Page 75 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

Louis shook his head, determined that Barnaby realise how much he appreciated him. “Non, mon ami. Everyone would not. In my experience, people who go out of their way to help others are uncommon. At least there are few who have ever helped me or been kind without expecting something in return. You are a good man, and a wonderful friend. I wish for you to know this.”

Barnaby blushed and mumbled something incomprehensible, which made Louis smile, but he was clearly pleased by the comment, so that was what mattered.

They sat in silence for a bit, with Barnaby smiling to himself. He turned back to Louis. “You help people, though, Louis. Helped me, didn’t you? And Miss Aggie, the little minx. Where would she be without you, eh? What goes around comes around, I reckon.”

Louis frowned. “That’s what worries me,” he murmured.

Barnaby chuckled, thinking he was joking, which he wasn’t. He was certain Gabriel Knight was the one asking questions in Paris, but until he’d left London, he still hadn’t shaken off the crawling sensation that he was being watched. Perhaps this business with Evie was truly making him lose his mind. He felt a little unhinged without her, adrift, as if they had taken his anchor away and he was all at sea. Perhaps paranoia was a part of it. Or perhaps ghosts were not as implausible as he’d always believed, and a dead man had tracked him down to make his life hell all over again. A shiver of fear and distaste rolled down his spine.

He looked up as Barnaby spoke again, relieved to be distracted from such disturbing thoughts. “You understand, though, Louis,” Barnaby said, his expression grave, “I can’t guarantee you’ll see her, or even hear news of her. I’ll try my best, but—”

“I understand,” Louis said, though the knowledge sat in his chest like a lead weight. “I do not expect miracles, and I would never hold you responsible if this is all for naught. I’d rather take this journey ten times over than be miles away from her in London, wondering if I’ve lost her for good. Do you think me ridiculous? I should not blame you.”

Barnaby shook his head. “No, I don’t think that. It’s romantic, ain’t it? To try everything. To grab at every chance for happiness. I’m no good with poetry or pretty words, as you well know, but it feels like doing something important. You and that young woman ought to be together, if I know anything. Perhaps she don’t see it yet, but I reckon she will. Blimey, half the world seems to be in love with you. Dashed fond of you myself. Surely she’ll fall too, in the end.”

Louis snorted and shook his head. “The world does not know me. Not really. They see only a pretty face and don’t bother with the rest. Even Evie doesn’t know me as she ought, not well enough to make such a momentous decision. If she did, she’d probably run a mile. Even so, she knows me better than most anyone, outside of two men I count as family, and you, now, Barnaby,” he added with a smile. “I rather hope she does not discover the rest before I can persuade her to marry me, and I know that is a wicked thing to say.”

“What would she discover that’s so dreadful?” Barnaby asked cautiously.

Louis lay his head back against the squabs with a sigh. “I sometimes feel I have lived a hundred lives. And each time I move on, I try to shed the old skin and all that went with it, but it does not work that way. We carry the past with us.” He turned back to Barnaby, holding his gaze. “You cannot imagine the life I have lived. I truly wish I could not either. I ask you, what kind of aristocrat has a tattoo like that across his back? Do you think it will horrify her?”

Barnaby shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Honestly, it’s rather beautiful, though I cannot imagine how or why you got it, but I reckon there was a good reason at the time and… and if she loves you, she won’t care about such things, past wanting to know why too, I imagine.”

“If she loves me,” Louis repeated, turning to stare out of the window but not really seeing the passing scenery. He nodded, his stomach twisting with anxiety. “If she loves me.”

Dearest Ozzie,

I’m so sorry not to be at the St Clair ball with you, though I am certain you will have a splendid time without me. You’ll have Kathy with you after all, though, do keep an eye on her. You promised to keep the toads away, remember, and don’t let her forget to ask Pip to dance with you. Don’t pretend you don’t want him to, either.

I am having a wonderful time here in Scotland for everyone has been so very kind and welcoming, but I do miss you all, and the season. It feels like being on the other side of the world, like I’ve stepped out of my own life for a time, and it is an odd sensation. Though it has given me time to think. The trouble is, the more I think, the more confused I get.

Why is life so complicated?

Tell me everything that happens at the ball, what everyone is wearing and all the scandal. Was Monsieur Le Comte there with all the ladies swooning about him? Has he a new mistress yet? Please, give me all the latest gossip.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Lady Rosamund Adolphus (daughter of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin).

Chapter 36

To Dare the Devil

18th June 1842, Wick, The Highlands, Scotland.

“I’m so sorry it’s been a waste of time. I did warn you,” Barnaby said, watching Louis as he stared out of the window at a day that had begun with fog and was now progressing through various stages of mizzle, drizzle, showers, and the occasional downpour. Thank God they were leaving tomorrow.

Louis glanced back at him and smiled. “So you did.”

The smile did not fool Barnaby. The poor devil was wretched, and who could blame him? They had made a few excursions to places it was likely Evie might visit during her stay here, but luck had not been with them. And now the weather, which had been unsettled the entire time but not so terribly dismal, must do this. Why his Great-Aunt Hester persisted in living here in this godforsaken place, especially when it must aggravate her rheumatism, was beyond him. But then she had been madly in love with her husband, Lord Balderston, if family history was to be believed. She had defied everyone to marry him, a rough about the edges Scottish lord with little to recommend him, according to Barnaby's mother. Hester had mourned the loss of him these past twenty years, rarely venturing far from the castle where they’d been so happy. The family had all tried to persuade her to return to London, but she was as stubborn as she’d always been and wouldn’t budge. The only good thing about being here was that Louis’ presence seemed to have brightened the wicked creature up considerably.

“Ah, there you are,” said the lady herself, appearing in the doorway. “Moping still, are you?”

“My lady,” Louis said, giving the old woman a polite bow.

“Morning, Aunt Hester,” Barnaby said, moving closer to give her a dutiful kiss on the cheek.

“Hmph.” She tapped her walking stick on the stone floor. “This won’t do. I can’t have you two underfoot like sulky boys the entire day. Not with him looking like some brooding poet.” She waved an arthritic hand at Louis. “Far too distracting. I’ve called the carriage.”

“Whatever for?” Barnaby demanded, eyeing the deluge outside the castle walls with consternation.