Chapter 22

Lucien and Dougal had waited in Lucien’s study for one of the men to return with Kent. It was just under two hours since they’d dispatched the men when a footman entered to say their delivery had arrived. This was code for Kent having been delivered to the meeting room on the second floor.

After the footman departed, Lucien and Dougal sprinted from the office up to the second floor. Arriving at the meeting room, they found Kent seated in one of the chairs and Reynolds a mere foot away from him.

“Thank you, Reynolds,” Lucien said.

“You don’t want me to stay, my lord?”

“If you could stand just outside, that will be sufficient.”

Reynolds inclined his head and left, closing the door behind him.

Kent frowned at them, looking from Lucien to Dougal and back again. “Why does it seem as though you aren’t really going to surrender to the Foreign Office’s demands?”

“I may yet, actually, but first we need to settle some matters.” Lucien picked up another of the wooden chairs and set it directly in front of Kent.

Dougal moved to stand behind Kent. He remained silent. They’d planned how they would do this.

Kent swung his head around to look at Dougal. “What are you doing back there?”

Still staying nothing, Dougal merely stared at him with a blank expression.

When Kent returned his attention to Lucien, who’d sat in the chair he’d moved, there was a glint of fear in his eyes. Good.

“The meeting you had here a week ago did not go as planned, did it?” Lucien asked.

“Of course it did,” Kent said, scoffing. “Martin came to deliver a message to you, and it was delivered.”

Lucien looked at Kent intently. “Am I Lady Macbeth?”

Kent sputtered then. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. I think you know all about the letter we found in the ladies’ library. Did you put it there?”

“I…no.”

Studying Kent closely for any sign of fear or tension, Lucien detected a tic in his jaw. “I don’t think that’s true.” He sat back in the chair, exhaling as he crossed his arms. “I am disappointed in you. When you greeted me upon my return from Spain, I felt as though I’d met the father I never had. Now, you are setting me up to take the blame for Giraud’s murder. After you considered laying the fault at Dougal’s feet. We both looked up to you, admired you.”

“I’m very proud of you and Dougal.” Small beads of sweat appeared on Kent’s brow near his hairline. “I’m not setting anyone up for anything.”

Dougal put his hand on the back of Kent’s chair, making the older man flinch.

“I wish you wouldn’t lie.” Lucien kept his temper in check. They would break him. He leaned forward, adopting a tone of interest. “Did you do it? Or are you covering for someone else?”

Kent didn’t immediately answer. He wiped his hand across his brow.

Dougal bent down and spoke softly near the man’s ear. “Lucien and I are not going to play your or the Foreign Office’s games. Tell us the truth. You owe us that much.”

Still, Kent said nothing. But the sweat began to trickle down his left temple.

“Let’s review what we know,” Lucien said. “Some months ago, you gave Lady Fallin a letter to decode. This letter indicated that Giraud was working for the French. That solved the question of who was giving information to the enemy. However, the matter of who had killed him was unsolved. Lady Fallin is a very clever woman, which I’m sure you know since you recruited her to work for the Foreign Office. She is confident the letter she decoded for you and the letter she decoded that we found in the library were written by the same hand. Now, Dougal and I didn’t compare the letter from the library with anything written by you because we, of course, haven’t kept anything you’ve written. Still, we both believe the hand who wrote both letters belongs to you.” While Lucien was speaking, Kent paled, and the sweat on his forehead was now a glossy sheen.

Lucien looked at Dougal. “I think I have the answer as to whether he was working for the Foreign Office in all this or if he was a rogue operative. If he had the backing of the Foreign Office, he would not be this agitated.” Returning his gaze to Kent, Lucien asked, “Who was that man who came here with you last week, Martin? He doesn’t actually work for the Foreign Office, does he?”

While they’d waited for someone to find Kent, Lucien and Dougal had talked through a number of scenarios. In one, they concluded that Martin had been hired by Kent.

When Kent still said nothing, Dougal said, “I’m growing weary of his silence.” Dougal slid a baton from his sleeve and hit it against the back of Kent’s chair.

Kent leapt forward and lost his balance. Lucien caught him.

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t kill Giraud. I knew about the letters, and I distracted those in charge from what was really happening.”

Lucien set the man back on his chair with a stern frown. “What was really happening?”

Kent glanced back at Dougal. “Will you move where I can see you, at least?”

Dougal took two steps forward, but held the baton in front of him, gripping the base while the end rested in his other hand. “Talk.”

“Lady Pickering was siphoning information and selling it to the French. When it became clear that someone was leaking information, she convinced me that it was Giraud. She arranged to have him killed.”

Lucien and Dougal exchanged looks of shock. “Lady Pickering?” Lucien wiped his hand over his mouth. “Why should we believe you? It’s even harder for us to conceive of her doing such a thing than that it was you. And you’ve proven that you’re a liar willing to deflect blame toward anyone but yourself.”

“I’m sure you know that she and I have a…special friendship.”

“I have long suspected you were at least occasional lovers,” Dougal said. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“She made some poor investments and was perhaps too fond of spending her late husband’s fortune. It became necessary for her to…augment her income. If you investigate her financial situation, you’ll find that she was in need of funds. She got them working for the French.”

Lucien and Dougal exchanged a dubious look. While they didn’t trust Kent, his story was at least plausible. She certainly acted and looked as if she had plenty of money to spend.

Dougal leveled an expectant stare at Kent. “When did you find out she was the one actually working against the crown?”

“Frances—Lady Pickering—tried to convince me it was you. That’s when we hired Lady Fallin to investigate you. I didn’t believe it, and when Lady Fallin found no proof, I insisted that Frances was mistaken. Shortly after that, she excitedly presented me with a coded letter. That was the one Lady Fallin deciphered regarding Giraud selling information.” Kent looked them both in the eye in succession. “You were right that those letters were written by the same hand, but it wasn’t mine.”

“It was Lady Pickering,” Dougal said. “When did you put that together?”

Kent’s shoulders sagged. “Almost as soon as I saw the letter. She tried to make it look unlike her own writing, but that is a difficult skill to master.”

Despite his anger, Lucien felt pity for Kent. “It wasn’t a great leap to determine she was covering her own misdeeds, that she had blamed Giraud for her own crimes, then killed him to wrap it up all tidy, like a message to be delivered. But you didn’t turn her in.”

Shaking his head, Kent sniffed as he bent his head. “I love her.”

“Still?” Dougal’s contempt was evident in his tone.

Kent turned toward Dougal. “You know what it’s like to fall in love, to want to do anything for that person.”

“I do, but I wouldn’t look the other way while my beloved committed murder, then went on to see that someone else paid for the crime. Lucien and I have been good, loyal agents of the crown. You would have seen Lucien’s very lifeblood—this club—stripped away, and worst of all, you would have let Lucien potentially dangle at the end of a rope, all to ensure a corrupt woman gets away with her crimes. You’re despicable.” Dougal sneered at him. “I feel as if I never knew you.”

Wilting in the chair, Kent swung his gaze back to Lucien. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do my best to make this right.”

“You were going to let Lucien pay for your crimes.” Dougal shook his head. “There is no way to make that right.”

“I will name Lady Pickering,” Kent said quietly, his head tipping down in defeat.

“And admit to your own malfeasance,” Dougal said. “We won’t cover for you.”

Kent nodded.

“We’ll go to the Foreign Office now, and you’ll tell them everything.” Lucien stood.

“Wait.” Kent thrust his hand into his coat.

Dougal lifted his baton. “Take your hand out of there.”

“I received a note.” Kent pulled a very small folded piece of parchment from the garment and held it out to Lucien. “It’s from Frances. She says you probably know the truth—and yes, she calls you Lady Macbeth.”

“Why is that?” Lucien asked as he opened the missive.

“Because she would do anything to achieve her own ends. It fit her story for you to be a villain, so she gave you the name of one. She chose a woman to make it harder to discover your identity.”

Lucien read the note aloud to Dougal:

The cat has learned too much and I fear will alert Lady Macbeth, who will no doubt determine the truth. The end has come, and we must complete the mission.

“What does she mean by ‘complete the mission’?” Dougal asked.

Kent grimaced. “Eliminate Lady Macbeth.”

Lucien reread the note. “Who is the cat who will alert me?” As soon as he said the words aloud, he knew. “Kat? Kathleen Shaughnessy?”

“I’m not sure.” Kent sputtered. “Frances hasn’t used that name before.”

Dougal’s gaze snapped to Lucien. “Kat knows enough. What if she went to see Lady Pickering?”

Lucien swore violently. “She might have—she thinks they’re friends.”

Dougal gave him a sympathetic look. “We all thought we were friends.”

Anger tearing through him, Lucien grabbed Kent by the arms and hauled him out of the chair. He put his face within an inch of Kent’s. “If anything happens to Miss Shaughnessy, you and Lady Pickering will be eternally sorry.”

“Let’s go.” Dougal was already opening the door.

Lucien shoved Kent into the corridor. “Reynolds, don’t let this man out of your sight. We’re all going on an errand.”

“My coach is outside,” Dougal called over his shoulder as they made their way to the stairs. He held the door for Lucien and looked him in the eye. “She’ll be fine. Lady Pickering isn’t going to do anything—she hires others to do it for her.”

“What if she already has?” Lucien dashed down the stairs. By the time they were settled in the coach, he felt as though he was going to explode. If anything happened to Kat, Lucien feared his actions would make Max’s in Spain look tame.

After dispatching one of Reynolds’s men to Wexford House to ascertain that Kat was there—and safe—Lucien and the others took Dougal’s coach to Hanover Square. The coachman parked at the opposite end of the square from Lady Pickering’s house. Lucien quickly reviewed the plan they’d developed on the drive from the Phoenix Club.

“Kent, you will go inside and find out what Lady Pickering is up to as well as if she’s seen Miss Shaughnessy.”

Kent nodded. While he was upset that he was going to betray the woman he loved, he was resolved to help ensure Kat was safe. “And if she has seen Miss Shaughnessy, I’ll determine her location.”

“Reynolds and I will assume our positions at the front of the house and the entrance to the scullery.” Dougal exchanged a nod with Reynolds.

A nervous energy careered through Lucien. He was eager to get on with it. “I’ll be at the back of the house.” He’d chosen that location because Kent had said that Lady Pickering would likely greet him in the library, which had a large window looking out to the back garden. Lucien would be able to see what was going on inside, provided the curtains were open.

They climbed out of the coach. Reynolds had been tasked with sticking to Kent until the man walked up the steps to Lady Pickering’s house lest he lose his sense of duty and try to run off. Lucien would be leaving the square to access the alley that ran behind the house.

Dougal clasped Lucien’s forearm just before they split up. “Try to keep a calm head.”

Lucien grunted in response, then broke off at a run since he had farther to travel. Several minutes later, breathing heavily, he slipped through a gate into Lady Pickering’s garden. The sun was just setting, and he prayed the curtains would still be open.

Crouching down and keeping to the side of the garden, he hurried to the house, where he crept along the back until he reached the window. Thankfully, the curtains were open, and the interior was bright with candlelight.

Lucien swept off his hat and clutched it in one hand, taking deep breaths to slow his racing heart. He lifted his head just enough to peer through the bottom of the window. Right away, he made out Lady Pickering standing near the center of the room. Kent stood just inside the doorway.

Movement near the hearth drew Lucien’s eye. There was a second gentleman, his back to the window. He stood a few feet from Lady Pickering and seemed to be addressing Kent. Then the man pivoted slightly toward Lady Pickering, making just enough of his profile visible that Lucien could determine his identity.

Bloody fucking hell.It was his father.

What in the name of the sun and moon was he doing here? Now? There was only one explanation—he was somehow involved.

Lucien abandoned their carefully constructed plan and found an exterior door that led into a breakfast room next to the library. Pulse pounding with rage, he made his way to the library and stepped inside behind Kent. His gaze went directly to his father.

“What are you doing here?”

“Lucien, I could ask the same of you,” the duke said affably. Affably? Since when was he ever cordial with his least favorite child?

Kent turned. “Lucien, you weren’t supposed to?—”

Lady Pickering cut him off. “Oliver, you know what we must do.” She pulled a pistol from her pocket and aimed it at Lucien. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, for I’ve always liked you very much.”

Before Lucien could say a word, she pulled the hammer. Everything after that was a blur. There was a dark movement in front of Lucien, blocking his view of the baroness. Then a thud, followed by another flash of a body moving across his frame of vision. A second thud sounded.

Why hadn’t Lucien moved? And why wasn’t he in pain? Hadn’t he been shot?

Lucien put his hand to his chest and blinked. The room came back into sharp focus, and he was immediately aware of Lady Pickering making noises. Looking down, he saw three shapes—Kent atop Lady Pickering and, separate from them, the duke. The latter was closest to Lucien. In fact, he was lying at Lucien’s feet.

The scene that had happened so quickly and so vaguely was suddenly devastatingly clear. Lucien dropped to his knees just as his father rolled to his back, his face pale and sweating. A quick assessment revealed he’d been shot in the shoulder—and had fallen on it.

Lucien pulled off his cravat and pressed it to the wound. “We’ll send for a physician.”

His father grunted. “Take me home first.”

“Not bloody likely.”

The duke hissed as Lucien applied greater pressure. “Must you do that so hard?”

“Yes.” Lucien turned his head to see that Kent was hauling Lady Pickering to her feet.

“Oliver, there is still time to save ourselves. Finish them, and we will be on our way to France.”

Kent looked so sad that Lucien actually felt sorry for him. “Frances, we aren’t going anywhere.”

Dougal and Reynolds burst in wielding pistols. The butler followed on their heels and immediately gasped as he sagged back against the doorframe.

“I heard a gunshot,” Reynolds said. “I fetched Lord Fallin.”

Lucien looked to the butler. “Send for a physician immediately. Tell him the Duke of Evesham has been shot.” The butler blinked, fear evident in his gaze. “Go!” Lucien pushed inadvertently harder on his father’s shoulder as he shouted the order.

“Lucien, not so hard.” The duke coughed.

“There’s a chaise in the corner,” Kent said. “Perhaps you should move him there.”

Lucien moved around above his father’s head. “Help me, Reynolds. Dougal, keep your pistol on Lady Pickering. If she has her way, she’ll be on a boat to France by morning.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Dougal said. “We’ve got her right where we want her.”

Reynolds positioned himself at the duke’s feet, and on the count of three, they lifted him from the floor. The duke moaned but then clamped his jaw shut, his face going paler, as they carried him to the chaise.

He was bleeding quite a bit, and Lucien felt true fear. Perhaps he didn’t hate the man as much as he thought. Had he really thrown himself in front of Lucien to save him from Lady Pickering’s bullet? It was that, or he’d chosen that moment to leave.

They situated him on the chaise. Lucien looked to Reynolds. “Perhaps you should go fetch the physician personally.”

“I can do that, but what about Lady Pickering and Kent? Can you and Lord Fallin manage them?”

“I think so.” Though Lucien also wanted to keep an eye on his father. And Kat. Shit. Where was Kat?

Lucien looked to Kent. “Did you find out what happened to Kat—rather, Miss Shaughnessy?”

“Not before you rushed in.” Kent had kept a strong grip on Lady Pickering since lifting her from the floor. “Frances, where is Miss Shaughnessy?”

“Why would I know that?”

“Because your note mentioned a cat. If you weren’t referring to her, who were you talking about?”

The butler returned. “I’ve sent three footmen—all that we have—to summon a physician. I wanted to make sure they’d find someone to come right away.”

Before Lucien could thank the man, Dougal addressed him. “Was Miss Shaughnessy here earlier?”

“Yes, my lord,” the butler answered.

Lady Pickering scowled and tried to break free of Kent’s grip. Dougal moved to grab her and steered her to a small, wooden-backed chair. “Sit.” He shoved her down, then trained his pistol on her. “Don’t move. Kent, we need something to bind her with.”

“Painter, don’t you help them,” Lady Pickering snarled.

Painter must be her butler’s name.

Lucien needed to know what happened with Kat. Hopefully, she was just at home. “Painter, where did Miss Shaughnessy go? I encourage you to answer me. Lady Pickering shot my father, and if you do her bidding, you will be aiding her criminality.”

The butler’s eyes widened, and his face lost most of its ruddy color. “She left over an hour ago with Hudson. He’s Lady Pickering’s personal footman.”

A tremor ran through Lucien, making him lighten the pressure on his father’s shoulder. The cravat nearly slipped away, and he renewed his attention. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now. But dammit, he needed to go after Kat.

“Is Hudson a hireling?” Dougal asked Lady Pickering.

She pressed her lips together and said nothing.

The butler responded with “Hudson often accompanied Lady Pickering on errands, and always when she travels to her house in Hampshire.”

“Painter, do you know where they went?” Lucien asked with barely restrained rage.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” The poor man looked genuinely sorry. He wrung his hands, and color had come back to his face.

“Thank you,” Dougal said. “Please fetch something with which we can bind the baroness, and be quick.”

“And send a maid,” Lucien added. “To tend the duke.”

“Right away, my lords.” Painter took himself off.

Dougal pointed the pistol at Lady Pickering’s chest. “Where did your man take Miss Shaughnessy? And why?”

“You may as well tell them the truth,” Kent urged her. “I’ve already told them everything I know. There’s no escape now.”

Lady Pickering’s eyes flashed with vitriol. “You fool! I thought I could depend on you. You said you loved me.”

“I did,” Kent said, sounded utterly brokenhearted. “I do.”

“Well, I do not return the sentiment,” she said coldly. “You were a means to an end, and I should have realized you would fail me.”

“Just tell us where Hudson is taking Miss Shaughnessy,” Dougal said. “Perhaps that will save you from a worse punishment.”

“He wasn’t going to hurt her,” the baroness said defensively. “Once Lady Macbeth over there was out of the way, everything would have gone back to normal.”

“Then why take her anywhere?” Lucien demanded.

“For insurance,” Kent said. “I’m sure she wanted to make sure she could manipulate you if that became necessary.” He gave Lucien a sad smile. “I’m afraid I’ve learned rather well how her warped mind works.”

“Warped indeed because I also know the truth,” Dougal said softly, narrowing his eyes at Lady Pickering. “Or were you planning to kill me too?”

Lucien was losing patience. Reynolds seemed to realize this, for he came and inserted his hand beneath Lucien’s, taking over the pressure on the duke’s wound.

His hand covered in blood, Lucien stalked to the baroness and bent to put his face in front of hers. “Where is Kat?”

He wiped his hand down the side of her face, coating her flesh in his father’s blood. “You already have the blood of the Duke of Evesham on you. Will you have Miss Shaughnessy’s too?” Saying the words filled Lucien with an icy dread. He couldn’t lose her.

A maid came in carrying a tray with steaming water and a stack of folded muslin. She stopped short upon seeing the pistol pointed at her employer. She looked at Dougal, her eyes wide. But Dougal’s focus on Lady Pickering never wavered.

“What happened to Miss Shaughnessy?” the maid asked, appearing terrified.

Lucien straightened as he turned to face her. “Did you see her when she was here?”

“No, but I heard she was.”

“Did you hear anything else, such as where she might have gone with Hudson?” He was desperate for any kernel of information.

The maid glanced toward Lady Pickering.

“It’s all right,” Lucien said, trying to be soothing while his insides were twisting with fear for Kat. “You are not in any trouble, but I’m afraid your employer is. She sent Miss Shaughnessy away, and we’re afraid for her safety.”

“Because she left with that brute, Hudson?” The maid shivered. “None of us like him. I did hear that the coach was being prepared for the usual trip to Hampshire. I was surprised her ladyship wasn’t going.” She clutched the tray to her chest as she looked up at Lucien. “I took care of Miss Shaughnessy and Miss Goodfellow last summer when they stayed here. They were lovely ladies. I would feel just awful if something happened to her.”

“Then you must be Dove,” Dougal said, still watching Lady Pickering. “We appreciate your assistance. Knowing Miss Shaughnessy is on her way to Hampshire is very helpful.”

“Yes, thank you.” Lucien wanted to bolt out the door, but he needed to see to his father first. “Dove, if you would come this way. I need you to tend my father, the Duke of Evesham. Reynolds here will help you if you need anything.”

“I should go with you to Hampshire,” Reynolds said.

Perhaps he should. Before Lucien could determine what to do, Ruark ran into the room with the man they’d sent looking for Kat.

“Where is my sister?” Ruark looked as terrified and tense as Lucien felt.

“On her way to Hampshire,” Lucien said. “You can come with me.” He looked back to Reynolds. “We’ll be fine. You stay here and help Dougal keep an eye on the baroness and Kent.”

Reynolds nodded. “I’ll make sure His Grace is taken care of.”

Lucien looked down at his father, whose eyes were closed. His pallor was concerning, but Lucien was sure the duke was too stubborn to die in this manner.

“Father?”

The duke opened one eye and looked up at him. “You’re going to Hampshire. The physician will be here shortly. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, all those things.”

“Go to the Hanover mews and ask for Beasley. He tends the Marquess of Frome’s horses. Tell him it’s an emergency and that Evesham sent you. Be on your way, then.”

Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion at his father’s act of selflessness—had he really stepped between Lucien and a bullet?—Lucien clenched his fists to keep a rein on himself. “Thank you.”

The duke waved the hand of his uninjured side. “Later.” He tipped his head down slightly as if to see his wound. Wincing, he cast it back and closed his eye once more. “Shame you weren’t wearing one of your hideous colored cravats. I wouldn’t feel bad about ruining one of those.”

Miraculously, a smile flitted across Lucien’s lips. “Never fear. I shall have this one dyed so that I can wear it and remind you of the time you had to let me get close to you.” Lucien touched his father’s hand, then turned to go, but not before he heard him mutter:

“Then it shall be my favorite cravat.”

Lucien nearly stumbled on his way to the door.

“My lord,” Dove called. “I believe they usually stop for supper in Chessington.”

Turning to send a grateful look to the maid, Lucien thanked her.

“Good luck,” Dougal called as Lucien tugged on Ruark’s arm.

“What the devil is going on?” Ruark demanded, his Irish accent so thick with emotion as to be barely understandable, as they left the house.

Lucien sped up so that he was nearly running. “I’ll explain on the way, but we need to hurry. Kat is in danger, and we need to get on the road to Hampshire as quickly as possible. They have over an hour lead on us, but they’re in a coach, so we’ll make up time.”

Ruark kept pace with him. “Why is my sister on her way to bloody Hampshire with what sounds like a miscreant? And why in God’s name was Dougal holding a pistol on Lady Pickering? Furthermore, what happened to your father?”

“I’ll explain everything in detail when we have more time, but Kat’s eagerness to help me put her in danger—from Lady Pickering. She’s a French agent who was working against the crown.” Lucien cut his hand through the air. “She had her hireling take Kat to Hampshire, probably to ensure everyone would go along with her plans.”

“And what the hell were those?”

“To kill me, and I’m not entirely sure what else.” Lucien reasoned she would have had to kill Dougal to in order to protect herself. And Jess.

Upon reaching the mews, Lucien found Beasley, a spry, gangly fellow in his forties. Lucien repeated what his father said and requested two horses be saddled with the utmost haste. Beasley didn’t question anything and quickly set to work, drafting several grooms to help.

Ruark gripped Lucien’s arm. “Why would Lady Pickering use my sister?”

“Kat, ah, knew more than she should have. Your sister is exceedingly clever.”

“She is indeed.” Ruark’s brow furrowed. “But what does she know? It seems to involve you. I am struggling to see how Kat is involved.”

“I, ah, Kat and I have become close friends. I confided some information to her that ultimately led her to seek Lady Pickering’s help. Then she must have unraveled the baroness’s lies and determined what was happening. Your sister is incredibly clever.” Lucien felt a surge of admiration for her along with a much stronger emotion that clouded his eyes and made his heart clench and then swell.

“‘Close friends’?”

“Actually, I’m in love with her.” Now that Lucien recognized the emotion, he was eager to name it, to share it, to claim it for all time. But none of that mattered if he couldn’t get to her.

Ruark stared at him in shock. “Does she love you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I think I’ve loved her for some time, but I didn’t realize it until this moment.” How could he not have seen it? Looking back, it seemed incredibly obvious. There was no person on this earth that he wanted to be with more, whose very presence made everything just better.

“You realize the irony here?” Ruark asked

“That I had such a problem with you and Cass?” Lucien nodded. “I’m more than aware. Don’t think that wasn’t part of my hesitation in developing an attachment for Kat.” He’d held her at arm’s length for far too long.

Beasley brought the horses. “Ready, my lords. They are quite fast.”

“Thank you.” Lucien mounted one and Ruark took the other. “We’ll have them back tomorrow.” He hoped. If he didn’t, Lucien had no idea how he would live.