AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cyprian’s face remained carefully expressionless, but the color in his cheeks did not fade, and Monk guessed he had touched a nerve, whether on Septimus’s account or Cyprian’s own.
“Does he belong to the same club as you do, sir?” Monk turned and faced him.
“No,” Cyprian replied, resuming walking after only a momentary hesitation. “No, Uncle Septimus has his own club.”
“Not to his taste?” Monk made it sound very casual.
“No,” Cyprian agreed quickly. “He prefers more men his own age—and experience, I suppose.”
They crossed Hamilton Place, hesitating for a carriage and dodging a hansom.
“What would that be?” Monk asked when they were on the pavement again.
Cyprian said nothing.
“Is Sir Basil aware that Mr. Thirsk gambles from time to time?” Monk pursued.
Cyprian drew in his breath, then let it out slowly before answering. Monk knew he had considered denying it, then put loyalty to Septimus before loyalty to his father. It was another judgment Monk approved.
“Probably not,” Cyprian said. “I would appreciate it if you did not find it necessary to inform him.”
“I can think of no circumstance in which it would be necessary,” Monk agreed. He made an educated guess, based on the nature of the club from which Cyprian had emerged. “Similarly your own gambling, sir.”
Cyprian stopped and swiveled to face him, his eyes wide. Then he saw Monk’s expression and relaxed, a faint smile on his lips, before resuming his stride.
“Was Mrs. Haslett aware of this?” Monk asked him. “Could that be what she meant when she said Mr. Thirsk would understand what she had discovered?”
“I have no idea.” Cyprian looked miserable.
“What else have they particularly in common?” Monk went on. “What interests or experiences that would make his sympathy the sharper? Is Mr. Thirsk a widower?”
“No—no, he never married.”
“And yet he did not always live in Queen Anne Street. Where did he live before that?”
Cyprian walked in silence. They crossed Hyde Park Corner, taking several minutes to avoid carriages, hansoms, a dray with four fine Clydesdales drawing it, several costers’ carts and a crossing sweeper darting in and out like a minnow trying to clear a path and catch his odd penny rewards at the same time. Monk was pleased to see Cyprian toss him a coin, and added another to it himself.
On the far side they went past the beginning of Rotten Row and strolled across the grass towards the Serpentine. A troop of gentlemen in immaculate habits rode along the Row, their horses’ hooves thudding on the damp earth. Two of them laughed loudly and broke into a canter, harness jingling. Ahead of them three women turned back to look.
Cyprian made up his mind at last.
“Uncle Septimus was in the army. He was cashiered. That is why he has no means. Father took him in. He was a younger son so he inherited nothing. There was nowhere else for him.”
“How distressing.” Monk meant it. He could imagine quite sharply the sudden reduction from the finance, power and status of an officer to the ignominy and poverty, and the utter friendlessness, of being cashiered, stripped of everything—and to your friends, ceasing to exist.
“It wasn’t dishonesty or cowardice,” Cyprian went on, now that he was started, his voice urgent, concerned that Monk should know the truth. “He fell in love, and his love was very much returned. He says he did nothing about it—no affair, but that hardly makes it any better—”
Monk was startled. There was no sense in it. Officers were permitted to marry, and many did.
Cyprian’s face was full of pity—and wry, deprecating humor.
“I see you don’t understand. You will. She was the colonel’s wife.”
“Oh—” There was nothing more to add. It was an offense that would be inexcusable. Honor was touched, and even more, vanity. A colonel so mortified would have no retaliation except to use his office. “I see.”
“Yes. Poor Septimus. He never loved anyone else. He was well in his forties at that time, a major with an excellent record.” He stopped speaking and they passed a man a
nd a woman, apparently acquaintances from their polite nods. He tipped his hat and resumed only when they were out of earshot. “He could have been a colonel himself, if his family could have afforded it—but commissions aren’t cheap these days. And the higher you go—” He shrugged. “Anyway, that was the end of it. Septimus found himself middle-aged, despised and penniless. Naturally he appealed to Mama, and then came to live with us. If he gambles now and then, who’s to blame him? There’s little enough pleasure in his life.”
