Felix hastened to explain. “That is, I asked you before if I might draw any further upon my trust this quarter—and you’ve assured me it is impossible. So I must seek out an alternative solution.”
Mr Grigsby’s brows flew still further toward his receded hairline.
Felix smiled in a wan imitation of his once-effortless charm. “Flora wishes to help me, but her power over her fortune is limited until she attains her majority—or until she and I wed, at which point all that is mine is hers, and all that is hers is mine.”
Mr Grigsby stared at him.
“And I’d very much like to have the money as soon as possible,” Felix babbled on. “So it’s necessary that we marry as soon as possible, rather than waiting until I finish university and attain my majority.”
A resounding silence crashed down upon them all in the wake of Felix’s proclamation.
“How strange,” said Mr Grigsby at last. “I’ve heard nothing from Miss Fairfield regarding the matter.”
Felix frowned. “She came to ask you about it in person.”
“Is that what she told you?” asked Mr Grigsby.
“It’s what I told—” Felix cut himself off. Whether because he’d finally realized he’d said too much, or due to the pallor that had descended upon Mr Grigsby’s visage, Wren couldn’t say.
Yet Mr Grigsby’s voice remained low and calm as ever. “What is the extent of your financial difficulty?”
Felix, through much circumlocution, admitted to a variety of debts—debts of honour to friends, debts of business to tailors and tavern-keepers and stable-masters, and debts of debts to money-lenders.
Mr Grigsby listened to the whole with far more patience than Wren thought Felix deserved. Even as Wren tallied up the rapidly-accumulating sum in his head and realized the whole would wipe out Miss Flora’s fortune entirely, and knew Mr Grigsby must realize the same, still Mr Grigsby said nothing, nor let any hint of the creeping horror show in his sober face.
After many minutes, Felix concluded his evasive accounting.
Mr Grigsby let the ensuing silence stretch on for another moment before he spoke. “Is that all, Mr Knoll?”
Felix swallowed hard. “That’s all, sir.”
Mr Grigsby levelled a severe look upon the boy, and his voice at last took on the slightest timbre of emotion—rage. “Under the circumstances you’ve outlined, I will by no means apply for a special licence on your behalf. As Miss Fairfield’s legal guardian, I have every intention of withdrawing my consent to the match unless you settle your outstanding accounts and show how you will treat her with the respect that she—or indeed any living creature, but particularly she—deserves.”
Wren wondered if he ought to dash out and fetch a physician. Mr Grigsby looked on the verge of becoming apoplectic in the literal as well as the figurative sense.
Despite the quiet and solemn tone, Felix appeared at last to understand how far he’d erred. “Sir, I—”
Mr Grigsby’s well of patience had run dry. “If you require assistance in settling these debts, I offer you this advice: cut off whatever friends have led you down this path. Withdraw from university and begin employment without delay. Sell off whatever goods you own—I daresay you can get on without most of it, much more than you realize—and return whatever goods you don’t. Quit the rooms you now occupy and apply to your uncle for assistance. His fondness for you is without peer and he will no doubt shelter you.”
Nothing in this plan seemed to appeal to Felix. “But Mr Grigsby—”
“Until you follow my advice,” Mr Grigsby spoke over him, “I have nothing further to offer you. Good day, Mr Knoll.”
Felix stood staring at Mr Grigsby. Then, unaccountably, he turned to Wren.
Wren maintained his stone-faced silence.
Felix looked to Mr Grigsby again. Seeing no change in the old gentleman’s aspect, he scoffed, snatched up his hat, turned on his heel, and strode out of the office.
Wren shut the door behind him.
Mr Grigsby sat looking at the closed door for a long while. Then he slumped over his desk with his face in his hands for many minutes more. He remained there long enough for Wren to brew a pot of tea. Only when Wren poured a cup and set it by his elbow did Mr Grigsby rise again. While no one would have ever mistaken Mr Grigsby for a youthful man, he’d never looked quite so old to Wren as he did in that moment.
For years, Wren had awaited the day when Mr Grigsby would see Felix for what he truly was—as Wren had seen him all along. But now that the hour had arrived, Wren wished he could drape the veil over Mr Grigsby’s eyes again, if only to spare the poor gentleman the immense turmoil he now suffered.
Mr Grigsby spent another half-minute or so in silent regard of the teacup before he picked it up. After a small sip, he set it down again and resumed his far-off look. Without meeting Wren’s eye, he spoke.
“When his parents passed on and left the boy to my guardianship,” Mr Grigsby said in a dull tone unrecognizable as his ebullient self, “I resolved to do my best by him. He was so very young, and quite alone in the world, save for his uncle. As his uncle has become something like a father to him, I suppose that I have, after a fashion, become the mother. And in doing so I fear I’ve indulged him far too much.” Mr Grigsby paused. His fingertips trembled upon the teacup handle. “I’ve failed him.”
