“Be silent, sir! Your opinion is neither valued nor asked! You are a pest, sir! An unfailing source of dissension in this household and out of it. You quarrel with your brother, affront my friends, and now you have upset my shipyard! Well, I’ll not have a hostile, ill-mannered, dog in the manger rabble rouser succeed me as head of this family! Mend your ways, or—”
“Mayhap I would offend you less by my absence, sir. In which event, I’ll ride to Whitehall this afternoon. I’ve no doubt my quarrelsome nature will be more welcome in the Low Countries than in Mayfair…”
Returning with an effort to the here and now, Gideon said, “I fear that even had I known you were in trouble, sir, I was in the hospital, and—”
“And who is to blame for that unhappy circumstance? No one but yourself! I suppose you will say you did not receive my letters apprising you of my situation and requiring that you return home at once. Well, youshouldhave received them, sir! I wouldn’t even entrust ’em to the servants for fear some dullard might drop one along the way. I sent Newby off to the post office to deliver every one with his own hands. Right, boy?”
Newby said smoothly, “We certainly did our possible, father.”
Gideon viewed his twin’s bland smile and knew that battle was not worth the fighting. “The post was unreliable, to say the least. But at all events, that’s water under the bridge now and—”
As always, the trace of impatience in his son’s voice goaded Sir Mark. “Aye, it is,” he said angrily. “Over and done with, so forget it quickly—that’s your philosophy eh, Gideon? Still the same hot-headed young here-and-thereian!”
Frowning, Gideon attempted to speak, but with an autocratic wave of one hand his father swept on. “Perchance you are well satisfied with what you’ve accomplished these six years. ’Fore God, you’re a fool if that’s the case, and so I tell you! You were a splendid-looking young Buck when you stamped out of here sooner than submit to my authority, and now look at you! What did independence win you, eh? You’d to submit to authority in the army, I am very sure, and your sole reward was to be put out of action for months, at a time when you were sorely needed here!”
“Yes,” admitted Gideon, tight-lipped. “My apologies for that. But I’m here now, sir. Anything I can do to help—”
Sir Mark gave an exasperated snort. “Help, is it? Faith, but you are in no condition to help anyone! ’Tis very obvious you’ve brought yourself home properly knocked up!”
‘Nothing has changed,’ thought Gideon. His head was pounding brutally now, his shoulder throbbed persistently, and he could not fail to resent being combed out when he felt so wretched. But he did not propose to be again defeated by his temper, and to an extent his father was justified. He stifled his irritation, and said quietly, “Sir, I think you know in your heart that had it been possible, I would have come at once, but the sincerest declarations cannot change the past. Pray tell me what has happened.”
Newby said with a scowl, “My father don’t want to rake it all up again! Had you been here, as you should—”
“I think it has been thoroughly established that I was not here,” snapped Gideon, his patience deserting him. Newby’s glare scorched at him, and well aware that his survival must have thwarted his brother’s ambitions, Gideon added ironically, “Overjoyed to see me, eh, twin?”
“I give you joy of your inheritance,” riposted Newby, “if nothing—”
Sir Mark’s voice was harsh. “Have done, both of you! Have done! Newby, you may leave us. No need to hear all this.”
Newby said sulkily, “I do not want you to be upset, sir.”
“I know, I know. You’re a good boy. But go now. Gideon is my heir, and has a right to be told.”
Newby hesitated, then shrugged, bowed to his father, and sauntered from the room.
“I hear most twins are regular bosom bows,” muttered Sir Mark, as the door closed.
Gideon choked back an involuntary rejoinder and said instead, “Sir, I am not come home to cut up your peace. If ’tis unpleasant for you, Gwendolyn can tell me the details.”
“Your sister don’t know the details. We’ve shielded her insofar as we were able. Sit yourself down, boy.” Sir Mark went to the sideboard, refilled his glass, and stood staring down at the rich amber wine. “It began simply enough,” he said with slow reluctance. “Loans, mostly. To men I’d known all my life. Fine fellows, to whom I was under some obligation or other. Large loans, but certainly they were good for it. Then—there was a fire at the shipyard. You likely did not hear of it, but ’twas a most ghastly thing. The night watchmen were drunk—as we then thought! People came to help, but by the time the bell was rung there was no stopping it. They no sooner quenched it in one place than ’twould flare up in another. When dawn came…” He sighed heavily. “The buildings were gutted. Four men burned to death—dozens badly injured, three nigh completed frigates destroyed. The newspapers blamed me and the directors. They held we’d not taken proper precautions, and that flammable supplies were stored too close to the stoves. There was an official investigation. That weasel Murchison testified he had warned me that we stood in dire need of pumps and hoses, and that many buckets were rusted through. He claimed I said they’d cost more than they were worth!” He drove one fist into his palm, his face flushed with wrath. “Lies! All lies! He never breathed a word to me about the need for new fire equipment!”
Gideon kept his thoughts to himself, and watched in silence as his father paced agitatedly about the room.
“I did what I could for the bereaved.” Sir Mark gave a snort of bitter frustration. “What can one supply that will replace a life? I diverted a large sum from my private account, and we began to get the shipyard set to rights. Then—everything happened at once. We had invested heavily—damned heavily!—in a most promising company trading with China. Norberly insisted on extensive investigation, and it still looked to be a regular mine of gold, so we bought controlling shares. It turned out that the stock had been sold many times over, but by the time we discovered that accursed fact, it was too late. We lost an enormous sum. Three days later, Samuel Davies, one of my most trusted officers at the bank, absconded with bonds and cash to the value of… of over a hundred thousand. We understood the fellow was ill, and by the time his accounts were checked…” He shrugged. “He was away clear, and I began to see ruin creeping up on me. But—damme! we still could have recouped, had not the rumour mills started! Before we knew it, we were faced with panic. A run on the bank—demands for funds we could not cover. Within one day we were… wiped out.”
Appalled by this litany of mismanagement, Gideon contrived to keep his voice calm. “You said you’d authorized large loans to some old friends. Could they not have helped, sir?”
“Oh, they could! Undeniably! But”—his mouth twisting into a sneer, Sir Mark said—“’twould seem they’d been called out of the country. Suddenly. On urgent business.”
“I see. And my lord Norberly? Sir Louis Derrydene? Your other investors and stockholders?”
“Many of ’em managed by one means or another to quietly withdraw their funds.”
“Good God! At the time of the run on the bank?”
“The day before.” Avoiding his son’s eyes, the baronet muttered, “I was down at the Point with—” He broke off, and looked down, reddening. “And unaware of it ’til ’twas much too late.”
“Of all the damnable tricks!”
