Because one thing was for certain; they could not stay in London.
8
A Job for Bram
When Armando returned after his final visit with his uncle, he brought a giant of a man with him, making the garret feel like a dollhouse. Abaddon was his name, and despite his intimidating appearance, Cecilia warmed to him quickly. And since Cecilia had a knack for recognising danger, Bram could only conclude that the man meant them no harm.
Still, he seemed an unlikely choice for Armando. Bram had thought he would seek someone more… refined. Someone more polished. Abaddon was gruff, telling tales of bears and pirates. It was unlikely he would allow Bram to go with them when they moved to Rye, where there were allegedly many books for him to read when he visited. It seemed the man was agreeable to having Bram as a house guest for a while at least, which would be enough for now. He could reassess his situation when he was out of immediate danger. That was if Armando could actually strike a deal with the man.
“Bram, fetch the mirror, please,” said Cecilia, dragging his attention back to the conversation.
He stood to collect the vanity mirror from the small bedroom, handing it to Cecilia without any regard for what she was about to do with it. His eyes widened when he realised what the child had in mind. She chattered on as she held the mirror up to the unscarred half of Mr Abaddon’s face.
“Goodness, Cecilia…you shouldn’t…” Bram laid panicked eyes on Mr Abaddon who seemed to be taking Cecilia’s liberties in stride. “I think perhaps—”
With every word Bram uttered, Cecilia got louder, until she was practically bellowing. “He’s unexpectedly hideous in some ways, but I love him already, and he smells nice. When are we leaving?”
Had he heard correctly? How much of the conversation had he missed while he was imagining himself forever on the run? “It has already been decided?” he asked. “You are to leave with him?”
“You are to come with us, Bram,” Mr Abaddon said. “We cannot do without you while we wait on the right governess, I’m afraid. And if I’m to take care of Cecilia properly, it would be remiss of me to leave her to the mercy of Armando’s poor choice in literature.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. Of course, he did, but this was all happening so fast. He would be leaving everything he’d ever known behind.
“What do you say, Bram?” Abaddon asked.
“I am not sure,” he admitted. “I thought perhaps you meant for me to visit?”
“Bram, I told you I was doing this for all of us,” Armando said. “Did you think I meant to leave you behind?”
“No, but I also did not think you would have much say in the matter. Some protectors do not like…for goodness sake, Armando, you know exactly what I am saying.”
“You thought I would not negotiate for your safety as well as my own?”
“No. Just that maybe you could not.”
“You’re my closest friend.” Armando grasped Bram’s hands in his own. “I am doing this for you and Cecilia.”
Bram gathered all his courage and looked at Abaddon. “I would like to look after Cecilia. She will not need a governess if I’m around to care for her, and I’m afraid I become something of a handful when I am bored.”
“Very well,” the man said. “I shall pay you what I would pay a governess. Will that suffice?”
He hadn’t expected payment from the man who was offering them a new home, but he wouldn’t turn it down. After all, if he outstayed his welcome, it would give him peace of mind to know he had some money tucked away.
He smiled at his new employer. “Yes. Thank you.”
9
A Little Deceit
Mr Abaddon immediately installed them at Browns, that particular hotel chosen by Bram since he knew his aunt would never set foot in there. Hotels that did not fire their employees at the whim of drunk dowager duchesses did not deserve the custom of Felicity Matcham as far as she was concerned. Bram had quietly intervened on behalf of the young porter who had found himself on the sharp end of his aunt’s wrath. He told the manager that the dowager duchess was drunk and had bashed into the poor fellow as he staggered along the hallway behind a wall of boxes. And all this because his aunt had refused to wait for a trolley to become available. For Bram, Browns was the safest hotel in Mayfair.
Bram learned that Abaddon had a weakness almost as soon as they arrived in their suite, when Cecilia befriended an arachnid in the bathroom: the giant was scared of spiders. After much cajoling, Bram opened the window to let it out.
Abaddon was gone for most of the day after that. Finally, to get away from Armando’s restlessness, Bram retired to bed with the last book Oliver had given him. It was full of illustrations of flowers, detailing where they could be found, complete with horrible stories. Oliver had written it himself.
He tried not to think about Oliver too much, but the truth was he missed him already. Oliver could never know what Bram had done. He would not be able to tell him even if he could find the words. Even Armando had only found out by accident after a sudden encounter in the street, during which Bram had been so shocked to collide with his friend that he quite forgot himself. Armando had been nothing but an ally since, and Bram thanked God for him every day. He didn’t dare hope that Oliver would understand, and even if by some miracle he did, he would never want Bram again. Not like this.
As Bram read the harrowing story of sweet and doomed Hyacinthus, he let his silent tears fall.
Abaddon was called upon every day for work, which he did not discuss with Armando, let alone Bram. And every evening while Bram read, the others played cards, indulging Cecilia in ways that irritated him. He reminded Cecilia not to cheat at least twice a day, but his warnings to the gentlemen determined to spoil her were far greater in number. They must have known that such indulgence would only lead to Cecilia becoming a sore loser when she finally encountered someone not content to let her wrap them around her little finger. On their own head be it.
When the time came for Armando to enact the ruse they had planned, Bram’s belly was full of butterflies, or perhaps seagulls. His nerves were so bad, he spent the morning emptying his stomach into the toilet until his throat was so raw he sounded like an old man. He wasn’t even the one putting himself at risk. All he could do while Armando took care of this sorry business was hope that he returned in one piece.
They had got the idea from two long-ago crimes committed by Dickie Wish, abominable but dead brother of Jack Wish, who had written his ransom notes on a patch of dress from each of his victims. Uriel had sent them Davy, a boy who had been in his employ for over a decade despite being not yet twenty. Davy then paid a runner in Chelsea to deliver the box containing the ransom to Bram’s father, thereby giving the impression that the kidnappers were hiding out to the west rather than in Mayfair itself. That part had been easy enough.
The next part would be messy. They had arranged for the next step to take place in Cockfosters, this time giving the impression that there must be many men involved in the plan since it was much further north. Bram knew his father would pay no ransom, that if anything awaited Armando at all, it would be an ambush, but nothing would deter Armando. When he’d told Bram he wouldn’t be taking Uriel with him, Bram had begged him to reconsider. It was at that point that Armando had waxed lyrical about his dear friend, Feltham, who had skills of his own and wouldn’t chastise him if things went awry, which they both knew they would.
Armando had left the hotel three hours ago, wearing the disguise he’d worn to lure Abaddon at The Tangled Vine, which he’d found among Abaddon’s things since Armando himself had left it behind in his haste to escape. He had not told Bram much about his visit to the notorious pub, only that Jack Wish’s men had found him and that Abaddon had rescued him. Armando had been too embarrassed to tell Bram anything more.
Bram paced the width of the sitting room. Surely Armando ought to be back by now. When finally there was a knock at the door, Bram rushed to open it. Unfortunately, Armando was not on the other side.
10
A Bag of Shoes
