Ben met his eyes for a few angry, bewildered seconds, and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know,” he said, voice muffled. “I don’t know what’s right any more.”
“I’m sure you don’t. You poor swine.” The sympathy in Day’s voice was worse than hate. “Really, is there not another man in all England you could have loved?”
“I don’t think so. There was never anyone else. And he made me laugh.”
Day was silent for a moment. At last he said, “Look, Spenser, you have to give him up. You know that. I can make you do it.” Ben looked up at that, sharply. Day reached out a hand, but didn’t touch him. “I can fluence you—influence your mind, your thoughts. You’ll tell me anything I want, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. It would not be your choice.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was far, far worse than a threat. It was a kindness.
“No,” Ben said.
“I need Pastern, one way or the other. Justice requires it. Or, at least, the justiciary do.”
“Yes.” Ben took a deep breath. “Queen Mary’s Gardens, in Regent’s Park. He’ll be there at four.”
Day nodded. “Thank you. You’ve done the right thing.” He hopped off the table. “We’ll keep you here till then. I’ll organise some food. Try not to think about it now. Things will get better from here, believe me.”
Chapter Five
Ben spent the next few hours in a small bare room. It wasn’t exactly a cell. The door was definitely closed on him, but there was a comfortable chair, books and periodicals, and he was brought a jug of ale and a huge plateful of steaming steak and kidney pudding. He devoured it, the richness of the greasy meat making him almost giddy. It should have been ashes in his mouth, after his betrayal, but in fact it was the best meal he’d had in months.
He’d given Jonah up. They would arrest him, hobble him, gaol him, and Ben would walk away a free man, with his revenge. He’d be a damned fool to do otherwise. Jonah hadn’t hesitated to save his skin at Ben’s expense, to twist and lie and manipulate him.
The picture, and that wild rooftop escape, throbbed in his mind. Jonah hadn’t abandoned him altogether. Jonah still cared for him, somehow.
But their charmed existence had been a fantasy, based on lies. Jonah had said it was just them, just two ordinary men loving each other, but that hadn’t been true. They had been a copper and a thief, a liar and a dupe, and their idyllic few months had only been possible because of Jonah’s deceit and Ben’s wilful blindness.
Now one of them had to pay for what happened. One of them had to go to gaol. And there was no doubt at all that it was Jonah’s turn.
Last October
Nobody blamed Ben for his failure to apprehend the burglar.
“You couldn’t be expected to cope with that,” Miss Nodder told them the next morning. She was talking to Ben, Constable Marshall, and the other two policemen who’d witnessed Jonah’s flight. “You weren’t expecting it. Our responsibility. We try not to tell people too much of what they might encounter in case they panic, and then if they do encounter it, they’re shocked. It can’t be helped. You’ll know next time.”
“What is he?” Ben managed to ask. His voice didn’t sound at all out of the ordinary, he thought, considering his exhaustion. He had sat up at home the whole night, waiting. Jonah hadn’t come back. “How did he do that?”
“He’s what we call a windwalker,” Miss Nodder said. “He can make the air bear him. That means he’s a blasted nuisance to get hold of. And he has other skills too.” She looked from Ben to the other men. “I believe I need to tell you about practitioners.”
Jonah didn’t come back to the cottage that night either. Ben sat up again, in the winged chair where he had so often read to Jonah, Our Mutual Friend abandoned on the table. He meant to wait all night, though he didn’t expect a visit, and if he received one, he didn’t know what he would do.
Jonah, his Jonah, was a magician. That was what “practitioner” meant, someone with unnatural powers. The ability to walk on air, or exert force on objects, or change a man’s thoughts.
Had he changed Ben’s thoughts? Ben had loved him so hard, so fast, falling into his arms and his life as though Jonah had been the missing piece of his existence. Had Jonah made him believe that? Was it all a lie? Nothing else about him had been true.
He had certainly pumped Ben for information. All those artless questions about work, about the robberies, and the investigation…
If he’d come back in time that night before the burglary, Ben would have told him about the trap laid at the Tring Museum, and Jonah wouldn’t have gone, and Ben might never have known that his lover was a traitor, and a magician, and a thief. He would have had lying, duplicitous Jonah in his bed now, and never known the truth.