body at ease, but not elegant. Beside him Byam stood a little sideways, his weight asymmetrically balanced, with a curious kind of grace, but there was a tension in him that showed in the angle of his head, his tight fingers around his goblet.
He was not close enough to hear their words, but he followed the emotion of the conversation from their expressions. Anstiss was speaking, his face full of animation, eyes wide and candid. He put his arm on Byam’s affectionately.
Byam laughed, and for a moment the anxiety slipped from him and the weariness ironed out of his features. Drummond could see in him the young man he must have been twenty years ago before the tragedy of Laura Anstiss’s infatuation and death. He and Anstiss were simply two friends who cared for each other, enjoyed each other’s company with an open trust and fellowship like the best of brothers. They shared interests, hopes, laughter-until Anstiss’s fragile, unstable wife had stepped between them, and her death had left pain and guilt.
Anstiss held his glass up to the light and said something.
Byam replied, and they both laughed.
Anstiss turned, his expression altered, hardening, and he said something to Byam.
The moment froze. They both stood motionless, the chandeliers blazing, the lights winking on the glasses. Then all the pain and the weariness returned to Byam’s face. He set his glass down on the sideboard near him, made some reply to Anstiss, and walked away.
The dull color touched Anstiss’s cheeks and he opened his mouth to reply, then changed his mind, but the fierce, suppressed emotion remained in his face.
Byam was walking over towards where Drummond was standing. He could see him clearly now. He did not look like a man who had just quarreled, rather like one who has resumed a familiar burden after a short respite, and not for the first time. He did not look bruised so much as unbearably tired.
Drummond watched him with a wild and painful mixture of emotions. He could never know what the exchange with Anstiss had been, but he could guess. He was sorry for Byam. He was a man in a frightening situation, through no fault of his own, a misjudgment of a woman’s character which anyone might make, especially a youth. He had done what he saw as the honorable thing, and it had ended in a tragedy he could not possibly have foreseen. And he had suffered a guilt for it ever since.
Now he faced the very real possibility of being charged and even tried for murder because of it. If Pitt did not find the murderer, Byam could even be hanged. Would he call on the brotherhood to help him? Surely he would-and long before it reached trial. How would Drummond respond then? What could Byam ask? So far it had been entirely honorable, but then the danger was still very slight, only problematical. When it became real and within a matter of days, or even hours, and the shadow of Newgate and the dock touched him, might he not ask what was far less honorable?
Would others of the brotherhood exercise their power on his behalf? That was the question Drummond had been avoiding asking himself ever since Pitt spoke to him. Just how far would the Inner Circle go to protect its own? They had spoken of high moral values, and in the same breath of loyalty to each other above all. No one had thought to ask which principle governed when one could not observe them both, certainly Drummond had not. Now the dark and highly painful thought came to him that it might be the personal loyalty.
And what would he do then?
There was only one possible answer. He would betray the Inner Circle.
He drew in a deep breath. He felt better for having framed the question, and the answer, to himself.
A footman, less sensitive than Regina Carswell, interrupted his thoughts to offer him a glass. He refused with a tight smile. At the far side of the room Eleanor Byam was talking to Anstiss now. She looked stiff and very formal. He wondered about her relationship with Anstiss. Did she like or dislike him? Was she even jealous of the past so charged with emotion and in which she had no part? Did she resent Anstiss because it was his wife who had caused so much pain, and because his mere existence was a constant reminder to her husband of his guilt? Knowing so little made Drummond feel at a disadvantage.
And that was his last, and perhaps his own deepest, guilt: his feeling for Eleanor. It was far more powerful than he wished to admit, and acutely personal. Part of him wanted to protect Byam, for her sake; another uglier part would gladly have seen him removed, disgraced in her eyes, leaving her free to love elsewhere, in time.
He turned away from the room and walked past the great swathed curtain and out onto the balcony. He needed not only to be alone, but to be unseen by others. His face might too easily reveal him, and he could not force himself into communication now.
He did not know how long he stood staring into the soft radiance of the night, glimmering from the reflected lamps like a row of suspended moons along the street, tree branches gleaming where the rays caught them, leaves dancing and turning in the breeze.
At last he was interrupted by a voice, tentative and apologetic, but carrying an urgency that even embarrassment and the knowledge of intrusion would not curb.
“Mr. Drummond-”
He knew it instantly. It was Eleanor Byam. It was as if his thoughts had conjured her there, and he felt guilty for her presence, as if somehow she knew what was in his mind, and worse, his heart. He turned slowly to face her, trying to compose himself and his racing pulse.
“Yes-Lady Byam?”
“I’m-I’m sorry for disturbing you, when you seem to wish to be alone…” she began. It appeared she was finding it every bit as difficult as he.
“I merely wished for a little air,” he lied, trying to ease her embarrassment.
“You are very generous.” Her voice was lower and there was a touch of warmth in it now which caught his emotions like touching a fine cut on the skin. “Please do not be polite with me,” she went on urgently. “It is a time when I must be honest with you, regardless of how painful it might be.”
He was about to interrupt, but she did not allow him time.
“Something further has happened which disturbs me more than I know how to describe…” He longed to say something, even more to do something to comfort her. His instinct was to touch her, and it would have been unforgivable.
She plunged on through his desperate silence.
“Sir John Seaforth, a long-standing friend and colleague of Sholto’s, came to visit yesterday evening. I merely saw him arrive and he looked angry but well in command of himself, and hopeful, as if he believed Sholto could make right whatever it was that so upset him.” She seemed uncertain how to express herself. Drummond was acutely aware of her so close to him he could smell the faint perfume of geraniums and hear the whisper of taffeta as she breathed in and out.
“You saw him arrive?” he asked pointlessly.
She took it as a request for some explanation.
“Yes-Sholto was upstairs at the time, and I have known Sir John for many years myself. He was shown to the withdrawing room while the footman was sent to inform Sholto of his arrival. He spoke only a few words to me. He was quite clearly not in a mood to exchange small talk, and I was sensible of that. As soon as the footman returned to say Sholto would receive him in the library, he went to that room.”
“Did Lord Byam tell you why he called?”
“No-he would not discuss it. I know it was very heated, because I crossed the hall some twenty minutes later to go upstairs, and I heard their voices from the library. I could catch only the occasional word, and the tone was so unpleasant I was embarrassed that one of them might open the door and see me. I did not wish either of them to know I had overheard what was obviously a most violent quarrel. I caught the words
“You said he was a colleague.” Drummond sought for something to say that might allay her fears, and found nothing. Now only the truth would be any use, and the more he heard, the less did that promise any comfort. “In the Treasury?”
“No-no, he is a member of Parliament, deeply concerned with trade and financial matters.”
“Did you hear any more of the discussions?”
