Page 11 of Provoked

Euan took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. “I’m only asking you for a little help, Davy. A name, an address. That’s all.”

“It’s not all. I would have to make enquiries, and my sympathies have already been remarked upon—”

“Please Davy. Help me.” The young man’s voice was husky, all pride abandoned now.

David sighed. It really was completely pointless, but he’d never been able to walk away from a plea for help.“You’re soft, laddie.”That was what his father used to say.

Besides, there was only one cure for what ailed Euan MacLennan: failure. There was nothing like failure for eroding hope, nothing else in the world. Waiting for months—years—for a letter that would never, ever come.

“All right,” he sighed. “I will try to find out who this Isabella is—”

“Thank you! I knew I could—”

“But—” David held a hand up to stay Euan’s babbling gratitude. “In return, you will agree to give up on this scheme if my enquiries bear no fruit.”

“Yes, anything.”

“And, if we do learn anything, you will do nothing—nothing—without first telling me, because make no mistake, Euan, this Lees is a very dangerous man.”

“Yes,” Euan agreed hurriedly. “Of course, anything you say, Davy.” His smile was like sunshine breaking through clouds. Hope and optimism and belief blazed in his blue eyes.

All David felt was an uneasy worry in his gut.

Chapter Four

On Saturday, David walked out to Jeffrey’s home at Craigcrook. It was a few miles northwest of the city, and he did it at a brisk pace, relishing the exercise and the gradual improvement of the air from the dark murk of the Old Town where he lived and worked, to the elegant but still reeky New Town, and farther out on the road to Queensferry.

He liked best the point at which the city seemed to lose its grip on the land, the buildings diminishing in size and gradually petering out until they were no longer part of the city at all but little hamlets of their own. Best of all was the last stretch, after he turned off the main road and took the road to Craigcrook.

It was dusk by this time, and it felt like he was in the country proper. Birds twittered from tree to tree, searching for a roost for the night, and the uneven dirt-packed road beneath his feet felt like home. It felt good to walk on the earth instead of on cobbles, good to experience silence and solitude. For the first seventeen years of his life, he’d lived on his father’s farm, working long days at the old man’s side with his brother Drew. He missed those days sometimes—being outdoors, being connected to the land and the seasons—and now he slowed his pace to a stroll the better to enjoy the old, familiar feeling.

As he walked, David mentally ticked off the names of the members of the faculty he’d already positively excluded as having any possible connection to “Isabella”. More than half already, and he’d only been making his enquiries for a few days. So far it was all exactly as he’d expected but that didn’t make it a pointless exercise. Euan wanted—needed—to do something for his brother. David understood that, and he would do what he could to help, even if all it amounted to was snipping off the last thread of hope the lad had.

Besides, it would help take his mind off the other thing that had been playing on his mind all week—his encounter with Murdo Balfour. Whenever he ceased actively thinking of something else, his mind would sneak back to that memory, lingering on the recollected pleasure of their encounter in the dark close till he realised what he was doing and determinedly banished it once again.

David was accustomed to reliving his rare encounters with other men. Usually, though, he was mired in regret as he did so. This memory was different. Much as he tried to concentrate on what it had felt like to kneel on the filthy wet ground and give in to his abiding weakness, what he kept remembering was the moment Balfour dragged him to his feet and kissed him. Balfour’s warm, firm lips. His sleek tongue. His solid presence.

And not feeling alone.

David pressed his lips together and reminded himself that what he had done was a sin. There was nothing in the world that could change that. He made himself think of his parents, how disgusted they’d be at the thought of him with another man. Christ, he’d seen his father’s reaction once before, hadn’t he? It had only been a kiss, but just the look of horror on the old man’s face had destroyed David that day.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he almost walked past the gate that led to Jeffrey’s house. Set back from the path, it was easy to miss, a dark bit of ironwork shadowed by foliage. David gave it a shove, half expecting it to be locked, but no, it swung slowly open, the well-oiled hinges making no sound. Closing the gate behind him, he walked straight into a copse of trees, coming out the other side to emerge onto a broader path that led up to the house itself.

The house was bigger than even David had expected. A big baronial pile, its high walls were obscured by a thick layer of dark green ivy. A multitude of towers, turrets and crow-stepped gables drew the eye upwards to a sky that had already darkened to violet. A few bats flitted overhead, chittering.

Coming to a halt at the front door, David paused, wondering how Jeffrey and his wife could possibly want such a large house, just for the two of them. This was worlds away from David’s life. His own rooms in the heart of the Old Town were pleasant. He had a bedchamber of his own as well as another room where he could dine and work in the evening. He even had a maidservant who came every other day to clean and lay the fires and take his laundry away. She cooked his breakfast in the little kitchen on the days she came—dinner too, some days, though he generally preferred to eat in a chop house or inn in the evening. All in all, he lived very well compared to most people.

Comfortable as it was, David’s home was nothing to this great house. Hard to believe that at the same age as David, Jeffrey had been in a similar position, struggling to bring in the steady stream of work a man needed to assure his success. Perhaps that was why he’d taken on this imposing house? As a measure of success, it was undeniable. Jeffrey cocking a snook at all the Tory bigwigs who’d made his early career so difficult.

Standing on Jeffrey’s stoop, David felt suddenly nervous. He was comfortable with Jeffrey himself but had only met his wife once, briefly, and he had no idea who the other guests were. He brushed his hands over his coat and straightened his hat, taking a deep breath. It’s just a dinner, he told himself. Raising his fist, he firmly rapped on the door.

The female servant who answered took his hat, coat and bag, then led him into the drawing room. Jeffrey and his wife sat talking with a middle-aged couple and a young woman who looked to be their daughter.

Jeffrey spotted David hovering in the doorway and rose from his chair, his expressive face lit with a bright smile.

“Mr. Lauriston!” he exclaimed as he walked forward to greet David. “So glad you could come!” He shook David’s hand and added,sotto voce, “I invited someone who could be useful for you to know.”

He ushered David over to the rest of the group. Mrs. Jeffrey stood to greet him. It seemed she remembered him.