“Do to him?” Richardson said, looking bland.
“Blackmail, bribery, torture …？ He didn’t write this of his own free will. What sane man would?” And whatever else he might be, Neil had never been lacking in his wits.
Richardson shrugged.
“Is he alive?” Grey said, between his teeth.
“Do you care?” Richardson seemed only faintly interested. “Oh—but of course you do. If he were dead, you could claim that this document is a forgery. But I’m afraid that Mr. Stapleton is, in fact, still alive, though I naturally cannot guess as to how long he’ll stay in that condition.”
Grey stared at him. Was the fellow actually now threatening to have Neil killed? But that made no sense.
“He is, however, in London. Fortunately, though, I have additional … testimony, shall we say?—nearer to hand.” He rose and went to the cabin door, opened it, and put his head out.
“Come in,” he said, and stepped back to allow Percy Wainwright room to enter.
PERCY LOOKED DREADFUL, Grey thought. He was disheveled, his neckcloth missing, and his curly, graying hair matted in spots, sticking up in others. He was pale as skimmed milk, with dark circles under his eyes. The eyes themselves were bloodshot and fixed on Grey at once.
“John,” he said, a little hoarsely. He cleared his throat, hard, then looked away and said, “I’m sorry, John. I’m not brave. You’ve always been brave, but I never have.”
This was no more than the truth, acknowledged between them and part of the love they’d once shared; John had always been willing to be brave for both of them. He felt a tinge of sympathetic pity beneath the larger sense of annoyance—and the very much larger sense of fear.
“So you made him sign a statement of confession, too,” he said to Richardson, doing his best to keep calm.
Richardson pursed his lips and opened the folder again, this time drawing out a longer document. Well, it would be longer, wouldn’t it? Grey thought. How long were we lovers?
“Unnatural acts and incest,” Richardson remarked, turning over the pages of the new document. “Dear me, Lord John. Dear me.”
“Sit down, Percy,” Grey said, feeling unutterably tired. He caught a brief glimpse of the document’s heading, though, and his spirits rose a fraction of an inch. Confession of P. Wainwright, it said. So Percy had kept that one last bit of self-respect; he hadn’t given Richardson his real first name. He tried to catch Percy’s eye, but his erstwhile stepbrother was looking down at his hands, folded in his lap like a schoolchild’s.
You did try to warn me, didn’t you?
“You’ve gone to rather a lot of trouble for nothing, Mr. Richardson,” he said coolly. “I don’t care what you do with these documents; a gentleman does not submit to blackmail.”
“Actually, almost all of them do,” Richardson said, almost apologetically. “As it is, though, I’m not blackmailing you.”
“You’re not?” Grey waved a hand at the folder and its small sheaf of papers. “What on earth is this charade in aid of, then?”
Richardson folded his own hands on the desktop, leaned back, and looked at Grey, evidently assembling his thoughts.
“I have a list,” he said, finally. “Of persons whose actions have led—either directly or indirectly, but without doubt—to a particular outcome. In some cases, the person him—or her—self performs the action; in others, he or she merely facilitates it. Your brother is one who will facilitate a particular course of action that in turn will decide this war.”
“What?” … actions have led … will facilitate … will decide … He shot a sideways glance at Percy, who was looking up, but with an attitude of complete bewilderment, and no wonder.
“What, indeed?” Richardson had been watching the play of thoughts on Grey’s face. “I may be mistaken, but I believe that your brother intends to make a speech to the House of Lords. And I further believe that the effects of that speech will affect the will of the British army—and hence Parliament—to pursue this war.”
Percy was listening to this in total bewilderment, and Grey didn’t blame him.
“I desire that your brother not make that speech,” Richardson concluded. “And I think that your life and honor are probably the only things that would prevent him doing so.” He cocked his head to one side, watching Grey.
Grey blinked.
“If you think that, plainly you don’t know my brother.”