pulling the blankets higher. “No need. You have made your choice and moved on. I understand the situation well enough,” I replied in an emotionless monotone.

“Gods, Benedict, you understand nothing at all. You are a stubborn brute at times!” Sebastian hissed and then I felt cold hands snake beneath the warmth of my coverlet and lift me bodily from the bed.

“What…what the devil are you doing?” I said in a furious whisper, thumping at his clasping hands. “Put me down at once or I’ll shout bloody murder and wake the whole house.”

Sebastian clearly had a plan in mind, for he had already opened the bookcase door to my secret room, and in the muted light peeking through my drapes, he bundled me into the room and deposited me onto the chaise longue. Then he closed the door and turned on the gaslight.

“Who the hell do you think you are to manhandle me so?” I protested at full volume, knowing not a soul outside this room would hear me roar.

“I think I’m the man who loves you! Now please, stop this self-piteous nonsense. We will not leave this room until you hear me out, damn you!”

I lay on the chaise seethed with rage, my heart hammering, and my blood boiling in my veins.

“Well, if I have to listen to another one of your fictions, I need a bloody drink!” I rolled off the chaise, stood, and arranged my pyjamas which had gone askew with the manhandling. Then I strode to the small drinks cabinet. There I poured myself a glass of brandy. On returning to sit on the chaise, I cast Sebastian a derisive glance. I gulped the brandy, my anger readying to boil over as Sebastian began to pace in agitation back and forth in front of the cabinet that held my phallus collection.

“I have not lied to you, Benedict,” Sebastian asserted. I let out a mirthless laugh.

“Everything I told you about my life was true. I may have…omitted some pertinent facts, but I never lied to you.”

As an opener I was not impressed and took another swig of brandy.

“I told you that I was born in Bombay, India, and that my father was a chaplain. He sent me alone to school in England when I was ten. I had never been to England before and I missed my ayah greatly.”

I was schooled well enough to know that an ayah in the Indian tradition was a nursemaid, governess, or maidservant.

“I had known only India, and so England was a foreign land to me. I did not fit in at school and I suppose I was a very lonely child. I returned to India briefly when I was fifteen because my mother was unwell and father was unsure if she would survive. I already knew then that I preferred boys, but, having a chaplain as a father and an education from a devout Christian school, I was deeply ashamed of my feelings.”

I understood the shame and confusion at the awakening realization of one’s preference. My unyielding countenance began to soften a little. Sebastian spoke on as he continued to pace up and down the small room.

“I was an only child, and back in the vicarage I discovered my beloved ayah now worked for another family and was not permitted to see me. The servant’s children I had once played with were forced to work to help their families and so I had no companions at all. Looking back on it, I was rather traumatized at having been abandoned alone in England and then returning to India while my mother was so very ill,” he paused for a breath.

“I soon became friendly with one of the new girls…a young maidservant who had joined my father’s household in my absence, her name was Nishah. Every day I would sit outside in the garden and read. I would see Nishah putting out the laundry and taking it in. Mother was still fighting her fevers and so there were many bed sheets to be washed daily. Eventually, we began to have conversations. Nishah was seventeen. She was born into the Shudras —the labouring caste of Indian society and she was not supposed to speak to me, but I encouraged her to talk to me discreetly. She appeared as lonely as I was. Nishah told me it had not always been so, that she was Shudras . She spoke of her ancestors, how they were once the royal family, stripped of their wealth by the invaders, and after the British victory at the Siege of Seringapatam; they were banished from their ancestral lands and forced into servitude to survive. After living in England and then returning to India with an education I’d read a lot of history books. The glorious wars and victories didn’t seem as thrilling. I could see for myself that the glory of the Empire was not as glorious as it was reported to be. I did not feel a connection to England. The native Indian peoples endured so much suffering. I didn’t understand until Nishah explained how we, foreigners, had invaded and took everything for profit. The Crown colonized India to drain her of her natural resources and her people.”

Ah, so this is where Sebastian’s anti-imperialist beliefs began.

“Nishah was fierce, proud…and she was kind to me at a time in my life where I was rudderless on a vast sea.”

I raised my hand to pause Sebastian’s story, then rose, refilled my glass and poured a glass of brandy for my companion.

“Sit, you might as well be comfortable while you make your telling.” I offered the drink to him and he nodded gratefully before taking a gulp and sitting beside me on the chaise.

“Nishah and I used to meet in the attic of the vicarage at night when all were abed. I would read to her by candlelight. She liked Shakespeare, and Emily Bronte. She said she dreamed of going to grand English balls and of making a good match. I was an inexperienced boy on a hair trigger…even a strong breeze would give me a stand back then.” We both laughed and then I caught myself and gestured for him to go on.

“I don’t recall what led up to it, reading a story, or acting one out, but we experimented…with sex… just once.”

“Oh,” I gasped. I had not expected this turn of events at all. The heat of jealousy coiled in my chest and then I chided myself for feeling jealousy for an act that occurred years before I knew Sebastian.

“It was awful, just awful. I had known only my prick, and I’d seen other boys. But I was completely unprepared for the strange difference of female genitalia. I understood the theory, but honestly, didn’t know what I was doing. Nishah said yes, and urged me onward and so I did it...I pushed forward and it was tight and hot. I spent as soon as I was inside her. I was horrified and embarrassed. I could tell immediately that she was disappointed. It wasn’t the romantic tryst she had imagined. We were both mortified by the experience and never spoke of it. And I stopped going to the garden to read.”

I still had no idea what this had to do with the girl in the park, but I said, “I’m sorry to hear you lost your friend because of childish high-jinks.” But it appeared that Sebastian didn’t hear me. He spoke on as if he were in a daze.

“Months later, mother was much improved. I was called into my father’s study. The head ayah, a stern older woman, was there with Nishah, and Nishah wouldn’t meet my eyes. My father’s gaze was icy and I knew immediately something was amiss. He didn’t pull his punches, and immediately asked me if I had engaged in coitus with the girl. I was confused, ashamed, and numb at the public exposure of the ghastly deed. I could not answer him. I couldn’t even call it coitus, it had been one consensual thrust, a second of joining and it was mortifying. I rebelled then, standing tall and refusing to answer. I understood that intimacies were private, I was taught never to speak of such things, and so I didn’t see what it had to do with my father or anyone apart from Nishah. Then my father told me that the girl was with child. The bottom dropped out of my world. I did not think it was possible,” Sebastian laughed humourlessly.

“Father said that I was an abomination, a pernicious influence and it was not safe for me to remain in a household with so many women.”

I sat up straighter then, a new picture coalescing in my mind. “My god, you were just a boy and he treated you like a sexual predator!” I raged in his defence.

“My father said I was a disgrace, and no longer his son. He would pay for my education and I should be grateful for that mercy. I was then taken to my bedroom and told to pack, for I would not be returning to the vicarage. I was sent back to England by ship, and returned to finish school. I was told that to ensure my basic needs were met I must repent my sin by devoting my life to God. Arrangements had been made to send me on to Paris to study Theology. I had no option but to remain in education. That was until I was seduced by Nathaniel Everett.”

“And what of the girl and the child?”

“I received occasional stiff, formal letter from my father but I never heard what happened to Nishah or the baby. And I never saw my parents again.”

“For a man of god to treat his only son in such a way is…brutal, just brutal. I’m so very sorry you went through this.” I felt such gut wrenching sympathy. Sebastian had made just one mistake as a boy, and his father punished him far too harshly. Such a cutting punishment was not deserved. No wonder he had grown into a man so emotionally closed and self-reliant. I was right in my original belief, Sebastian was not a man to give his heart lightly, and this was proof…if I believed his story.

“A year ago I was contacted by a young woman by the name of Miss Nissa Rai. She was seeking covert services, and had been given my contact details by an inquiry agent. She wanted the Tipu Sultan’s tiger head returned to her, and told that she was an ancestor of the lost ruling family. I revealed that I had grown up in India, and we spoke for a long time after that. She told me her mother’s name was Nishah. They lived in Bombay with her British grandfather. Her Dada-Ji was named George, and he told her that her father had died at sea…My father’s name was George.”

The pieces all fell into place, and I was at once ashamed by my knee-jerk reaction thinking automatically that Sebastian had found another lover, and not even considering there could be an alternative explanation. I supposed this said more about me and my deeply held belief that I did not deserve to be loved than it said about Sebastian.

“I discovered that my mother passed away ten years ago and no one cared to tell me. Nissa and her mother remained with my father, who continued his chaplaincy. Nissa grew up in the same vicarage as I, in his care, slept in my bed, read my books, played with my toys, and went to school with the children of British families. When both her mother and grandfather were taken by Cholera, Nissa was seventeen. She travelled unaccompanied to England with documents and letters my father had left her. She was listed as George Cavell’s sole heir. Therefore, she inherited the old family house in Sussex, and the wealth my father had sent back to England for over forty years for his retirement. I don’t begrudge her a penny of it. I wanted nothing of my father just as he wanted nothing from me.” Sebastian paused and wiped his brow. He tossed back the remainder of the brandy and then passed the glass to me. I rose and I put his empty glass with my own on top of the cabinet. When the tumblers were out of my grip I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I turned and observed Sebastian. The beard suited him, framed his beautiful mouth, made me ache to put my hands to good use, to caress his beard, his lips, and show him the tenderness we both knew our connection created. I turned away and lowered my head. Then I felt heat at my back and strong arms desperately closing around my torso as Sebastian hugged me from behind.

“Please don’t cut me out, dear heart,” he begged, his tears wetting the nape of my neck. Sebastian was wearing his all-black second storey man garments. I was in my pyjamas and so there was just thin fabric between us. I found it hard to breathe, not because of the powerful encircling arms, but because I knew then that I was forever lost and there was no escape from the fate before me.

“I couldn’t bear it if I lost you. These past days have been a waking nightmare,” Sebastian said in an emotional rush. “I’m telling you the truth, my love. I was in the park with my daughter, Benedict, not a new lover.” I eased his hands apart and turned in his arms. Sebastian’s hands moved to cup my stubbled face, fingering my dishevelled dark curls back from my brow.

“I love you! I could not consider giving my heart to another. There is no other. It is you, Benedict, you and only you that I want to spend my life with.”

I did not repress my feelings then, for I too had been through hell at the thought of never holding

Sebastian again.

“Nissa inherited the family home in Surrey. She wanted me to accompany her there to the coast…that is wh y I was not in contact. We had just returned to town and needed to stretch our legs. I was dumbfounded at seeing you in Grosvenor Square Gardens. I didn’t want you to find out about her like that.”

I leaned into the palm of his gentle hand. “Does she know of me?”

“Oh yes, Nissa has been assisting with my business for some time now. My daughter is nineteen, wonderful, self–reliant with whip-sharp intelligence. I could never disguise how my eyes lit up when speaking of you. She knows her old man is madly in love,” Sebastian grinned, “She wants to meet you…”

I reached out and my fingers finally connected with that temptingly soft dark ginger beard. Sebastian let out a gasp and leaned into my touch, as if starved of affection. I placed my brow against his, and then thumbed his tears away.

“Please forgive me for not trusting you. I’m a damnable fool. These past days have been a half-life. You are so very dear to me, and I…I could not

bear losing you again.”

Sebastian gripped the nape of my neck, holding me in place, while his other hand snuck around my waist. He walked us backwards until his legs hit the chaise, then he lay back and pulled me with him to lie atop him. We kissed, the taste of him nectar to soothe my soul. Then we lay together grasping one another in a tender embrace.

After many minutes of silence I revealed, “Much has occurred in your absence. We need to have a talk in the morning, but for now, come to bed with me and let me hold you.”

Sebastian nodded. We left the secret room to rest together in my warm bed. Under the covers I took Sebastian into my arms and laid his head on my chest. I knew now that with our bodies entwined, heaven was indeed available to mortals. And together, we slept deeply.

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