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“Look for yourself!”
Marcus tried to stand, but the action made the pain in his temples throb. Slowly, with one hand on his temple, he walked toward the nearest mirror to greet his own reflection. When he caught sight of it, he realised with worry just how right Walter was. He did look ill, with heavy shadows under his eyes, a wan and pale complexion, and with stubble growing across his chin, for he had given the valet so little time in order to assist him in shaving.
“All right, I admit it,” he said, sighing and turning in the room to face Walter. “I look a mess.”
“I am glad you can admit it,” Walter said, returning to his seat. “So, we are in agreement. It is best you take a break for a couple of weeks.”
“Can I really leave things here so openly?” Marcus asked, still consumed with worry.
“Marcus, you have done so much for our business ventures of late that I fail to see how there could be any loose ends. It should all just tick over for a while anyway.” Walter’s words made Marcus frown at his brother. Walter did know so much more about these things than he did, but the idea that anything could just ‘tick over’ whilst Marcus was gone seemed rather foreign to him.
“You are certain?” Marcus asked, wringing his hands together nervously.
“Yes,” Walter said, emphasising the syllable so that the ‘s’ sound hissed into the room. “Trust me. The steward and I will keep an eye on things. Otherwise, you can enjoy yourself. Relax for a couple of weeks. The races are on in town at the moment, the boxing too, and we both know how much you love those events.”
“I still don’t see how you have no love for them at all,” Marcus said with a small smile. They were rather different in mindset, despite being loving brothers. Where Marcus loved art and sports, Walter seemed to prefer a life more focused on administration and the written word.
“You want me to pay to see a man beat up another man?” Walter asked before affecting a shiver of horror. “No thank you!”
“That is not what boxing is about,” Marcus said, chuckling before stopping abruptly, for the action made his head throb all the more.
“There is little point in us having this debate again now.” Walter held up his hands in surrender. “So, we have our plan. You will go to the club in London for a week or so.”
“We have forgotten one thing,” Marcus said, moving back to the bed and perching on the very edge. He had spent much of the last day in the bed with the curtains drawn to block out the light, for it made his headaches worse.
“What is that?” Walter asked.
“Father,” Marcus said with a grimace. “He will not like the idea of me taking a rest.”
“Even Father cannot argue against a doctor’s diagnosis.” Walter moved to the door. “As I understand it, Father intends to visit friends in Cumbria for the next month anyway. He will be gone, so it will hardly matter to him if you are gone too. Leave it to me to persuade him to allow you to go. I am sure I can.”
“Do you possess some kind of magical skill I do not know about?” Marcus said with a small laugh.
“We shall see!” Walter declared dramatically. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll send the doctor back to you in a minute. You are getting paler by the second.”
As the door closed, Marcus sat back on the bed and looked around the room. He couldn’t deny that spending a few days away from all this stress could do him good. His eyes landed on a wall across the room where he had pinned his latest pieces of artwork. Amongst them was a drawing he had once made of the club in London, with the regal pillared frontage and the roof slanted with an abundance of chimneys.
Yes, maybe the club was just the distraction he needed after all.
***
“Rule number eight,” Violette said as she walked into her chamber, followed by Sherborne, who was still happily munching on a sweetmeat they had bought at a nearby shop that morning. “You will not actually be required to dress me in any way. Is that understood?”
Sherborne looked up as he finished the sweetmeat, smacking his lips together with a mischievous smile.
“Understood,” he said, nodding his head. “Though I may make one or two recommendations.”
“What is that?” she asked, folding her arms.
“Look in the mirror,” he said, gesturing for her to do so.
Violette turned away from him and walked across the room she had rented from the gentleman’s club, heading to a mirror on the far side, which she stood in front of.
“There are one or two things you should change,” Sherborne said, appearing behind her in the mirror.
“Like what?” she asked, her voice pitching high, to which Sherborne raised his eyebrows. She made a point of clearing her throat and repeating the words in a much deeper tone. “Like what?”
“That’s better,” he said with a nod. “Now, I’ve noticed that you have adopted a certain kind of walk.”
