Chapter Thirty-Seven
THIRTY-SEVEN
We wake to someone in our room, leaning over our bed. Julius barely jumps out of the way of Bishop’s flying fist.
“I knocked,” Julius says. “You were both sound asleep.”
Bishop grumbles and then notices that in swinging at his cousin, he dislodged the sheets. He yanks them decorously over me and scowls at Julius, who throws up his hands.
“Cordelia is lovely,” Julius says, “but I’m not trying to catch a glimpse of her naked. Even if she weren’t your mate, I believe I have more consideration than that.”
“No, you would never try to catch a glimpse of a naked woman, and certainly did not drag me to a bathing house in Bath because you’d found a peephole.”
“I was twelve. Also, I was roundly reprimanded for it.” Julius looks at me. “Rufus cuffed me hard enough to make me see stars. He said it was a violation of the ladies’ privacy, and he’d better never catch me doing it again.”
“I like Rufus,” I say.
“Well, you might like him less if I tell you what he did next.”
I arch my brows.
Julius continues, “He took me to a brothel and paid a woman to undress so I could look my fill.”
“Is that truly supposed to make me like him less? The woman was paid and willing. You got to see what you wanted to see. It was a very wise solution.” I glance at Bishop. “Was she pretty?”
“I wouldn’t know. I was eleven and had no idea why Julius would want to see ladies without their clothing.”
I pat his hand. “Well, I hope when you were old enough, Rufus did the same for you.”
“He offered,” Julius says. “But Bishop said he didn’t see the point of paying to look and do nothing about it, so he waited until he felt old enough to follow through.”
I glance at Bishop. “You did say you don’t see the point of merely looking.”
“Because he lacks imagination,” Julius says.
“He has a wonderful imagination,” I say. “He just likes to use it when he can act on it.”
“Is there a reason why you barged in here to wake us?” Bishop says, tugging at the sheet again.
“Doyle wants to talk over breakfast. He’s made a decision already, and he seems in high spirits, which I suspect means he’ll help us.” He lowers his voice. “And I’m not sure whether that’s what we actually want.”
“Hmm.” Bishop’s expression says he’s not sure either.
Then he says, “Tell him we’ll be ready for breakfast as soon as Cordelia and Ann are dressed.
Please convey our apologies for the delay.
” He drops his voice. “And wait until we can all go together. I don’t want us splitting into smaller groups today. ”
“Understood.”
Doyle is indeed in high spirits. He seems unbothered by needing to wait nearly half an hour for the “ladies” to be properly attired. He’s in a small dining room with Jesse, who sits stone-faced as Doyle rises to usher us in, asking how our night went, hoping we slept well.
When breakfast arrives, it’s delivered by Ruby and one of the girls from last night.
“Where’s Hanora?” Doyle says. “I thought she was tending to our guests.”
“She is unwell,” Jesse says, and I try not to tense.
“Unwell?” Doyle presses. “I saw her just last night, and she was fine.”
“It’s her…” Jesse clears his throat. “Time to rest.”
Doyle looks perplexed, and I swear I see him mentally calculating, as if he personally knows when Hanora last had her monthlies.
“Begging your pardon,” I say. “Might it be possible for me to see her after breakfast? I worked for my aunt, who specialized in magic for female concerns.”
“No,” Jesse says, so curtly that silence thuds over the table.
“My wife offered her assistance,” Bishop says, his smooth tone deceiving no one. “We understand if it is not required, but she is not out of line in asking.”
“Hanora has all she needs.”
Doyle cuts in. “We do appreciate the offer, Mrs. Daniels, and I apologize for Jesse’s curtness. Mornings do not agree with him.”
I look at Jesse, who is already digging into his food. Digging in a little too harshly. The problem, I believe, is that this particular morning doesn’t agree with him, when whatever he had planned for last night failed.
I don’t know what to do about Hanora. It’s possible she’s malingering to avoid facing us, but I fear it’s more. Has Jesse punished her? How severely?
As the men talk, I think of ways I could slip to the maid quarters and check on her. Or ask the other maids how she fares. But as much as I long to do that, I also know it runs a risk we can’t take.
We’re here to talk Doyle into an alliance, and we can’t afford to cause trouble. I feel monstrous sacrificing Hanora to our cause, but I need to remember how many others have died and how many more could die if we don’t resolve the issue with Beryl.
If something has happened to Hanora, then the person truly at fault is Jesse, and I must remember that.
When I surface from my thoughts, Doyle is talking. “I really do want to help you, Bishop.”
“But…” Julius says.
Doyle sighs. “I’m no good at this part, which is why I have this fellow.” He jabs his knife in Jesse’s direction. “If it were up to me, I’d hop on board for the fun of it.” He flashes a grin. “My wolves are restless, and so am I. We’d all appreciate an excuse to see some action.”
Doyle glances at Jesse and says, “Oh, don’t give me that look,” though Jesse is focused on cutting up his ham.
Doyle points his knife at his friend again. “He’d like to remind me that this particular ‘action’ means fighting, which is dangerous. Such a spoilsport.”
Jesse only continues cutting.
“I understand,” Bishop says. “What we’re asking of you is dangerous. But we would be in your debt.”
“Now that part is music to Jesse’s ears.” Doyle lobs a grin Jesse’s way. “If it were just me, I’d happily join the cause on a gentleman’s handshake. An alliance for the future. But Jesse needs more.”
Jesse finally sets down his knife. “I believe you have a factory on the border of Wales.”
“We do,” Bishop says carefully. “A small textiles mill near Bristol.”
“That is our price.”
Doyle winces and looks at Bishop. “I’m sorry for his bluntness. That’s why I do the talking. But, yes, Jesse believes that there should be a price for our help, over and above the offer of alliance, and I guess he has a point, even if it makes me uncomfortable. It’s a small mill, you say?”
“Small but very profitable,” Bishop says.
“Maybe something else, then?” Doyle says. “A cash payment—”
“We want the mill,” Jesse says. “I know it’s small. I know it’s profitable. That’s why it’s our price.” He meets Bishop’s gaze. “Nonnegotiable.”
Earlier Bishop said he didn’t want us splitting up, but when Doyle suggests Jesse negotiate with Julius—the seconds-in-command working through this unpalatable business talk while we eat—Bishop decides he’ll speak to Jesse alone.
Julius agrees, pointing out that while he might be Bishop’s advisor, he’s not his controller, and finances are really more Bishop’s forte.
Is Jesse’s goal to get the mill and only the mill?
If so, I suspect Bishop would breathe a sigh of relief.
He’d negotiate hard, but ideally, Jesse is simply a greedy man who wants to line his pockets and will happily do so at the cost of Cambrian lives.
Yes, I realize that’s hardly “ideal” for the Cambrians, but Bishop’s focus must be on his Pack, not the Cambrians.
Just as mine must be on my Pack and not Hanora.
Bishop is a good man. He is kind and thoughtful and generous. But he can be all those things while being ruthless, and this is a lesson I need to learn. Ruthlessness can feel like cruelty, but if it’s in support of people you’ve vowed to protect, then it’s an asset in a leader.
I can tell Rufus doesn’t want Bishop alone with Jesse, but Julius suggests they go into the next room to talk. In other words, stay close enough that we’d hear a cry of alarm.
That’s what they do. Bishop and Jesse take coffee and a plate of food into the adjoining room, and then Doyle launches into a story, obviously eager to distract us from the unpleasantness of the financial haggling next door.
For all his coarse manners, Doyle reminds me of some members of the nobility, men and women who shudder at the thought of doing business, as if money carries a filth that never comes clean …
when that money is what gives them their lifestyles of leisure.
They have people to handle that nasty business.
And so does Doyle, though to his credit, he appears actually uncomfortable, like the person who hates mentioning an owed debt to a friend.
We can’t hear Bishop and Jesse, their voices too low, and we talk for nearly an hour before they return.
“We have reached an agreement,” Bishop says stiffly.
Doyle glances at his second, who nods.
Doyle claps his hands together. “Excellent. So now the fun begins.”
Jesse definitely rolls his eyes at that.
“Fine, fine,” Doyle says. “Now the work begins. How soon can we do this?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Bishop says.
“Today then. We set out today, reunite you with your Pack, and make plans to retake Trevelyan.”
We head to our room to pack, because Doyle really does plan to leave as soon as possible, getting everyone on the train by noon if he can.
“Is that all he wants then?” Julius whispers once we’re safely behind closed doors. “The mill?”
“I can work with him,” Bishop says.
“That isn’t the question I asked.”
“I believe the situation is complicated,” Bishop says. “But what matters is that I also believe I can handle it.”
“Bishop…” I say. “What have you agreed to?”
He squeezes my hand. “Do you trust me?”
I sigh, and he leans in to kiss my cheek.
“I will explain more when I can,” he says. “I am still working it through. But for now, I can say that the most we’ll lose is the mill, and perhaps not even that.”
“Ah,” Julius says. “You’re scheming.”
“I’m doing what’s best for the Pack. I will not, of course, renege on my word. But within strict parameters, a little scheming is never out of place.”
We still have our rented coach, and thankfully, there’s no room to take anyone else in it.
I say thankfully because it gives us a chance to speak in private.
Doyle wants to move as quickly as possible.
That means we’ll send a telegraph from Cardiff and hope Oliver receives it today, because we’re about to descend on him with the entire Cambrian Pack.
The Packs will meet and get to know one another while those in charge plot strategy.
I suggested sending out a party to scout Trevelyan, but Bishop fears that if Beryl’s troops are watching, the party will be caught and killed.
He also worries about how it will look, sneaking up in the dead of night to our own territory.
I understand the first point far more than the second. But I will admit that appearances are important. The Albion Pack has been cowed. It must return strong. Which means it must march on Trevelyan.
The question is whether we have a strong enough force.
When negotiating with the Caledonians, we expected Hamish to send his best. Here, we get what we get, and most of the Cambrians are young.
In humans, young means strong and fit soldiers.
In werewolves, it means inexperienced fighters, their delayed physical aging pushing their “prime” into their thirties and forties.
Bishop doesn’t seem concerned about this. In fact, he seems decidedly nonchalant about the whole actual plan to take back Trevelyan.
The man is up to something, and I want to curse him out for it, but secretly, I feel as if he’s hiding a gift, and I know it will be worth it.
There is something else we need to discuss in the coach while Rufus is driving.
“He’s going to find out what happened to you, Ann,” Julius murmurs, his voice low to keep Rufus from hearing. “If that’s what you want—to let him hear it in an offhand comment—that’s your choice. But if it’s not, and you don’t wish to tell him yourself, then I can do it.”
“I will.”
“Do you want your own train compartment?” Julius asks.
“No, I will do it now.”
“Now?”
Ann raps briskly on the coach roof. When Rufus slows, she puts her head out the window and says, “I am coming to sit with you.”
“You’re…?” he says.
“Sitting with you.”
Silence, and then, “It’s very dusty, Annie. I don’t think—”
“Pull over, please.”
He does, and she gets out, and he helps her up. The coach resumes, and over the clatter of the wheels, I can’t hear her words, but I do hear her tone, matter-of-fact. At one point, the coach stops, and she has to push him to keep going, which he does after a few moments of silence.
“This will not go well,” Julius says, his voice low. “He’ll be upset on her behalf, of course, but the fact that Bishop and I didn’t rescue her while we’ve been at Trevelyan…”
“Ann will explain that you couldn’t,” I say. “The best way to help her was to depose Silas.”
“Yes, but…”
Bishop shakes his head. “It was my decision. Made in consultation with Ann and Oliver, but I won’t say that part. I made the choice.”
“Which Ann agreed with, as did Oliver,” I say.
“You didn’t know Ann well, and you might have had sympathy for her situation, but you couldn’t risk interfering.
Just as I couldn’t risk interfering about Hanora this morning.
I still don’t know what happened to her, and if she’s hurt and I could have helped—” I cut myself off. “This is about Ann.”
I look at Julius. “The right choice was made, and I’m saying that to you and not Bishop because he already knows it.”
“Which doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty,” Bishop says.
I reach to squeeze his hand. “I know. It was a terrible situation, but Ann is free, and if both she and Oliver agreed on that course of action, then it was correct. If Rufus is angry…” I shrug. “That speaks to his affection for Ann, not any wrongdoing of yours.”
“He obviously cares for her,” Julius says. “And I fear the one he’ll blame most is himself, though there wouldn’t have been any reason to go back and check on her. He presumed he’d have heard of trouble, and what he did hear was that she’d left with her mother after Silas ascended to Alpha.”
“The only person to blame is Silas,” I say.
“And the spectacularly unfair thing is that he is the one person who wouldn’t have felt a lick of guilt.
People who do things like that don’t. And the rest of us are left with the burden of guilt for what little we might have done to ameliorate their actions. ”
I take a deep breath. “Everyone can feel terrible about what happened to Ann, but she doesn’t want that. She’s free, and she wants to forget. She wants to be the woman who survived. Not the victim who was rescued.”
Bishop squeezes my hand. “You’re right, of course. If Rufus is angry, then he is angry, and we’ll deal with it. But the important thing is providing support for Ann … while not letting her see pity.”
I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”