Page 47 of Restored

“Fine,” Freddy said. His tone was flat and uninviting.

Henry suppressed a sigh and stuck his head out of the window to call out instructions to the coachman.

Once they were on their way, he watched Freddy’s shadowy profile. Freddy had to be aware of his scrutiny, but he said nothing, his jaw tight, lips pressed together.

At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, Henry said, “Skelton is scoundrel. You do see that?”

“Yes,” Freddy muttered.

“Good,” Henry said, “because your friend, Bartlett, doesn’t seem to have cottoned on.”

“He’s just foxed,” Freddy said shortly. “I’ll put him right on it tomorrow. There was no talking to him tonight.”

“If he’s the sort of man who won’t listen to reason, perhaps you should consider whether you want to have him as a friend,” Henry said.

Freddy turned and glared at him, the angry gleam in his eyes unmistakable.

“Who would you rather I spend my time with, Father? Edgar, perhaps?”

Edgar Maitland, Freddy’s best friend at school, was an exceedingly likeable young man. He and Freddy had got along famously, since they were both energetic and adventurous, though their escapades had given Henry more than a few grey hairs over the years.

“Freddy—” Henry began wearily, knowing what was coming.

“I could have,” Freddy said, bitterly, “If you’d agreed to buy my colours.”

Henry made a sound of frustration. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to join the army—”

“Cavalry,” Freddy interrupted.

“Army, cavalry, navy—it’s all the same,” Henry said flatly. “You’d be signing your life away.”

“It’s a good career!” Freddy exclaimed. “Most fathers would be proud at the idea of their son taking a position as a cavalry officer.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Just because Uncle Arthur died, doesn’t mean—”

“Frederick—”

Freddy fell silent, just as the carriage began to slow. They were home.

“I’ll let you get to your engagement then,” Freddy said stiffly, opening the door.

And then he was gone, and the carriage door slammed shut.

Henry sighed.

He checked his watch—nearly midnight. He wondered if Christopher would be annoyed by his late appearance. If he would even admit Henry now.

He stuck his head out of the window again.

“Take me to Palfrey Terrace.”

13

Kit

Kit had made it his business some time ago to find out as much as he could about Peter’s natural father, Mr. Percival Bartlett.