He slowly turned toward his desk as if to pick up the IOUs lying there. And then, like lightning—or a snake striking—he swung round with the heavy glass paperweight he had snatched up in his hand, and struck Allinson full in the face with it before his tormentor could grasp what he was doing.
Startled, and letting out a shriek of pain as he threw his arms up in an instinctive gesture to ward off what had already hit him, young Allinson’s finger tightened on the trigger so that he fired his pistol into the air.
The ball made a neat hole in the face of a bad portrait of the Third Earl which had been hung considerately high.
Between fright and pain Allinson dropped the pistol before falling to his knees, and protecting his damaged face by clasping his hands over it; blood was running from his nose.
Devenish picked up the pistol and laid it carefully on his desk before pulling him roughly to his feet.
‘You incompetent young fool,’ he said, still chatty. ‘You are as inconsiderate as I might have expected. I don’t object to you ruining a damned bad painting, but I don’t want your blood all over the carpet. Here.’
He handed the moaning boy a spotless handkerchief, just as the library door burst open and a posse of footmen entered led by his chief groom, Jowett.
‘A bit slow, lads, weren’t you?’ was his only remark. ‘I might have been cat’s meat by now.’
Jowett, who knew his master, grinned, and said, ‘But you ain’t, m’lord, are you, so all’s well. That ass, Tresidder, beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, was so frightened out of his wits it took some time for him to tell us what was to-do. I see you’ve got things well in hand, as per usual. Send for the Runners to deal with him, shall I?’
‘By no means. A mad doctor to treat him might be more useful. On the other hand, I think you can safely leave this matter to me to clear up. Let me think. Hmm, ah, yes, Mr Allinson discharged his pistol whilst inviting me to admire it. Why call the Runners in for that? Crime, not incompetence, is their game, eh, Allinson?’
‘If you say so, m’lord,’ came in a muffled wail through Devenish’s ruined handkerchief.
‘Oh, I do say so, and more beside when my belated saviours depart. You may go, Jowett. Oh, and take the pistol you will find on my desk with you. I don’t think that Mr Allinson will be needing it again. It’s quite safe. It’s not loaded now.’
‘I know, m’lord.’ Jowett was cheerful. ‘I heard the shot just before we came in. Knowing you, I couldn’t believe that aught was amiss.’
‘Your faith in me is touching—and one day may be unjustified—but not today. Silly boys are fair game for a man of sense.’
Allinson raised his head. His nose had stopped bleeding. He said mournfully, ‘I suppose that you are right to mock me.’
‘No suppose at all. Had you succeeded in killing me, you would have met a nasty end on Tyburn Tree. Had you made me give you back your IOUs, you would have ended up a pariah, gambling debts being debts of honour. Think yourself lucky that all you have to show for your folly is a bloody nose.
‘And do stand up straight instead of cringing like a gaby. I’ve a mind to lecture you, and I want your full attention.’
‘You have it, m’lord. I must have run mad to do what I did. But to lose everything—you understand—’
‘Indeed, not. I am quite unable to understand that I should ever gamble away money which I didn’t possess and a house which I did. As for compounding my folly by threatening to commit murder! No, no, I don’t understand—and nor should you.’
Allinson hung his head. Whether coming to his senses had brought him repentance was hard to tell. He muttered, ‘And after all, I am still ruined. I cannot expect you to show me any mercy now that I have threatened your life.’
Devenish sat down and motioned to Allinson to remain standing. ‘Before you came in enacting a Cheltenham tragedy, or rather, melodrama, one of my more sentimental relatives was begging me to spare you. I was inclined to disoblige him, but on second thoughts it might disoblige him more if I did as he wished. He will not then be able to contrast my vindictive bloody-mindedness with his forgiving virtue!
‘What I am prepared to do is to continue to hold your IOUs—’
Allinson gave a stifled moan. ‘I might have known,’ he muttered.
‘You know nothing for you have not allowed me to finish. You would do well to curb your reckless impetuosity before you become gallows’ meat. Hear me. What I am prepared to do is not to call them in so long as you refrain from gambling in future. Should you begin again I shall not hesitate to ruin you.’
This time Allinson groaned. ‘The sword of Damocles,’ he said at last. He was referring to the old legend in which a sword was held over Damocles’ head, poised to fall, put there by the tyrant he had flattered in order to show him the limitations of life and power.
‘Exactly. I’m charmed to discover that you learned something at Oxford—was it?’
‘You know it was. You seem to know everything.’
‘Enough.’ Devenish rose. ‘Do we have a bargain?’
‘You know we have. You leave me no choice—’
‘No indeed, again. Of course you have a choice—although I take your comment to mean a grudging acceptance of my generous offer.’
‘Generous offer,’ wailed Allinson. ‘You mock me again. I am your prisoner.’
Devenish pounced on Allinson once more. He grabbed hold of him, gripping him by his over-elaborate cravat.
‘Listen to me, you ungrateful young fool. You have, through my leniency, escaped the gallows because otherwise that is where your stupid escapade would have taken you. I offer you freedom and a chance to reform your dissolute life—and you jib at doing so.
‘Answer me! Yes or no, unequivocally?’
‘Yes—if you will stop strangling me,’ Allinson croaked.
‘Unequivocally, I said. Yes, or no?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’
‘And remember what awaits you should you backslide.’
‘I’ll not do that.’ Inspiration struck Allinson. ‘I’ll…I’ll buy a commission, turn soldier—that should keep me out of trouble.’
Devenish gave a short laugh and released him. ‘God help the British Army, then! Now, go. I have letters to write and a speech to rehearse. Oh, and by the way, give Tresidder a guinea from your pocket to make up for the fright which you gave him.’
‘I haven’t got a guinea. My pockets are to let.’
‘Then give him the pin from your cravat instead—and be gone.’
The relieved boy scuttled out of the room, pulling the pin from his cravat as he left. Devenish said aloud to the damaged portrait of his grandfather, ‘God forgive me—although you wouldn’t have done—for letting him off. I must be growing soft these days.’
And then he sat down to finish his letter.
He was late arriving at Lady Leominster’s that night. He had written to Robert, naming a date for his arrival at Tresham—‘and God help you if you have sent for me for nothing,’ he had ended.
His speech in the Lords, asking for clemency and help for the starving Midlands framework knitters, who had recently rioted at Loughborough in Leicestershire, had created a great deal of excitement, if nothing else.
‘What interest do you belong to?’ one excited peer had shouted at him. ‘You’re