The Gilded Scarab (29 page)

It was hard to preserve the Lancaster nonchalance. I felt a decided glow. “I expect we will. I look forward to it.”

“I, too.” Ned stood, and he and Hawkins left.

The smile Ned gave me in farewell was brilliant. An answering burst of warmth bloomed under my breastbone. Which was, perhaps, a touch of indigestion.

And was, perhaps, not.

Hawkins, by contrast, wore an expression that tried, perhaps, to be a smile but succeeded only in imitating a suppressed snarl. Not very successfully and not very suppressed. I could, I supposed, admit that Hawkins was loyal and dedicated to his work, but it was likely to be some considerable time before I warmed to him, and considerably longer before he warmed to me.

Only after they’d gone did I realize Ned had said nothing about music halls or the opera or ever repeating our night at Margrethe’s.

I was getting into a habit when it came to considering my friendship with Ned Winter. It was a bad habit, one that showed a distressing lack of imagination when it came to vocalizing my reactions to each of our meetings. This meeting was no exception.

I duly vocalized.

“Well… damn.”

Chapter 19

I
CLOSED
the coffeehouse at eight every evening as soon as the clock struck. It took some time to count the day’s takings and clean up the worst of the day’s depredations on my upholstery and paintwork, although I was resolute in leaving the water closet to the inestimable Mrs. Barnett, the charlady who had been foisted on me by Cousin Agnes. It was often nine or later by the time I reached one of the local restaurants or chophouses for supper.

I was firm about closing down the coffee machines at 7:30 and was a master of silent hints to the customers that, much as I’d enjoyed their company, it was time for them to go. I didn’t quite get out a mop and bucket, although sometimes the notion of swilling water around the feet of the dilatory had a certain appeal, but only because the mop was truly in Mrs. B’s domain, and dangerous in untrained hands.

Since I was intent on finishing up for the evening, I usually ignored anyone knocking at the door after hours. It should have been obvious why the door was locked. The lights were dimmed, the room was empty, and there was a ruddy large sign on the door that said Closed in heavy black type and three languages—English, French and Latin. I was considering asking Ned for one in hieroglyphs.

The rattle on the door the night of May 3rd was persistent. Whoever was out there was at the rattle-the-handle-until-I-break-down-the-door level of persistent. I had put the day’s takings into the safe in my office behind the main room and was about to head upstairs, and I could hear it even there. I came back into the main coffeehouse. A dark shape was visible in the frosted glass of the door. Another hearty rattle, and before I could call out to remind them what “closed” actually meant in the civilized world, the dark shape contracted on itself and bent to reach the letter box. It was pushed open, and a well-remembered voice came through it.

“Captain? Captain Lancaster?”

Hugh! It was Hugh Peters.

I leapt to the door to unlock it and fling it wide. What a welcome sight he was. “Hugh! My dear Hugh! What are you doing here?”

Hugh Peters, his greatcoat over his arm and a kit bag on his shoulder, grinned so widely his face must have ached. “I’ve left the Service, sir.”

I drew him in and shook his hand, laughing. He laughed back, taking my hand in both of his and shaking it heartily.

“Dear Hugh! It’s wonderful to see you! You’ve left? You’re a civilian now?”

He dropped his kit bag down to the floor with a sigh of relief, then stood up straight and rolled his shoulders. “That’s it, sir. Things weren’t the same after you’d gone, you know. I couldn’t work for Mr. Ingram in the same way. It didn’t feel right. So when it came to the end of my tour of duty, sir, I didn’t sign on for more. I decided it was time for a change. Time to come home, as you might say.”

I locked the door behind him and ushered him into the office at the back. “Come and tell me all about it.”

But there didn’t seem much more to tell. Hugh was always the most loyal soul, and he hadn’t enjoyed being batman to my successor. I admit I was more astonished they’d promoted Ingram to replace me—“No one could
replace
you, sir. And not Mr. Ingram, that’s for sure.”—but I could quite see Hugh’s point of view that not all changes were for the best. Leaving the Service might have been a bold venture, but he was old enough to know his own mind. I wondered, though, what he intended to do now. Then it became clear, amid him bringing me up to date with news on everyone I knew and the progress (or lack thereof) of the war, that he was hoping he might return to a semblance of his old post with me.

“Well, given as how you wrote to tell me and the doctor about this place, sir, and said you were doing for yourself with no one to look after you… well, that doesn’t seem right.” He hesitated, looked bashful, and didn’t quite meet my eyes.

Oh.

Perhaps I hesitated a moment too long.

“Well, that’s all right,” said Hugh, with forced cheer. “It was a long shot.”

“No, Hugh.” I caught at his hand. “No! The only reason I’m hesitating is that I’m just about making enough to keep me, once I’ve made the monthly payment to my House on the mortgage they have here. In another year or so when I’m free of them, it will be a different matter. But right now I can’t afford to pay you very much. That’s my worry.”

He looked at me, searching, I think, to see the truth of what I said. And God knows, I was honest. Hugh had been the most faithful batman I could ever have wished for. For more than six years, he had been my right-hand man, there through every engagement, every battle I’d been in since I gained my captaincy. I owed Hugh so much that to do anything other than want the best for him would be unconscionable. And despite what many think, my conscience is alive and kicking.

“Well, I’ll work for my keep until you can pay me. Thing is, Captain, I’m not much trained for anything other than shooting at people and taking care of officers. There isn’t much call for shooting people at home”—Hugh hadn’t met Sam Hawkins—“and most gentlemen wouldn’t think what I did as your batman would fit me for a job looking after them as a valet, like. So I’m in a bit of what you might call a quandary when it comes to considering where my next berth might be.”

He was a delightful mix of bashful and determined. We talked it over for a little while in my office, and then I hauled him over to the Museum Tavern for a beer and some of the landlord’s best fare—which wasn’t very good really, but was hot and had lots of gravy to sop up with fresh bread—and by the time I was showing Hugh into my little apartment on the top floor, it was more or less understood things were settled.

I had an assistant.

More than that, it was Hugh. He was a link with the past I thought gone forever, as well as the help I needed to secure the future. Good old Hugh. It was delightful to have him back again.

H
UGH
TOOK
readily to his new role.

He slept on my sofa the first night, wrapped in blankets, and when he appeared next morning with my hot shaving water, he swore he’d been as comfortable as in his bunk back on the
Ark Royal
. But I was determined he should have somewhere of his own. Before we opened up that morning and I started his training on the coffee machines, I went to see Rosens and Matthews.

They were always on the premises before breakfast. I don’t know where Matthews called home, but Rosens lodged with Abrams, the apothecary across the street. It allowed him to keep an eye on the coffeehouse and get an early start at pretending to import something. The pair of them clumped up the staircase to their offices by seven, rain or shine.

Leaving Hugh to collect the morning’s supplies from Will, I went to talk to them. Well, to talk at them was more accurate. I had no intention of allowing them to get in a word of protest. I started out by softening them up with an “I’ve decided I won’t evict you, after all.” On seeing their pleased expressions, I moved in for the kill.

Within five minutes I had them agreeing that no, they didn’t use the floor below mine for anything really; and yes, the entire reason for their presence was to ensure the building was secure for young Mr. Winter; and no, they didn’t import or export anything much; and yes, it was rather a waste but the Gallowglass paid for it to protect his First Heir and what else can you do but bow to a father’s concern? And what do you mean, you’re taking that floor back?

Good God, these two were slow off the mark. “What I said. I have need for the rooms. You don’t. I’ll take them today.”

Rosens and Matthews gaped at me.

“Right, that’s that, then.”

“But—”

“So far as I remember, they’re empty, right? Except for the packing case, and I’ll return that to you later. Excellent. Then there’s nothing for you to do to vacate them.”

“But—”

“I’ll confirm the arrangements with Mr. Winter when he is next here. Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate your cooperation.”

Leave them floundering, every time. That’s the trick. I left them with their mouths open and hands flapping uselessly, eyes round and staring. Really, neither struck me as particularly astute. Ned deserved more intelligent guards, in my humble opinion.

Mrs. Barnett arrived to give the coffeehouse its thorough daily cleaning. An extra five shillings saw her start up the stairs with her mop and bucket when she’d finished her usual duties, the light of the fanatic in her eye. She had the place spotless by noon. By then, too, Rosens and Matthews must have complained to headquarters, because I had a telephone call from Ned. He thanked me for an entertaining morning spent soothing his rattled and discomposed guards.

“I delegated the task to Sam, of course, who now regards you with more than his usual ire.” His tone was warmly amused. I pressed the brass earpiece closer, not to miss a nuance of it, and laughed. He wished me happy in my new domain, adding with a real generosity, “Listen, Rafe, what we’re paying for is access to the building to secure it as part of my security detail, rather than rent per square foot. I’ve instructed our finance office to maintain the usual monthly payment.”

I protested, of course I did. I’d expected that the quid pro quo for annexing the extra space would be a fall in my income, but Ned wouldn’t be gainsaid.

“I’ll send you a formal note about it later today, for the record. I hope your Hugh settles in, and I shall look forward to meeting him tomorrow.”

It was a shame to put down the receiver. Some of these newer inventions were a boon to humanity.

The promised note arrived by the afternoon post. It set out what Ned had promised, repeated that he would be in the next day, and ended with “Until then, my dear Rafe, ever yours, Ned.”

It is a gross calumny to suggest that I smoothed the note and put it into my pocketbook with careful hands for any other reason than I might need it to silence Rosens or Matthews if they continued to cut up rough. A gross calumny.

That afternoon I sent Hugh around to the nearby secondhand furniture warehouses on Tottenham Court Road, and he came back followed by one of the porters wheeling a bedstead and dresser in a handcart. Hugh made a tour of inspection of the top two floors and had a quiet word with the porter. For the next few hours, I was banished to the coffeehouse while two of the porter’s mates arrived, and they all rearranged everything. Worryingly for my relatively small stock of money, the porter’s mates each brought a laden cart with them. Hugh appeared to think I needed to set up housekeeping on a more lavish scale than I’d bothered with hitherto.

“I didn’t think much of the kitchen,” he said that evening when we’d closed up and were heading up the stairs so I could get my first glimpse of the fruits of his day’s labors. “So I moved the stove and the icebox downstairs to give us quite a commodious kitchen-dining room. Jim—the porter, sir, from Willen’s warehouse—knows where he can put his hand on a nice Welsh dresser. Solid oak. About a guinea, he says. He’ll bring it along tomorrow.” Hugh paused on the landing between the truncated import-export territory and the expanded apartment. He eyed the space with disfavor. “I’ll have to see about getting a partition and door put in here, Captain. It’ll be more private-like. Now then.”

Hugh had moved my sitting room down a floor too. The furniture was arranged around the fireplace in the room overlooking the street and, since the May weather was chancy and a hard rain had set in over the last weekend and stayed with us, he had a fire lit to cheer up the grate. He’d spread a red-and-green Turkish carpet on the floor, with the big sofa and an armchair I’d never seen before hiding the threadbare patches. The kitchen had been relocated to the room at the back, much bigger and more useful, Hugh said as he showed off his new arrangements with pride. I forbore to tell him that I was an abysmal cook, but I don’t suppose the news would surprise him. Hugh had set up his bedstead in the room over the back extension.

On my floor, the front room looked a little bare without the big sofa, but Hugh, it appeared, had plans. He was on the lookout for some bookcases for me, he said, to set up a library, and the porters would deliver a bed-sofa the next day, for those nights when we might have guests. When I boggled at him, he said, with some disapproval, that James Beckett, for one, was likely to want to call when he was next taking home leave. “And it would only be right to offer him a bed, sir. Some of those sofa bedsteads are surprisingly comfortable.”