A Seditious Affair(83)
Lord Richard’s gaze flicked over to his valet, back to Silas. “Cyprian.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Deal with this for me. Whatever seems necessary.” Lord Richard turned on his heel and left the room.
Silas looked at the closed door, at Norreys, at the valet. Norreys’s mouth was slightly open. He appeared bereft of speech.
“Excuse me,” murmured Cyprian. He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“What the devil?” Norreys said. “What the devil? He’s as mad as Dominic. It must be contagious.”
“What did he tell him to do?” Silas demanded. It came to something when he was looking at Harry’s fop like the man was an ally. “What did that mean?”
Cyprian reentered on silent feet, closing the door without a sound. “Very well.”
“Very well what?” demanded Silas and Norreys, in chorus. Norreys shot him a glare and went on, “Perhaps you could disclose your intentions? Mason and I are a little confused.”
“I don’t know what I intend yet, Mr. Norreys,” Cyprian said calmly. “But Lord Richard gave me free rein, so I dare say I’ll use it. If you could both follow me?”
—
Half an hour later, Silas was washed, brushed, and wearing his best new clothes, which had been retrieved from Quex’s. While that had been seen to, he’d repeated the full story twice. Cyprian had listened in unreadable silence, brown eyes abstracted, fingers steepled. He’d thought for a moment, sat forward, reeled off a lengthy list of instructions, and packed the highborn, exquisite Mr. Julius Norreys off to do his errands. The peculiar thing was, Norreys had seemed entirely unsurprised.
And now here Silas was, clean and smart and being shaved by the best valet in London, because apparently he wasn’t fit to shave himself.
“You have no idea of the privilege this is,” Cyprian remarked to their reflections in the mirror. “I haven’t shaved anyone but my lord, and myself of course, in, let me see, four years, five months, and sixteen days.” He angled Silas’s jaw, scraping the bristle away. “While we’re on the subject, don’t ever speak to my lord like that again. He’ll tolerate a great deal for Mr. Frey, but I won’t. Mind your tongue or I’ll make you wish you had.”
The cutthroat blade whipping over Silas’s skin didn’t allow for response. Cyprian went on. “Now let’s recap; I want you clear on your role. You accepted the place as Lord Richard’s bookman some days ago. You were engaged to put all the various Vane libraries and collections in order.” He jerked the razor away at a movement from Silas. “Don’t do that when I’m shaving you.”
“I never asked you to,” Silas growled. “And I want to know what you’re doing.”
“Saving your neck,” Cyprian said. “Could you let me get on with it?”
“Bollocks. That’s not what your master asked, and you know it. He wanted me out of the country, wants nothing to do with me, and I can’t blame him, yet here you are spinning a story to say I work for him. What are you up to?”
Cyprian put a hand on Silas’s shoulder and leaned in toward the mirror, his reflected brown eyes holding Silas’s gaze. “Do you know what I do, Mr. Mason?”
“Polish gentlemen’s boots and fold their smalls?” Silas suggested, and saw just a little flicker in the imperturbable expression.
“I serve Lord Richard,” Cyprian said. “That’s what I’m for. I make sure that everything is arranged in a way that will best suit him.”
Silas considered. “Is that the same thing as following orders?”
Cyprian had a triangular sort of smile, his top lip pulling up to reveal sharp canine teeth. There was no other word but foxy. “Lord Richard is the master here. Let us say, I carry out my lord’s expressed instructions and anticipate the ones that, in time, I think he would wish to have given.”
Silas puzzled that out. “And you think he’s going to want me working for him? You think I want to?”
“Think ahead, Mr. Mason. Several steps ahead.” Cyprian reapplied the razor to the last patches of bristle. “Hurrying you onto a boat for France would solve nothing except your immediate problem. Mr. Harry would be tainted by association with your obvious guilt, while Mr. Frey would still have to explain why you were wearing his coat to a conspiracy. No, my lord will prefer to have this matter of treason scotched altogether. To do that, you must go along with this story.”
“And so must his lordship,” Silas pointed out. “You think he’ll like that?”