A Pretty Mouth (26 page)

Jones went white as St John trained the muzzle on his forehead.

“Do you bow to me
now
, Lucas Jones?”

“My Lord Calipash,” began Jones, but St John cut him off.

“Do you bow to me or not?”

“I do, I do, you crazy bastard,” said Jones, knocking his forehead against the floor. “I bow to you, are you satisfied?”

St John rotated the cock from half to full.

“Cousin, don’t you—”

“Shut up, Godfrey,” snapped St John, without taking his eyes from Jones. “You do me honor, Jones. I acknowledge this. But you have not apologized to our Company, whom you have now
twice
blackguarded as criminals and threatened with exposure. Do you apologize, Jones?”

“I do, I do, I apologize, I shan’t say anything to anyone, I swear it!” cried Jones, looking up and eyeing the weapon. “Stand down, Calipash! Please! For God’s sake, man!”

St John smiled and tilted the muzzle of the pistol upwards so it faced the ceiling. The Blithe Company sighed as one, and Jones slumped, relieved.

“Christ in heaven, St John, that was a—” Jones began.

St John again leveled the gun at Jones and time once more seemed to slow as Henry saw the Lord Calipash tighten his finger on the trigger. It was too late to do anything—St John was murdering Lucas Jones, right here in front of everyone, and all for a minor slight! Henry’s hands went over his eyes and both bats clattered to the floor. There was a click as the trigger was pulled—

The sound of gasping—

The smell of fresh excrement—

And St John laughing.

“You killed him!” cried Henry, his hands still over his eyes. “Oh God, I—”

“You’re mad!” Jones screamed. “I’d already said I’d not tell!”

“I needed you to know what would happen if you considered going back on your word,” said St John smoothly.

Henry looked up. The room was not full of smoke; Jones yet breathed. His brains were not splattered across the floor. Something else was.

“I think our work here is done,” said St John, tucking the pistol back inside his coat. “Shall we leave Mr. Jones to clean himself and his chambers?” St John pinched his nose and pulled a face. “I feel rather overcome, don’t you all? Let us be away, and conclude the night’s amusements elsewhere.”

But none among the Company seemed particularly amused by the events of the night; indeed, Henry could not detect even the ghost of a smile upon any face, even Godfrey’s. Blithe was not a word Henry could easily apply to them.
Thoughtful
, perhaps, even
meditative
—and in Neville’s case in particular,
furious
—but not blithe. Not blithe at all.

“It wasn’t always like this, you know,” said Neville, falling in beside Henry. “It used to be just a bit of a lark. Wenching it up in style, drinking fine wine laced with Turkish poppy juice, that sort of thing. But lately …” he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” said Henry.

“For what?” Neville seemed genuinely surprised. “It isn’t your fault, Milliner. The beginning of the end came some time ago. I’m not sure when St John’s entertainments took a turn for the dark, but it was certainly before you joined us.” He shrugged. “I’m leaving Wadham soon anyhow. I’ve proven to be an indifferent scholar, and wish to return to the apprenticeship I abandoned in pursuit of bettering myself. It was a mistake, I know that now. But as for you—you’re really in for it.”

“You think so?”

“Yes,” said Neville grimly, as St John threw open the door to the Common Room and began to usher the dejected Company inside like they’d all just had a lovely time. “You’re living with him now, aren’t you?”

Chapter Ten: The Wanton Shepherd

The Company broke up quickly that night, which soured St John’s mood. He turned gloomy as they began to trickle out, and when Godfrey, the last of them, said he would also take his leave and return to Christ Church, St John sighed and began to blow out the candles and lanterns, reserving only one for their journey back to his rooms.

“My dear cousin,” said Godfrey, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob.

“Hmm?”

“I—I must tell you something.”

“What?”

“Well, that this will likely be the last time I’ll be around for one of these little wingdings …”

“What? Why?”

“It’s obvious to everyone at Christ Church I’ll never graduate, including myself,” said Godfrey, with a nonchalant shrug Henry couldn’t wait to one day emulate at an appropriate moment, “so I’ve agreed to accompany a friend on his continental tour. We leave for London in a fortnight, to shop for clothes and other things.”

“Oh,” said St John dully. “Well, yes, it does sound like a good opportunity.”

“You’re not cross?”

St John shrugged. “You’ll be missed.” He looked up, eyes suddenly keen. “You do … plan to return, don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Godfrey, with the first display of sincerity Henry had seen from him. “I would never—will not—abandon you and your sister. I swear to you, I shall do nothing abroad that would interfere with our plans.” Godfrey turned to Henry. “Miss Clement and I are betrothed.”

“Oh,” said Henry. “I mean, congratulations.”

“Thank you. I am certain if St John’s father yet lived he would protest the union, but last year passed from a—what was it?”

“An apoplectic attack.”

“I’m sure it seems ghastly to call such a thing fortunate, and yet it has allowed Honor and I to pursue our happiness, since my father could have no rational objection to reuniting our families.” Godfrey looked over at St John. “I assume you do not mind me discussing this with our new acquaintance?”

“Why should I? He’ll be our lawyer one day.”

Henry almost choked, and tried to play it off with a strained smile. “It seems we are all very fortunate of late.”

Godfrey raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Well, I must bid you both good evening,” he said. “And St John—I don’t think I need to tell you that tonight was a complete disaster.”

“I know it.”

“Well,
do
try to keep it together from here on out? There are those who are depending on you to not fuck up, you know.”

St John acknowledged this with a depressed wave of his hand. Godfrey bowed to them both, then left. St John sunk deeper into his seat, emanating melancholy. Henry stood for a few awkward moments, then sat in a convenient chair with a sigh.

St John looked up. “Do you wish to leave as well, Mr. Milliner?”

“No, my lord.”

“No?” St John pressed the fingertips of his right hand to his temple. He looked so woebegone Henry almost felt bad for him.

“My lord, are you in need of anything?”

St John laughed, and looked up at Henry with renewed interest. “And if I was, would you bring it to me? Like a servant?” St John shook his head. “You are more than that, Mr. Milliner. Much more.”

“Am I? I find myself unsure of that. All I wanted since I came to Wadham was to be a part of your gang and lord it over the rest of the students. Now that I have it, I find myself bemused—unsure,” he thought of Rochester’s face that afternoon. “Regretful, perhaps. It has, I confess, not been quite what I expected.”

“That is my fault, for planning this evening so poorly.” St John straightened up. “I have myself longed for greatness, Henry, but every attempt I make seems to fail miserably.”

“You are a good scholar, my lord, and a kind friend—at least, you have been to me.”

St John shook his head. “A good scholar … well, perhaps. But the rest, it is smoke and mirrors. Everything I do is illusion.”

“My lord, when I crashed your party at the Horse, that was not illusion.”

“Was it not? Those orphans weren’t orphans, nor twins. They weren’t even siblings, or even that young, really. Merely actors I made up to look that way. His hair was a wig, and her shyness paid for with coin.”

Henry was totally at a loss. He had no notion of what to say or do to combat St John’s cafard. How to reassure him, restore his confidence? Henry did not possess any self-assurance, how was he supposed to lend to others what he could not manage for himself?

“Everyone enjoyed that night at the Horse,” was what he settled upon, though it was a half-truth and they both knew it. St John was looking at him with narrowed eyes. “What I mean to say is that it did not matter to your friends whether those twins were really twins. I mean to say … it was titillating because of
your
doing, my lord. You created the illusion, you shaped our interpretation of the event. We were not entertained by watching two wantons; we were entertained by
you
.”

“The act was preferable to the reality, then.” St John would not relinquish his misery. “This I knew already without your confirming it. It is my lot to know such—to live such.” He leaped from his chair and threw up his arms. “And here
you
are, telling me that to my face! How dare you—
you
of all people!”

Henry scrambled out of his chair when St John seized one of the cricket bats and brandished it at him. Henry began to panic. The Lord Calipash seemed like one possessed, and he could not fathom what he might have said to provoke him so. Henry got up, hoping he could make a run for it if necessary, and every step St John took toward him he answered with a step back, until his bottom collided with a bookshelf. Heart pounding, he raised his hands in supplication.

“My lord,” he said, cowering as St John continued to advance on him, bat raised. “Please, I do not know how I have offended you, but—”

“You offend me with yourself, your presence—nay, your very existence! I shall not suffer you to usurp what is mine!”

“I—”

There came a knock at the door, in the pattern used as code by the Company. Henry and St John froze as they were, St John looming, Henry cringing. The knock came again, and the door opened. Thomas stepped inside, and raised his eyebrows when he saw the tableau before him. Henry hoped against hope his servant’s presence would deter rather than encourage St John.

“My lord, you didn’t return,” he said mildly. “I came to see how everything went tonight.”

“Oh
Thomas
,” cried St John, and to Henry’s surprise, he dropped the bat with a clatter and stumbled toward his servant, collapsing upon the boy’s neck and sobbing. “It went all wrong, and I think, I think I ruined everything, I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry, I—I—”

Awkward
. Henry looked away, ashamed to behold this spectacle, but after Thomas allowed St John to cry and snot all over him for a while, he helped his master into a chair.

“He gets like this sometimes, sir,” whispered Thomas, after giving St John a handkerchief to honk on. “We must get him back to the room, and after—well. There’s only one thing for it. You don’t object to … I should, rather, enquire if you are a light or heavy sleeper?”

“Neither,” answered Henry, bewildered. “Why?”

Thomas half-smiled. “My lord has found that his blacker moods become easier to shake when he distracts himself with hard exercise. And the exercise he enjoys most is riding.”

“At
this
hour?”

“There are … certain fillies best suited to nighttime sport.”

Henry blushed, finally understanding. “Of course. I shan’t be a bother … only …”

“Hmm?”

With a sheepish grin, Henry said, “How ever do you smuggle them in?”

“The same way you snuck out, or Mr. Fitzroy snuck in. There is an establishment close to the college, I shall fly thither and return quickly.” He glanced back at St. John. “Perhaps you should go on ahead, and make yourself ready for sleep. I shall attend to my lord.”

“Yes—yes, of course. Thank you, Thomas. I—” He swallowed. “I do not know what I should have done without your intervention.”

Thomas shook his head. “You are very new to all of this. You’ll learn, in time.”

“Hope so.” Henry smiled at Thomas, he was finding that he rather liked the servant. “I shall go, then. And—
happy hunting
, should I say?”

“Take with you the lantern. I know the way well enough.”

Henry nodded, and then did so; after closing the door behind him, he ran all the way back to their rooms. By the time he got up the stairs and inside, he was panting. What a night!

His intention had been to go directly to bed, for he did not wish to intrude upon the Lord Calipash’s privacy—but as he put his foot on the first stair, it occurred to him that the room smelled strange. Earthy would be a good word for the odor, and so would metallic. Henry sniffed, and realized the scent was coming from the corner where Lady Franco had made her nest. Of course! Henry smiled, and navigated his way across the cluttered chamber to see whether the expecting mother had delivered.