The King`s Coat

was the realization that he would have to give up his whole life, even if he, by acquiesence, saved his mere existence. There went the girls, the money, the parties, his circle of friends and fellow roisterers, all the pleasures of the world's greatest city. Not to mention the perquisites of the moderate wealth of even a second son. ’We have here an agreement which Sir Hugo hopes you have the wit to sign, which will spare your family any further loss of reputation.’

’What reputation did you have in mind? The good name of Sir Hell-Fire Club over there, my sister the open beard, or my brother the butt-fucking Molly?' Alan scoffed.

Morton must have been in the room behind him all that time, for Alan's arms were seized at the elbows and forced high behind his back, bringing a yelp of pain and surprise from him as he was forced into a half-crouch to the floor. ’I hope you're enjoying this, you butcher's dog,' Alan managed to get out between clenched teeth. 'I am. sir,' Morton whispered into his ear. 'An' about time, too, let me tell ya!’

‘Now listen to me, you little bastard,' Sir Hugo said, leaning over the edge of the desk so he could stare into Alan's face. 'What we want from you is for you to be gone. And we don't want any public trial, so there won't be one. You'll have to leave the city and the country, but you'll be alive. And with some money in hand to spend on your beastly habits.’

’My beastly habits? What about yours…? Oww!' Alan went to his knees as Morton applied more pressure. 'I suppose you want me to admit to a rape I didn't commit. too.’

’Not at all,'' Pilchard said. 'You merely have to sign this and go.' I'm as good as knackered right now, he told himself sadly; I haven't a hope in hell of fighting this, whatever it is. 'Father,' Alan asked as sweetly as he could under the circumstances, 'just why is this necessary? Was I any bigger a sinner than the rest of us? Have I cost you more money than Belinda does? She spends more on the Strand in a day than I do in a month. And half of London knows all about Gerald. Last time he went to Bath he was lucky to escape alive. I'm not going to inherit anyway, so why are you doing this?'.

Let's put our contrite face on now, laddy, he told himself; ma):be I can wheedle free yet. ’I beg you, Father,' he said with emotion. 'Don't disown me like this. Don't turn me out. From the moment you pulled me out of that parish orphanage and claimed me as yours, I have been full of gratitude and love for you.’

’Don't abuse my wit, boy,' Sir Hugo said. 'You love your purse and your gut and your prick, but I doubt this sudden affection for me. We cannot keep you around after this, and you know it.’

Well, it was worth a try. Alan sighed heavily; old bastard knows me too well. I've had it. 'Urn, you mentioned money?' Alan asked. At this, Sir Hugo smiled and waved a signal to Morton to relent his hold so Alan could rise to his feet. 'Just how much did you have in mind?’

‘Fifty pounds per annum,' Pilchard said.

That's four pounds… three shillings a month. Alan quickly figured in his head. This is ludicrous. I spend more than that in a week, and that's with food and lodging all found! Even in some hog's-wallow of a village in the North, I'd starve to death. Not to mention being bored absolutely shitless. ’I want a hundred,' Alan stated, testing the waters. 'You're mad… raving!' His father sneered. ’For whatever reasons you have, you want me gone,' Alan told him, resigned to his fate but anxious to get some of his own back. 'If you're broke and have to sell up, say so, but why go to this ridiculous charade? You don't want this to go to trial, so there must be some blunt in it for you somewhere. I want some of it, if there's any to be had. I don't know anywhere a gentleman can live for less than three hundred pounds a year, so consider this a bargain price.’

’Gone smash, have I?' Sir Hugo laughed. 'Is that what you think? ‘

‘The thought had crossed my mind.’

’You're going because you are despicable, and I'll not have the Willoughby name tied to anything scandalous.’

’As if it isn't already?' Alan muttered. ’Gentlemen's vices, discreetly handled, as befits a gentleman. Not like the git of a twopenny tart who shows the dirt of the gutter every time he opens his lips. And you want to go as a gentleman. Damn what you want.’

’Damned right I do.’

’Alright, Alan.' His father relented suddenly, turning so mild Alan was immediately put on his guard for some high-handed move. 'One hundred pounds a year. On certain conditions. ’

‘In that case, make it guineas.' Alan scowled, leery.

His father tried to stare him down. Alan didn't back down. Sir Hugo finally nodded his assent. Pilchard began to scribble on the document on the desk, muttering to himself as he found room to add the amount, which gave Alan satisfaction. Pilchard presented his amended work to Sir Hugo, who nodded his approval. ’Now sign the damned thing and get your guineas.’

Alan was released from Morton's grasp to free his arms, and took the excuse of massaging feeling back into his arms to take the time to read the document, looking for traps and pitfalls. No more claim to being a Willoughby… that's no loss, is it? Out on my bare arse with one hundred guineas a year remittance. I still think he's gone smash! I was down for five hundred per annum, last time I snuck a look at the will. Leave the City, leave England. I wasn't expecting much more if the old bastard had dropped to hell, anyway. Second sons can't expect much, and God knows Gerald wouldn't give me a dilberry off his fundament, much less a rouleau of guineas once the old boy croaked. What? Hull-oh! 'Here, what's this bit about mother's estate?' he asked. ’She didn't have one, did she? She died penniless, you said.’

’That is a legal form only.' Pilchard said primly. ’Now I see… you never told me anything about her except she was pretty and dead. Her people have money, do they?’

‘And just what estate do you think a bawd could leave her bastard when she was doing it upright in doorways just before she died?' Sir Hugo sneered, which was something he was right good at. 'Explain it to him, Pilchard.’

’Yes, explain it to me, Mister Pilchard.’

’Miss Elizabeth's parents are still alive,' Pilchard began. If Alan had had eyes for his father at that point, he would have been amazed to see eyebrows climb for heaven. 'They are desperately poor wretches but still with us. They have, for many years, tried to find someone to take them to court to sue Sir Hugo for support, knmving that he bad taken you in. We sent them fifty pounds per annum to keep them satisfied. We do not wish to have them known as part of the family. Or you.' He did not add that Alan could be considered an heir through his mother's side. 'To spare Gerald and Belinda any legal difficulties upon their inheritance, we included this clause. You shall receive your hundred guineas, as they get their money, as long as you live, for much the same reasons.’

’Better I had left you in your squalor than claim you as mine in the parish register.' Sir Hugo busied himself pouring another morning brandy. 'It's all a formality to spare us your presence in future. That's it. Now sign the damned thing and be quick about it before I lose my patience and summon the watch and to hell with the Willoughby name.. ‘.

Alan quickly read to the bottom of the long page, noting that his father was still to be his guardian, though he was banished. Much like what some of Alan's wilder friends had faced: exile and frigid relations. Much like living under the old fart's roof! 'And what do I do after I sign? Have you arranged that, too?’

‘Overseas would be best.’

’Who pays my way? And what do I do once I get there?’

‘Pilchard?' Sir Hugo snapped, turning his back on things. 'To make your disappearance from society credible, and without throwing any light on this despicable incident, we could not have you transported, or 'prenticed, without comment being made.’

’Thank bloody Christ for that, anyway. And I'm to go as a gentleman?' Alan pressed, uneasy still. 'Yes, but as a Lewrie, not a Willoughby,' the solicitor told him. Right, it's the anny for me. This is going to cost him dear. An ensign's commission must go for at least four hundred pounds nowadays, even in a poor regiment. To buy my colors and my kit will have to cost nigh a thousand pounds…

That meant most likely that he would soon be in the American colonies, facing constant danger from Red Indians and lawless Rebels. But there was a chmice he could prosper; he could ride well, he could fence (he'd already dueled once and won handily) and he was a crack shot at game. With one hundred guineas in addition to his anny pay he could get by, barely. Certainly, they would not choose a fashionable regiment for him, so he would not have to worry about high mess bills. Besides, there were damned few fashionable regiments fighting the war; they were still parading and wenching at home. As a soldier, a gentleman ensign, he