“We asked very nicely,” said Fen, tipping her gun.
“Did they burn anything at all?” Daniel called from the storeroom.
“No, they’d only just started to set the fire. It’s all there. Well, almost. Fen, dear?”
Fen turned away and tugged something out of her bodice. She came over and handed an envelope to Curtis.
“You should have these,” she said. “We’d have burned them if they’d got the fire lit.”
Curtis pulled out the contents and glanced down at the top photograph—himself, Daniel; he flinched away from the explicitness of it. He turned the sheaf over hastily, not knowing what to say to Fen.
She gazed up at him, serious for a second, and then quite suddenly stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“You don’t need to worry about us, Archie. I know it’s harder for you, of course, but—well, it’s surprising what one can get away with, in society, you know. People notice far less than one might fear. We’ve found it so, haven’t we, Pat?”
Pat rolled her eyes and gave Fen a look of fond exasperation. Curtis looked from one woman to the other. Realisation dawned.
Fen twinkled roguishly and leaned in to whisper, “And I do admire your taste. I’ve always said, Mr. da Silva is terribly handsome.”
“Fenella Carruth!” said Pat. “Leave that poor man alone.”
“Archie, are you holding what I think you are?” demanded Daniel from the storeroom door.
“Thank the ladies.” Curtis gave a helpless shrug.
Daniel looked at him for a second, then fell dramatically to his knees, arms wide. “Miss Merton, Miss Carruth. Both or either. Marry me.”
“What an appalling offer,” said Pat, as Fen went off into peals of laughter. “And get up, you absurd creature, that’s motorcars I hear on the drive.”
Curtis fastened his suitcase. He had packed it himself; the house was in chaos, and in any case, he did not want any servants to see his bloodstained clothes, let alone those dreadful photographs. They were safely stowed at the bottom of his Gladstone bag, ready to be burned when he had a chance. He didn’t intend to lose sight of the bag till then.
He had propped a painting over the mirror and the hole in the wall. He wondered if he would ever trust a mirror again.
Eight of Vaizey’s men had arrived, all armed, along with his formidable uncle, and had swept Daniel up in a burst of activity from which everyone else was firmly excluded. The bodies of the Armstrongs had been retrieved, along with March. He and Wesley were maintaining a sullen silence, and had not tried mounting counter-accusations against Curtis and Daniel. They both fell back on doing what the master said and knowing nowt.
The Graylings had departed in a shocked and bewildered hurry. Lambdon would require medical attention for a fractured skull. It seemed that Fen had passed his wife a couple of telling pictures, whereupon the drab Mrs. Lambdon had brained her husband with a table lamp.
There was a quiet knock on the door. Curtis hadn’t heard anyone come along the passage, and his heart leapt at the realisation.
“Come in.”
Silent as ever, Daniel slipped in and closed the door. He had washed, shaved and changed, Curtis realised. He looked presentable, and exhausted, and beautiful.
“You found your case, then?”
“Yes, they had my things in the service corridor. Thank goodness. An entire new wardrobe would be an unwelcome expense.” Daniel gave him a glancing look that slipped away almost at once.
“Daniel…”
“You should be safe.” Daniel spoke hurriedly. “Any accusations will seem obvious spite, but in any case I don’t think anyone’s going to admit they know anything more than they have to. The responsibility is going on the dead, where it belongs. Keep your head and you’ll keep everything.” He hesitated a fraction. “I’m glad. You’ve your life back.”
“If I do, it’s thanks to you. You saved me, Daniel.”
“I’m quite sure that was the other way around.”
“Then we saved each other. Do you have time now?”
“Ten minutes, if that.” Daniel gave a little, miserable smile. “Long enough to say goodbye.”
Curtis brushed a thumb gently over his lips, and frowned as Daniel turned his face away. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“You will. Back in London, in your world. You know it’s true. I’d rather part friends now than have you embarrassed to be seen with me, or looking for ways to tell me it’s done with. I’d rather end it now. While I can.”
“What? No. You promised. You had my promise—two weeks and all that—and I’ve yours. I’m damned if I’ll let you go back on that.”
Daniel sagged against the wall. “I wish you’d listen. This is not going to work.”
“That’s what you said this morning about the photographs.”
“Yes, and how many miracles do you think we’re entitled to?”