The Gilded Scarab (35 page)

Peter.

Good God. It really was Peter. I stared, mouth open in a way that must have looked truly uncouth. Damn him. He always did like to have me at a disadvantage.

“Hello, Rafe. It’s been a long time.” His hand closed again, hard, and lifted away. He smiled. Anyone who didn’t know him would think it looked sincere.

He hadn’t changed that much. Broadened out a little since I’d seen him last at our father’s funeral, perhaps, but mostly he was very much as I remembered him. He was the image of our dear departed Papa, from the air he exuded that proclaimed the prosperous businessman, to the mean dark eyes and the healthy pink cheeks.

Ha. I might not be rich, but I didn’t have cheeks like a milkmaid’s.

Manly fraternal hugs were not done in my family. We shook hands, though, as if we were common or indifferent acquaintances. Very indifferent. I tried to infuse some warmth into my tone. “Peter. This is a surprise. I didn’t realize you were home.”

“I got back a couple of weeks ago.”

We were swept up by the press of people all heading for the church door to see the happy couple handed into their autolandau in a shower of rice and tiny scraps of colored paper. Very festive.

Peter grimaced. “Come along. We’d better see them off, and there’ll be more room outside.”

He was right. We struck out sideways to fetch up at the side of the portico, in the shade of one of the massive columns. There we stared at each other, wordless, for a moment or two.

Peter made a gesture to my spectacles. “John… the First Heir told me about the accident. A pity to have lost your career in such a way.”

I lifted one shoulder in as casual a shrug as I could manage, conscious of the new flying license in my inside breast pocket. “All water under the bridge. Doors closing and opening, as the old cliché has it.”

“You’ve made a full recovery? John told me you were seeing the best man in Londinium for eyes.”

Much that John Lancaster knew about it and much would Peter care. Peter was the perfect House drone. If John told him the sun rose in the west, Peter would make himself believe it without question.

I refrained from touching my inside pocket, but knowing what was in there sweetened the smile I gave my sycophantic big brother. “Yes. A full recovery. You look well.”

“I am. Shanghai has a very agreeable climate.” He glanced around the portico, and I could almost hear the cogs whirring inside his bullet-shaped noggin. Probably struggling for something to say. I know I was. All these years apart, and we still couldn’t talk to each other. “I was glad to get back in time for Emily’s wedding. I’m surprised to see you here, really. You never used to come to House events.”

“I was invited. By the Stravaigor himself, as it happens.”

“Yes, yes. So I understand. The First Heir told me you had come running back to the House after losing your commission. Reconnected somewhat, is perhaps what I should rather say.”

Oh, but he was very much as I remembered him. I kept the smile steady and resisted the temptation to repeat the delightful incident that had occurred when I was twenty and just down from Oxford, and Peter was loudly deploring my disloyal refusal to take up the career the House had offered me and enter the Church. I had had to soak my knuckles in ice for an hour after Peter expressed his opinion, but his nose had bled in the most satisfactory way. It still had a slight bend to the left. That was most satisfactory too.

“Only somewhat reconnected.” I let the smile die away and infused a little spurious sympathy into my tone. “The Stravaigor told me at Christmas he might have to recall several of his people since the Cartomancer was retrenching inessential posts abroad. Such a pity, Peter, to have lost your occupation that way.”

His eyes narrowed. “There will be other opportunities, I’m sure.”

“As I found for myself. And I’m sure you’ll make the most of them.”

“Well, then.”

John Lancaster appeared at Peter’s elbow, mincing up to us with those light steps of his that meant you had to have very good hearing to catch his approach. He sneaked along, did our First Heir. Those two had been best friends since Eton. That they deserved each other is all I can say about it. “Rafe,” he observed, wrinkling his nose. His thin trap of a mouth tried to curve into a smile but couldn’t quite make it. “How’s the… what was it now, the shop you bought? How is that working out?”

“Very well. Thank you.”

“Good. Good. The finance clerk tells me you’ve made your monthly repayments promptly. Very good.”

Perhaps John’s nose would bend to the left, the way Peter’s had? I put my hands behind my back, out of temptation’s way.

“I heard about it,” said Peter, and shook his head. “Really, Rafe! A shop!”

“A coffeehouse. Not a shop.”

“There’s a difference? A coffeehouse still smacks of trade.”

I was fast coming to the conclusion that a seven-year separation was far, far too short a time. “Says the trader from Shanghai.”

“Oh come, Rafe!” John’s mouth did manage a brief curve. As a smile it made a very pretty grimace. “There’s a difference.”

I gave him my best smile, to show him how it was done. “Only in scale, John, only in scale. We all smell of the shop.”

“Rafe! This is our First Heir you’re speaking to!” Peter actually blenched. He glanced, grimacing, at John.

Who smiled blandly. “Oh, we’re used to Rafe the iconoclast and don’t pay his more outrageous sentiments much regard. We know he’s trying for an effect. I’m glad everything is working out, Rafe, if only because it reduces our liability there.”

Oh weren’t we all sweetness, we three vagabondish Stravaigors together.

“Well, hopefully I can allay your financial worries completely by next year, John. We’re doing very well for such a new venture. I even have staff these days.”

“Where is it?” demanded Peter. “Somewhere fashionable at least, I hope?”

“By the museum. Worthy, rather than fashionable.”

Peter sniffed. “Must be good for the summer visitors.”

Really, I had been provoked too far. “Yes, that’s quite strong business now, but seasonal, of course. Luckily I have a cohort of regulars and one or two of those are quite prestigious. The Scrivener comes in two or three times a week.”

They both stared. John’s jaw dropped visibly.

“He’s a very pleasant man, is Sir Tane.” I gave it a small pause for best effect, and smiled. “He’s a bit of an iconoclast too, come to think on it.”

“
Humph
.” John closed his jaw with a snap. He frowned, probably decided I wasn’t worth arguing with, and apparently recalled himself to his duties. He became ostentatiously gracious. “Now then, I had better go and join my father and allow him to get to Stravaigor House in advance of the guest of honor. He’ll want to welcome the Gallowglass First Heir with all due ceremony. So kind of the First Heir to come.”

As one, we all turned and looked toward the door of the church to where the Stravaigor and the Plumassier genteelly vied for the guest of honor’s attention. Poor Ned grinned and bore it. He had his head tilted politely toward the Stravaigor, while the Plumassier plucked at his sleeve.

Sam Hawkins and two more House Guards, neither of whom I knew, hulked close by, watchful and wary. The other wedding guests gave them a wide berth. Wisely.

“I would have thought that this sort of thing involving an allied Minor House, a wedding or similar, would naturally demand their attendance,” I said. “To show reciprocal loyalty and respect, I mean. Did I miss the Cartomancer or his Heir?”

John flushed slightly. “He sent his regrets. Peter, I’ll make sure to try and introduce you to the Gallowglass First Heir later. This is an opportunity we cannot miss. The more we can impress him, the better for the House. Rafe, would you be so kind as to take Cousin Agnes with you to Stravaigor House? She would appreciate your escort, I’m sure.”

He didn’t offer to introduce me, I noticed. Perhaps he was wary of my iconoclastic tendencies and didn’t think I could impress anyone. It was all very amusing. “Ah, I wish I could oblige you, John, but I’m traveling to there with a friend in his private carriage. I couldn’t intrude an elderly cousin when the conveyance isn’t my own.”

“No. No, of course not.” John looked briefly harried.

“I’m sure Peter will take her.” I smiled at my brother. “It would delight her, Peter. She has a soft spot for you, you know.”

Peter’s grimace was pronounced. Not that I blamed him there. Agnes had softened toward me, it was true, but she’d light up like the illuminations on Brighton pier when Peter paid her the least attention. She’d always preferred him. Something of a dubious honor, I thought it. He nodded and acquiesced, and John minced off to impress the guest of honor.

Peter blew out a soft, sighing breath. “Thank you for that, Rafe. I shall repay you some day. I’m impressed, by the way. You got out of it very nicely.”

I laughed. “But it’s true. I really can’t take her. Poor Peter. Mind you, Agnes isn’t so bad.”

“She isn’t at all bad when I can palm her escort off onto someone else.” Peter looked at me sidelong. “Seriously? The Scrivener?”

Such a pity I couldn’t also dangle the Jongleur in front of his dazzled eyes, but I couldn’t betray Mr. Pearse’s secrets merely to score points against my brother. It wouldn’t be cricket. And, after all, I was about to score the entire game in a moment or two. “Seriously. He witnessed the signatures when I bought the lease from the previous owner. He is a very pleasant man. No side to him at all.”

“I think I shall have to pay your coffee shop a visit.” Peter shook his head. “Good Lord. The Scrivener. That brings a whole new cachet to the establishment. Elevates it, somewhat. I think we may have underestimated you, Rafe.”

“I’m sure you have. You always did.”

His smile grew a little acidic. “You make it so easy, little brother.”

Did I, indeed? Well, he was about to get a very convincing demonstration of how easy it had been.

Ned strode toward me, Stravaigors and Plumassiers in his wake, all looking rather disconcerted. His smile was as warm as sunrise. “Are you ready to go, Rafe? I would like to call in at the museum on the way to Stravaigor House, if you are willing to allow me the diversion.” He bowed to the Stravaigor. “And if you will forgive the slight delay, sir, in my arrival at Stravaigor House. Certainly we will be there for dinner.”

John Lancaster stared. The Stravaigor’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth did its usual steel trap affair, while the Plumassier merely smiled. He was presumably familiar with the vagaries of his liege lord.

I raised an eyebrow. “You want to go to the museum in House dress?”

Ned looked rather delectable, as it happened. As a lowly House member, I merely wore my insignia on the left shoulder of ordinary evening dress to denote my House allegiance. Ned, along with the other important House people there, was in full regalia. In his case, a fitted knee-length coat of a distinctly military cut in black superfine, with matching breeches tucked into the tops of beautifully polished black Hessian boots. He wore a truly impressive cravat, an ugly signet ring, a dress sword, and the Gallowglass insignia on his shoulder flashed real diamonds. None of your fake pastes for Ned Winter.

Delectable.

“The mummies won’t mind. Flinders Petrie called for advice. There’s another letter from Furtwängler at Heidelberg, and Petrie asked if I’d call in to collect a copy of it and his draft reply, so I can tone down his more forceful language. He’s there preparing for a lecture, I think. It won’t take ten minutes.” Ned’s smile deepened. “You can check up on Hugh and Alan while I’m there.”

“They would be mortally offended at my lack of faith.”

Ned laughed. “Of course. Well, if you’re ready, come along.”

“I’m ready. Oh, Ned, before we go, please allow me to present my brother Peter, who is most unexpectedly returned from Shanghai. Peter, this is, of course, First Heir Gallowglass.”

Peter choked out something that might have been “Sir!” and “At your service!” He was scarlet-faced as he bowed, and his eyes were bulging.

Ned hooked his arm through mine. I tell you, I smiled when Ned was very gracious and told Peter that of course my brother was worthy of notice for my sake. Peter looked like he might have apoplexy. The smile broadened when I looked into the Stravaigor’s thoughtful, conniving face and the barely concealed snarl on John Lancaster’s unprepossessing visage. I smiled all the way to the landau.

“Oh, that was sweet,” I said as Hawkins closed the door on us and climbed up to join the driver in his aerie at the front. The two guards stood behind the main cabin, manning the small cannon embrasures at the back. “I’ll pay for it later as they twist and turn to try and get as much advantage out of it as they can, but I can’t tell you how delicious it was, trouncing their paltry hands with the ace. There aren’t words enough to describe it. Did you see their faces? That’ll teach ’em to think me a worthless wastrel who’s beneath their notice!”

My red-letter day was getting better and better. And later, when we’d been to the museum and were back in the landau on our way to Kensington, Ned touched the privacy controls so the windows darkened and hid us from view.

The small revenge on my family had been sweet.

The kiss from Ned was sweeter.

Chapter 23