The Scottish Prisoner - Diana Gabaldon [109]
“You’ll be after being a friend of the other Englishman, sure!”
“The … other Englishman?”
“Why, the one what rode over this morning from Brampton Court!” the butler exclaimed happily. “He’s in the library with the master, and them talking away sixteen to the dozen. They’ll be expecting you, then, won’t they?”
“Oh, to be sure,” Grey said cordially, wondering what the devil he was about to walk in to but walking after the butler, nonetheless.
The butler pulled open the beautifully carved door to the library and bowed with an extravagant gesture, ushering Grey in.
He was looking for Siverly and therefore saw him at once, the major looking up with surprise from what looked like a pair of account books.
“Major Siverly—” he began, infusing his voice with warmth. But then he caught sight of the major’s companion, seated across the desk from Siverly, and the words stuck in his throat.
“What on earth—Bulstrode, what the devil are you at?” Siverly barked at the butler, who blinked, bewildered. “Haven’t I told you not to bring visitors in unannounced?”
“I—I thought—” The hapless butler was stuttering, glancing wildly back and forth between Grey and Edward Twelvetrees, who was staring at Lord John with a look somewhere between astonishment and outrage.
“Oh, go away, you clot,” Siverly said irritably, getting up and shooing the butler off. “Colonel Grey! What a pleasant surprise. You must forgive the … er … unorthodox welcome.” He smiled, though with considerable reservation in his eyes. “Allow me to make you acquainted with Captain—”
“We’ve met.” Twelvetrees’s words were as clipped as bits of wire. He stood up slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Grey as he closed the ledger in front of him. Not before Grey had time to see that it contained a listing of what looked like fairly large sums.
And speaking of sums—there was an ironbound chest sitting on the desk, its lid open, more than half filled with a quantity of small wash-leather bags, each tied round with string. Under the bay window, the lid of a blanket chest stood open. A depression in the blankets showed where the ironbound chest had rested. Siverly’s eyes darted toward this, and his hand twitched, but he stayed it, evidently not wanting to draw attention to the chest by closing it.
“What are you doing here?” Twelvetrees asked coldly.
Grey took a deep breath. Nothing for it but charge straight in.
“I came to pay a call on Major Siverly,” he said mildly. “And you?”
Twelvetrees’s mouth pursed a little. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood, eh?”
“No, I came particularly to speak with the major about a matter of some importance. But of course I have no wish to intrude,” Grey said, with a brief bow to Siverly. “Perhaps I might come again at some more convenient occasion?”
Siverly was looking back and forth between Grey and Twelvetrees, plainly trying to fathom what was going on.
“No, no, do stay,” he said. “I must confess—a matter of importance, you said?” His face was not particularly mobile, but he wasn’t a good cardplayer, and wariness and calculation flickered over his slab-sided features.
“A private matter,” Grey said, smiling pleasantly at Twelvetrees, who was surveying him through narrowed eyes. “As I say, a more convenient—”
“I’m sure Captain Twelvetrees will excuse us for a few moments,” Siverly interrupted. “Edward?”
Christian names, is it? Grey thought. Well, well.
“Certainly.” Twelvetrees moved slowly toward the door, eyes like a pair of pistol barrels fixed on Grey.
“No, no,” Siverly said, gesturing him back to his seat. “You stay here, Edward; Bulstrode will bring some tea. Colonel Grey and I will just take a stroll down to the summerhouse and back.”
Grey bowed to Twelvetrees, keeping a charming smile on his face, and followed Siverly out of the library, feeling Twelvetrees’s eyes burning holes between his shoulder blades.
Hastily, he reviewed his strategy as he followed Siverly’s broad back across the freshly rolled lawn. At least he wasn’t going to have