Page 20 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Stonehaven heard Honeywell smacking his lips with appreciation and smiled.

“That,” he said, savouring the lingering taste in his mouth. “Is majestic.”

“I approve the description,” Honeywell said, amusement in his voice. “It is splendid.”

“Do you have any more?”

“Ha! Perhaps, my lord, perhaps, but first we shall enter into a negotiation.”

“Oh? What is it, you old reprobate? I ought to have known you’d want something from me.”

“Well, in fact I do,” Honeywell replied, but there was a distinct note to his voice now, grave and sorrowful.

Stonehaven shifted in his seat, wondering what was on the man’s mind.

“It’s about Mark Bevin.”

“Who the devil is he?” Stonehaven asked, not really caring but savouring the wine and wondering how much he might have to pay to get his hands on some bottles of his own. Whatever the price, it would be worth it.

“Mr Bevin is the unfortunate young man who acted so rashly whilst in his cups and injured you.”

Stonehaven froze, his fingers tightening around the stem of the glass. He forced himself to relax them, to keep his voice even as he replied. “Is he, by God?”

“Yes, my lord, and he is being held in Horsham Prison. The assizes will be held on Monday next in Lewes, and he faces the noose.”

“What of it?” Stonehaven replied coldly.

There was silence for a moment before Honeywell spoke again. “My lord, I would like you to show mercy and ask for transportation.”

“No.”

Another silence followed during which Stonehaven imagined Honeywell gathering himself to deliver a sermon upon the quality of mercy or some such guff.

Instead, Honeywell just sighed, sounding disappointed. “Well, that is a pity. I should hate to see you become old and bitter, but it is your decision. I say, this wine truly is magnificent.”

“Hold up, me become old and bitter? What the devil does that mean? The man tried to kill me! Should he not suffer for his actions?”

“In the first place, Mr Bevin is eighteen years old and has barely enough hair on his chin to warrant a razor. I believe man is rather a grandiose description for the foolish puppy, whatever the law might say. But that aside, do you think transportation and the end of the life he had expected to lead insufficient suffering?”

“What about the end of the life I expected to lead?” Stonehaven exclaimed, his voice rising dramatically as anger swamped him.

“He might have killed me; he has maimed me. What the bloody hell good am I to anyone now? And you think I should forgive him! I beg your pardon, Honeywell, but you seem to have confused me with one of your confounded saints!”

“No. No, indeed, I have not. But such decisions, made at a time when emotions are raw, are rarely good ones. I only fear that a man—a good, honourable man, which is what I know you to be—might look back upon his actions as needlessly callous and vindictive, and that kind of guilt, well, that is a far harder thing to live with than the knowledge that one has been kind.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Stonehaven snarled, breathing hard. There were limits to the things he could say whilst a guest in the reverend’s home, but the old man too had overstepped in asking such a thing.

“As I said, it’s your decision,” Honeywell said without rancour.

“It’s such a shame, though. Bevin is a nice young man at heart.

Got in with a bad lot, as so many youths do at this delicate stage in their journey to manhood.

Mr Howard—the unpleasantly loud young man who treated Mrs Adamson so ill—is far better bred, ironic as that is to say out loud, but he is also a thoroughly rotten apple, though it grieves me to admit it.

His uncle is a baron, and his influence means not a stain will attach to him over a situation of which he was the author.

Mark is from a local family, gentry, but comfortably off.

His father is a farmer, and Mark was to take over the farm in a few years.

He’s not used to strong drink, sadly, and Mr Howard has been goading him rather about his lack of experience in several arenas.

Called him a coward in public, so I hear.

And then for Mark to see you knock his friend down and, Mr Howard looking to his eyes like he was dead, well, it had a profound effect on an intelligence muddled by drink and, that am bound to say, is perhaps not the sharpest at the best of times.

Still, his mother is distraught. His sisters too, for they are a close-knit family and there’s no one else to take over the farm.

Their father’s health is not so strong recently, I’m afraid to say. ”

The reverend sighed again.

“I’m not a fool, Honeywell, I know what you’re doing,” Stonehaven growled.

He chuckled. “Of course you do. But you cannot blame a sentimental old man for poking his nose in when Mr Bevin looks to be little more than a boy to me. It just hurts my heart so to know his life is over before it even began, and all because of strong drink and the devil’s voice in his ear.

Now, then. Should you like me to accompany you upstairs? ”

Stonehaven shook his head. “I can manage.”

“I can see that you can, but perhaps you might like me to carry the rest of this glass of wine up? I shall even top it up for you, as I am such a generous soul.”

Despite himself, Stonehaven laughed. “Fine. But I warn you, getting me drunk won’t save the lad, so you can leave the bottle with my thanks, but expect no miracles.”

“Then I shall keep the bottle, and share the rest of it with you tomorrow, but do not ask me to expect no miracles, my good man, for that will never happen. I have faith.”

“Good for you,” Stonehaven replied wearily, though with no resentment.

He was tired suddenly, the wine and the brandy he had drunk earlier working upon a mind exhausted by the challenges of the day.

That those challenges were all things he’d done without a second thought before he had lost his sight only made him increasingly despondent.

Yes, the boy’s life was a waste, as was his own.

Two lives ruined for no good reason. Surely, somebody ought to pay for that.

He would pay for the rest of his days, after all.

Though the reverend helped him, the journey back to his room left Stonehaven deeply fatigued, and he was so grateful to discover George waiting for him that he allowed the man to help him to bed without a murmur.

He fell into bed, and immediately into troubled dreams, which chased him ceaselessly throughout the night.