Chapter Twelve
It was a long way to Coventry. That would help throw any possible pursuer off, which was good. On the other hand, it gave Daizell too much time to think about things.
He was beginning to fear Cassian was richer than he’d thought – the pack of concerned relatives, the fact that he’d barely taken the public stage before, the absurd wager, the heirloom ring. That was disheartening. A quiet country gentleman possessed of a competence might live very happily with a companion out of the public eye. Rich men had responsibilities, and people around them who guarded their wealth, and perhaps pressures to marry.
Not that Daizell had any right or reason to dream of that imagined quiet existence. He knew perfectly well it was too much to ask of life. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn’t stop him hoping. He always hoped. He wished he could stop.
Cassian had called him the best companion he could have asked for, and Daizell felt so much the same that it hurt a little. Cassian was delightful in his unobtrusive way – a good friend, a fascinating lover, a competent ally, an entertaining partner in absurdity – and Daizell didn’t want to think about parting. About Cassian going back to his established life where people poked at him to be louder and thought he was a nonentity, and nobody listened to what he wanted. About Daizell being alone again, but far more alone now because he’d feel Cassian’s absence. About the fact that if Cassian was wealthy they’d unquestionably have to part, because nobody would be pleased to see a well-off young man turn up with George Charnage’s son in tow. Cassian would know that as well as anyone.
And yet he had said he wanted to keep on being together.
Daizell couldn’t let himself draw too much significance from that, or he’d destroy himself with hoping. Almost certainly Cassian had just meant until his month was up. But still he had said ‘keep on’, not ‘keep on for the rest of the month’, and Daizell’s idiot heart couldn’t be persuaded to let that go.
He ought to do something sensible, such as talk to Cassian about what he really meant. He didn’t dare. For one, they’d only known each other a handful of days, for all it felt like a lifetime. For another, he didn’t want to press Cassian to anything. He was the one with a life and a family and things to lose. Daizell had lost those things, and he couldn’t bear to think of Cassian going through that, especially not with himself as the cause. For a third, the reason he was trying to hide behind the rest, he remembered very clearly the disgust in Martin’s voice. Christ, stop wanting things of me, it’s revolting.
Martin had not been at his best then, and he’d apologised since, but the words still hurt. Daizell liked people, and liked to be liked, and ‘revolting’ had sat under his skin for a long time now. So no, he was not going to make demands of Cassian, who was a grown man perfectly capable of saying what he wanted when, or if, he wanted it.
God, Daizell wished he would.
Brooding at least distracted him through the tedious journey to Coventry. It was well past four when they arrived.
‘It’s this way for the Green Lion,’ Daizell said. ‘I vote we head there first, see if Martin’s there, or if anyone knows where to find him. And, indeed, take lodgings while we’re at it.’
Cassian nodded. ‘It seems ridiculous to say I’m tired when I’ve done nothing but sit all day, but I’m exhausted. I am sorry for inflicting this on you.’
‘Can’t be helped. Nevertheless, unless we have a very firm lead, may I suggest we don’t spend tomorrow in a coach? Coventry has a wonderful cathedral. It would be a shame for you to miss it.’
That was shameless manipulation, and Cassian duly perked up. ‘Yes, of course. Would you care to come? I suppose you’ve been a dozen times already.’
‘Never set foot there in my life. You can tell me all about it.’
The Green Lion was much as ever. Forster, the landlord, gave Daizell a warm welcome and Cassian an interested once-over. ‘Room, is it?’
‘For a couple of nights,’ Daizell agreed.
‘One bed or two?’
‘One will do very well. How have you been, old fellow?’
They caught up with news, talking of this and that for a few moments, before Daizell went for the question. ‘By the way, has Martin, Martin Nichols, passed through recently?’
‘No, not for a couple of months.’
Cassian didn’t curse, or sag, or anything dramatic, but Daizell heard just the faintest resigned sigh. ‘Blast.’
Forster cocked his head. ‘You want to see him? Thought you weren’t on terms.’
‘I’ve a bone to pick with him.’
‘You’ll have your chance if you can hang about for a few days. Which you usually can,’ Forster added unkindly. ‘Martin’s always here for my Gracie’s birthday. She turns ten on Friday, so I dessay he’ll pitch up.’
‘Will he,’ Daizell said. ‘Excellent. Then we’ll be staying till Friday.’
Forster showed them up to the room, where Cassian dropped his bag on the floor and put his hands on his hips. ‘I have at least fifteen things to say at once. Have we truly found him?’
‘With a bit of luck.’
An incredulous grin spread across Cassian’s face. ‘Good God, Daizell. I could never, ever have done this without you.’
‘Thank me when we get the ring back off Martin,’ Daizell reminded him, but he was smiling too, caught by Cassian’s joy. ‘I hope to blazes he’s still got it.’
‘Even if he doesn’t – because I am not going to pin my hopes on that at all – I will know that I tried my best and did what I could. Um. If he does have it, do you think he’ll give it back?’
‘If he knows what’s good for him. What else was it you wanted to say?’
‘Well, the bed – the landlord—’
‘He’s trustworthy,’ Daizell reassured him. ‘This is a safe sort of place. No maids barging into rooms, or awkward questions about linen or who sleeps where.’
‘It’s a molly house?’
‘It’s an inn. Just a friendly one, where one doesn’t have to bribe the maids or leave by the windows.’
‘Oh.’ Cassian frowned. ‘But what about everywhere else we’ve stayed?’
‘We’ve left most of them after a night. And you’ve tipped lavishly, which . . .’ Which he’d assumed was buying complaisance, but Cassian’s blank look suggested otherwise. He just tipped to excess as a matter of principle. Rich , Daizell thought again. ‘I’m not advising indiscretion in the public rooms. Just saying, the landlord’s a decent fellow.’
‘But . . .’ Cassian winced. ‘If people found out I lodged here, would that be suggestive?’
‘What people? You live over the far side of Gloucester: who would notice or care where you stay in Coventry? And in any case it’s not a brothel. It’s an inn, albeit one where you might find like-minded company if you were looking for that. There’s usually somewhere in a good-sized town if you know where to go.’
‘But I don’t know.’ Cassian looked a little lost, somehow, almost bleak. ‘I’ve only ever really gone to one place and it’s quite . . . quite exclusive, you know, and awfully careful. I’ve never been to a normal sort of molly house.’
‘I could take you, if you like,’ Daizell offered, and saw on his face that was wrong. ‘Or not. Do you not want to stay here? I assumed you’d want a safe place.’
Cassian rubbed his face. ‘Because this is a safe sort of place for you.’
‘Well, yes? Is there something wrong?’
‘No. No, I dare say not. It’s a new experience and I’m supposed to have those. I’m sorry, I’m being very silly, when you’ve found our quarry and a good place to stay while we wait.’ He shook himself. ‘Forgive me. Could we perhaps take a stroll and stretch our legs? I don’t know Coventry at all and if we’ll be here a while, I should acquaint myself.’
‘You’re just itching for the cathedral, aren’t you?’ Daizell said, and led him out.
It was a pleasant afternoon, and Coventry was a lovely town. It wore its medieval history on its sleeve, with some surviving town gates though the walls between them had long gone, and two churches whose exteriors had Cassian rapt with admiration. Daizell had never considered them beyond ‘tall and pointy’; he expected to learn a great deal more in the near future, and found himself rather looking forward to it. They strolled in a leisurely way, and returned to the Green Lion for an excellent dinner and a pleasant evening in the taproom.
It was pleasant indeed. Daizell’s wanderings around the country and friendly habits meant he had a wide acquaintance. The Green Lion was where he always came when he passed through the area, and he greeted familiar faces with pleasure. Cassian said little, but he was an excellent listener, a trait which would win him popularity in any drinking establishment. Daizell told a couple of amusing stories, got belly laughs, laughed immoderately at other people’s stories, and made half a dozen new passing friends. He was thrumming with energy when they retired upstairs.
‘Goodness,’ Cassian said, sitting on the bed. ‘What a lively evening. You enjoyed yourself.’
‘I did. Did you?’
‘Yes.’ He sounded as though he was slightly surprised. ‘It was very entertaining. I usually find big, noisy gatherings rather exhausting. I think the trick is not having people particularly want one to talk. It’s much more enjoyable when I can just listen without feeling obliged to say something.’
‘If you want to be surrounded by people who talk so much you couldn’t get a word in if you tried, you’ve come to the right place. With the right man,’ he was forced to add, since he was well aware he’d been chattering all night.
‘Yes, that was perfect,’ Cassian agreed quite seriously. ‘Everyone allowed you to talk for both of us. I wish you could do that normally.’
Daizell frowned. ‘You’ve plenty to say for yourself.’
‘When I want to. The problem is when I’ve nothing at all I want to say, and yet people still press me to converse. I find that dreadfully tiring.’ He cocked his head. ‘Whereas you look quite invigorated. Have I been keeping you from the social whirl?’
‘Yes, all those invitations to soirées I’ve turned down,’ Daizell said, a touch more sarcastically than he’d meant. ‘No, not at all. I like company, but if it’s too much for you—’
‘If I find it too much, I shall retreat and read a book, and be as happy in my solitude as you are in company. Unless that would be offensive?’ he added quickly. ‘I don’t want to be standoffish.’
‘Nobody will mind in the slightest. We can find a bookseller tomorrow.’
‘Oh, perfect. Buy books, explore the town. And I thought, perhaps you could cut me one of your special profiles? I have wondered about that a great deal, you know. How you’d do it.’
‘I’ll need you to inspire me,’ Daizell said, and reached for him.
The next few days were quiet bliss.
They bought books – several, since they both liked the Waverley author. They saw the sights of Coventry, with Daizell discovering once again that a man who was interested in everything made everything interesting. They took long walks that alternated talking and comfortable silence, and spent entertaining evenings with the regulars of the Green Lion. It all made for remarkably full days. And then there were the nights.
Oh Lord, the nights. He didn’t think he’d ever forget this time. Cassian had taken Daizell’s request to heart, whispering those glorious endearments, telling Daizell he was so marvellous, so giving, such a very good boy, and Daizell was almost embarrassingly weak-kneed under the onslaught of lips and fingers and most of all those soft words in that bard’s voice. It was ridiculous how the praise went straight to his prick, and he didn’t care. Partly it felt too good; partly, Cassian had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the role, and was revelling in the effect of his words, and if it made him happy to bring Daizell to whimpering bliss, Daizell wasn’t going to complain.
He’d returned the favour with another planned ‘good morning’ fuck, every bit as successfully as before, leaving Cassian as sated and boneless as a cat in sunlight. He might possibly be dead and in heaven, except he didn’t think he’d done anything to merit this.
He had their mutual pleasure, and Cassian’s company and friendship, and their growing intimacy. He had no stagecoaches rattling his bones, no worries about money. He might have worried about time because Cassian’s month was running down with every day that passed, but that would spoil things, so he cut off the thought when it came and set himself to enjoy each moment as he lived it.
Something in Cassian seemed to melt away over those days too: some reserve, or worry. He stayed up with the raucous crowd a couple of times, and was once persuaded to tell a mildly warm story that was greeted by great applause and hoots of laughter. He’d glowed as if he’d never got a laugh in a public bar before, and Daizell didn’t know how his heart could keep expanding like this.
He cut Cassian’s shade, showing him the whole process, starting with smearing thick paper with lamp-black. He didn’t trouble with a pencil outline: by now he could have cut that quietly elegant profile in the dark. He did two, a standard shade of Cassian ruffled and smiling, which he pasted opposite a hollow cut in more serious pose. He also did an extremely questionable full-length version, which involved a great deal of giggling, and which he insisted, with regret on both sides, they burn afterwards. He’d learned his lesson there.
Everything was perfect until Friday.
Forster hailed them as they came in after a morning’s walk and leisurely luncheon. ‘Daize? You might want to know, Martin’s here. He’s giving Gracie her birthday present.’
‘Good,’ Daizell said. ‘We’d like to have a word when he’s done. Can we have the parlour? And don’t tell him it’s me, will you? I’d like to surprise him.’
‘I bet you would. You sit down, I’ll send him along.’
Daizell gestured Cassian towards the parlour. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes. Or – I was wondering, is it a good idea for me to be there? That is, if he feels he has a hold over me, might that not make for a more difficult bargaining position?’
‘He doesn’t have a hold over you. Does he?’
‘Well, the indiscretion—’
‘If he threatens to use that against you in this place, Forster will rip him limb from limb,’ Daizell pointed out. ‘That said, I dare say he’s more likely to ask you for money than he would be me, since I haven’t got any. It might be best if you stayed out of the way, unless you want to tell him what you think of him.’
Cassian sighed. ‘I just want my ring back. I am reluctant to pay him for it, since he’s already had my pocketbook and possessions, but if I have to—’
He would not be doing any such thing, and if he was considering it, Daizell wanted him well out of the way, where Martin wouldn’t be able to read his face. ‘Look, you go and read Kenilworth , so I can have it off you sooner. I’ll get your ring back, or find what he did with it. All right?’
Cassian gave him a smile that twisted Daizell’s heart in his chest, wistful and happy and trusting all at once. ‘Thank you, Daize,’ he said softly. ‘Can I kiss you in here?’
‘Very much so.’
Cassian caught his face with both hands, bringing their mouths together, kissing him with a breath-sapping intensity and then resting his head against Daizell’s. ‘I . . . you mean so much to me, Daizell. I’m so glad I met you.’
‘So am I,’ Daizell managed. Cassian’s hands were on his shoulders now, hanging on tight, almost desperate, and he needed to say something. To ask for what he wanted, and find out if it even remotely resembled anything he could have. ‘I – look, I want to talk about this. About us. Being together.’
Cassian looked up at him with huge, rainswept eyes, and Daizell’s heart contracted like a clenched fist. He took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I love you.’
Cassian’s eyes widened, lips parting in what looked like shock. Daizell hurried on, because it was too late to stop. ‘I know it’s not been long but I’ve been falling in love with you since we met, and I had to say so, and I can’t let this end without trying to keep it because this has been the best few weeks of my life. I’m well aware I’ve no money and a tainted name, and I quite see the difficulty, and if – if it can’t work, if you don’t want to or have other obligations, I shan’t make a fuss. Don’t fear that. Only, if you want to be with me at all, then you should know I want that more than anything. Because I love you.’
‘Oh God.’ There were tears in Cassian’s eyes and his fingers were tight on Daizell’s shoulders. ‘You really mean that? Me? Just me?’
‘Who else is there?’
Cassian made a hoarse noise, and pulled him in hard, making Daizell realise how much he’d feared him pulling away. ‘Yes. Absolutely yes. I want to be with you so much, Daize. You’ve changed everything, and the way you make me feel – I need you.’
Daizell kissed him, with all the urgency he felt. Cassian’s lips met his fiercely for a moment, then he pulled away. ‘Wait, listen. We have to talk. There’s things I need to tell you, important things.’
‘Not with Martin about to walk in on us.’ Good God, this had been a stupid time to make a declaration. But he’d done it and Cassian had said yes, and Daizell couldn’t stop grinning. Cassian wanted this, wanted him . Perfect. ‘You should go, and I’ll be up soon.’
Cassian nodded. ‘If you have to offer him anything to get it back—’
‘Do not say that where he might hear you. Go on, clear off. Leave it to me.’
‘You’re wonderful, and – I love you. I do.’
‘Oh God, Cass.’ Daizell kissed him again, grabbing his hair. ‘Go, or he’ll walk in on entirely the wrong thing.’
‘Good luck.’ Cassian added a last swift kiss, and left him alone, quivering with joy.
Cassian felt the same. He hadn’t called him needy, or cut him off without a thought. He wanted Daizell.
Wanting wasn’t everything, he reminded himself. He had a disgraced name and dubious reputation; Cassian had an overbearing family and responsibilities – presumably the things he needed to talk about – and that might be hard or impossible to overcome. Love didn’t conquer all; in Daizell’s experience it had yet to conquer anything at all.
But he’d still asked, because he loved Cassian, and the last few weeks had been perfect, and the only thing worse than the prospect of rejection had been the idea of losing that happiness because he was too afraid to ask for it. He’d asked, and Cassian loved him, and just for now he’d let himself hope for the best, because the best was more joyous than he’d dared to dream of in so long.
He was thinking of new ways to say I love you , feet up on a stool to aid cogitation, when Martin came in.
‘All right, Daizell,’ he said with a nod.
It was hardly a greeting for once-lovers who’d not seen each other in a year or more. But Daizell also saw warmth in the other man’s eyes, and what looked like rueful embarrassment. He rolled his own eyes demonstratively. ‘Good to see you too.’
Martin took a chair, apparently feeling that the civilities had been dealt with. ‘So, what news? Forster tells me you’re big with it.’ He gave Daizell an assessing look. ‘You seem well-fed.’
That was the result of more than a fortnight eating at Cassian’s expense: Daizell had noticed his clothes were better-fitting. ‘I hope that’s a compliment.’
Martin shrugged. ‘I hear you’ve got a . . . now, what would it be? Patron?’
That took Daizell’s breath for a moment. ‘ What did you say?’
‘Wealthy, mousy, sharing your bed?’
‘Go to the devil.’ Daizell found his fists were clenched. ‘Really, Martin, go to hell, and if that’s what Forster said—’
‘I drew conclusions.’
‘I’ll draw your arse into the street if you don’t mind your tongue.’
Martin’s brows were up now. ‘I heard you were here with some pliant, plump-in-the-pocket sort. Am I mistaken?’
‘You’re a prick. He’s a damned fine man, and he’s quiet , not pliant, and I’m not sponging off him—’
‘What, you’ve paid for your own food?’ He raised a hand as Daizell took a deep breath. ‘All right, all right, I’ll take your word. You’ve a wealthy – not patron – companion . Good for you. What are you doing with him, then?’
‘Helping him with something. Enjoying his company. One can do that, you know: be pleasant to one another and not treat people one cares for like punching-bags. One can talk about things, and care what each other thinks, and be . . .’ He waved a hand. ‘ Together .’
‘Good Christ,’ Martin said. ‘Are you in love or something? Oh my God, you are.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘You are . Well, that puts a different complexion on it. A fellow with funds, though? I’d watch that if I were you.’ Daizell took a deep breath; Martin held up both hands. ‘Just saying. Rich men buy things and throw them away.’
‘I am not bought, and Cassian is not buying. He has money, yes, but there are more important things. He trusts me. He trusts me, Martin. He thinks my father wronged me, he’s trusted me with personal matters; he believes I can do well by him. It’s . . .’ He gestured, since he had no way of voicing what that was or what it meant, and if he did find those words, they would be for Cassian. ‘He trusts me.’
‘Do you trust him?’ Martin said. ‘Can you? Really?’
That was a brutal question from him. Daizell met his eyes. ‘I love him. He loves me. I don’t know if we can make something of this but I trust him to try. That’s all anyone can ask.’
Martin pressed his lips together. Daizell couldn’t quite make out his expression. ‘Well,’ he said after a moment. ‘You deserve to be happy, Daize, and I’m glad for you. I’ll buy you a drink, you and your beau. We can toast your future. Don’t make more of a mess of it than you can help.’
‘I don’t intend to, and I’ll hold you to that drink. But, talking of messes, I have a bone to pick with you.’
‘About what?’
‘Cassian, that’s what. My lover. Under the name—’ Damnation; he’d forgotten. ‘Another name. You met him in Gloucester, bedded him, and robbed him, calling yourself John Martin . . . Don’t make faces,’ he added, because Martin was staring at him with a look of stunned horror. ‘If you’re ashamed at being caught for it, you shouldn’t have done it.’
‘How—’ Martin swallowed. ‘How did you find me?’
‘He told me about it and I realised it was you. He wants his ring back, the one you stole off his finger. God rot it, what did you have to be such an arsehole for? What terrible thing did he do that you felt obliged to take everything down to his clothes and the ring – his dead father’s ring, for God’s sake – off his finger? Did he dare to enjoy your company and say so? How long are you going to punish everyone you meet for one man’s acts?’
He regretted that last immediately, since Martin’s face had gone an unattractively grey shade. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But you—’
‘Shut up. No, stop talking, Daize, let me think. That man – him – he’s your lover?’
‘We met, he asked me to help him retrieve his ring, we took a shine to one another. If you even think to use that—’
Martin licked his lips. ‘Do you know who he is?’
‘Cassian. His name’s Vernon Cassian.’
‘Oh Christ.’ Martin pressed his fingers to his temples, making white dints in the flesh. ‘Hell and damnation. I’m so sorry, Daizell. Truly, I am.’
‘As you should be, and you can tell him so yourself. He’s just upstairs.’
‘Sorry for you , not him. I’m extremely sorry for you.’ Martin exhaled hard. ‘Just to be sure, we’re talking about a short, inconsequential sort of fellow, yes? Brown hair, soft voice?’
‘How many men did you fuck and rob in Gloucester?’
‘One. I hoped he might have sent someone to retrieve his ring for him.’
‘What? Why would he?’
Martin squeezed his eyes shut for a second, visibly bracing himself. ‘Because the man I robbed – the wonderful lover who trusts you so – is the Duke of Severn. And it doesn’t sound like you know that.’
Daizell turned the words over in his mind, gave it some thought, and said, ‘Are you drunk?’
‘I wish to God I was. What did you say he called himself?’
‘Vernon Cassian.’
‘He told me Wotton. In fact – this is burned on my memory – he’s Vernon Fortescue Cassian George de Vere Crosse. Duke of Severn, Earl of Harmsford, Baron Crosse of Wotton, and Baron Vere.’
‘No,’ Daizell said. ‘No, that’s not— No.’
‘Yes. And I know this for a fact, because when I attempted to pawn the ring, the pawnbroker asked me if it was a replica of the Severn ring. He showed me a picture of the bloody thing, so I went and found a likeness of the duke. It’s a damned cheek to look that insignificant when you bear quite so many titles. Sailing under false colours.’
Daizell was barely listening. He couldn’t seem to think. ‘Severn,’ he repeated. The child-duke of Severn had been to Eton at the same time as him, a few years below. Daizell remembered again that small, pale boy, and thought of Cassian with his dead father’s ring put warm on his finger, and his responsibilities, and his Grand Tour, and how he had dropped shirts on the floor as if someone would pick them up. ‘Oh Jesus.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Martin said again. ‘I quite believe you trusted him and thought he trusted you, but you shouldn’t have, and he didn’t. He’s a duke. And as for how I treated him, I know. I only meant to take the money, but he had so much – money, things, silver and gold – and it made me angry, and I just got . . . carried away. Since when I’ve spent the last fortnight looking over my shoulder in a state of sheer terror, which I dare say I deserve. You’re welcome to his damned ring. Good riddance. I was tempted to throw it in a ditch but I decided I’d rather be able to give it back.’
He fished the ring out of his pocket as he spoke. Daizell held out his hand, which was shaking a little, and took it: an odd, lumpy, rather misshapen thing in red gold.
‘Doesn’t look like much,’ he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘A very unremarkable object at first glance, but if you examine it closely, it’s a dragon,’ Martin said. ‘Much like its owner. I’m getting out of here. You’re sure he doesn’t have men with him?’
‘Yes. Go.’ Daizell should probably get more answers out of him but he didn’t think he cared any more. He didn’t think he cared about anything at all.
He’d known Cassian was keeping his background private, but thought it was because he had not wanted to rub in his own prosperity to a man who had only the clothes he stood up in. That he was holding back out of natural reluctance to boast, that he didn’t want to be seen to buy. He’d thought Cassian had trusted him. He’d said as much to Martin because he’d wanted to proclaim the joy of what he’d found.
What a fool. What a lie. What an embarrassment.
‘Daize?’ Martin was standing, looking down at him with pity that stung like a handful of nettles. ‘I’ve seen that look on your face before, and may God punish every man who’s ever put it there. You didn’t deserve it from me and you truly don’t from him, and if you want company, I’ll wait for you. I swear not to be a prick about this.’
Daizell didn’t reach up for his hand. Martin’s sympathy wasn’t comforting and he didn’t want it. He wanted Cassian’s hand on his shoulder, Cassian’s comfort.
Cassian didn’t exist.
He swallowed. ‘I’d rather be on my own, I think.’
‘Christ,’ Martin said. ‘I’m glad I took that titled nonentity’s clothes; I wish I’d given him clap. I’m heading to Leamington Spa, then probably down to Oxford. I’ll leave a note at the Rose and Crown in Leamington, if you should want to catch me up. For God’s sake be careful, Daizell. Dukes are hazardous creatures.’