Page 21 of The Major's Mistake
McTavish was sitting with head bowed, a blank expression on his features as if unaware of the conversation taking placearound him. But when he looked up, his flinty grey eyes were sharp enough to make the others flinch in their seats. “We can’t afford to assume anything,” he said. “He’s to be watched carefully. I want to know everything—where he goes, who he sees, when he uses his damn chamberpot!” He glanced around the room. “We’ll meet again in four day’s time, this time at the tavern in Dunham.” He pushed aside his untouched ale. “When you have the answers, I’ll decide what to do.”
Sykes finished puttingthe final polish to the marquess’s riding boots and looked around the master bedchamber. There was nothing left to do. The silver backed brushes were neatly arranged on the dresser, the hacking coat and breeches were hung away in the armoire, the fire was freshly stirred and the silk dressing gown was laid out on the carved four poster bed for whenever its owner decided to retire.
The valet frowned as he considered that with each night, the hour that Julian finally sought his bed was getting later and later. Far from improving the marquess’s frame of mind, the sojourn to the country seemed to be only exacerbating his dark moods.And that made no sense.Now that they had finally left the rigors of war behind them, it seemed his employer should finally begin to relax and enjoy life a bit.
After all, he was in a position to do exactly that. It appeared he could have whatever he wanted, which made his odd edginess even more puzzling.
Sykes couldn’t help rubbing at his jaw as he wondered whether some discovery concerning their mission here was causing the marquess some concern that he was keeping hidden. His eyes clouded over at the thought that after all they had been through together, Julian might not care to be on quite the samefooting as they had before. After all, the man was no longer a mere major but a titled lord.
With a final, vigorous rub, the ex-batman laid the boots aside and went downstairs.
Julian’s head came up with a jerk at the sound of the soft knock on the library door.
“Come in,” he growled.
Sykes entered carrying a glass filled with an amber liquid in one hand. “It’s late, guv. Thought perhaps your leg was acting up so I brought you a draught of laudanum.”
The marquess made a face as he turned from staring into the flickering fire. “You know I refuse to become dependent on that vile stuff. We’ve both seen how it can ruin a man.”
“An occasional dose does no harm.” He gave a pointed look at Julian’s drawn features. “If you don’t let yourself get some sleep, you’ll drive yourself into the ground.”
“My leg is no worse than usual.” Taking up the book that lay open in his lap, the Marquess made a show of starting to read. “What makes you think I’m not sleeping?”
“For one thing, I hear you crying out at night—the nightmares have come back, nearly as bad as right after you were first hurt,” answered Sykes frankly. “If it isn’t your leg, what is troubling you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Julian.
A faint flush stole to the valet’s cheeks at the marquess’s cold rebuff. He walked stiffly towards the hearth and stirred the logs to life with rather more force than necessary. After a few minutes of heavy silence, he essayed to find a less touchy topic of conversation.
“It seems we have an intriguing neighbor. Have you by any chance crossed paths with her during your rides?” He expected Julian to respond with a modicum of curiosity, but his words were met with nothing more than the same ominous silence.
Still, he went doggedly on. “I’ve seen her several times in the last week, even managed a bit of a chat with her before she took off like a skittish mare.” He shook his head slowly. “Aye, there’s some mystery about Mrs. Ransford, there is. Quite a beauty too, despite the shabby dress?—”
Julian’s fist slammed down on the side table. “I never want to hear the name of Mrs. Ransford on your lips, do you understand me?Never!”
Sykes slowly straightened from his crouch by the brass fireguard, his grizzled face rigid with wounded pride. “You know guv, perhaps the time has come for us to go our separate ways. When we were soldiers, it was one thing—I warned you I didn’t know anything about being some high and mighty gentleman’s gentleman. You’d be better off hiring a fellow more used to the ways of the ton, because I doubt, at my advanced age, that I can learn to be a toadeater.”
He paused, just long enough to draw in a sharp breath. “It appears you want a … servant, guv, not someone like me anymore. So I’ll just take myself off in the morning. Good night to you.”
The closing of the door echoed like a cannon shot through the near darkened library, causing the marquess to slump forward in his chair and bury his head in his hands.
It was quite late and Sykes was nearly finished folding the last of his shirts when a slight rasping sound in the narrow hallway outside his room caught his ear. He paused for a moment, then returned to the task of packing his modest belongings into a traveling valise.
The sound ceased, then the door suddenly opened without a knock. Julian limped in. “May I sit down,” he asked, gesturing at the simple iron bedstead.
Sykes nodded. “You needn’t have climbed the stairs, guv. I would have said a proper good bye in the morning.” To hide hisemotions, he turned and fumbled with several sheets of paper. “I’ve written out instructions for how best to treat your leg when it’s acting up. There’s also the ingredients for that special polish for your boots and—well, I imagine the new man will know a good deal more than me about that sort of thing.”
Julian’s jaw twitched. “I was married once, you know. A long time ago,” he said abruptly.
Sykes put the papers down. His brows drew together in surprise at the sudden turn of thought. “I … never knew that. You never brought it up.” He swallowed hard. “I imagine it is subject too painful to talk about. I mean, losing a loved one is not easy?—”
The Marquess looked up, a bleak expression etched on his features. “My wife did not die,” he said in a near whisper.
Sykes looked even more confused.
“I was granted a divorce, by an act of Parliament.”
There was a sharp intake of breath.
