Chapter Twenty

“I thought it best that we go alone, you see,” Charles Fairfax said, pressing a handkerchief against his mouth. “Eleanor always wants to be involved, but Mr. Spencer is not a man who wants to do business with women.”

“I see,” Henry responded acidly. “If the books are correct, Mr. Spencer doesn’t send a great deal of business our way, does he?”

“No,” Charles conceded, “but we’ve been doing business with him for years. Decades, even. He was originally my father’s client. It’s practically tradition.”

“Well, not all traditions are advantageous, are they?” Henry remarked smoothly, ignoring the look of vague horror on Charles’ face.

The two men were rattling along in the Fairfax carriage, on route to a porcelain shop to renegotiate a contract. Henry found himself wishing Eleanor was here. Charles had a great deal of experience, to be sure, but he seemed to miss more and more details of late, to say nothing of his tiredness and disorientation.

But that was irrelevant now. He was here, and Henry would make the best of it.

“Thank you for taking care of me at Lady Grantham’s soiree the other night,” Charles said suddenly, a little nervously. “I didn’t intend to make such a fuss. I hate to cut Eleanor’s fun short.”

Henry bit his lip. He’d seen the expression on Eleanor’s face when Sophia Redford dragged her away, and the thunderous scowl she wore when she came back. It had been pretty clear to him that no fun was being had.

“It’s no trouble,” he said firmly.

They rattled on silence for a while longer. Shops and other cabs slid past them in a pleasant blur, the usual cobbled scenery to be found in London, broken only by the occasional swathes of greenery, gates to parks, and so on.

Henry found himself remembering the altercation with Lord Grenville last night. It had left a nasty taste in his mouth. He and Percy left shortly after .

“Is Mr. Richard Grenville a serious competitor of yours?” he found himself asking.

Charles chewed his lip, considering.

“They were once, but Lord Richard is something of a rattling fool. He makes poor business choices and won’t take advice. The shareholders don’t trust him, his partners don’t like him, and his staff are chronically overworked. The product is good, but none of his creativity or his work has gone into it. Mr. Richard is not a man I am worried about. He’ll run that business into the ground in another five years, you mark my words.”

Charles sounded fairly confident about that. Henry sat back against the carriage seat, mulling it over.

Richard Grenville was a man who acted confident, but it was clear he was a little… defensive. On edge. Perhaps a man who’d realized he was in a difficult position and thought that getting rid of a competitor would be the best way to improve his position.

But how could he do that? How could he manage to get rid of us? Surely not, Henry thought, twisting his fingers together. The man’s a fool.

That didn’t help. Fools were unpredictable, and they were capable of just about everything.

The carriage lurched to a halt, cutting into his thoughts. They’d pulled up in front of a neat little porcelain shop, with Spencer’s Fine China written across the storefront.

“We’re here,” Charles said, patting Henry’s knee.

***

Mr. Spencer was a short, stocky man with a face like a china bulldog, and he seemed to be unable to decide who he disliked more – Henry, or the concept of Eleanor.

“Glad you didn’t bring that girl of yours this time,” Mr. Spencer burbled, maneuvering his bulk around a too-small office. “Talks, talks, talks, she does. Glad my girls don’t yammer on like that, I can tell you. I’m surprised you allow it, Charles.”

Henry took his seat, eyes narrowing. The anger which Richard Grenville had conjured up last night was still bubbling near the surface and didn’t take a great deal to appear again .

“I suspect,” he said coolly, “that Miss Fairfax was concerned as to why our supplier prices haven’t been lifted in – well, close to a decade. You’re paying the same price for our services you paid ten years ago, Mr. Spencer.”

There was a taut pause. Mr. Spencer glanced incredulously at Charles.

“What on earth is he talking about, Charles? Can’t the boy wait outside?”

“I think not, Mr. Spencer,” Henry said, grinning wolfishly. “I have here copies of your last two quarters’ ledgers. I did a little research, and it seems that while you have raised the prices of your merchandise – making notable profits, I’d imagine – we still charge you the same as we did ten years ago. Twenty years, I would imagine, if I looked further.”

“Now, you look here…”

“Oh, I have been looking, Mr. Spencer. Mr. Charles Fairfax here has been remarkably fair with you, and you’ve repaid him with underhanded dealings. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Spencer, you are dealing with me now.”

“Lord Henry…” Charles bleated. “Let’s not be too forward. I had no idea you were going to…”

“I discussed it with Miss Fairfax,” Henry said, in a quick aside. Really, they should have discussed this before, but he was fairly sure that Charles would not have taken him to see Mr. Spencer if he’d disclosed his entire intentions.

“Ha!” Mr. Spencer said, with an air of triumph. “He only talked it over with the girl! Charles, be reasonable…”

“That’s my daughter you’re talking about,” Charles managed, sounding only vaguely peevish. “Not the girl .”

“Well, I never meant any offence, but Charles, really! This isn’t acceptable.”

“Here are the prices we will charge going forward,” Henry said crisply, pushing a piece of paper across the desk. “All the figures are here for you to peruse at your leisure. The prices are competitive, but more in line what our other clients pay. If you choose not to accept these prices, then of course our contract is at an end. If not, I look forward to a more equal business partnership going forward… I imagine you’ll feel better without accepting charity . ”

Mr. Spencer blustered and raged at that awful word, charity . He took the paper, though, screwing up his lips when he looked at the figure.

Henry sat back in his seat, vaguely satisfied.

He didn’t have long to enjoy his triumph.

Charles cleared his throat, voice wobbling.

“Henry, I…” he trailed off, face scrunching up with pain.

There was something in his voice that made Henry glance his way, gaze sharpened. The older man was leaning over in his seat, slowly sagging forward. One hand clutched at his left shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric.

Abruptly, all colour drained from his face, and he toppled bonelessly forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Charles!” Henry cried, dropping to his knees beside the limp man. He felt frantically for a pulse, and it took a few tries to find one, worrying weak and erratic. Charles’ skin was clammy, still that awful shade of grey, like all the colour had been leeched right out of him.

“You’ve killed him!” Mr. Spencer squawked. “You’ve killed him, you fool, with all your talk of new prices and nonsense!”

“Oh, do close your mouth!” Henry shouted. “Close your mouth and call for a doctor!”

It was eminently clear that Mr. Spencer was not going to be helpful at all. He was racing to and fro in the too-small office, babbling to himself and raking his fingers through his thinning hair in a panic. Henry considered going to fetch help himself, but he very much did not want to leave Charles slumped on the floor in this manner.

“Get something to bring him round!” he snapped. “Brandy, or whiskey, or… or smelling salts!”

“I don’t have smelling salts. I’m not a woman.”

“For pity’s sake, sir, you are useless.” Henry rounded on him. “If it’s not too much trouble, go and make sure our carriage is out at the front. I’ll take him to the doctor’s myself. In the meantime, get something to bring him round. I don’t care what. I don’t particularly want to carry him in my arms to the carriage, but I will if I must. Hurry, man! We’re running out of time!”

That finally galvanized Mr. Spencer into action. He waddled out of the office as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, returning with a little bottle of what really did seem to be smelling salts.

“Carriage is ready. What do you think happened? Charles has never been strong, but…”

“Can’t say,” Henry responded brusquely, waving the bottle under Charles’ nose.

At long last, the man’s eyes twitched behind his lids, and he gave a weak groan.

“Eleanor? Is that you?”

“It’s Lord Henry Willenshire, sir. You’ve had a turn in Mr. Spencer’s office. We’re taking you to the doctor’s now,” Henry said, leaning over him. “Can you stand?”

“I think so, if you support me. No need for a doctor, though. A little rest will be just the ticket. If I can sleep…”

“I’m afraid not,” Henry said firmly. “Doctor it is.”

Charles sagged a little. He looked as though he would dearly love to argue, but simply didn’t have the energy. He allowed Henry to gently nudge him to his feet, and heavily leaning on the younger man, Charles made his slow and painful way downstairs.

“Send a message ahead to Doctor Jonathan Ashby,” Henry instructed the nervous-looking clerk at the door. “Tell him that Lord Henry Willenshire is bringing in Mr. Charles Fairfax, and that the man is very ill. Make haste, sir!”

The clerk jumped to attention, scurrying to obey without even glancing at his employer for approval.

“Oh, Mr. Spencer?” Henry called over his shoulder in a parting shot before the carriage door closed. “Those numbers are final.”

The coachman picked up immediately on Henry’s panic, and the coach bounced and lurched through the streets at high speed, taking corners on what felt like two wheels.

Charles lay still and white on the seat, almost as if he were dead already.

Don’t think that, Henry thought wildly, and applied himself to keeping the man awake and alert.

“Can’t drop off now, Charles,” he said cheerily. “Not now we’re about to get a deal more money out of Mr. Spencer. ”

Charles seemed to be trying to say something but was too weak to make the words come out.

“I have no water, if that’s what you’re asking for,” Henry said quietly. “Although I’m sure there will be something at Doctor Ashby’s.”

Charles groaned.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” the older man managed thickly, “but it doesn’t matter. I don’t wish Eleanor to know about this.”

Henry blinked. “I understand that the news will be upsetting, but you must see that she ought to know. It’s only fair.”

“No, no. She mustn’t know. You must promise me, Lord Henry.”

Henry sighed. “I can’t, Mr. Fairfax. Look, enough of promises and all this secrecy. We’re almost there, judging by the pace the carriage driver has gotten us up to. Everything will be fine, I promise you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Henry hesitated, a twinge of guilt echoing through his chest.

“No,” he confessed, voice low. “I can’t.”

The carriage screeched to a halt outside a fine, white-washed London townhouse, with a brass plaque proclaiming it the residence of Doctor Jonathan Ashby.

Doctor Ashby himself came running when the carriage halted, grim-faced and serious, with a pair of orderlies attending him.

Gently but firmly, they carried Charles out of the carriage. The last of his strength seemed to have failed him, and he hung as limp as a doll from their arms. Henry felt a cold pang of fear shoot down his spine. Whatever was wrong with Charles Fairfax, it was serious.

As Charles passed Jonathan into the house, he shot out a weak hand and closed it around his wrist.

“He’s going to tell Eleanor,” he whispered.

Jonathan sighed. “Ah. I’ll manage it, Charles, don’t you worry. I’ll keep Louisa away until you’re ready to receive visitors. I’ll put you in your usual room.”

Then Charles was carried away up the steps, and Jonathan paused behind to greet Henry .

“It’s Lord Henry Willenshire, I assume,” he said, holding out a hand.

Henry warily shook it.

“Aren’t you going to attend on your patient?”

“In a moment. You see, Mr. Fairfax wishes… how can I put this? He wishes that his daughter should not be bothered with the matter of his health. He only cares for her, you see, and doesn’t want her upset.”

“It’s a noble idea, and Mr. Fairfax is clearly a loving father, but I think that Miss Fairfax is more than capable of handling bad news.”

“She is very capable, indeed,” Jonathan murmured, glancing down at his feet. “But Mr. Fairfax is insistent, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Wouldn’t mind what?” Henry’s temper was fraying at the edges. “Wouldn’t mind agreeing to keep a secret from the young lady for no reason? I’m afraid not?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Simply don’t mention it to her. I never do, as I gave my word to Mr. Fairfax.”

“Well, you’re his doctor. You promise discretion. I don’t. Besides, I already sent a message to Miss Fairfax to tell her that her father has been taken ill and was brought here. It’s too late.”

Jonathan Ashby ran a hand through his hair, disarranging it. “If you were to send another note… or go yourself, and explain…”

“No,” Henry said firmly. “If you and Mr. Fairfax choose not to tell Eleanor something, that is your business, but I don’t intend to lie to her about something so serious, not unless you can give me a fair and logical reason as to why it should be kept from her. What child wouldn’t want to know about the health of their parent?”

Jonathan eyed him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“I heard you had integrity,” he said after a while. “It’s impressive to see it in person.”

Henry flushed. “If this was some sort of ridiculous test….”

“It’s not, I’m afraid. I’m not at liberty to say more. However, if Eleanor is coming here, knowing her father is ill, I suspect this whole business will unravel soon enough.”

“I don’t understand. ”

Jonathan shook his head. “It’s of no matter. Do you wish to come in wait? I don’t know how long the consultation will take.”

“I would like to know how he is doing. Wait a moment, though.”

Jonathan turned. He had one foot on the stone steps leading up to his home, ready to go inside, and lifted an eyebrow.

“You know what is wrong with Mr. Fairfax, then?” Henry managed.

Jonathan looked remarkably tired, dark purplish rings around his eyes and an unhealthily pale pallor.

“Yes, Lord Henry, I do.”

Just five words, but they were spoken with such heaviness and resignation that Henry took a step backwards. He swallowed hard, fighting an urge to leap back in the carriage and command it to take him to Eleanor, now, immediately, in all haste, wherever she was.

“It… it isn’t good, is it? What ails Mr. Fairfax, I mean.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, Lord Henry, it is not. But I suspect you knew that already. Do excuse me, I must see to my patient.”

He went inside, leaving Henry alone on the pavement, swallowing down a nasty feeling of foreboding.