Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [148]
Helen, standing by my side as we were nudged towards the dim outlines of the harbour, had clearly been thinking along the same lines. “You are sure my son will be safe?”
“This from a woman who takes the child barn-storming?” I replied with a smile.
“One barrel roll, that’s all he’s ever done with me, and that on his birthday.”
“Yes,” I said more seriously. “We need to take precautions, but I’d wager Marsh and Alistair against a regiment of guards. The boy’ll be safe in that house.”
Watched by hawklike eyes every instant, no doubt, but he was too young to chafe over restrictions. And we would give it out that the Canadians would be at Justice until Easter, whereas in fact they would return to Canada in early January, weather permitting.
“What is Lord Maurice like?” Helen asked me.
“I met him in Palestine. He’s a different man there.”
“A better man?”
“More at home—a part of the landscape, even. The desert burns away extraneous parts of a person. Among the desert peoples, true wealth is measured by what a man carries inside him—his skills, his history, his family. Justice Hall suffocates Marsh. Which is why he will be the first to understand if it has the same effect on you. Keep in mind that the estate can run itself if it has to. Marsh is trapped there at the moment, but not for reasons that affect you and Gabe. Remember that. It’s not going to eat you.”
I had been saying the same thing in various ways all the way across the Atlantic. Her wait-and-see attitude prevailed, which was all a person could expect, or ask.
“Oh yes,” I added, “the rest of the family doesn’t know that Marsh and Alistair have been in Palestine. Let them keep guessing.”
“The sister sounds . . . daunting. And the name, so close to mine. Strange.”
“She’ll be uncomfortable and protective, but if you let her know that Justice will always be her home, she’ll settle down. After all, you and Gabe are no real threat. Her children would never inherit anyway.”
“That really is wrong. Don’t you think? Women should be able to inherit. It’s archaic.”
“I know. I suppose it’ll change, some day.”
Gulls screamed in the cold air, horns sounded, stevedores shouted. The docks were nearly under our feet now, and we joined the passengers streaming back to their staterooms to collect bags and companions.
“Iris is sure great, isn’t she?” Helen commented from behind my shoulder. “Have you met her . . . friend? Dan?”
“I haven’t, no. And yes, I like Iris a great deal.”
“I’m glad you talked me into this,” she said suddenly. “I’m looking forward to meeting Marsh and the others, seeing the house. Gabriel’s house.”
“I did mean what I told you, that he would have loved to see you and the boy there. He revelled in every inch of the place.”
“I know,” she replied. “You can feel that in the journal.”
Following the mention of the diary, we jostled along the corridor in silence for a time. At her door, she stopped with her hand on the knob. “I want the man caught, who did that to Gabriel,” she said. “That staff major.” I want him torn to pieces, her eyes said.
“We will catch him,” I told her, meeting her gaze, allowing no doubt to surface.
We had to; any other course was unthinkable.
Disembarking was a laborious business, with three men struggling to keep Ben O’Meary’s chair from shooting down the steep gang-way. Mycroft had sent two cars, both to give space to carry our trunks and bags and to provide two sturdy drivers to shift them. Ben could actually stand, with assistance, since his legs were burnt, not paralysed, but we were nonetheless grateful for the help. And being Mycroft’s men, they would no doubt double as bodyguards, should the need arise.
The roads were an icy slush, and I quickly regretted that we had not tackled the trains instead. Helen seemed oblivious to the skids and slips; the boy duke spent the first part of the journey bouncing from one window to another and the last part asleep; Iris was withdrawn