They stepped away, as one, from the carriage. He closed the door and rapped the trap. The wheels rolled down the drive. Away from the beautiful estate with its ugly memories and unhappy inhabitants.
John was silent, staring at the rope binding his wrists. Gabriel didn’t know where to look. Out the window, toward the setting sun, bloody and fierce. At his friend, a murderer, a victim. At the pristine bundle sitting innocuously at his side, waiting.
“How did you let it go, Gabriel? How did you become you, and not me?”
The afternoon had obviously drained them all. John’s voice was reflective and even.
Gabriel stared through the window at the passing scenery. “I don’t know, John. I never wanted them to win.” He looked at his friend. “Their goal was to break us. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
“You think me weak?” John’s chin jutted forward; he looked more like his old self in that moment.
“No. I think you wronged. I wish…” He looked away. “I wish you had come to me. Or that—”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d stayed, Gabriel.” John’s voice was matter of fact and even more reflective, accurately guessing what he was going to say. “Did you read Abigail’s journal? The parts where we overlap?”
“Some.”
“Then you will know that it didn’t matter. It would have been worse had you still been there, though I said differently earlier. You couldn’t have saved me. I stopped blaming you during the day long ago.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I sometimes still blame you at night, but we can’t all be perfect.”
“None of us are,” Gabriel said quietly. “None of us are.”
They sat in silence, the carriage rolling across Blackfriars, swaying over the stones as dusk fell.
Gabriel rapped the trap. “Is the Runner still following?”
“No, sir. He left ten minutes back and rode ahead. Haven’t seen him since.”
Gabriel nodded and stretched his suddenly tight fingers.
“Where are we going?” John asked, his head tipped back, eyes closed. “Cold Bath? Newgate?”
Gabriel shook his head slowly, watching his friend. “Greville Street.”
John’s eyes snapped to his and held for a long moment. He nodded. “Yes.” His voice softened. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
“Dentry and Dresden will take care of the rest. I’ll make sure of it.”
John’s shoulders straightened and he dusted off the knee of his right leg. “Where shall I be going?”
“On a visit to the Continent. You shall take a liking to Italy during your tour and stay there a few months. You will correspond with Lord Dentry and me every few weeks—and we will keep the ton abreast of your adventures, should they require news. If anyone inquires after you in Italy, you will move to France, and so forth.”
John nodded. “My assets?”
“In a year you will have a tragic accident—”
“A racing accident, I hope. Fitting for me to go out on a horse, don’t you think?”
Gabriel nodded, looking at his hands, foreign, clenched in his lap. “Fitting indeed.”
“My documents are in order. There should be no trouble in a year. I’ve left everything to you anyway.” John was calm, eerily serene. “Take care of my stables, will you? The horses. The trainers. I have a fine foal. Newmarket winner for sure. I would like it if you would race her, or sell her to a worthy buyer, should you have a care for me.”
“I have a care for you, John.”
He looked away, his throat working. “I know. I’m sorry, Gabriel.”
“I know, John. I’m sorry too.”
The carriage slowed. Hooves clomping to a stop. The turning of the wheels pausing for a moment, suspended.
