Page 61 of Confounding Oaths
And where her tears fell, they shattered.
Chapter Thirteen
The only thing the goodfolk of the ton liked more than a ball was a ball abruptly interrupted by the misfortunes of others, and in this Lady Etheridge had served them admirably.
Mr. Caesar had made a concerted effort to pursue his sister through the streets but, lacking my swiftness, he had soon lost her in the crowds that never truly left the metropolis. He petered to a stop at the end of the road, a combination of social embarrassment, physical fatigue, and despair making the chase all but pointless. He stood, head bowed and shoulders slumped, while Miss Bickle and the Irregulars caught up with him. When they had, Miss Bickle put a reassuring hand on his arm and made sympathetic noises, while Captain James started issuing orders.
“Barryson, Boy William—take the park. Sal and Jackson, down St. James’s. Kumar and Callaghan, north and see if you can’t head her off. If you find her, one stay on her, the other come back to the Folly.”
None of them spoke a reply, they just fell in line, fanned out, and vanished into the city. And no sooner had they vanished thanMr. Ellersley swooped down upon Mr. Caesar and the captain, flanked by a pair of extremely impatient-looking night watchmen.
“There!” Mr. Ellersley pointed an artificially trembling finger at Captain James. “There’s the ruffian. Idemandhe be dragged to the watch-house at once.”
Never having quite shaken the rookery dweller’s fear of the law, the captain eyed the watchmen cautiously. “Bit busy right now.”
The taller of the two watchmen gave a frankly jobsworthy frown. “Busy don’t come into it. Gentleman here says you was making an affray. There’s statutes about making an affray.”
“There you go”—Mr. Ellersley smiled like a particularly petty shark—“Statutes. Can’t argue with statutes.”
A vein in Mr. Caesar’s head was beginning to throb. “Tom, can you not see that this is—this is theoppositeof the appropriate time.”
The watchmen had already moved forwards to seize the captain and, contrary to his normally dashing idiom, he was making no attempt to resist them.
“You think it’s appropriate for common soldiers to let off guns in the middle of Mayfair?” asked Mr. Ellersley, his tone sugar cut with strychnine.
Mr. Caesar bristled. “Captain James isnota common soldier.”
Thatalmostbrought the watchmen up short. It was, after all, true that the captain wore an officer’s uniform, and most officers outranked most thief-takers in most ways. But Mr. Ellersley assuaged their misgivings with a sharp: “He looks prettycommonto me.”
With a deep sigh, Captain James cast Mr. Caesar a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, it won’t be my first night in the cells.”
“Why,” replied Mr. Ellersley, “does thatnotsurprise me?”
“Tom,” Mr. Caesar tried again, “pleasedon’t do this. It’s low even for you.”
As pleas went, what it lacked in tact, it made up for in no waywhatsoever. Mr. Ellersley sneered. “If you’re trying to reenter my good graces, you’re making a poor showing of it.”
“I’m trying to”—Mr. Caesar stumbled, he wasn’t surewhathe was trying to, or how he was trying to do it—“Gods and powers, Tom, why are youbeinglike this?”
Mr. Ellersley’s sneer became a scowl. “Because Iamlike this. As are you. It’s time to stop pretending to be somebody you aren’t.”
“Tom—”
“Iknowyou, John. I understand you. I’m really the only one who does.”
I have said many times, readers, how much I despise your species for all its many vanities and weaknesses. But what I saw in Mr. Ellersley now was a wonderfully fairy-like passion. If there is one thing my people hold to be an eternal truth it is that there is no better way to show affection for a thing than to destroy it utterly.
Mr. Caesar, naturally, did not see it this way. Indeed, he was so lacking in perspective that he stood, dumbfounded, while his former lover gave the final nod to the watchmen.
“Now gentlemen”—said Mr. Ellersley—“I suggest you do your duty.”
With the grudging efficiency of poor men in terrible jobs, the two thief-takers began leading Captain James away to their watch-house. A hot blend of shame, embarrassment, and fear was prickling its way up Mr. Caesar’s spine and making its way to the base of his skull. There was so,somuch wrong with this situation and so,solittle he could do about it. He could almost taste blood.
“Do you,” Mr. Caesar turned on the watchmen with pure instinct and adrenaline. “Haveany ideawho Iam?”
As opening gambits went it had been risky, but to two men of low birth whose professional lives mostly involved getting pushed into the mud by rich gadabouts, it was practically a mystical incantation.
“My grandfather is the Earl of Elmsley,”not here right now but that isn’t important,“my uncle is the Vicomte Hale”who hates me and actively wishes me ill, but that isn’t important either“and my cousin is the Duchess of Annadale”that one is almost entirely a lie, but let it slide. “This man”—he took a step towards the watchmen, one of whom was actively trembling—“is performing vital service for my family and you have noconceptionof the enemies you will make if you impede him.”
