Elmwood #2
There was a carriage in the drive, and standing in front of it was Winthrop.
He was dressed very smartly, with a fashionable henge-style hat rising out of his tight black curls and a canary-yellow frock coat that practically glowed in contrast to his ebony complexion—which was all nothing short of remarkable given that he’d been on the same journey that had practically incapacitated Elmwood.
There was a small, fluffy, improbably long dog with tiny little legs dashing about his ankles, yapping madly.
“Winthrop!” Elmwood shouted. “What manner of silly creature is that, and will you please make it stop?”
Winthrop looked up at him with a smile.
“He’s a badger hound, and he’s your salvation!”
Elmwood’s father’s study was unspeakably dusty.
He made the mistake of patting a pillow for Winthrop and it sent both of them into a coughing fit.
Winthrop took it all in with his usual good nature.
Elmwood was convinced that he could have gone to Winthrop and told him that his own mother had been arrested for Charming men’s cocks clean off and making them fly about like birds and was to be sentenced to death for it, and Winthrop would have been delighted by the challenge of defending her in court.
Not that Elmwood’s actual situation was any less catastrophic.
The little badger hound had stopped barking but was perhaps even more annoying when silent, snuffling around Elmwood’s ankles as if it thought there might be badgers hiding in his stockings. He tried to nudge it away with one foot.
“Careful, Elmwood. It would avail you to endear yourself. That dog is all that stands between you and complete destitution,” said Winthrop, falling into his dusty chair with a gusto Elmwood found exhausting.
He pulled off his silly hat and tossed it like a skipping stone so that it landed on the desk.
“So you say, but you have yet to explain how such an annoying creature could possibly be of any help to me.”
“Well, you haven’t given me the chance! Say, how’s your leg?”
Winthrop said this as he watched Elmwood lower himself slowly into a chair.
“Dreadful. Now, tell me about the dog. What scheme are you hatching?”
“Answer me this: Why do you think they didn’t take Merewyth when they took everything else?”
“I assumed they forgot about it. I certainly had. I wish I wasn’t remembering it now.”
“I thought that at first as well, but I decided to investigate, and am I ever glad I did. You see, my friend, they didn’t take Merewyth because it doesn’t belong to you.”
Elmwood hadn’t thought his spirits could possibly be further dampened, but that managed it.
“That’s terrible news, Win.”
“Let me explain. It doesn’t belong to you because when your father died, he left it to someone else.”
“Who?” A familiar resentment uncurled in his chest. He was so accustomed to being disappointed by his father that the sensation almost resembled an old friend.
Winthrop gestured to the dog. “Your father left Merewyth to his favorite badger hound, Rollo.”
Elmwood found himself at a loss.
“The dog?” he finally managed to splutter out. “My father left this place to his dog?”
“Yes!” The delight that Winthrop exhibited at this revelation was almost as vexing as the news itself.
“I fail to see how this is anything but humiliating for me.”
Winthrop rolled his eyes.
“Keep up, man. Merewyth is owned by Rollo and not by you, so it was not seized. That itself is good news, but the better news is that Merewyth is Rollo’s, but Rollo is yours.”
“He is?”
“Yes!”
“Then wouldn’t Rollo—and Merewyth by association—be forfeited along with all of my other holdings?”
“No!” shouted Winthrop, so excited that he jumped out of his chair. “Your father, strange and contrary man that he was, added a special codicil to his will. I suspect he was afraid that you’d dispose of poor Rollo here instead of treating him like the son your father wished he had.”
“First of all,” Elmwood interrupted, “you know I would never dispose of a dog. I’m not a monster. Secondly, my father did in fact have a son, and this sort of betrayal on his part is exactly why—”
“Yes, yes, your father was an ass. Do stop nattering and listen to me. The codicil states that Rollo isn’t property, he’s a ward.
You’ve been assigned as his guardian. For as long as he lives, Rollo owns Merewyth and you are entitled to live here as his guardian.
Except for the issue of you being banished, which would override that; I’m still working that part out. ”
“Well, that’s…something.”
“There’s more! I have an idea for how to get the rest of your property back.
You see, besides you, Rollo is the only beneficiary of your father’s will.
Now, having seized your assets, the Crown must pass them on to any other heirs, either yours or your father’s, and lacking any heirs, they can be gifted as the Crown sees fit.
I think a legal argument exists for claiming that Rollo is a clear potential heir for your father, given that your father already passed property on to him.
If I can prove that, then all your property will pass to Rollo, and ergo back to you as his guardian.
Now, I do need to file a petition to formally grant Rollo a lordship so that the laws of estate inheritance apply to him, but there is precedent for it, this case about fifty years ago where a lord tried to marry his horse… ”
“Stop, Win. This is insane.”
“It’s the law, Elmwood! It doesn’t matter if it’s insane if you can make a good argument and show precedent for it.”
“Why are you so excited? Even if this works, I won’t be the Earl of Elmwood anymore. A fucking dog will be the Earl of Elmwood, and I’ll be his steward!”
“First of all, you’re still an earl, technically, even if Elmhouse and your other holdings pass to someone else.
Only the King’s Council could take away your title, with a writ of attainder.
Second of all, if I can win this, I’m going to be set for life.
I’ll be the genius lawyer who won an impossible case. ”
“I keep getting caught up in the fact that it’s impossible.”
“You let me worry about that. Now, I need you to lie low. Lower than low. If they catch you and complete your banishment before I can work all of this out, the whole thing goes up in flames. I mean it, Elmwood. I know how you get when you’re bored.
You are absolutely not allowed to lure a bunch of nubile bumpkins in from the fields to despoil them, or invite friends from Neck to run around in the woods naked and play cards. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes. Lie low, have no fun, and get used to being second in line to a mangy hound. Don’t worry yourself. I’m in no state to do any despoiling, and I don’t have any friends left, aside from you.”
“It’s not all bad. A year from now, all of this will be another colorful episode in the grand story of your life.”
Elmwood stared at his friend, stricken by the depth of his despair.
No matter how clever a scheme Winthrop managed to pull off on his behalf, there was no means by which the last six months of Elmwood’s life could ever be rewritten as some sort of adventure.
The simple fact was, after what he had seen—what he had done—nothing mattered.
He didn’t care about regaining his property or weaseling out of banishment.
He didn’t care about anything beyond finding the will to drag himself out of bed in the morning and making himself do some semblance of the same the following day and the day after.
Even that, most days, felt like too much.
But with sweet, eager Winthrop sitting there staring at Elmwood with such a look of pride and hope on his face, there was no way for Elmwood to tell him that.
There was no way to do anything but go along with what he wanted and try to appreciate having the love and dedication of someone so good.
It was why Elmwood had let himself be bundled into the rented carriage in the first place, and he certainly had not found the strength since to deny his best friend what he so dearly wanted.
Even if what he wanted was to save Elmwood, when Elmwood knew in his heart that he was already far too lost to be saved.
Elmwood’s dark thoughts must have showed on his face, because Winthrop reached out and placed a hand over his.
“I know I’ve already said it, but it bears repeating. I’m very glad you did what you had to do to stay alive, old friend. Glad indeed. Now you must trust me to set things right for you, just as I know you would do for me if I were ever in such a predicament.”
“You would never get yourself into a mess of this measure, Win, but you’re a good friend to say so. Better than I deserve. Will you stay here awhile and keep me company?”
“No, it’s back to Neck for me. I have a case to sniff out, and you know there’s nothing I like better than the chase. But Elmwood? Please take good care of the dog.”
“I shall treat it as though it were my only living family.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Elmwood placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“I promise, Win. I’ll do my best, for your sake.”
Winthrop shook his head.
“I’d rather you did it for your own sake, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Most people would imagine that after badly dislocating a hip, one might not be keen on going for a stroll, but Elmwood found that walking helped.
If his hip remained too still for too long, it froze up.
He’d discovered this during his first few months in military custody, after his fever had broken and he’d been moved out of the medical ward.
Then he had taken to pacing to keep things moving, gritting his teeth against the pain as he shuffled around the various rooms he had been locked in.
In his current situation, he found that the garish cane Winthrop had given him helped enormously.