William blinked, frozen for a moment. The word didn’t even make sense immediately.
Then it did, but he was prevented from saying anything by the entrance of the barmaid, a plump, harassed-looking girl with a squint in one eye, bearing a massive tray of food and drink. The scent of roast meat, buttered vegetables, and fresh bread hurt the membranes of his nose but made his stomach convulse in sudden urgency. Not urgent enough to take his attention off what Randall had just said, though, and William rose, bowed the girl out, and shut the door of the chamber firmly upon her before turning back to Denys.
“A what? That’s …” William made a wide gesture indicating the complete unbelievability of this. “He was married, for God’s sake!”
“So I understand. To the, um, merry widow of a Scotch rebel general. That was quite recent, though, wasn’t it?” The edge of Denys Randall’s mouth tucked in a little in amusement, which incensed William.
“I don’t mean that!” he snapped. “And he wasn’t—I mean, the bloody Scotchman’s not dead, it was some sort of mistake. My father was married for years to my mother—I mean, my stepmother—to a lady from the Lake District.” He huffed air, angry, and sat down. “Richardson can’t do us any damage with that sort of lying gossip.”
Denys pursed his lips and exhaled, slowly. “William,” he said patiently, “gossip has probably killed more men than musket fire.”
“Rubbish.”
Denys smiled a little and acknowledged the exaggeration with a slight shrug. “That might be stating it a bit high, but think about it. You know the value of a man’s word, of his character. If Major Allbright hadn’t taken my word at face value just now, you’d be dead.” He pointed a long, manicured finger at William. “What if someone had earlier told him that I made my living cheating at cards, or was the principal investor in a popular bawdy house? Would he have been so inclined to accept my testimony as to the soundness of your character?”
William eyed him skeptically, but there was something in it.
“Who steals my purse steals trash, sort of thing?”
The smile widened.
“… But he that filches from me my good name / Robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed. Yes, that sort of thing. Consider what gossip of the sort Zeke Richardson has in mind could do to your family, will you? And meanwhile, stop glowering at me and eat something.”
William reluctantly considered it. His nose had quit bleeding, but there was an iron taste in the back of his throat. He cleared it and spat, as politely as possible, into the rags of his handkerchief, keeping Denys’s more substantial contribution for mopping up.
“All right. I see what you’re saying,” he said gruffly.
“A friend of your father’s—a Major Bates—was convicted of sodomy and hanged, some years ago,” Denys said. “Your father chose to be present at the hanging; he clung to the major’s legs to hasten his death. I don’t suppose he would have mentioned that incident to you, though.”
William made a small, negative motion of the head. He was momentarily too shocked to say anything.
“There is a death of the soul, as well as death of the body, you know. Even if he were not arrested, nor tried and convicted … a man so accused might well lose his life as it presently exists.” This was said quietly, almost offhandedly, and Denys followed this remark by sitting up straight, picking up a spoon, and placing before William a pewter plate piled with slices of roast pork, fried squash with corn, and several thick slices of corn bread, then pouring a generous cup of brandy to go with it.
“Eat,” Denys repeated firmly. “And then”—with an eye toward William’s general bedragglement—“tell me what in the name of God you’ve been doing. What made you resign your commission to begin with?”
“None of your business,” William said brusquely. “As to what I’m doing …” He was tempted to say that that was none of Denys’s business, either—but he couldn’t overlook Denys’s possibilities as a source of information. It was, after all, an intelligencer’s job to find things out.
“If you must know, I’m looking for some trace of my cousin, Benjamin Grey. Captain Benjamin Grey,” he added. “Of the Thirty-fourth Foot. Do you know him, by chance?”
Denys blinked, blank-faced, and William felt a small, surprising jolt in the pit of his stomach—the same feeling he got when a fish nibbled his bait.