Sir Hubert laughed triumphantly. Curtis felt sweat spring in anticipation at the sound. “Quite right, my love. One set of photographs that will send the pair of you to gaol. Two years’ hard labour for gross indecency. Let me see. We’ve made a set for Vaizey, of course, so he can see what his agent and his nephew get up to, and another for Henry. Poor chap, he will be disappointed in you. Another set for the police. A fourth for the papers, in case you think your money can keep this quiet. And a last set for us. Let’s call it insurance. All of them sent to—a certain address, with instructions to forward them on unless I order otherwise by this afternoon.”
“You’ll be ruined,” James said, voice thick with vindictive triumph.
Curtis shut his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Daniel. He didn’t want to look at anyone, ever again.
Sir Hubert was still talking. “Everything else has been burned by now. The cameras have been dismantled. There’s no proof to be found at all.”
“That’s not quite right, is it?” Daniel called. “How exactly will you explain your possession of those photographs? If you use them, you prove our case.”
“And there’s my word and da Silva’s,” Curtis managed. His voice was treacherously hoarse. “How much investigation do you think you’ll bear?”
“There won’t be an investigation.” Sir Hubert spoke with certainty. “Because you’re going to deny everything. You’ll tell Vaizey that it’s all lies, a foolish game, some grudge of da Silva’s. Whatever you have to in order to clear my name. Because if anyone should look into my affairs—well, the first thing they’ll see is your affair. If you attack me, I’ll ruin you. Do you understand?”
Curtis understood very well. His shoulders were heaving with the effort to breathe.
“I don’t give a damn,” he managed. “Go to the devil, you swine. I’ll tell them everything and watch you swing from the gaolyard if I have to.”
“For what?” Sir Hubert laughed, a fat, rich sort of noise that made Curtis’s fists clench. “Jacobsdal? You can’t prove a thing, any more than Lafayette could.”
“Holt admitted it. He admitted it all.”
“And will he admit that in front of a court?”
“He’s in no position to,” Daniel called out.
Curtis looked at him in shock. James Armstrong swore. “Where is he?” he roared. “What did you do with him?”
“He’s with those men of Lafayette’s. Where else?”
James bellowed an oath, and then Daniel and Curtis both hit the floor, covering their faces, as a window between them exploded in a shower of glass. The echoes of the shot rang in Curtis’s ears, along with Sir Hubert’s furious rebuke.
“Tetchy,” called Daniel.
“What are you doing?” Curtis hissed. Daniel waved a hand, urging silence.
“You killed Holt,” Sir Hubert said. “Was that you, Curtis? A fellow Blue?”
“A prick,” said Daniel.
“He made you scream, you bloody dago,” James roared.
Daniel grinned like a fox. “Pricks often do.”
This time it was a fusillade, as James emptied his repeating rifle into the windows of the folly, yelling inarticulate rage. Curtis, flat on the floor, wrapped his arms over his head and screwed up his eyes to keep flying glass from his face, hoping Daniel was doing the same.
The echoes of gunfire died away, along with the tinkle of broken glass from shattered windows. Once the ringing in Curtis’s ears had subsided, he could hear a low-voiced, angry exchange outside.
“What are you doing?” he demanded of Daniel, who was uncurling from a defensive ball on the floor. “What now? We can’t let them get away with this. What the hell do we do?”
“How good a shot are you?” demanded Daniel, nodding at his hand.
“Good.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What—?”
Daniel sat up, back to the wall, and shouted, “Hoi!” The voices outside fell silent.
“What d’you want?” called Sir Hubert.
“A sensible conversation. This interlude has been delightful and we’ve all enjoyed it, but we have some two hours at most before my colleagues arrive in force, and maybe less.” That caused a murmur. Sir Hubert began to respond and Daniel interrupted impatiently, “I’m not bluffing, you fat fool. I’ve nothing to bluff with. I don’t want to go to prison. I don’t want Curtis to go to prison. So we need to establish— Oh, the devil with this. I’m coming out.”
“What?” said almost everyone present.
“I am coming out, of the door, in about thirty seconds. Use that time to reflect on what will happen if Vaizey arrives to discover my bullet-riddled corpse. If you kill me, you will swing for murder, no matter what else you have or haven’t done. Got it?”
“Holt—” James began angrily.
“Holt’s dead. You aren’t. If we speak like sensible men, we may all come out of this with whole skins.”
“Daniel,” hissed Curtis as the other man began to pick his way over the shattered glass to the stairs. “What are you doing?”
Daniel paused and looked round at him. “I need you to trust me. In the name of—last night, my dear Viking. If you could dissuade anyone who tries to kill me, that would be marvellous too. But, Archie, I beg you, trust me now. And if this doesn’t work—” He gave a quick, twisted smile, and Curtis saw the fear that it concealed. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“No. Stop.” Curtis reached out, but there was no way he could scramble forward over the broken glass fast enough to reach him. Daniel shook his head and hurried down the stairs. “Daniel!”