Page 30 of To Break the Rules

Still the 7th July 1814. Cavendish House, The Strand, London

Silas sat, lost in thought about the events of the afternoon as Fred made a production of pulling off his boots, and keeping up a litany of indignant remarks as he went.

It appeared the man was offended that Silas had attended the garden party looking less than perfect. Silas rolled his eyes, unable to concentrate in the face of his valet’s petulance.

“What will people think? That’s what I’d like to know,” Fred grumbled. “I’ll tell you,” he carried on, apparently not needing an answer. “They’ll think it’s my fault you went out looking like you’d spend the night in a ditch, that’s what they’ll think.”

With a sigh, Silas endured, whilst snatches of Fred’s dark mutterings reached his ears including, “my reputation in tatters,” and “never hold my head up again.”

“Have you quite finished?” Silas asked, deadpan, as Fred bent to retrieve the shirt he’d just thrown to the floor.

“Quite, my lord,” Fred replied with a sniff.

“Thank God.” Silas gave him a stern look. “Now, then. You told me once you knew all the skeletons in the Cavendish cupboard. Was that true?”

All at once Fred looked wary and he straightened, narrowing his eyes at Silas. “True enough,” he said, very much on his guard. “Why?”

Silas stared back at him, considering. “Did you never think to blackmail my father, or sell his secrets for a price? God knows the man did nothing to endear himself to you. I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”

The look of offended pride in Fred’s eyes told Silas everything he wanted to know.

“My lord!” he exclaimed, such reproach in the words that Silas felt a stab of guilt for having asked at all. “If you are dissatisfied with my work, you need only have said so—”

“Oh, come down off your high horse,” Silas said, shaking his head. “I ought not to have doubted you, and I apologise for asking. It was for good reason, though.”

Fred stilled, bewildered. “My lord?”

“I need to know if I can trust you, Fred.” Silas said, gentler now. “I’d like to, but I need to know if you’ll take my secrets to your grave or if I ought to be circumspect.”

He watched as Fred squared his shoulders, standing a little taller. “Anything you tell me goes no further. I swear it on my mother’s grave, God bless her. You can rely on me.”

There was sincerity in the man’s eyes, and Silas did not doubt his honour. He’d met men who purported to be gentlemen, whose word wasn’t worth a farthing, and he’d known villains who would die rather than break theirs. Honour was something he held dear, and he recognised it in another. Fred had it.

“Thank you, Fred.” Silas let out a breath of relief and uncurled his hand, staring down at the little silver object. “Now, then. What do you make of this?”

Fred moved towards him and studied the piece. “A trident?” he said, a little unsure.

Silas nodded. “It is, but… it’s different from anything I’ve seen before.’

“True.” Fred pursed his lips, thoughtful. “Anything to do with Neptune?”

“I wondered that,” Silas said, “but nothing obvious.”

Both men stared at it thoughtfully.

“You know, I have seen it before somewhere,” Fred mused, his eyebrows drawing together. “I just… I can’t remember.”

“Think on it, will you? See what you can dig up.”

“Of course,” Fred replied as Silas slipped the object back into his pocket. “May I ask why, my lord?”

Silas regarded the man in silence. “I need you to be very discreet, Fred, and not for my sake.”

Fred rolled his eyes, looking as though everything had just become clear to him. “I knew it. It’s a woman.”

Silas glowered a little but didn’t bother objecting; it was true, after all. Fred laughed and carried on with his work, collecting the dirty linen.

“I suppose it’s the woman you got your hair cut for. The one who was too beautiful for your sanity?”