“I don’t suppose you would have.” A faint grimace that might have started as a smile faded, leaving Wainwright’s face pale and exhausted.
“The family no doubt did their best to expunge me from memory, after … well, that’s of no account. There was a rupture, and a parting of ways—but I still consider John my brother.” He swallowed, swaying a little, and William thought the man was unwell.
“Sit down,” he said, grabbing one of the small armchairs and turning it round, “and tell me what’s going on. Do you know where Lord John is?”
Wainwright shook his head.
“No. I mean … yes, but he’s not …”
“Filius canis,” William muttered. He glanced round and saw Amaranthus, lurking curiously just outside the door, and jerked his chin at her as though she were the maid. “Get us some brandy, please.”
He didn’t wait for it to arrive, but sat down opposite Wainwright. His stomach had curled up into a ball, tight with apprehension and excitement.
“Where did you last see him?” he asked, hoping to restore Wainwright to coherence by means of simple, logical questions. Rather to his surprise, it worked.
“Aboard a ship,” Wainwright said, and straightened up a little. “An—an Indiaman, called the Pallas. A Greek name, I mean—a god of some kind?”
“The god of battle,” Amaranthus said, coming in with a glass of brandy on a tray. She eyed Wainwright narrowly, then glanced at William, lifting a brow. Should she stay or go? He gestured briefly to another chair and turned back to Wainwright.
“A ship. All right. Where is this ship?”
“I don’t know. They—they move it. They were lifting anchor as I—as I left. I didn’t abandon him!” he cried, seeing William’s frown. “I—I would never have left him, but I could do him no good, and I thought—well, he told me, in fact. He told me to go and to find you.”
Amaranthus made a small hum, expressing doubt. William shared it, but no choice but to go on and hope the man could be encouraged to make more sense.
“Of course,” he said, trying to be soothing. “And what did he tell you to say when you did find me?”
“He didn’t … say … exactly. I mean, there wasn’t time for a message, they were getting ready—”
“More brandy?” Amaranthus asked, getting her feet under her.
“Not yet.” William raised a hand and she sat down, her eyes fixed warily on Wainwright, who was looking more wretched by the moment. All three of them were silent, while Lord John’s clock ticked peacefully on the mantelpiece, the cloisonné butterfly within its dome slowly raising and lowering its blue and gold wings. At last Wainwright looked up from his tight-folded hands.
“It’s my fault,” he said. His voice trembled. “I didn’t know, I swear it. But—” He licked his lips and squared his shoulders. “Lord John has been kidnapped and is in the hands of a madman. He is in great danger. And yes, please, more brandy.”
“In a moment,” Amaranthus said, sitting forward on the edge of her seat. “Tell us who this madman is, if you please.”
Wainwright looked at her and blinked.
“Oh. His name is Richardson. Ezekiel Richardson.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” William was on his feet and had jerked Wainwright out of his chair by his shirtfront in an instant. “What the devil does he want with my father? Tell me, God damn it!”
“Oh,” said Amaranthus, rising. “So he really is a madman? Maybe you’d best put Mr. Wainwright down, William; he can’t talk like that.”
William reluctantly did so. The blood was pounding through his temples, and he felt as though his head would explode any minute. He let go of Wainwright and stepped back, breathing as evenly as he could.
“Tell me,” he said again. Wainwright was trembling all over now, and sweating heavily, but he nodded, jerky as a puppet, and began to talk.
It took several minutes to get it all out, but Wainwright gradually calmed as he spoke and at last fell silent, staring at the green figured carpet under his feet. William and Amaranthus exchanged glances over his bowed head.
“So this gentleman—well, this person,” Amaranthus said, mouth pursed as though to spit, “wants the duke not to go to England and tell Lord North things about the war, and so he’s kidnapped Lord John and is threatening to kill him unless your uncle acquiesces?” She sounded incredulous, William thought. Richardson’s letter had been hard to believe, but to hear the facts like this … Wainwright was nodding.