Is that which must be mentioned in the sequel.
—George Gordon, Lord Byron
Don Juan
Iawoke a moment later to the pungent smell of the Ghoul’s vinaigrette. Brisbane was no longer holding me. I had felt the sensation of lips on my brow and I tasted salty wetness on my mouth, like tears. But they must have been my father’s, for it was he, with Aquinas, who held me up between them as I turned and retched up smoke. They held me up and kept me well out of the way as we listened for the bells of the fire brigade.
The Ghoul fluttered about, taking sniffs of her vinaigrette and wailing. “Why does he not come out? What does he mean, going into that place? Is he quite mad?”
I shook off my father’s arm. “What is she talking about?” I asked him. At least, I thought I did. The smoke had roughened my voice and I could barely speak. He patted my arm absently.
“Brisbane has gone inside. To see if he can rescue Simon.”
I thrust him away and made to sit up. “He cannot! The first floor is in flames—he will be killed!”
The more I protested, the more they held me. Finally, I gave in, spent, and sagged against my father, silent tears channeling through the smoke on my face.
“He came to me tonight,” my father said softly. “He insisted you were in danger, only he could not tell me why. It was not until we were halfway here that he began to scream.”
“Scream?” I croaked at him. He nodded gravely.
“He did not even realize what he was doing. He beat the glass of the carriage windows like a madman, screaming that he smelled smoke. Aquinas and I thought he was deranged. But he knew—my God, how did he know?”
“He has the sight,” I told him, whispering in my smoke-thickened voice.
“Ah. That explains much.” Father was country-bred as well. He could believe in such things, as did Aquinas, who nodded, his eyes fixed upon the open door of Grey House. We waited, it must have been only a few minutes, until the fire brigade arrived, all snorting horses and clanging bells. I watched, never taking my eyes from the open door, lit with the unholy glow of that fire. I watched until my eyes burned and my lungs clouded again with that smoke. I watched until my father finally forced me into the carriage and out of harm’s way. I watched, but Brisbane never came.
They found him in the back garden in the end. He had made it nearly up the stairs before the heat had beaten him back. But his way through the hall had been cut off by then, and he had only escaped by kicking out a window and hurling himself through the broken glass into the garden. He had cuts and bruises, a few small burns to show for it, and a voice they said rasped as badly as mine.
I did not hear it for myself, for he did not come to me. I waited, as I had waited outside of Grey House that terrible night, but still he did not come. So I convalesced slowly at March House, under the care of my family, and Crab, the mastiff, who lay on my bed with her litter of pups and refused to budge, and Mordecai Bent, who was also doctoring Brisbane and sometimes brought me news of him.
It was not until nearly a week after the fire that I was strong enough, and Mordecai brave enough, to tell me all.
“He never went to Paris,” he told me. “He followed you instead.”
I thought back and made the connections I had missed.
“The old man with the twisted leg, in the Park.”
Mordecai nodded. “He was the cat in my rooms, as well,” he confessed, shamefaced. “I did not like to deceive you, but he insisted. He said that he must know.”
I shrugged, stroking Crab’s silky ears. “He had lost faith in me, and with good reason. I lied to him and I concealed evidence to protect someone. If he did not trust me, it was because I did not trust him first.”
“Even so, he did not like it,” Mordecai put in. “He followed you as much because he feared for your safety as to observe your movements. He knew you would object to being kept under surveillance, but he felt very strongly that you were in danger. He just did not know from what quarter.”
“He did not suspect Simon.”
Mordecai shrugged. “There was no reason to. The girl from the brothel told him what she had revealed to you. Nicholas decided to pursue Sir Edward’s valet instead and make inquiries at his club. He believed that so long as you were at Grey House you were safe.”
I gave a smoky little cough, halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“I did not suspect Simon, either, not until that very day,” I told him. “But the pieces all fit, however unlikely the picture.”
We talked, quietly, of things that had passed. It felt good to unburden myself, and I knew he wanted to tell me things, things I needed badly to hear.
“He had dreams of you, you know,” he said softly. “Terrible dreams. He believed you were going to die if he did not stand watch over you. But how could he tell you? He did not know that Fleur had told you about his gift—his curse. He has never willingly told anyone about it—not Fleur, not me. I found out by accident, much the same way Fleur did, when we were boys.”
“Little wonder you are so close,” I said with a smile. I could smell the smoke on my breath still as I spoke. Mordecai’s smile was warm and nostalgic, but sad.
