Page 44 of Master Wolf
“And you also wish to acquire that awful…thing?” Marguerite asked, with a theatrical shudder. “Ugh, I cannot comprehend why you gentlemen seem so fascinated with it!C’est morbide!”
“You’re perfectly right, my dear,” Lindsay said. “And if I wasn’t incapacitated I’d invite you to dance to spare you this conversation, but as you can see I’m something of an invalid this evening. Perhaps one of the other gentlemen would oblige?”
Begg appeared torn. He plainly liked the idea of getting closer to the lovely Marguerite, but given how high his colour was merely from standing still, he’d likely keel over if he attempted so much as a slip step.
Before he could decide, Marguerite leapt into the fray. “Oh, would you, Mr. Bainbridge?” she gushed. “I have been longing to dance and Monsieur Niven simply will not oblige me. I do not know why I married such a selfish creature!” She followed that up with a hot look at Drew that suggested she’d had very good reasons for her decision, possessed herself of a wide-eyed Bainbridge’s arm and marched him away towards the dance floor, where the last dance had just finished.
The remaining gentlemen watched them leave in silence.
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Begg said at last, “Mrs. Niven is a remarkably lovely woman.”
Drew made a polite murmur, by way of accepting the compliment.
“So, Niven,” Lindsay said brightly. “It appears you are not the only gentlemen interested in acquiring this specimen that has been dug up from the Nor’loch mud.”
“I didn’t imagine I would be,” Drew replied. He glanced at Begg as he spoke but the man did not so much as flicker an eyelid. He was still watching Marguerite.
The orchestra began to play—it was a waltz tune. A sedate one, though it would no doubt still be regarded as very fast by the sedate gentlefolk of Edinburgh.
“How many others are interested in the skeleton, Mr. Begg?” Lindsay asked baldly, not deterred by Begg’s silence.
“Hmm? Oh, let me think,” Begg said, frowning. “I believe there are four serious potential bidders, including Mr. Niven and Mr. Bainbridge. We could put the thing up for public auction, of course, but the Council is minded to sell quietly to a private bidder.”
Drew resisted rolling his eyes. Of course they preferred a private sale—it was so much easier to skim the profits that way. And Drew was just about it to make it easier still—for Begg at least.
“I would very much like to acquire this item, Mr. Begg,” he said. “If you can help to make that happen, I would be only too pleased to—well, show my appreciation. It seems only fair to pay a fee for good offices, after all.”
Begg said nothing but his gaze was watchful.
“You will be thinking of the best thing for the townspeople, I know,” Drew added, his voice quiet but still audible. “Rest assured, I am not seeking any discount on price—in fact your assistance will ensure I pay the verybestprice. It would only be a case of saying, Mr. So-and-so plans to pay such-and-such an amount, and I shall be sure to offer more. The city will profit as best it might from such an arrangement. And you will also be compensated for your time.”
Begg considered that. At length he said, “The Council would get the highest possible price available.” It was not a question.
“Correct.”
“It is… an interesting proposition,” Begg said. His attention flickered back to the dancers circling the floor. Drew glanced in the same direction, just in time to see Marguerite twirling past with Mr. Bainbridge. Distractedly, Begg added, “I will give it some thought, Mr. Niven. I cannot say fairer than that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He offered a slight bow and strolled away, leaving Drew and Lindsay gazing after him.
Chapter Thirteen
Drew turnedto Lindsay once Begg was gone. He was about to ask Lindsay for his thoughts, but then he saw how grey and haggard Lindsay was, and how heavily he was leaning on his cane, and the words died in his throat.
“What?” Lindsay said with faint irritation. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Drew studied him unhappily. “Do you feel unwell?”
“I’m just tired,” Lindsay said. “I need to sit.” He sounded breathless, a faint wheeze in his voice. His gaze began to wander about the ballroom, presumably searching for a chair.
“There are no free chairs in here,” Drew said. “Come with me. I saw some benches outside the ballroom.” Without waiting for a response, he took Lindsay’s elbow in a gentle grip and steered him towards the large open doors, hoping it would be quiet on the upper landing.
Lindsay didn’t argue with him—which was itself entirely out of character. He allowed Drew to lead him out of the ballroom and into the quiet corridor outside, where Drew guided him to a small, unoccupied wooden bench in the shadows.
“Sit down here. Do you want me to fetch you something to drink?”
Lindsay shook his head. “I just need to rest for a bit. I’ve overdone it.” He braced his right hand on his cane and slowly lowered himself down onto the bench, closing his eyes.
Drew sat down beside him, eyeing him anxiously. Lindsay’s skin had an ashen cast to it.
Lindsay raised a hand and passed it wearily over his newly short hair. All these long years, whenever Drew thought of Lindsay, he’d pictured him with long hair—dark, silken tresses tumbling over his shoulders.