Page 28 of A Devilish Element
“It is not here, I should add. I made a point of leaving it with my notary, knowing how light-fingered certain of my acquaintances can be.”
“No matter, you can retrieve it.”
“And why would I ever do that, George?”
“Why?” Mr Cluett’s jovial round face twisted itself into an insufferable smirk. “So that we might affect an exchange, of course. Your folly for mine.”
“For what? For that?” Linfield stepped closer so that he could see the document over his friend’s shoulder. His expression turned saucer-eyed. “Give me that.” He made a grab for the paper, but George twisted out of his reach.
“Oh, no. No, I think I shall hold on to this. It’s quite the enlightening read. If you wish its return, then you need only restore to me what is by rights mine.”
“But it is not yours by rights. When one gambles with the future, one should always be prepared for the consequences should it not pay off.”
“I ought to have won.”
“But you didn’t. Hand over the paper, George.” Linfield stretched out his hand, only to have it slapped away.
“I wonder what she would make of this, your poor sweet bride…. What her family…? Whatyourfamily would make of it? They are unaware, aren’t they? Remind me, what did she bring to your coffers, a princely sum? Eighteen thousand, weren’t it?”
“Around that, not that it’s any of your concern.”
George seemed not to hear him, for he continued, “A sum, a blessed sum that would surely evaporate should certain parties happen upon this.” He flicked the edge of the paper in his hand. “Goodness knows how many lives could be wrecked, the size of the scandal that would erupt.”
“Don’t be a fool, George.”
“Oh, you don’t think it would cause an upset? I think it likely to cause both heartbreak and embarrassment. Let me see, should I read it to you in case you’ve mislaid the facts? It states that before God and witnesses, Lord Eustace Lionel Linfield, is married to one Miss Ja—”
“You give me that, George, or by God I will throttle the life from you, and then turn your mother out into the streets she grew up on in nothing but her stays.”
“It seems to me that is already your intent. And I don’t care for your insinuations, my lord.”
“I insinuate nothing. Do you even know whose brat you are?”
George lashed out, catching Linfield sharp across the nose. They fell into a wrestle on the tabletop, sending ornaments and papers flying perilously close to the hearth. Then their bodies too, as they smashed down into the chair, sending it skidding across the boards into the bookcase. George had Linfield by the throat. Linfield his thumbs gouging George’s eyes. Ought she to intervene? Raise the alarm? She was too slow for either, as the men crashed into one of the many bookcases, causing it to rain its contents down on their heads in an avalanche of leather-bound volumes.
Linfield put his hand to his temple and gazed at his blood-stained fingers in alarm.
“It’s just a scratch.” George stood and tucked the stolen paper into his coat pocket. He minced closer and offered Linfield his kerchief, only for the viscount to spit and hiss at him like an angry swan.
“Get out of my sight and begone from my property.”
George rolled back his shoulders, then straightened his waistcoat, coat, and cravat, transforming himself back into a gentleman. “I leave when the papers are in my hands, and not before. If you’re wise, you’ll make that soon, or I’ll be sure to deliver notarized copies of this to your father and your father-in-law. Men ought to be held accountable for their indiscretions, don’t you think?”
Lord Linfield put his hand on a nearby book and hurled it. “Leave.” The missile hit George on the knee, leaving him limping towards the exit.
“We’ll discuss it after breakfast, shall we?”
“If I don’t feed you to the white lady.”
Cheeks bloodless, save for the scarlet smear across his temple, and with his hair forming a halo of dandelion fluff around his head, Linfield hobbled over to the desk chair. He sank into it with a hollow moan and rested his head against the desk blotter. “Why this? Why me?” he complained, while drumming out an angry metre with his clenched fist.
Was it quite safe to leave him injured and unattended? Eliza didn’t quite know, but nor did it seem a clever point to reveal herself. She was relieved when one of the footmen arrived.
“I heard a commotion. Is everything well, my lord?”
“Get out!” Linfield snarled.
“My lord, you’re—” Linfield hurled the nearest object to hand at the servant, which happened to be the small music box. It fell short of its target and smashed into a myriad of pieces.
