Neil Gerard felt the familiar fury mingling with the humiliation of his helplessness. This man had him. He held in the palm of one massive filthy hand the captain's reputation, his social standing, possibly even his life – a firing squad was the penalty for cowardice in the face of the enemy.
"That Major Gilbraith, now, 'e was a good sort," Jud mused. "A brave man… everyone says as 'ow 'e was one o' the best officers they 'ad in the Peninsula. Even old Nosey thought so."
The Duke of Wellington, so familiarly referred to, had indeed thought highly of Sylvester Gilbraith. It was that opinion that had saved the major from the conviction for cowardice that as easily as acquittal could have resulted from the hazy facts. But the duke had insisted that his old favorite be given the benefit of the doubt.
And that left Neil Gerard with an insoluble problem that would stay with him for as long as both Sylvester Gilbraith and Jud O'Flannery existed together on earth.
But Jud didn't know that his old captain's problem had suddenly worsened. Sylvester was now the Earl of Stoneridge, about to make an excellent marriage. He would be bound to reenter Society. The old story would be resurrected, there would be whispers – but Society forgave quickly, particularly when it was only a rumor and the subject had such impeccable entrees to the secluded world of privilege inhabited by the ton.
Reopening the story was the last thing Captain Gerard wanted. People would ask questions, maybe increasingly searching questions, and what if Sylvester began to probe? What if his own memory of those moments before the bayonet thrust began to clear? What if he decided to defend himself vigorously in the clubs of St. James's? Defense of Sylvester Gilbraith would inevitably lead to fingers pointing at Neil Gerard, who should have come up in support of the beleaguered outpost… and unaccountably failed to do so.
Neil reached into his pocket and dropped another guinea on the counter. He stared at his nemesis with loathing, and Jud laughed, sweeping the coins into the palm of one hand.
Sergeant O'Flannery had witnessed the moment when his captain decided to abandon Major Gilbraith's small force to the enemy. Sergeant O'Flannery had received the order to withdraw the men, while his captain had galloped back behind the safety of the picket line.
Only Sergeant O'Flannery had known what lay behind the order to withdraw, and Sergeant O'Flannery's grasp grew ever greedier and tighter.
Neil glanced around the taproom, peering through the stinging smoke beneath the blackened beams. Among the drinkers there would be a man who would rid him of Sylvester Gilbraith, for a price. But if word got back to Jud of such a scheme to rob him of his golden goose, then Captain Gerard's own life wouldn't be worth a day's purchase. Jud O'Flannery was the unquestioned king of London's underworld; there wasn't a purse fat enough to tempt a thief or a murderer to cross swords with him. And he had his spies in every malodorous hole in the city.
He swung on his heel and strode out of the fetid room without another word. The sergeant spat contemptuously in the sawdust at his feet as the elegant figure stepped out into the street.
Gerard climbed back into the waiting hackney. The removal of the now Earl of Stoneridge would mean he'd never again have to make these mortifying visits to Spitalfields – visits that Jud insisted he make in person. So Gerard had to crawl into that den of thieves to pay his blackmail, and that humiliation seemed to afford the vile Sergeant O'Flannery even greater satisfaction than the money itself.
There were flash houses other than Jud's tavern where a man could find a hired assassin. Not one who'd be willing to take on Jud O'Flannery, of course, but one who'd see no harm in doing away with some unknown gentleman. One who'd ask no questions if the price was right.
Neil frowned in the dim light of the hackney, hanging on to the strap as the iron-wheeled vehicle rattled over the cobbles, swerving to avoid a mangy mongrel. If he could get rid of Stoneridge while he was still in the country… an accident of some kind… then all his troubles would be over. There was no reason why he'd have to identify himself to a potential murderer, and if he chose his man from a neighborhood away from Jud's immediate vicinity, it was unlikely Jud would hear of it. It was a risk worth taking.
But if that failed, if Sylvester did reenter Society, what then? They'd been friends before Vimiera. True, he'd been the first to ostracize Gilbraith. Everyone had been watching to see what attitude he would take, and he'd known they would follow his lead. Once he'd cut Gilbraith, it was assumed he'd known the truth but had been unwilling for the sake of old friendship to tell a tale that would condemn the major. Society had turned its shoulder against Sylvester Gilbraith, and he'd slipped out of sight, taking his shame with him. It would take a lot to bring him back to face that mortification again.
Society didn't know of Jud O'Flannery, who had been required, as the only noncommissioned officer present at the events in question, to attend the court-martial. Jud had threatened to produce his own version of those events if his captain condemned Gilbraith out of hand. And the sergeant had thus ensured for himself a tidy little income that he could increase at will.
But supposing, if Sylvester did return to London, Gerard was the first to welcome him back into Society's fold? Supposing he extended the hand of friendship, generously prepared to put suspicion behind him? Society would surely follow his lead, and the old scandal would die. Sylvester would be a fool to reopen it.
But Sylvester was a fiercely proud man, capable of acts of desperate courage if his loyalties or principles were involved. If he believed there was reason to clear his name, he'd do it at whatever personal cost. He'd certainly face Society's censure to prove his point.
No, the best plan was to arrange by proxy a neat accident in Dorset. Somewhere in this grim world of murder and thievery, he'd be able to go incognito and recruit a man willing and able to arrange such an accident.
The thoughts and plans of a desperate man swirled in the captain's head as the hackney bore him back through the mean streets of London's East End to the broad, elegant thoroughfares of the few square miles occupied by his own kind.
While his erstwhile friend was thus occupied, Sylvester Gilbraith was coming to the end of an awkward dinner in the company of his betrothed and her family. Theo's silence cast a pall over any attempt at conversation. If it had been a sullen silence, it would have been easier to ignore, but her preoccupation was so clearly painful that all conversational sallies sounded irrelevant and trivial.
Finally, Sylvester could endure it no longer. He tossed his napkin onto the table and rose to his feet. "Forgive me, Lady Belmont, but I'm afraid we're all going to suffer from indigestion if Theo doesn't unburden herself soon." He strode round the table to where Theo sat, staring at a strawberry on her plate as if she'd never seen such a thing before.
"Come along, cousin." He pulled back her chair. "Let's get this over with."
"Get what over with?" She looked up at him over her shoulder, startled out of her absorption.
"I'm hoping you're going to tell me," he said dryly, taking her elbow and drawing her to her feet. "Excuse us, ma'am."
"Certainly," Elinor said with relief.
A footman jumped to open the door for them, and Sylvester hustled Theo out into the hall.
"Now, shall we have this discussion in the library, or would you prefer to go for a walk?"
"There's nothing to discuss." The words tumbled free. "I can't marry you, Stoneridge, that's all."
"It seems to me we have a great deal to discuss," he said coolly. "Or do you consider it sufficient simply to make such a statement out of the blue? A woman's prerogative to change her mind… is that it?"