Page 39 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
“I’ve noticed you’ve been largely avoiding the topic of the Judgement of Death Act in your speeches,” Everett said.
Lord Linfield felt his heart dip somewhere into his stomach. He tapped his fork at the edge of his plate.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Why is that?” Everett said, leaning forward and drawing his fingers together tightly. “It seems to me that you of all people must have a volatile opinion regarding the Act. After what happened to your father, I can’t imagine that this is a lacklustre issue for you …”
Nathaniel wished he could rewind the conversation back to something a bit easier to swallow. He allowed his shoulders to droop as he considered what to say next. “You’re absolutely correct,” he said, giving Everett a strange, sad smile. “But honestly, Everett, I haven’t decided on either side. Which perhaps sounds strange to you.”
Everett arched his brow. “Perhaps not. You were never fire and brimstone, Nathaniel. But I had heard that after your father’s death you took on a different anger. An anger that darkened you. You wanted the highest possible damnation for those highwaymen, and that’s not to say I blame you for that. It’s a wretched thing that they got away.”
Lord Nathaniel’s brain felt fizzy with drink. He gulped another drink of beer, and then another, conscious that Everett’s eyes were still upon him.
“When I think of those highwaymen,” Nathaniel began, trying to articulate his words carefully. “When I think of them, my heart beats faster than it should. Rage makes my blood boil. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. It’s an anger that I can’t possibly explain. My father was still youthful. He was fresh with ideas and knew how to change the world. But these men, these horrible men, they robbed the world of this gift, my father. And for a long time, I wanted to watch the world burn. And with that world, these men within it.”
Everett squinted at Lord Linfield. “But something is making you question this opinion?”
“I can’t readily explain it,” Nathaniel offered. “Perhaps I’ll find the words. But I’m still up in the air above it unable to find the proper compassion for such evil men who do such evil deeds.”
Everett and Lord Linfield were quiet for a long moment. Everett gazed down at his food before him, for the first time resembling a much older man. Lord Linfield had a glimpse of what Everett might look like in ten years, in twenty, provided either of them lived that long. Lord Linfield had known several men who’d died before him—of plague, of illness, of accidents. And although it was never spoken of, each knew that his number would come up far faster than he liked.
“Well, this is a perfectly pleasant lunch,” Everett finally said, waggling his eyebrows once more. “Just a bit of talk of death. A bit of talk of destruction. And some of the best minced pies around.” He flashed his thumb back towards the barmaid, looking mischievous. “And I think the barmaid is romantic for me, don’t you? You saw the way she looked at me. The age difference could be tricky, and I’m not sure we’ll have a proper line of children. But the love …”
“Come off it,” Lord Linfield said, chuckling.
They were back at a stasis, a place where they could banter and laugh until their platters were wiped clean. When they finished their meals, they erupted from their chairs and wandered into the drizzle of the late afternoon—both grateful for the company.
But when they reached Lord Linfield’s carriage, Lord Linfield paused, placing his hand atop the door handle. He stared at his friend, allowing his smile to falter.
“What is it, Nathaniel?” Everett said. He asked as if he expected something to erupt from Nathaniel’s lips, as if he’d expected it all along. He leaned closer, arching his brow. “You know you can speak to me about whatever it is you please.” His eyes raced across the horizon of downtown London, reflecting the dimming light. “It’s true that when you come to Parliament—a when, for which I’m sure, you’ll sense that you must keep your life under wraps. That you’ll be required to be calm and reticent. But I’ll be right there beside you, old boy. A relic from the past if you will. Know that I will be your secret keeper. Your friend.”
Nathaniel pushed around thoughts of Lady Elizabeth in his mind, marvelling at the weight it had upon his chest. “I never fancied myself to be a romantic, Lord Beauchamp,” he said. “But the story you’ve told me, regarding that girl from your past. I was wondering. What will you do to rectify it?”
A shadow passed over Everett’s face. “And look at you, again switching the conversation to my problems.” He sighed. “You’ll be a perfect member of Parliament. Always looking out for other men, and not yourself.”
“Just answer the question, Lord Beauchamp,” Nathaniel said.
Rain pattered over them, making his hair streak down either side of his head. He readjusted his hat, trying to shield his eyes, but it seemed that the rain was oddly sideways, and he couldn’t hide from it.
Everett sniffed. His lips parted, but then he closed them again as if he couldn’t decide what to say. Nathaniel tilted his head towards his carriage, an idea spinning in his head. “Would you like to show me where she lives now?”
Everett swept into Lord Linfield’s carriage. Elated, Nathaniel sat beside him. Everett informed the carriage boy of the direction to go, and the horses began to clop along the cobblestones, shoving the wheels through the odd puddles of mud.
“I often roll past her house,” Everett said, his voice low in the midst of the quiet. “I don’t often see much. As I told you, she has a daughter, and once I saw her in the window, holding her daughter high and allowing her to view the carriages as they passed by. It’s strange to think of that baby seeing me, seeing her. And Nelle not being the wiser.”
Nathaniel’s nostrils flared as he hunted for a proper response. He knew they were approaching Nelle’s mansion. He drew his arms across his chest and crossed them.
“Of course, I think about contacting her. Writing some kind of letter, perhaps. Anything to let her know that she’s on my mind, eternally, and has been for the previous years. Since I was such a young man. But when I put my pen to paper, nothing comes out. And so I force myself back to the work of Parliament, hoping that somehow, my own ego will stop existing. That someday I’ll allow myself happiness with one woman or another, someone I can’t possibly name. I can’t even envision what she might look like, if she wasn’t Nelle.”
The carriage stumbled to a halt outside the mansion. Nathaniel turned his head, his heart racing. The candles had been lit in the house, at the windows, evoking a sense of warmth within. He felt a strange longing in his stomach, for a home he didn’t yet have.
“There she is,” Everett murmured, his voice hardly a whisper. “There.”
Nathaniel leaned towards the window of the carriage, peering up at the second-floor window. In it was a young woman with curly blonde hair. A distracted finger tangled itself through it, curling and curling away at the strands. It looked as though she was lost in thought, her face tense and strange.
“She’s quite pretty,” Nathaniel murmured. “Incredibly so, in fact.”
“Far better looking than any woman I’ve ever seen at a debutante ball, I can tell you that,” Everett said. He jostled slightly in his seat, wrapping his coat tighter around him. “Not that I’m in it for the beauty, truly. You should have seen the way she captured the people in her portraits. Her fingers were so tender, drawing tight little lines. This little wrinkle would form between her eyebrows as she concentrated. And I …” He paused, sensing, perhaps, that he was going too far. His words were becoming poetic, beyond any realm of reality.
