A Suitable Vengeance

As if the answer didn’t really matter to him, Cotter returned to the bathroom where, St. James knew, he would test the heat of the water pouring into the tub. This was a completely unnecessary civility, an act giving credence to the manner in which Cotter had asked his question in the first place. He was playing the servant-and-master game, his words and actions implying a disinterest which he didn’t feel.

St. James sugared his tea heavily and swallowed several mouthfuls. He leaned back against the pillows, waiting for the medicine to take effect.

Cotter reappeared at the bathroom door.

“Yes. I saw her.”

“A bit different, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s to be expected. She’s been gone a long time.” St. James added more tea to his cup. He forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. The determination written across Cotter’s face told him that if he said anything more, he would be extending a blanket invitation to the sort of revelations he would rather not hear.

But Cotter didn’t move from the doorway. It was a conversational impasse. St. James surrendered. “What is it?”

“Lord Asherton and Deb.” Cotter smoothed back his sparse hair. “I knew that Deb would give ’erself to a man one day, Mr. St. James. I’m no fool about the ways of the world. But knowing ’ow she always felt about…well, I suppose I’d thought that…” Cotter’s confidence seemed to dwindle momentarily. He picked at a speck of lint on his sleeve. “I’m that worried about ’er. What’s a man like Lord Asherton want with Deb?”

To marry her, of course. The response came like a reflex, but St. James didn’t voice it even though he knew that doing so would give Cotter the peace of mind he sought. Instead, he found himself wanting to voice warnings of Lynley’s char acter. How amusing it would be to limn his old friend as a Dorian Gray. The desire disgusted him. He settled on saying, “It’s probably not what you think.”

Cotter ran his finger down the doorjamb as if testing for dust. He nodded, but his face remained unconvinced.

St. James reached for his crutches and swung himself to his feet. He headed across the room, hoping Cotter would see this activity as a conclusion to their discussion. But his design was foiled.

“Deb’s got ’erself a flat in Paddington. Did she tell you that? Lord Asherton’s keeping the girl like she was some tart.”

“Surely not,” St. James replied and belted on the dressing gown that Cotter handed him.

“What money’s she got, then?” Cotter demanded. “How else is it paid for, if not by ’im?”

St. James made his way to the bathroom where the rush of water told him that Cotter—in his agitation—had forgotten that the tub was rapidly filling. He turned off the taps and sought a way to put the discussion to an end.

“Then you must talk to her, Cotter, if that’s what you think. Set your mind at rest.”

“What I think? It’s what you think as well and there’s no denying it. I c’n see it plain as plain on your face.” Cotter warmed to his topic. “I tried talking with the girl. But that was no good. She was off with ’im last night before I’d the chance. And off again this morning as well.”

“Already? With Tommy?”

“No. Alone this time. To Paddington.”

“Go to see her, then. Talk to her. She might welcome the chance to have some time alone with you.”

Cotter moved past him and began setting out his shaving equipment with unnecessary care. St. James watched warily, his intuition telling him the worst was on its way.

“A solid, good talk. Just what I’m thinking. But it’s not for me to talk to the girl. A dad’s too close. You know what I mean.”

He did indeed. “You can’t possibly be suggesting—”

“Deb’s fond of you. That’s always been the case.” Cotter’s face spoke the challenge beneath the words. He was not a man to avoid emotional blackmail if it took him in the direction which he believed that he—and St. James—ought to be travelling. “If you’d caution the girl. That’s all I’d ask.”

Caution her? How would it run? Don’t have anything to do with Tommy, Deborah. If you do, God knows you may end up his wife. It was beyond consideration.

“Just a word,” Cotter said. “She trusts you. As do I.”

St. James fought back a sigh of resignation. Damn Cotter’s unquestioning loyalty throughout the years of his illness. Blast the fact that he owed him so very much. There is always a day of accounting.

“Very well,” St. James said. “Perhaps I can manage some time today if you have her address.”

“I do,” Cotter said. “And you’ll see. Deb’ll be glad of what you say.”

Right, St. James thought sardonically.