Sir Mark Rossiter stood with one hand on the mantel, and turned, frowning at this intrusion. His bag wig was elaborate; an inspired tailor had fashioned his velvet habit of dark gold; and the quizzing glass he raised to a pale blue eye was richly jewelled. “The devil, sir,” he began, indignantly.
Gideon was momentarily struck to silence. His father was still as tall and well-built; still carried himself with prideful arrogance. But he had aged more than might have been expected in six years, and the lines in the distinguished face, the pallor of the skin, came as a shock.
Elegant in shades of rose, his wig of the very latest style, Newby Rossiter rose from a wing chair. Briefly, baffled fury glinted in his eyes. Then, “Well, well, well…,” he murmured, strolling closer to his brother and scanning him mockingly. “Damme if our Prodigal ain’t come home, after all! We thought you was dead, twin.”
“I wonder you are not in black gloves.” Gideon walked over to his father who had let the quizzing glass fall and stared at him in stunned disbelief. They had parted bitterly and there was still a constraint between them. “Hello, sir,” he said awkwardly.
“Gideon…?”The word was almost indistinguishable. Sir Mark put out a trembling hand.
Gideon bowed over it and touched the cold fingers to his lips. “I’m aware I have not pleased you, father, but I came as soon as I was able.”
Sir Mark gripped his shoulder emotionally, felt his son shrink away, and pulled himself together. “I was prepared to give you a proper raking down for not coming home as arranged. I collect I cannot do that. Sit down, boy. Hit, were you? When?”
Sinking gratefully into the chair, Gideon said, “Lauffeld, sir.”
“Lauffeld?”Sir Mark frowned. “But—that was nigh a year since! Why was I not notified?”
Gideon took a swallow of the wine Newby handed him. “I had caused you exceeding vexation when I purchased a commission against your wishes. I’d a mind to worry you no further.”
Pulling another chair closer, Sir Mark sat down, and stared at this son who had always seemed such an enigma. “Be so good as to overcome your scruples.”
“There’s not much to tell,” said Gideon uncomfortably. “I was too close to an exploding shell. It—er, took the doctors a confounded age to put me back together again.”
“Good… God!” breathed Sir Mark. “And how fit are you now?”
“Not sufficiently so to attend to his toilette, evidently,” purred Newby. “You look like an unmade bed, twin.”
Gideon flushed, ran a tidying hand through his hair, then winced. “Some rabble rouser hove a brick at me. Not a markedly warm welcome home.”
“A far cry from the parade and hero’s welcome you no doubt expected,” said Newby with his neighing laugh.
Gideon gritted his teeth, but Sir Mark ignored the remark. He insisted upon inspecting his heir’s damaged head, pronounced it a very nasty bump, and told Newby to ring for the butler. “We’ll get you to bed, Gideon, and my physician must have a look at you. We can talk later.”
The thought of bed in a quiet room was enticing, but Gideon resisted temptation. “If you do not object, I’d as lief talk for a while, sir. I collect we are in some kind of trouble.”
“Oh, come now,” said Newby in disgust. “Do not pretend you don’t know. We are ruined, brother mine. Your arrival is well timed, for you’ve contrived to miss most of the ugly business. You may be able to escape back to your regiment before we have to face the final act. Arrest. Trial. Conviction, imprisonment or deportation!”
“Good God!” exclaimed Gideon. “Is it really that bad, sir?”
Sir Mark paced over to the window. “You must have heard some of it, surely?”
“No, father. On my honour, the first I knew of it was—was from a remark someone made after I’d landed.”
“How very convenient.” Newby sniggered. “Perchance that is part of the lure of army life. In addition to the pretty uniform that so impresses gullible ladies, you are shielded from the mundane affairs that bedevil ordinary mortals!”
Gideon leapt up and said with flashing anger, “Come with me to the Low Countries, twin. I’ll conduct you through the bones of those shielded from ‘mundane affairs’!”
Sir Mark jerked around. “’Twas your own decision to join the military, and desert me for six years!”
Fighting anger, Gideon met his father’s eyes across the suddenly quiet room, and it was as if the clock rolled backward; as if they again confronted each other on that icy November afternoon. Almost he could hear the angry voices…
“I sent you up to Merseyside to meet my superintendent and familiarize yourself with the shipyard and its operation. ’Twas my hope you might learn something of the business. Instead, in one month you set my staff in a turmoil, damn near caused a riot, and brought work to a grinding halt! It will take weeks to undo the mischief you’ve done with your damnable revolutionary notions!”
“It was because Ididlearn something of the business, that I intervened when—”
“Intervened! What right had you to intervene inanything? You are two and twenty and knownothing,yet you dared to challenge the ability and authority of a man who has spent his life building ships!”
“Murchison is a callous bungler, who cares less for his people than—”
