The Lion Lies Waiting Read online

  “I may take you up on that,” Duncan said, patting Robin’s arm.

  When they returned to the drawing room, Duncan sat as far from Baxbary as he could, putting the significant mass of Robin between them. Drake, the footman, had just begun to pour their coffee when there came from the hallway a queer sort of clunking sound. A ticking, clacking noise growing louder and louder.

  “This will be Lord Chase now, ma’am,” Drake said, standing upright with his gaze fixed on the furthest wall.

  The door opened and Mrs. Knight entered, followed by Lord Marley Chase. Rather than striding in, shouting and bellowing, as he had done with more or less every single room Duncan had ever seen him enter, he instead rolled in on the most extraordinary contraption he had ever seen. It was a chair padded in luxurious red velvet, fixed with wooden wheels at the sides and two smaller wheels front and back. Each one was inlaid with copper and controlled by the riveted, rattling assembly of cogs, gears, springs, and cams which formed the chattering backpack of the whole affair. A little stick on the chair’s armrest allowed Lord Chase to manoeuvre the thing as he wished.

  Duncan was so struck by the shining tapestry of copper and gold it took him a moment to fully register the current condition of its owner. Marley Chase, once the dashing, dynamic and feared leader of business and society—the fearsome Swan of Blackrabbit Council—was somewhat sunken and withered, the life draining out of him before their very eyes. His hair, formally a thick, black mane, was lighter and thinner than he had ever known it to be. It was wispy, even. Duncan could hardly believe the change in him.

  “Good, is it not?” Marley said of his chair, his voice raspy. “One of a kind. Made by a few clever chaps on the continent. Cost an arm and leg, mind. Still, worth it if it means I can get about.”

  “It’s marvellous,” Iris chirped.

  “Father. You look atrocious,” Eva said, trying and failing to disguise her shock.

  Mrs. Knight scowled and adjusted her bosom.

  “Eva. Welcome home. I see life on Merryapple has not changed you,” her father replied, followed by a frightful cough. “I had thought a more sedate way of life would have filed down those sharp edges a tad.”

  “If anything, I’d say it’s honed them,” Eva said, taking an emphatic sip of her drink.

  Lord Chase glanced in the direction of Duncan and his friends but made no effort to acknowledge them.

  “Baxbary, Ms. Bezzle, so pleased you could make it. I hope my daughter has made you welcome.”

  There followed a long, hacking, wheezing cough into a handkerchief. Duncan nudged Robin in the side with his elbow and leaned in.

  “See?” he whispered. “Now, he’s sick.”

  IT WAS LATE in the evening when Baxbary Mudge and Loveday Bezzle left the manor. Eva escorted her father’s guests to the door, if only to make sure they actually left. The snow was falling more heavily, and for a moment, she worried they might not get away. The idea of spending a night under the same roof as that man was almost too much for her to bear. Fortunately, the carriage driver was confident they would make it back to town before the worst of the weather. Eva allowed herself a brief flight of fantasy involving Baxbary, a snowdrift, and the long, slow process of him turning blue and freezing to death. When she returned to the drawing room, she found her father interrogating her friends.

  “I am told you are in shipping,” he wheezed to Robin.

  “Well, no, I’m a fisherman. Um, m’lord,” Robin replied, looking ill at ease under her father’s milky gaze.

  He huffed and turned to Edwin. “And you?”

  “I’m a baker, m’lord,” Edwin said proudly.

  “A baker! I am to have drinks with the help!”

  He coughed and pointed at Duncan.

  “And you, I know you. Were you not a carpenter or something manual like that? Hardly matters. I remember you from before. All that business with Baxbary’s father. Awful man. We were friends, of course, but still. Awful. Nothing was ever good enough for him. He put the boy through hardship after hardship, said it would toughen him up. All it did was twist him. Malcolm Mudge was the type to think suffering was the same as growing. He did not appreciate what he had in the boy. Could not see the potential. I could. Pity she had to ruin it.”

  “She didn’t ruin anything,” Eva said as she took her seat by the fire. “It’s not as if I’ve held him back, he’s doing quite well.”

  “Could be better. Could be much better.”

  Marley whirled about the room in his mechanized chair. The cogs rattled in their cage, though Eva was convinced it was the sound of her father’s bones under his skin.

  “Why did you come back? Come to spend Midwinter with your family, did you? How sentimental.”

  “I never intended to stay away,” Eva replied.

  Her father scoffed. “You ran away and hid. Ashamed of what you had done.”

  “I did nothing wrong,” Eva said, taking her wife’s hand.

  “You did nothing wrong?” he repeated. “Is that why you stayed away for over a year?”

  “I’ve been…busy, is all. I had a new life to build.”

  “Busy. Busy hiding, you mean.”

  “It’s not as if I had much choice. You made it abundantly clear you didn’t want me marrying Iris, or living here.”

  “Yet here you are! You want something, what is it?” he shouted.

  The exertion was too much for him, however, and he doubled over, coughing violently. Mrs. Knight entered with a nurse and together they tried to calm him before wheeling him out of the room. The butler Knight gave Eva a look fierce enough to melt iron.

  “I think that’ll do it for tonight. I apologise for my father’s behaviour, gentlemen.” Eva rose and stood by the doorway. “Please, I insist you stay for the night. The snow is coming down thick and fast, and the roads back into town will be blocked before long, if they aren’t already. Drake will show you to your rooms, do make yourselves at home.”

  Iris gave them a forced smile and followed Eva. “It was ever so good to see you all.”

  WHEN THEY WERE alone, the three men sat in silence. Robin caught Duncan’s eye, then guiltily stared at his own boots.

  “I’m really glad you convinced me to come here,” Duncan said, dryly. “It’s just been an absolute delight from start to finish.”

  Chapter Ten

  “THERE ARE WORSE places to spend the night,” Edwin said as he pulled off his boots.

  Robin was sitting on the edge of a large four-poster bed, slipping his linen trousers down over his chunky calves. He arched his head back to take in the full height of the bedroom ceiling.

  “It makes the Lion Lies Waitin’ look even worse in comparison,” he replied.

  The room was spacious and beautiful. The curtains heavy and patterned with swirling leaves, the carpet lush and soft underfoot, and the walls decorated in immaculate turquoise damask paper which shimmered in the flickering candlelight. Tasteful boughs of holly and mistletoe sat on the mantelpiece and a small fire crackled in the hearth.

  “I wonder how Duncan is,” Edwin asked as he folded his clothes and placed them neatly on the chair.

  “Angry, knowin’ ’im, but I’m sure ’e’ll be fine by mornin’.”

  They were disturbed by a gentle rapping on the bedroom door. Robin opened it to let Duncan in. His shirt was undone and he carried a bottle in his hands.

  “My ears were burning and I’m not ready to sleep yet. Fancy a drink?” he asked, shaking a large decanter of brandy.

  “Where did you get that?” Robin asked.

  “Downstairs,” Duncan replied.

  “Duncan…” Robin started.

  “Oh, give over, have you seen how many bottles they have down there? They’ll never miss it. Anyway, Eva told us to make ourselves at home, so that’s what I intend to do. Looks like I’m overdressed.”

  Both Edwin and Robin were in their undergarments. Edwin in knee-length linen drawers and Robin in just an undershirt that stopped at hi
s thighs. It would have been longer on any other man, but covering both his hefty belly and his burly legs was expecting too much of the garment. Duncan stripped off his own trousers and dropped them in a corner by the door. He then took a cushion from the chaise longue at the end of the bed and dropped it on the floor before plonking himself down onto it, resting his back against the ornate sofa. His squat, hairy legs stretched the fabric of his underwear.

  “Honestly, Edwin, how do you put up with him? Such bottomless virtue. Such unending goodness. It’s tiresome,” Duncan said. “Yoo shuddent be goin’ round steelin’ drink an’ that! Yoo’ll get us into trubble, yoo will!”

  “Still sounds nothin’ like me,” Robin said.

  Edwin laughed as he took some pillows from the large bed and placed them on the sumptuous mat in the centre of the room. He knew Robin’s joints would complain about having to sit on the floor, so he sought to make him as comfortable as possible. Edwin himself lay down with his back to the fireplace, resting on his side and propped up with one arm. He checked the heavy buttons of his fly to make sure it remained closed. He was a tad surprised by Duncan’s actions as he’d never seen this side of Duncan before, so relaxed in his company. He suspected the drinks over dinner had a lot to do with it.

  “Where are your shoes?” Robin asked.

  “I’m not wearing shoes in this place, it would be a waste of fine carpet! I didn’t know anything could be so soft,” Duncan replied, wiggling his plump little toes in the rug. “Anyway, you’re not wearing any either. Nor much of anything else, for that matter,” he said, comically craning his head as if to peek under Robin’s long shirt.

  Robin laughed as he tucked the garment between his bare legs and lowered himself carefully on to the cushions.

  “Difference is we’re not wanderin’ the ’alls of a fancy manor ’ouse!”

  “My room’s only next door!” Duncan said with a laugh.

  With the trio all in place, Duncan placed the tumblers he held between his stubby fingers into the middle of the round rug. He uncorked the container and began to pour.

  “To our gracious hosts,” Duncan said.

  The clinking of the glasses was louder than expected, and Robin checked to make sure he hadn’t cracked his before taking a sip.

  “I’m surprised you managed to reach the brandy shelf,” Robin teased. “I ’ope you remembered to put the ladder back.”

  “Now, Robin, I’m sure Duncan would never climb on good furniture. He probably asked a passing gnome to stretch up and get it for him,” Edwin said with a grin.

  “Now, now, I think you’ve both lost a little perspective here, boys. I may be slightly—slightly—shorter than the average man, but you two!” He paused to point at Edwin. “Your height is an unnecessary extravagance, as though simply being broad and well-built wasn’t quite enough—” He turned to point at Robin. “—but you are freakishly tall. I wouldn’t be surprised if sailors leave our island and tell their families tales of the Giant Fisherman of Merryapple, who scoops up entire shoals with one hand and beats whales to death with the other. I bet they sing songs about you or write stories to frighten unruly children. Go to sleep or the giant buffoon of Blashy Cove will eat you up! So the next time you feel like having a little dig at me over my height, remember the problem is you two, not me,” Duncan said.

  The other men laughed as they drained their glasses. Duncan leaned in to refill them.

  “’Ere, this is a bit of a change from the last time we were all stuck together overnight, back in the light’ouse,” Robin said.

  “I don’t mind so much this time,” Duncan said as he laughed softly.

  He settled back into his spot against the sofa and cleared his throat.

  “Edwin, ah, what I said earlier, at dinner, you know I didn’t mean it,” he said, sheepishly.

  Edwin gave him a friendly pat on his bare knee. “I know, you’re a tactless nightmare,” he teased, “but you’re our tactless nightmare. And you weren’t exactly wrong.”

  “I hate this time of year; it always put me on edge.”

  “Well, of course you do,” Robin said, “Other people enjoyin’ themselves? Not bein’ miserable? That won’t do.”

  “When I was a boy, I used to dread Midwinter,” Duncan said into his glass, as much as to his company. “The cold air would seep through the walls of the farmhouse, through my skin. My brothers and I would huddle together under blankets for warmth. My mother died giving birth to me and Father never forgave me for it. He drank more heavily than usual at this time of year. We daren’t complain or he’d take a strap of leather and beat us until we couldn’t cry anymore. At Midwinter, his melancholy took a tighter grip on his heart, and he on his belt.”

  Edwin realised where those welts on Duncan’s back had come from and a great swell of pity grew within him. Duncan drained his drink as Robin and Edwin watched, unsure what to say. They knew he’d had a difficult relationship with his father, but as was usual with Duncan, he’d kept the details to himself.

  “What were your Midwinters like when you were young?” Duncan asked Edwin.

  “Oh, the same as most children in the village. Mum and Dad would take us to the Moth & Moon on solstice night for the festivities. They’d end up arguing, of course, but it wouldn’t stop Ambrose and me from playing. Then when I got older, I started to drink heavily and, well, there aren’t a lot of solstices I can remember, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Most o’ the village remembers them for you,” Robin teased. “We remember you and your pals buildin’ snowmen at the end of the pier, and dressin’ them in your clothes. All o’ your clothes. We remember you all climbin’ into a potato sack and slidin’ down the icy roads straight through old Missus Bell’s front door!”

  Edwin cringed slightly as he listened to his drunken antics.

  “May’s grandmother!” he said, thinking of his apprentice. “It took me ages to pay off the damage. I barely remember it happening, but the others said it had all been my idea.”

  He wondered if May had heard the story. It happened long before she’d been born.

  “Look at us,” Robin laughed. “Sittin’ around in our smalls, drinkin’. At our age!”

  “You’re older than all of us and I’m still younger than him, don’t forget!” Duncan said, throwing his thumb in Edwin’s direction.

  “That’s as may be, but I see a few grey ’airs creepin’ into them mutton-chop whiskers o’ yours!” Robin said, stroking his own cheek where the hair would be if he chose to grow the same style of sideburn.

  “Not to mention your shoulders,” Edwin joked.

  Robin slapped his thigh as he chortled, the way he always did when he found something particularly funny. He clinked his glass against Edwin’s in celebration.

  “Oh, fine, team up on me. That’s perfectly fair. Here I am, all alone in the world, and my only two friends are picking on me.”

  He threw one arm across his forehead in a fit of mock melodrama.

  “We’re not your only friends,” Robin said.

  “Ham and Adam are nice fellows, but it’s not the same as with you two.”

  He was referring to Mr. Hamilton Bounsell, the local butcher in Blashy Cove, and Mr. Adam Wolfe, nephew of Lady Iris Wolfe-Chase. They were perhaps the only other people Duncan bothered with. His brusqueness was mostly a front, but it was a tremendously convincing one and more than enough to put people off him. Which was, Edwin always presumed, how Duncan wanted it.

  “I thought you preferred your own company,” Edwin said.

  “No one likes being alone all the time. And no, having a cat doesn’t count,” Duncan replied, staring into the amber liquid in his glass. “You think it’s easy for me to see you both so happy together? It isn’t. But I don’t begrudge you your happiness, I’m glad you have each other, I really am. I walked away from my own family on the farm when I was young, and I suppose I assumed I’d find another one somewhere along the way, but I never did. Sometimes, I think it would be nice if some
one held me, and kissed me, and told me it will all be fine. But they won’t, so I just have to get on with it.”

  Duncan forced a flat, unconvincing smile, before taking a drink.

  “Is there anyone you’ve got your eye on at the moment?” Robin asked, as delicately as he was able.

  “Not a one,” Duncan said.

  They continued in the same vein for a long time, talking of life, love and everything in between, getting through half the bottle and becoming louder in their revelry.

  “What were all that stuff earlier, about secrets?” Robin asked suddenly. His eyes were drooping and his cap sat askew on his bald head.

  “Hmm? Oh, you mean with Baxbary. He was just trying to bait me. We’ve all got secrets, though. Well, I mean, you don’t,” Duncan laughed, more than a little tipsy.

  “I’ve got secrets. Why wouldn’t I ’ave secrets?” Robin replied, apparently offended by the very notion there was no mystery about him.

  “Come on...” Duncan scoffed.

  “I do,” Robin said, oddly proudly.

  “Such as?” Duncan asked.

  “I bet you didn’t know George is a terrific kisser.”

  Edwin nearly spat out his brandy in shock.

  “Who? Wait. George Reed? Mr. Reed? As in, landlord of the Moth & Moon Mr. Reed?” Duncan said, incredulously.

  “The same.”

  “How do you know?” Duncan asked.

  “We’ve ’ad our fun together over the years. Not often, mind you, but every once in a blue moon I’d ’elp ’im clear up after closin’ and we’d ’ave a little kiss an’ a cuddle in a quiet corner of the Moth. Sometimes a little bit more, if ’e were in the mood.”

  “Did you know about this?” Duncan asked.

  Edwin chuckled and held up his hands. “I had no idea!”

  “’Ere, don’t be tellin’ no one. ’E’s very private, is George.”

  “I think I always just assumed there was a Mrs. Reed tucked away in the inn, working the kitchens or washing room or wherever. I’ve never even thought of Mr. Reed that way before.”