“A good day, my lord?”enquired his punctilious butler.
Today Miles had paid a visit to the solicitors’ office and commenced sorting through archives and investments pertaining to his brother’s and father’s time as earl. Perchance the grievance held was a past one, a withdrawn investment or land dispute, against the earldom and not personal to Miles. Thus far, naught of interest but he’d return on the morrow.
“No. Bloody awful. I need whisky, ham and a bath, Fairfax, if you would.”
“Very good, my lord. Mr Firth also called upon you while you were out. With a gift. I’ve placed it on your study desk.”
“Jeremy?”
“No, my lord.” Fairfax sniffed. “The younger Mr Firth on this occasion.”
Having never been on the receiving end of anything from Dair, Miles was indeed intrigued.
“I’ll take my whisky and ham in there then. And make it for two as Lynch will be along soon. He’s just taken the carriage to the mews.”
“Of course, my lord.”
The study sconces had been lit and with botanical illustrations upon the walls, aMyrtus communison the windowsill and rolled maps neatly stacked in the glass-fronted cabinet, it all appeared most homely and somehow…his.
A package was indeed upon his desk, twenty-inch square or thereabouts and wrapped in brown paper.
He lowered himself into his leather chair and hauled it towards him, the edge felt like a…
With a roll of eye, he tore off the paper and then propped the canvas against the candelabra.
Signed by The Witness, it portrayed a group of soldiers sat at leisure in a meadow, swigging liquor from green bottles, likely raided from the local tavern. Coin spilled over the ground as they laid wagers upon the fall of cards, while their captain – himself, of course – stood aside and stared to the distant hills where dark clouds gathered.
Miles hunted for a note…
Still too thin.
But received in lieu of Lord F’s debt.
The subject matter appealed.
D.
More than that, it was a magnificent study of the fleeting indulgences when on campaign, grasped voraciously before duty would call once more.
But…
With a frown, Miles peered closer.
One of the jug-bitten men had caught his eye: red-haired and dark-eyed, he stared from the canvas as though he loathed the world and all within it.
But he reminded Miles of someone.
Boots in the hallway and…
“Lynch!”
“Blimey, C’tain! Not got me coat off yet.”
“Have a look at this, will you?”
Lynch crossed to the back of Miles’ chair and peered over his shoulder.
“Yer too thin.” He slanted his head. “But pierce me guts and see the gin pour out, it’s good, innit?”
