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- Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
London, Tuesday 28th December 1897. Benedict receives an unexpected visitor at his Bloomsbury home. The man on his stoop sends Benedict’s heart into a flutter, and on inviting the mysterious stranger into his house, he is inviting mystery, adventure, and volcanic desire. Sebastian Cavell—master thief, gives the impression he has sought out Benedict for the sake of business, but the kind of business Sebastian has in mind has nothing to do with making money! Cavell has been tasked with finding the whereabouts of a missing German aristocrat. With Benedict’s society connections, Sebastian gains access to his Gentleman’s Club and to men whose behavior is not so gentlemanly! Benedict is pulled into the circle of a dangerous secret society and he not only learns the truth about the mysterious Sebastian Cavell, but the truth about himself and all he truly desires. This book is a work of art created by human imagination. No AI was use for the writing or artwork in this book. Theft of the contents of this book or cover artwork for machine learning (AI) is strictly prohibited.
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Inhaltsverzeichnis
Chapter 1
The Unexpected Guest
Tuesday 28th December 1897
Chapter 2
The Book
Chapter 3
The Assignment
Chapter 4
Coincidences
Chapter 5
The Athenaeum
Wednesday 29th December 1897
Chapter 6
Behind Closed Doors
Chapter 7
The Silver Fish
Thursday 30th December 1897
Chapter 8
Esoteric Occurrences
Chapter 9
The Growler
Chapter 10
Fratres Seminis
Chapter 11
Gentleman’s Relish
Chapter 12
The Vessel
Chapter 13
Confessions of a Thief
Chapter 14
An Invitation
Sunday 9th January 1898
Chapter 15
Exeter Hall
Chapter 16
Cavendish Ball
Chapter 17
Observations of a Thief
Chapter 18
Scandalous Behaviour
Chapter 19
The Vanishing
Chapter 20
Domesticity
Chapter 21
The Betrayer
Chapter 22
Duplicity
Chapter 23
Paramour
Chapter 24
Darkest Secrets
The
Gentleman’s
Thief
Resurrectionist #2
Isobel Starling
www.decentfellowspress.com
Copyright © 2020-2024 Isobel Starling
ISBN: 9783759247988
Second Edition:
All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The use of real-life locations is for fictional purposes. The plot, actions, and characters in this work are fictional and in no way reflect real-life occurrences at these establishments.
This book is a work of art created by human imagination. No AI was use for the writing or artwork in this book. Theft of the contents of this book or cover artwork for machine learning (AI) is strictly prohibited.
The Gentleman Thief, Copyright © 2020-2024 Isobel Starling
Cover Art by Noah Dao (@noahdeaart)
https://noahdea.portfoliobox.net/
Contents
Chapter 1 The Unexpected Guest
Chapter 2 The Book
Chapter 3 The Assignment
Chapter 4 Coincidences
Chapter 5 The Athenaeum
Chapter 6 Behind Closed Doors
Chapter 7 The Silver Fish
Chapter 8 Esoteric Occurrences
Chapter 9 The Growler
Chapter 10 Fratres Seminis
Chapter 11 Gentleman’s Relish
Chapter 12 The Vessel
Chapter 13 Confessions of a Thief
Chapter 14 An Invitation
Chapter 15 Exeter Hall
Chapter 16 Cavendish Ball
Chapter 17 Observations of a Thief
Chapter 18 Scandalous Behaviour
Chapter 19 The Vanishing
Chapter 20 Domesticity
Chapter 21 The Betrayer
Chapter 22 Duplicity
Chapter 23 Paramour
Chapter 24 Darkest Secrets
About the Author
Chapter 1
The Unexpected Guest
Tuesday 28th December 1897
There was a beggar on my doorstep. He wore a seaman’s felt cap and sported a thick grey beard. One eye appeared to be blackened as if it had recently met a fist. Two lines of brass buttons shone on his black moth-eaten greatcoat, and I noted three spaces where buttons were absent. The coat was made for a man much taller because it near touched the slushy pavement. The beggar held a timber crutch under one arm on which he leaned heavily, and looking down I saw that he appeared to be missing half of his left leg and wore just one single boot. The boot on his right foot was separating from the sole and it was clear that the melting seasonal snow had leaked in as he’d hobbled through the square to my doorstep.
Clarence carriages and hansom cabs passed by, the horses trotting warily and wheels crunching in the frozen slush on the road outside my house at number twenty-six Bedford Square, Fitzrovia, London. Residents in their seasonal finery took the winter air as they walked cautiously in the once verdant garden opposite my house. The larger trees had lost their leaves and appeared skeletal and yet the garden designer had ensured that evergreen shrubs and smaller trees gave year-round colour to the communal space.
No one who passed by my house paid much attention to the beggar at my door. But I did. I most certainly did! My stomach turned somersaults and my heart thundered, not with anger, like my housekeeper Mrs. Twigg, who moments before had opened the front door to discover the beggar and proceeded to batter him with her broom. I had relieved her of that broom, requested tea, and a plate of her exceptional sweet mince pies to be rid of her, and allow me to deal with this situation alone.
I looked at the actor before me and could not believe the effervescent giddy pleasure swirling in my gut. I was bemused that Sebastian Cavell, master-thief and, I blush to think of it; my secret lover was on my stoop dressed in the guise of Josiah, a beggar who I’d befriended months before I knew his true identity.
It was six days since our first tryst in a Glasgow hotel room. I’d found myself snowbound after a disastrous journey to a Scottish Estate sale that I discovered, all too late, I was barred from bidding at. I remained vexed that I had been lured to Dunecht Hall as a ruse to assist my ex-paramour Lord Euan Ardmillan with schemes to not only defraud buyers of art and antiquities, but Euan had also wanted me to perform a sex ritual with him to restore his flagging virility.
I was warned of Euan’s true intentions by a mysterious stranger. I believed this man to be a German collector named Artur Engles, as he was the man I’d dined with that very evening, but after the man lured me to the chilly attic to speak with me in private, he introduced himself as Sebastian Cavell. Cavell was a name I recognized from scandalous newspaper headlines. I discovered that in real-life Cavell was the rather comely gentleman thief who had twisted the Police force in knots as they attempted to discover his true identity and whereabouts. This thief was at Dunecht Hall for reasons of his own. Cavell had explained what he’d discovered of Euan’s plans, which—not wanting to doubt my ex-lover, I had initially not believed, but everything Cavell told me was true.
I’d left the highland mansion furious, disappointed, and empty-handed to then find the damnable weather had brought the whole British Railway system to a grinding halt and I was unable to journey back to London.
I took a room at the hotel adjoining Glasgow Central Railway Station and this is where Cavell sought me out. There he had unexpectedly revealed his admiration for me and that—I feel embarrassed to think of it—I was the prize he had wanted to steal from Euan and not any of the antiquities.
Reluctantly, I succumbed to my long-repressed desires to lay with a man and we’d shared quite an exceptional night in one another’s arms. The solitary night of passion with this man of mystery changed me in ways that I was still discovering. Cavell had jested that I was buttoned-up and pious, but his care and tenderness most certainly unfastened my buttons!
On my train journey home I did not read the Bible to avoid eye contact, as was my habit in shared compartments, instead, I stared out of the window and let my thoughts linger on Sebastian Cavell, his scent still on my skin and his taste on my lips.
With the passing of time, I wondered if our liaison had really happened for it felt like another man’s life. But no, the disguised man on my stoop wore a playful intimate twinkle in his hazel eyes that I knew was all for me. Meeting that penetrating gaze made me shiver and feel younger than my fifty years.
I came back to myself and in my sober mind remembered my place and my station. This was an affluent square in Bloomsbury and if spotted, beggars were chased away by the caretakers who tended the gardens and ensured our square remained free of riff-raff. I did not want either Alfred or George to set their eyes on Josiah as it would be the worst for him. No matter how secretly overjoyed I was to see Cavell, common sense must prevail. I was suddenly overcome with the need to get this man off the street and into my house so I could speak with him privately.
“Spare a coppa for an old soldier?” Josiah said in his salt-of-the-earth Cockney brogue.
“Actually, yes, but you can earn it man! I have a grate that requires blacking. Don’t dally on the doorstep! Let’s get you through to the kitchen,” I said loudly so that any who overheard knew I was inviting this vagrant into my plush home for legitimate reasons.
Josiah leaned heavily on his crutch, hobbled up the step, and over the threshold. I closed the door behind him.
“What the devil are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?” I asked in a rough whisper.
Sebastian let out a mighty sigh. He sagged against the wall, dropped the crutch, and fiddled beneath the greatcoat. A black ribbon that was fastened around the thigh and calf of his bent left leg was untied, releasing the leg from its bond. His left foot hit my tiled floor heavily and Sebastian reached out and gripped my shoulder. Ordinarily, I did not like to be touched, but Cavell somehow breached my defenses and I did not feel the overwhelming rush of anxiety and flaying pain to my skin when he touched me. Cavell put weight on his newly released foot, and let out a near orgasmic moan of pain. He stared at me, his eyes large and glazed. He looked as if he were in the midst of an Opium high.
“There’s… quite a rush of sensation,” he gasped as I reached out to steady him,
“As the blood returns to the leg…it’s quite exciting actually, the pain…the pleasure…mingle,” he explained, his fingers digging into the meat of my shoulder. Beneath my jacket, my skin tingled at his touch and my mouth went dry with seeing his glazed expression and hearing the explanation. I absently licked my lips. Did Cavell have a fetish for restraint? Oh, Gods, I could not allow myself to think of it. It was shameful enough to have allowed myself to be intimate with this man, and I dare not consider other ways we could find release together.
To my great relief, Cavell loosened his grip on me and put all of his weight on his left leg, bent it the knee, and stamped a few times. Then, to ensure correct perambulation he took several steps up and down the hall. Satisfied, he leaned against my stair banisters and looked at me with puppy-dog eyes.
“Would you mind awfully if I took a hot bath and relieved you of some clothing, dear heart?” he asked sweetly. Cavell had done the very same thing in my Glasgow hotel room. If any other man had asked I would have been appalled and found the question to be the height of impropriety, however, I could not refuse him. The garments he wore for his disguise of Josiah were quite repulsive and I knew that under that shaggy false beard were lips I ached to kiss. Not that I would permit such a thing to occur.
“My gentleman’s gentleman is about town about his business,” I said. “Let’s get you upstairs before Mrs. Twigg sees you. She would be horrified that I’d allowed a vagrant to lay even one foot on her newly polished floor.”
I hid the wooden crutch in the under stair cupboard and then headed for the staircase. The binding of his leg for the disguise had made Sebastian limp somewhat so again, I permitted this man to touch me. It was unusual to say the least, as my obsessive aversion to intimacy was ordinarily so severe that even my valet had learned to assist me in dressing without a glancing touch. I could not abide crowds, and even when attending church I left home at the last minute so I could be seated at the back or stand in the doorway if the service was particularly popular. Closeness to this strange man elicited a frisson of excitement. What was it about Cavell that made my skin sing, and not burn?
Awkwardly, I wrapped my arm around Sebastian’s slender waist and he gripped my shoulder. I set my mouth into a hard line as I did not want him to get any ideas. We shared a side glance and I saw the lopsided grin on his face. Immediately, I knew that pretending to be stoic was useless. My heart fluttered like I held a caged bird within, and my cheeks bloomed with heat. This man knew me in a way that all in my church saw as a sin. This man had kissed and licked me in places that I did not know I could obtain pleasure from. I should feel ashamed. I should fear for my immortal soul as this devil had returned to my life, flaunting temptation before my eyes. But as I held him warmly to my side I did not feel the wave of shame that usually followed when touching a stranger. What I felt was a rush of flighty pleasure, and like a child with a secret; I felt an impulsive need to laugh out loud. Cavell allowed me to take his weight and he pressed tenderly to my side. We loped up the staircase together to the communal bathroom with a bathtub.
My Georgian townhouse on Bedford Square is spacious and comfortable. There are a total of eight bedrooms. On the first floor, the master suite with adjoining private lounge and bathroom is mine. There is also a second bathroom on the same floor. I employ five servants. Mr. Wilkins, my houseman, retains private quarters in the basement. My valet, Mr. Troy sleeps on the second floor. Mrs. Twigg and the maids, Ann-Marie and Maud, keep rooms in the attic. Therefore, five bedrooms are available for guests. They remain unused for most of the year as the only guests I ever allow in my home are my sister Gracie, her husband Henry, and their brood of six children.
I left Cavell to bathe and I headed to my wardrobes seeking suitable garments for him to wear. He was close to my size and so I rummaged to find a navy Henry Poole suit that was of last season’s cut, a white linen shirt, a Robin’s-egg-blue cravat, thick woolen socks, and a pair black of leather John Lobb boots that were a little worn and had been set aside to be re-soled. They were nothing to compare with Cavell’s very distinctive Edwin Clapp boots, but as he was not wearing them for the Josiah disguise my old boots would have to suffice.
I left the garments on the couch in my lounge and after locking the adjoining door that led to my bedroom, I stood on the landing feeling a little lightheaded and perplexed at having an unexpected guest—and not just any guest. Even though I’d wished for it, I had not expected to see Sebastian Cavell again. Why had he appeared at my door? Not that I was complaining! But I remained confused as to how the man knew my address when I did not give it to him, and why the Josiah disguise was even necessary. Cavell had admitted during a previous conversation that he had been watching me for six months prior to our official meeting in Scotland and as of yet he had not explained his reasoning for doing so.
My profession as an auctioneer means that by nature I am quite the magpie. My home is filled with all kinds of curiosities, fine art, and silver that I purchase for myself rather than sell at my auction house. I retain two maids to ensure my collections remain dust-free through daily cleaning. The one collection my maids do not dust is of phallic art. I own a wondrous collection of ancient sculpted phalluses that remain hidden in a room secreted behind the bookcase in my bed-chamber. The room was once a dressing room and as none of my current servants was in my employ when I purchased and decorated the townhouse no one knows of the existence of my secret room. Not even Sebastian Cavell knew of the true extent of my collection and so I did not believe Cavell was here for thievery. But why was he here?
I stepped to the closed bathroom door and stood listening to him splashing in the tub and humming a jolly tune. I was startled when he began to sing. I could not place the song, which was music hall in variety, but his voice did something to my innards and made my knees weak. The thought of him naked in the bath behind this sturdy timber door, his freckled skin wet and glistening as he sang, oh Lord, how that pleased me. I was unsure of what to do with myself, and then I heard the loud bang of the kitchen door and Sebastian’s song ceased at once. I realized Mr. Troy had returned from his errands. I knocked lightly on the bathroom door and called to Cavell,
“I’ve left garments in my private lounge and you should join me downstairs in my study when you’re dressed.”
“Righty-oh!” Sebastian called back, sounding rather relaxed and pleased with himself.
****
Chapter 2
The Book
This could not be happening! Agitated, I paced back and forth in front of the hearth, a-million-and-one thoughts about what Sebastian Cavell wanted with me swimming in my head. I think most men would be irritated if a person they had enjoyed one single night of illicit relations with suddenly turned up on their doorstep. What was he doing here? Was I being taken for a complete fool? Cavell could be robbing my rooms this very minute as I waited for him?
It was then that I doubted my sanity for letting a criminal into my home and was unsure of how to behave in his presence. He had a way about him I could not fathom. All it took was a look, his eyes glittering with a challenge or a smile that promised delicious wicked thing and my innards melted. He knew far too much about me and what I desired. I concluded that Sebastian Cavell was indeed a very dangerous man. One remark about my sinful nature to the wrong person could lead to banishment from my church and a loss of status. No matter how kindly I felt towards him it would be reckless to allow this man any further into my life and my affections. I must be imperturbable. Yes, I decided, I must remember myself—remember the pious, detached… miserable man that I was before I journeyed to Scotland. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed deeply. This was a disaster. What was I to do? A single knock on my study door interrupted my storm of self-doubt.
“Come in,” I roared, my voice sounding rougher than I’d expected. Mrs. Twigg and the maidservant Maud entered and immediately there was an atmosphere. Mrs. Twigg’s mouth was pinched reproachfully and I regretted my sharp tone. She did not appreciate me bellowing at her, and it was not my nature as an employer. Like a kicked dog, I hung my head in shame.
“Apologies,” I said and gestured for her to serve me. Mrs. Twigg held the tea tray and young Maud carried a second tray that contained a plate of freshly baked sweet mince pies. The fruit and spice tarts were decadently sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar.
“They smell wonderful!” I praised, in an attempt to break the atmosphere. Mrs. Twigg smiled and nodded as she passed me.
“I requested tea for two.” I reminded as I noticed, “There is only one cup on the tray.” Flora shot me a look. “We have a house guest, another cup and saucer will be required if you’d be so kind.”
I did not owe an explanation; however, Mrs. Twigg was gifted with that wordless glare that all matriarchs possess. It is a power that is too great for any man to deny, and so words of speedily conjured explanation spilled from my mouth.
“A friend slipped on the slushy path as I was seeing off that blasted beggar,” I babbled. “He—my friend—was quite shaken by the ordeal. I permitted him to clean up here. I just wanted you to be aware so you do not get a fright with a stranger about the house,” I explained, hoping I was keeping my tone steady and businesslike this time, “So, yes, tea for two if you please.” However, Mrs. Twigg looked at me as if I’d said something distinctly outrageous. She appeared… confused and unconvinced.
“A friend you say, sir?”
“Yes?” I replied innocently. Flora had kept my home and cooked for me for nearly ten years and when I thought of the number of times I’d had a ‘friend’ call to the house in all of that time, it could have been counted on both hands.
“From church—” I added sheepishly.
Flora laid the tea tray down on the occasional table and unfolded the sides to make the table double the size.
“Very good, sir,” she commented. I knew we were back on level ground when she brightened and mother-henned—
“I’m so glad a friend has come to call. I do keep telling you, sir, you spend far too much time on your own. T’ain’t right! Upstandin’ gentleman like yourself.”
My relationship with my housekeeper was generally friendly and relaxed. I did not have a wife or sweetheart and so she was the matriarch in my life. I appreciated her very much, but sometimes she tended to sticky-beak and voice opinions where they were not welcome. I did not encourage comments on my private habits and lack of true friendships.
Flora directed the maid. “Put them mince pies down over here Maud love, and go and fetch another cup, saucer, and plate for our guest.” Maud did as instructed and scurried from the room.
“The pies are just out of the oven, so best let them cool for a few more minutes’ sir. Would you like me to pour or shall we wait for your…friend?”
The scent of warm, sweet, spicy mince pies was quite delectable, but I decided “I shall wait.”
“Have a name does he sir? Your friend?”
For a moment I was panic-stricken. I had no idea what name Cavell was using and I did not want to give, what I presumed was his true name to my servants. Luckily, Sebastian entered the study at that very moment. I had not heard the stairs creak as he made his way down, such was his talent as a sneak-thief. Sebastian’s eyes met mine and twinkled with mischief. The smile lit his eyes and the look made me feel winded and a little self-conscious. He was different again, and I was pleased to see that the black-eye he had sported while playing Josiah had been washed away. The beard was also gone and I was privately content to see Sebastian clean-shaven for the very first time. He looked fresh-faced, handsome, and youthful. He took on a light, cut-glass aristocratic accent, and with the exuberance of a pup, he addressed Mrs. Twigg.
“Oh, my dear lady! Those pies smell frightfully good.” He stepped forward and took Mrs. Twigg’s pudgy wrinkled hand,
“Madame, are you the talented artiste who created such delightful confections?” he asked, and then he kissed the back of Flora’s hand. I saw her blush and appear bashful. It was quite a rare occasion for my housekeeper to be speechless!
“Foxford Robins,” Cavell announced. “But my friend’s call me Birdie—I do tend to twitter on you see—and, you may have heard me singing in the bath!” he added with a wry grin.
“I did wonder….” Mrs. Twigg admitted with a girlish smile.
“Well, as you make such delicious sweetmeats, you may call me Birdie, my lovely,” Cavell charmed.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir…Birdie. I’m Flora Twigg,” Flora said her eyes darting to look at me as if seeking permission. I smiled and nodded in response and so she continued.
“Sorry to hear you slipped on the path outside the house. I’ll get Wilkins to spread some grit so it doesn’t happen again,” the housekeeper suggested.
Cavell sent a querulous glance to me and I winced. I’d thought it was a good enough story to cover his unexpected appearance and the fact he was wearing my garments! To my amazement, Cavell took up the threads of the story and embroidered.
“Yes, it was a frightful surprise. I went arse-over-tit in front of the Duke of Fotheringham, no less. I do hope he didn’t recognize me!”
The Duke of Fotheringham kept a townhouse four doors down from my home. Cavell must have been doing his research! Maud, who was a shy fourteen-year-old, returned with the extra crockery as Mr. Foxford Robins explained his predicament. She burst out laughing at hearing the explanation and hurriedly put the cup, saucer, and side plate on the table. It appeared that Sebastian was in his element entertaining my servants and enjoying his new persona. I was sure that, if permitted, he would give a full performance, so I stepped in.
“That will do, thank you ladies,” I said sternly, breaking the spell Cavell had cast all-too-easily for comfort. The servants curtsied and then left the room. When the door clicked shut and I could hear the tip-tap of footfalls in the hallway I turned to Cavell.
“Birdie, ayy!” I smiled widely, immediately betraying my determination that I would remain stone-faced and detached when dealing with this man. Lust never usually affected my thinking or led me from my righteous path. Looking at attractive men passing in the street, or at my club, I acknowledged my desire only to myself and never acted upon it. But Sebastian Cavell could charm the birds from the trees.
“I keep a few names up my sleeve in case I’m required to think on the hoof,” Cavell explained. He sauntered to the table where the tea and sweet pies were laid out. Without even asking for permission, he picked up a mince pie and took a bite. His eyes widened in pleasure. When he’d swallowed the mouthful he exclaimed,
“Heavens! If she worked for me I’m sure I’d be the size of a barrel!” The warm tart was gone in three bites.
“Indeed,” I agreed, patting my stomach, for even though I took regular exercise I was not the wiry, flat-bellied man I had once been!
“I rescued her from the kitchens at Hadleigh House, you know?”
“Rescued?”
“They were throwing far too many parties and the poor woman was run off her feet. Flora is more suited to cater to smaller groups and a more homely palate,” I explained casually, “Come let’s take tea.”
I gestured for Sebastian to take a seat at the mahogany occasional table. I eyed him, taking his measure as he sat across from me. This was rather… intimate. I poured the tea and passed a teacup across the table to Sebastian where he added milk and sugar to suit his taste. I offered my guest another mince pie. Neither of us spoke, and so the ticking of my mantle clock and the crackling of the fire seemed amplified to my ears. There was a frisson of electricity in the air as we partook of our refreshment. I could not prevent my gaze flitting up to covertly watch Sebastian’s near-feminine shaped mouth as he chewed. His full lips were sprinkled with buttery pastry crumbs that my wicked inner voice willed me to lick away. I noticed too how he watched me, his eyes assessing every move I made.
I had tried for so many years to rid myself of lustful thoughts of men, going so far as to remain celibate and deny all feelings. And yet, Sebastian Cavell’s attentions in Glasgow washed away those years of loneliness in one-fell-swoop and so again, my mind was free for a time. My thoughts trawled through what we did and given the chance, what else I would permit Cavell to do to me. But that wishful time did not last long. My inner thoughts warred; my lust fighting with the echoes of church sermon’s from my youth preaching hellfire for sins of the flesh. I knew I needed to put a halt on this lustful train of thought for it could only lead to further blemishes on my immortal soul. I told myself that what Cavell and I had done was nothing more than a slip-up. And so I determined that after I confessed my sins to my priest, and took my penance it would be proper for me to begin again, vow to fight the devil’s temptation, and resume my reverent life of celibacy and contemplation.
I was deep in thought about the righteous and virtuous path I would choose when Cavell spoke up, shattering the silence.
“Have you been well, Benedict?” The precise way he pronounced my name sent a shiver through me.
“Quite well,” I replied formally, “And you, I trust your journey back to London was uneventful.”
“It was.”
An awkward silence fell once more and I became distinctly uncomfortable sitting in my study with this man, a man whose tenderness had shaken my very foundations. He remained a criminal–at-large on the run from the police. I realized then that it had not even crossed my mind to tell Scotland Yard of his disguises. I concluded it was very much in my best interest to keep this man on my side and out of jail. I sipped my scalding tea and then taking on a businesslike tone I said,
“What can I do for you Mr. Cavell, that is, apart from allowing you to make use of my facilities and my garments again?”
“It’s becoming quite the habit, isn’t it?” Sebastian chuckled, and the sound of his light laughter infected me, making my stern countenance soften. “I require some assistance and you are most knowledgeable, so I thought I would call in on a friend,” he explained, his eyes sparkling.
“I did not realize we were friends,” I returned roughly and then heard how mean-spirited that sounded. Damn it. I must do better.
“I would… like us to be friends, Benedict,” Cavell replied, a little wounded. I did not have many people in my life I could appropriate that label to. With my habits and peculiarities, I kept most people at arm’s length. I never offered my hand to be shaken as was expected of a man of good breeding. And so a reputation for being prickly and ill-mannered preceded me.
“What exactly would that entail?” I asked as if we were conducting a business transaction.
“What does friendship usually entail?” Sebastian sounded bemused. “Conversation, walks, dining, sharing common interests—“
Oh, I could well imagine what those common interests were!
“Would you be agreeable to beginning…a friendship?” Cavell quizzed tentatively.
I considered the offer for the length of a breath. Friendship had given me nothing but heartache in the past and so I did not particularly feel as if I knew how to be a good friend, but I was lonely and knew his friendship might just lift my spirits. I recalled the moment I saw Sebastian at my door. I was glad to see him. I had thought of little but him since our liaison. Maybe my friendship could lead him onto a more honest life path.
“Very well,” I conceded.
“And over time maybe it could be something more?” Cavell added, his eyes beseeching. I was taken aback. This was most unusual. The man was galloping ahead of himself.
“P…possibly,” I stuttered. No man had shown this type of intense interest in me since Euan. I was flattered. Silence fell; Cavell bit his lip and awkwardly looked up at the ceiling as if searching for cobwebs. Maybe he had said too much or not enough? Whatever he was thinking to say appeared to make him distinctly twitchy in his seat. Cavell righted himself in his chair and then said,
“Look. Can I be frank?” I gestured for him to continue, unsure if I wanted to hear what he had to say.
“I explained my profession to you. I work in disguise.” I nodded.
“It is hard to be…myself and to meet people…men I can be myself with.” He paused as if trying to measure his words before saying them.
“I discovered that I can be myself… with you. I would like you to be my friend, Benedict. Do you understand?”
The discussion of feelings was always excruciating and embarrassing. I avoided such talk as much as I could. However, our gazes met, the spark became a flame, and I could not look away. Reading between the lines, what he was asking was wondrous, and yet, because of who this man was—what I believed he asked of me was recklessly dangerous for both of us—not to mention, illegal.
“There comes a time where even the flightiest of birds needs to stop and find a perch. I’m tired, Benedict. I’m tired of superficial acquaintances. I’m sure you can imagine—”
“I think I can,” I admitted, holding on to my hot teacup to anchor me. I recalled that Sebastian had once told me of how he engineered a back alley upright with Euan Ardmillan to get the measure of the man! I understood that his dishonest life did not offer Cavell the true friendship he desired.
“I would like to earn your trust, and if you decide you cannot offer me something more I will concede and be happy to call you my trusted friend,” Cavell said and then he took a nervous sip of tea.
I knew exactly what more meant. Sebastian’s eye contact was true, and the earnestness in his voice made a lump form at my sternum. I watched him with a mixture of affection and alarm, for even though I had seen him full of confidence and patter before, this time he was nervous and talk of feelings appeared agonizing—as if he feared my rejection. Not even Euan had spoken so earnestly to me and I found I was touched by Sebastian’s regard. The silence that fell between us took on a frigid, fragile quality as if one wrong word would shatter something new and beautiful.
“I….I am humbled by your kind words,” I stuttered. “But… I am not a young man Sebastian and I need you to know I will not enter into this…friendship blindly. I appear to enjoy your company, but the truth is that you are at an advantage.” Sebastian looked up at me, perplexed.
“You have watched me and become familiar with my habits over many months in your disguises as Josiah and John Edwards. However, I met you a mere eight days ago.”
“Gods, is that all? It feels like I’ve known you forever!” Sebastian admitted rubbing his hand across his mouth. His pupils flared, sending a dart of attraction my way. He looked so boyishly handsome at that moment and the interruption befuddled my brain and made me lose my place. I could not let emotions or attraction get the better of me. Morality and truth must be my shining light. I took a breath and ordered my thoughts.
“You make your living from criminality which I find disturbs me greatly. You have presented yourself in many disguises meant to deceive. You have deceived me and yet—” I paused for a measuring breath.
“—And yet… you also assisted to stop Euan’s scheme in its tracks…and you gave me The Staff of Asklepios as a gift.” I paused again, torn by expressing the duplicity of this man’s behavior and my unnerving magnetic attraction to him.
