Page 57 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
“That is absurd,” I interrupted. “What are you really doing? Where is Serle?”
John pasted another unsettling grin on his face and reached for my shoulder. The gesture stopped abruptly midair. Mr. Knightley had caught his wrist, the motion so deft his hand seemed to materialize from nowhere.
“Do not,” Mr. Knightley said simply.
John’s grin drained like whey through sour curds. He pulled his hand back and patted his disarranged coat, eyeing us both. For the first time, he looked authentic—irritated and self-important.
“You were always clever, Emma,” he said grudgingly “Very well. I will speak frankly. But inside.” He turned and stomped away.
“What do you wish to do?” Mr. Knightley asked, crossing his arms and watching my brother-in-law’s retreating back.
“I wish to speak frankly,” I said and followed John.
John had clutteredPapa’s study with magazines and loose papers. The odor of pipe smoke was less intense, but the stale undertones were sour. John collapsed heavily into Papa’s chair. Mr. Knightley drew out a chair for me, then took a seat himself.
“First,” John announced, wagging his finger at me, “remember that I have been working myself to exhaustion. While I hardly sleep from worry, you gallivant about spending money willy-nilly.”
I was not sure how to answer that. “You have not provided a penny for my survival in a year. A penny that would come frommyfunds.”
He glowered from Papa’s chair. “You nagged enough, though. You and Isabella are the same. Do you think I withhold money for selfish reasons? Nothing could be more untrue.”
“Why, then?” I asked.
He dug out his pocket watch and plunked it on the desk, then spun it like a top, sulking like a child.
“He has lost your funds,” Mr. Knightley said, his tenor voice as cold as a judge pronouncing punishment. “He has lost everything. He only lacks the courage to admit it. Look at his coat—secondhand, not even re-tailored. Or his watch. Copper plate.”
John plopped his fleshy palm over the watch, but not before I noticed the dirty fringe of verdigris. “I did notlosethe funds! They were as good as stolen from me. It is those miners and weavers extorting their exorbitant pay. They infect workers with unreasonable expectations. I have written an excellent letter toThe Times—well, I plan to write it—explaining that the government must rise to the occasion and assist gentlemen investors who selflessly assume risk…”
My swelling emotions washed his words away. More than once in the last months, I had found myself holding a forgotten book or ignoring a conversation while privately considering the unthinkable: John had stolen my fortune. Discovering that the Woodhouse fortune was literally destroyed provided icy finality… but strangely, the emotion rising the quickest was relief. If the money was gone, John no longer had power over me.
He was now ranting about Luddites. When he took a breath, I said, “I am reclaiming Hartfield. It is time you left.”
“No!” John cried desperately. “Not yet! You have not heard my plan! Our fortune can be restored!”
Mr. Knightley shifted to the edge of his seat. He seemed eager to assistJohn’s departure. That was tempting, but the nagging sensation in my mind had returned—wrong, wrong.
Like the sunroom, this room was disarranged. The books on Papa’s shelf were out of order. Some were even upside down.
An ephemeral black rope flickered through the room’s wall and vanished.
Nobody else batted an eye. Was this some new form of the miasma?
I had not answered, so John resumed talking. He seemed unable to abide silence. “The complication is that Isabella refused to come to Hartfield. She whined about exposing the children to war. I do not understand it. She is usually such an obedient creature, but she argued endlessly.”
That did not surprise me. Isabella obsessed about her children’s safety. But I had forgotten that she and her children were victims as well. I would need to reach out to her through some channel that John could not intercept.
John’s chin was flushing from his desperate chatter. “Women do not understand that war is a tremendous boon for all parties involved! The Crown opened their vaults. Military spending is sky high. Why, commodity prices have risen—”
Mr. Knightley, apparently, could no longer listen in silence. “And yet, you lost your fortune and another that was entrusted to you.”
John sputtered, “In hindsight, anyone can see that prices rose. But at the time, the very best gentlemen at my club agreed that Parliament’s spendthrift policies would cause a glut. The speculative opportunity was tremendous.”
I was thinking about my sister. “Why is Isabella’s absence a complication?”
“Oh.” John blinked furiously. “I had promised to bring her. When she refused, I had no choice but to come alone. That… uh… disappointed people.”
“At last, something I believe,” I said. “I do not wish to hear any more. I think you should return to my sister. And you had best confess to her, as I shall visit.”
