Chapter Nine #2
“Of course. My apologies to your namesake. But yes, the Affair of the Poisons was a real thing, though how many people truly died, I cannot say. Probably it was exaggerated at the time, and more so in the telling afterwards. But as a child I believed every word, and my aunt loved to make our flesh creep with tales of secret malice and agonised death. My cousin Evelyn relished it all as a ghost story, while I lay awake at night consumed with terror. I once refused to eat for three days for fear my bread was poisoned.”
“And they kept telling you those stories even though you were so afraid?”
Nico shrugged. “My aunt was not a woman of great sensibility: I daresay she found it amusing. And children will have fears.”
“My brother Hadrian was terrified of the sea,” Titus remarked.
“I have no idea why: we lived near Bury St. Edmunds, and I don’t think he’d ever seen the sea when he conceived the fear, but he hated the very idea of it.
Augustus, our eldest brother, thought it was most amusing, and was continually telling him stories of shipwrecks and drownings until Vespasian called him a contemptible bully, and they had an almighty row.
That’s my second brother; he always used to defend us younger ones.
Augustus insisted it was just a bit of fun, and Vespasian said, ‘If it’s fun, why is he crying?
’ I always remember that when people say something cruel then claim it was a joke. ”
Nico would have bet ten pounds that Titus had someone in mind as he said that, but didn’t push. “Hadrian was somewhat younger?”
“Twelve years, so it wasn’t kind of Augustus to tease him. Though I suppose it was only to be expected.”
Nico looked a question. Titus made a face.
“My father’s great concern was to raise the family’s position in the world, so he put every penny he could into land for Augustus to inherit.
And it worked, because Augustus married a baronet’s daughter on the strength of his landholding and expectations, but it did mean Augustus became rather overbearing.
Knowing he was the important one, you see. ”
“One brother received all the inheritance? In France, it is not permitted. What was done for the rest of you?”
“Well, our uncle was a lawyer, so Father handed Vespasian over to him. He had wanted to become an actor—he was always terribly funny, doing impersonations and making us younger ones put on little plays—but naturally Father would not countenance any such thing and insisted on a gentlemanly profession. I was awfully sorry when he left,” Titus said reflectively.
“He was quite a fiery person, and he argued with Augustus and our father a great deal, but he was always kind to us younger ones. I missed him very much. Then Claudius’s godfather bought his commission as a lieutenant.
He died in the Peninsula. And Hadrian was put in the Navy. ”
“Hadrian, who hated the sea?”
“Yes.” Titus had been cutting mutton as he spoke.
His knife paused for a moment, then restarted, in a careful, intent sort of way.
“Claudius had always wanted to be a soldier, so at least he chose his path. But Hadrian didn’t want the Navy at all.
He begged and pleaded to do anything else.
I said I would go in his place as a midshipman—he was so frightened—but Father thought his godfather might take offence at the suggestion and not pay.
So he was sent. Father said he would accustom himself to it, but his last letter said he was terribly seasick and hated it all, and he wanted to come home. ”
His last letter. “How old was he?” Nico asked.
“Fourteen when he went to the war. Fifteen when he died. He was hit by shot and knocked off the deck, they said. I hope it was quick. I hope he didn’t drown. He was so afraid of drowning.”
Nico’s extended family had been a chaos of clashing selfishnesses loosely held together by casual affection.
Nico’s father had fought for him on several occasions, but in lean times he always ate his fill before his son had the scraps; Tante Anne had been equally likely to dispense kisses or blows.
Nico and Eve’s allegiance had been born out of necessity, because nobody else ever put either of them first.
It had not been a cossetted childhood by any measure. In this moment, it felt like he’d been brought up in a fairy tale.
Titus pushed his unfinished plate away and rang the bell. They sat in silence as the plates were cleared and a bowl of cherries brought in, along with a second bottle.
“So,” Nico said finally. “Your other brothers were allocated professions, but your father set you to paints. Was there a reason?”
“Well, I used to draw as a boy. I wasn’t allowed a drawing-master, but I drew anyway when I could.
So Father told me I would like to become a colourman.
I would have preferred to go into the Church, actually, or I thought I would, but that would have cost far more than Father wished to spend, and the apprenticeship was cheap.
” Titus picked up a cherry and turned it in his stained fingers.
“I felt a little hard done by at first, but it turned out I liked working with colours, and having my own shop. Becoming an expert in my field. I think that’s why things feel rather difficult now: I have no idea how to be a rich man, whereas I was very good at making paints. ”
“And you like colours.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with them. And when you know something so intimately it’s like, almost, well—”
“Friendship?” Nico suggested.
Titus gave a startled laugh. “That is what I wanted to say! How did you know?”
“The waistcoat you wear now. When you saw the fabric, you seized on it with a happy certainty, like a man seeing a signpost to home. You feared to wear it, but you knew it.”
“It’s the blue. I know exactly how to make this blue. You are rather alarmingly observant.”
“I wanted to see what you liked.”
Titus’s lips parted slightly. Nico popped a cherry in his mouth, saw his eyes track the motion, and thought through the pleasant fog of wine, No. Stop this. Not fair.
He chewed, spat out the pip, swallowed the flesh. “Do you see much of your remaining brothers?”
That put a necessary and effective damper on the mood. Titus grimaced. “No. No, I don’t. I haven’t seen Vespasian since Father’s funeral. He took the will badly.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t know why he was surprised. For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance, but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath. I didn’t expect a legacy, but I did think some token of remembrance—five pounds to buy black gloves, even—”
“That is what you leave to the footman.”
“Well, Ves and I got Father’s affectionate wishes.
Ves asked Augustus if he intended to keep it all, and Augustus said of course, and Ves simply exploded.
He said if Augustus had stood with him, they could have stopped Father sending Hadrian to sea, called him a walking stomach seeking what he might devour, picked up his hat, and left the house for good. ”
Nico mentally applauded Vespasian. “One may sympathise.”
“Well, yes, but then the next time I wrote to him, my uncle returned the letter. It turned out he had abandoned his position and profession, said some rather rude things, and moved away without a forwarding address. I don’t know where he is now. I haven’t heard from him in years.”
“Oh. I am sorry, mon ami.”
“It is a great shame, but there is nothing to be done. I did hope he might see my name in the newspapers and write, but I suppose he might feel rather conscious of his absence. You know, getting in touch with one’s brother only when he inherits a fortune.”
“It does not look well,” Nico agreed.
“I’m afraid he would rather not write than risk looking greedy. Which is absurd because I wouldn’t ever think that of him.”
There was something in the stress on the last pronoun. “Did Augustus write to you?” Nico guessed.
Titus’s shoulders sagged slightly. “A letter a few days after the news spread, and then another this week. He wants me to come and stay with his family. He has never invited me to his house before, not once, but now he would like me to know my nephews and niece, whom I will no doubt be pleased to assist in my new circumstances. And I should—be pleased to, I mean—”
“I would not myself be pleased at all,” Nico said. He had taken an instant dislike to this Augustus based entirely on the set of Titus’s shoulders, and now found himself ready for combat. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I ought to go, since he is my only family, but …
The thing is, a few years ago, a colourman of my acquaintance wanted to sell up, and I could have bought the freehold of his shop along with the contents.
It was a wonderful opportunity. I wrote to ask Augustus if he would loan me forty pounds, and he refused in rather strong terms. He said I should manage my affairs with more care and put the needs of the family before my own.
It was very selfish of me to make such demands on him, and he hoped I would not be so importunate again. ”
Nico bristled. “The needs of the family meaning himself, I take it?”
“The eldest son is the future of the family,” Titus said, as if that were an axiom.
“But I had never asked for anything before, and I would have paid the loan back. With interest! And if he had lent me that money, my shop would have been safe. That’s what I cannot let go of.
I would have been safe for the rest of my life.
I wouldn’t have been dependent on—on my landlord, and I wouldn’t have had to marry Miss Whitecross, and I would not be rich now.
” He huffed a sort of laugh. “I can’t decide if that means I owe Augustus my good fortune, or if I am absolved from giving him a penny. ”