Dancing the Maypole (39 page)

“Only because
you act like one.”

“Go to hell!”
hissed Cosmo.

Lucius forced
himself to remember his own youthful despair. “Your father loves
you. He worries about you continually…”

“Papa doesn’t
love me; he never spends time with me.”

“He’s a busy
man.”

“Yes, busy
spending time with more interesting people!” Cosmo sighed in
despair, “Why am I telling you? You wouldn’t understand. The ladies
line up to…spend time with you.”

Lucius shook
his head, “You’re young. Fairytale endings still seem
possible.”

“What is that
supposed to mean?”

“It means
although my grandfather was a Viscount, I’m only good enough to bed
after dark except by aging widows in need of a pretty lap dog that
knows pleasurable tricks. The unwrinkled women of my class will
consider me beneath contempt until I’m financially
independent.”

“If you think
I’ll give you one of my properties out of pity, think again.”

“It was worth a
try,” said Lucius.

“How did you
fall in love?” asked Cosmo. “You don’t even like people?”

“I like
people.” Lucius wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince; his
cousin or himself.

“Who?” demanded
Cosmo.

“…Adderbury.”

“Papa pays you
to manage his estate. You have to like him. Name one person you’d
miss if they died.”

Lucius had to
think about it. He didn’t intentionally dislike people, he just
found most of them stupid or annoying, usually both. His brain was
plastered with the image of Agnes smirking at him. She wasn’t
stupid, and she wouldn’t be annoying if… He forced the thought
away. “People.”

“Admit it!”
said Cosmo. “You don’t like anyone. I don’t believe you loved that
moustache who married your brother.”

Lucius sipped
his warm beer and decided to throw his guts on the table in the
hope it might persuade Cosmo to share his good fortune. “Her
betrayal hurt like hell. I even shed a few tears.” The words
brought back the memory of an eternal week with red swollen eyes
pressed into a wet pillow.

The hat tipped
back revealing wide astonished eyes. “You? Shed tears? Over a
girl?”

“I am human…”
said Lucius.

“The devil you
are,” retorted Cosmo.

“…and I’d miss
Charles, George, and Cecil if they died.”

The brim of the
straw hat abruptly bent forward hiding Cosmo’s face. “But not
me?”

Lucius sighed
in irritation, “Do you expect people you don’t like to miss you
when you die?”

“No, but why
don’t people like me? Why does no-one want to spend time with
me?”

“Plenty of
people like you,” said Lucius.

“Who?”

“All our dying
wealthy relations.”

Cosmo snorted
in contempt. “That’s what they’ll write on my memorial; ‘Buried
nearby lies Cosmo Smirke; lickspittle to the dying. Survived by
no-one because he couldn’t find a woman desperate enough to endure
his boring company.’”

“You
underestimate the fair sex,” said Lucius. “After you come of age,
and the ladies realise you have a decent income, you’ll be mobbed
by dowerless females with fluttering eyelashes who’ll say anything
to win a permanent place under your roof.”

“I don’t want a
sycophant,” said Cosmo. “If I need someone to tell me I’m
wonderful, I’ll look in a mirror. Do you have any idea what I had
to do to persuade Cousin Cyril to make me his heir? I had to laugh,
as if I were truly amused, every time he retold his boring stories
about the ‘old days’. I endured one story thirty-six times. I
counted because it was the only thing I could do to keep from going
mad and wringing Cyril’s sweaty neck. The old days can’t have been
remotely amusing if he’s anything to go by. He’d wheel out that
stuffed dog and I’d have to pretend the glass-eyed moth eaten Rex
was still alive and longing to hunt another duck. I had to play
fetch with a dead dog! Every visit I pandered to the old man’s
vanities for hours. I earned that property. I earned six
properties, but I now only have two, and I’m going to die owning
two.”

“Give me one
and I’ll like you more than anyone in the world,” offered
Lucius.

“Do I look
stupid?”

“I’ll name all
my sons Cosmo.”

“Is that the
best you can do? No wonder you’ve been waiting twenty years for
some relative to make you their heir. You sound like you’re
auditioning for a part as a chest of drawers.”

“I’ll rename
the house, ‘Cosmo’s Kindness’. I’ll hang your portrait in every
room.”

“Hang
yourself!” snapped Cosmo. “I’m not giving you an acre.”

Swallowing a
mouthful of warm beer, Lucius contemplated a new tactic. “Does your
father know how you acquired your inheritance?”

“Yes.”

“Damn!”

“Too bad
Lucifer! Find someone else to blackmail.”

Lucius wasn’t
giving up yet, “Sell one to me. I’ll give you three thousand for
your smaller property.”

Cosmo thumped
the table with his fist, “It’s worth twice that!”

“Yes, but think
how you could taunt Robert with all that money.”

“Offer me ten
and I’ll consider it.”

Lucius silently
cursed his cousin, “I’ve been over the property, you greedy pig.
It’s not worth ten.”

“It’s worth ten
to me!”

“If I had ten
thousand pounds, I’d be my own man.”

“Poor Lucius!”
Cosmo pretended to wipe away a tear.

Beer sloshed
over the table as Lucius set down his pint with force. “If you
developed some compassion someone might like you. Not all of us
were born with a lickspittle tongue that can win over the dying
rich.”

Cosmo leaned
forward with a sneer. “I’ll never give you one of my
properties.”

“Then, I won’t
ever like you,” said Lucius.

“I’ll live!”
snapped Cosmo.

“You hope.
Young men die every day. You should have a will. I’ll pay you two
hundred pounds to make me your heir.”

“One
thousand.”

“Don’t waste
your money Lucius Smirke,” said the romantic agent appearing next
to Lucius. “The boy wouldn’t leave, give, or sell you the property
if you put him on the rack.” Lucius sneered in irritation as the
romantic agent elegantly sat down on the edge of the table. “Ah,
this dingy hole brings back memories. I called it drowning my
sorrows. My wife called it drowning. I was impotent and blind from
drink in the end, but at least I didn’t suffer constipation…”

“It was worth a
try.” Lucius swatted at the transparent man with the back of his
hand as if discouraging a pesky fly.

“Leave Cosmo
Xavier his property; you won’t need it. Did Peter Augustus tell you
he’s planning to elope with Isabel Désirée tomorrow? I assume by
that stunned look on your face he didn’t. Go wake Peter Augustus
and tell him if he wants to elope he’ll have to leave within the
hour, but emphasise I advise against it.”

Lucius swatted
at the Agent again. “Cursed flies! I wish they’d go to the
devil!”

“If you knew
some of the idiots who become romantic agents, you’d thank the Boss
you have me. I know one agent who died of the plague after robbing
plague houses. Houses that were marked as infested with the plague.
He didn’t live long enough to find a wife to spend his plunder, but
still fancies himself a matchmaker. When asked the most romantic
activity he could think of he said, ‘Fishing on a moonlit lake.’
The instructor asked where the romance came into it and he said, ‘I
love fish.’ He wasn’t trying to be funny. I don’t know how he
passed the course. If I were you, I’d leave this armpit…”

“I would if I
could,” said Lucius.

Cosmo Smirke
looked up from his beer where he was watching the foam slowly
disappear. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m
staying until you tire of this stinking hole.”

Cosmo stared at
Lucius with a wary expression. “Why do you keep glaring at the
space next to you? If you’re hoping to win free room and board in
one of my attics, think again. I’m not paying some widow to spoon
feed my mad cousin. Your brother has an attic. Maybe his hairy wife
will oblige…”

Lucius
impulsively grabbed his cousin’s cravat and slammed the younger
man’s head on the table. “Learn to guard your tongue or it’ll be
the death of you.”

“You bastard!”
The room hushed as black figures turned to view the private
brawl.

Lucius didn’t
have time to curse his luck. The insult gave a room filled with
angry fatherless men reason to pummel the boy black and blue. The
only way to get Cosmo out of the inn with all his bones intact was
to give their audience something to cheer. “I’d rather be a
whoreson than a pimply snot born with a silver teething toy stuck
up my…” Lucius sighed in relief as the room roared with approval,
but then something hard was slammed against his face. As if seconds
could be drawn out to minutes, Lucius felt beer slosh into his
hair, his nose snap, and the lens of his spectacles crack. He had
just enough time to pull off his broken spectacles before a fist
smashed into his eye.

“Lucius
Smirke…” The romantic agent shook his head in despair. “…you should
have left when I asked you to. Tomorrow you’ll look like a bruised
banana. Don’t expect me to find you a wife with your eyes swollen
shut and lips like half-eaten strawberries. If you want a romantic
agent who specialises in hospital scenes, you’ll end up on a
waiting list.”

Lucius didn’t
hear the agent’s unhelpful monologue. He was faintly aware of
chairs falling over and a sharp pain near his ribs, and then a roar
of laughter picked him up by the arms and legs, the stench of
unwashed bodies making him heave. He was casting up his dinner as
he flew out of the darkness into the evening sunlight. Landing in
the smell of horse manure, he lay on the cobblestones cursing his
freshly bruised hip. Painfully rising to his knees, he spied a
large green blur moaning nearby on the ground. Crawling closer, the
blur turned into Cosmo gently dabbing his bleeding nose with a
white handkerchief. “Are your legs and arms sound?” asked Lucius
through two fat lips.

“No thanks to
you,” snapped Cosmo, “you jealous lunatic.”

Lucius sneered
in contempt. “I was saving your life ingrate. And the next time a
man confides in you that he once loved a girl don’t mock his
feelings. If you fail to take that advice, at least remember not to
use the pejorative term bastard in a room full of thieves and
murderers. Odds are, they’ll take offence at hearing their nameless
status used as an insult and shoot you.”

“I would have
sat in silence if you’d left me alone.”

“You? Sit in
silence?” Lucius snorted causing blood to spatter his cravat.
“Don’t make me laugh! You have a talent for saying the dumbest
possible remark for every occasion.”

“Shut up
Lucifer! Why should I care what you think? You’re a heartless
devil.”

“I’m heartless?
You smashed a tankard into my face. You nearly blinded me!”

“Ahh…” said
Cosmo with mock sympathy, “…you poor devil!”

“Mind your
tongue. We need to find a hackney-coach.”

“I’m not riding
with you, you stink. In your state, you’d have to pay a king’s
ransom for a ride to your hotel.”

“I can’t return
to my hotel like this.”

“You’ll have to
walk to Uncle James’ house and ask Agnes for a bath. Maybe next
time you’ll mind your own business.”

Looking down at
his person Lucius fumed in rage. His waistcoat was covered with
vomit, and his trousers were splotched with horse manure. Cursing
his luck, he tore off his coat and used it to wipe off the worst
muck. Flinging the expensive coat into the gutter, Lucius sneered
at the blurry patch of blue. Every time he thought he’d achieved
some dignity, some small degree of autonomy from his kin, he found
himself needing their help. He’d ask Agnes for a bath, and she’d
look him up and down with amusement and then never let him forget
the mortifying experience.

The green blur
stood up. “The bastards picked my pockets,” said Cosmo. “Lend me
two shillings.”

Lucius winced
in pain as he smiled, “It’ll be a very expensive ride. It’ll cost
you an estate.”

“It shouldn’t
cost me a farthing. Papa will reimburse you.”

“If you don’t
wish to give me your word as a gentleman that you’ll exchange your
smaller estate for the price of a hackney-coach…”

“To hell with
your devilish dealing. I’ll walk! I hope Papa sacks you for being
heartless and you have to live with your brother and his moustached
wife.”

Cursing his
throbbing face and aching hip, Lucius became aware of an
embarrassing need to be cosseted. He’d stagger into his cousin’s
house, and no-one would gasp in horror at his spilt blood or care
that he might have been killed. Cautiously analysing the feeling he
followed it through the dark corridors of his brain until he found
a mental image of Peter smiling at Isabel de Bourbon as she rubbed
ointment on his bruised knee. The self-knowledge that he envied his
cousin’s good fortune somehow made Lucius’s throbbing injuries feel
worse.

Peter
frantically heeled his horse to hurry after the carriage
disappearing around a bend in the road, but the horse floated along
like a downy feather riding a warm breeze. He had to stop the
carriage, or Isabel would be shipped off to France and hidden away
in a crumbling chateau where he’d never find her. Finally reaching
the bend in the road, his horse abruptly stopped. Between him and
happiness stood a mountain of horse manure and his five sons, each
one pointing a pistol at his heart. He could hear Isabel asking for
vinegar to clean his wounds as if she knew what would happen, and
then his sons started firing. Lead shot punctured his arm then his
shoulder. Gasping in horror he slumped over and fell to the ground
as fading carriage wheels carried Isabel out of reach. He flinched
as one final shot punctured his shoulder. It was the end; he’d
never hold Isabel as his wife. “Ma Belle!” There was no reply.
Moaning in pain, he opened his eyes and found Lucius bending over
him shaking him awake. Disoriented he stared at his cousin’s bent
nose and then the man’s blood spattered cravat. This was the
end…