Mostly, though, he’d done nothing because he was grappling with murderous rage. A protective anger that he’d felt only a few times before in his life, when those he loved were threatened, was choking him. He couldn’t think, still less speak.
Arthur noticed that he was shaking with fury. He longed for action, for something to hit. If he could get his hands on the man who’d used her… His fingers curled into claws. But that villain was beyond reach. Still, there must be something he could do, some recompense he could offer her.
A thought occurred, and blossomed, more and more gratifying. That might well do. He leaned out to give his coachman new orders.
Returning to the wedding breakfast, he was pleased to find Tom still there. The press of people was thinning, however, and the lad was happy to leave with him. Back in the carriage, Arthur made automatic replies to Tom’s remarks about the event. These gradually diminished, and by the time they’d reached Arthur’s house, Tom said, “What’s wrong, my lord?”
“Come into the library,” Arthur replied. They walked through and settled in the book-lined room. “I want to talk to you about a Spaniard who appeared in town recently.”
“That fella who’s been lurking about the workshop asking questions about Señora Alvarez?”
Tom was always quick, Arthur thought. A hint was enough for him. “You’ve seen him then?”
“He tried prying information out of me, but he didn’t get no…anywhere.”
Arthur wondered how much of the señora’s true story Tom knew. Had she other confidants? He both hoped so and wished to be the only one. “He means her ill,” he added.
“I know. The currish, half-faced scut!”
“Ah, yes.” It seemed a fair description. “I intend to get rid of him.”
Tom’s frown deepened. “I wanted to do that, but the señora said no. She said she’d handle him herself.”
“She should not have to. She deserves help.” All the aid she had not been given in her youth, and more.
“She did fine with Dilch.”
“This is no neighborhood dilemma.”
“Well, but…”
“I know more of the true story than you do.” Arthur was sure of it now.
After a moment’s consideration, the lad accepted this. “So you’re looking for another pair of hands for the job? I’m your man!” Tom paused and made a wry face. “But I have to say, my lord, I don’t seem to have the stomach for killin’.”
“Good God, I’m not planning murder!”
“Ah, that’s all right then.” Tom shifted in his chair. “I tried one time. With a scurvy wretch who hunted the little ones on the streets in Bristol. Set an ambush and had my chance. But I couldn’t cut him down. Even low as he was. Reckon I’m hen-hearted.”
“What did you do?” Arthur asked, momentarily diverted by curiosity.
“Turned him over to a magistrate. One as would listen to the truth.”
“And was the creature punished?”
“Transported. Hard labor.”
“So you are wise and just rather than hen-hearted, Tom.”
The lad took the compliment with a duck of his head.
“I intend to send this Spaniard out of England in a way that he can’t easily return.”
“Transport him ourselves, you mean?”
Arthur nodded, appreciating the comparison. “I thought the Indies, one of the Spanish colonies. Puerto Rico, perhaps. He should feel at home there.”
Their subject’s comfort didn’t appear to interest Tom. “Won’t he just come right back though?”
“We’ll send him off with no money. He doesn’t seem to have a fortune of his own. He seems a cunning rogue and will likely accumulate funds. But it will take him some time. And by then everything will be different.” Arthur didn’t know how, yet he was certain it would be.
“How will we manage it?” Tom asked.
“That is the question. I considered offering a bribe, but…”
“You can’t let him get a whiff of your fortune,” Tom interrupted. “He’s a blackmailer, and they just keep wanting more. You’d never be rid of him.”
“I agree.”
Tom frowned over the problem. “We’ll just have to bung him onto a ship our own selves, willy-nilly. Like a press-gang.”
It was a role Arthur had never expected to fill. “I expect he would object to that. Rather loudly.”
“We’d have to make certain he couldn’t then.”
The thought of rendering the Spaniard unable to protest had its attractions. “The fellow is a toadeater. I could invite him here and then…”
“Have him walk into your house and never come out again?” objected Tom. “That’s no good. What, order your butler to cosh him and the footmen to truss him up with curtain cords?”
Arthur thought of the august individual who managed his household. Chirt would be appalled at the idea. Then he recalled how ruthlessly the butler depressed the pretensions of encroaching callers. “Chirt might be up to it.”
Tom, who was well acquainted with this servitor, laughed. “Mebbe so, but you don’t want the man vanishin’ from here. Better to invite him to go riding. I kin wait for you someplace out of the way, and we’ll jump him.”
“And what then? Tie him up with our neckcloths? Choose a ship at random on the docks and hand over a rebellious captive? Most captains would call in the law. And those who wouldn’t…”
“Probably ain’t men we want to trust. It is a puzzle.” Tom shook his head. “Be easier if we was going to kill him.”
“Tom!”
“Beg your pardon, my lord. I ain’t been called on to dispose of many people before this.” He cocked his head. “Not any, actually.”
“It was not included in my training either,” replied Arthur ruefully. “Eton didn’t go much beyond the cut direct.”
“Is that sword fighting? Like a duel?”
“No, it is a public refusal to acknowledge someone. You turn your back where all of society can see.”
“Oh.” Tom clearly didn’t think much of this. “Could you challenge him to a duel?”
“A cumbersome process, with inconvenient rules which would reveal matters we hope to keep private. Also, it would not dispose of the man unless I killed him. Which we have ruled out.”