And that had done it. For a moment, Stephen tensed as though ready to strike him, the rage blazing hot in his eyes. And Nate welcomed the chance to strike back at someone, anyone, and to finally release the child’s fury he had felt that day.
But then, Stephen settled back in his seat and his face grew cold and hard again. Despite that brief flare of temper at the direct insult to his mother, there was nothing left in his dark face to prove that the words had any lasting effect. If they had still been playing cards, Nate might have found him a worthy opponent, for it was impossible to tell what he might do next.
At last, Nate mastered his own anger again and broke the silence. ‘Why are you here, Stephen?’
‘To remind you of the past.’
He let out a bitter laugh. ‘Remind me?’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Look at my surroundings, old friend, as I do whenever I feel a need to remember. Are they not low enough? Was I born to this? The title is gone, the house, the lands. My family scattered to the four winds. At least you found a people again. Do you know how long it has been since I have seen my own mother? My sisters? Do you know what it is like to stand helpless as your father hangs?’
‘No better than to have him murdered, I suppose. And to know that somewhere, the murderer’s line continues.’
Nate laughed. ‘After all this time, is that the problem? I am as good as dead, I assure you. I have nothing left, and yet you would take more.’
Stephen snorted. ‘You have money.’
‘And a nice house,’ Nate added. ‘Two houses, actually. And horses and carriages. Possessions enough for any man. I gained it all at the cost of my honour. We are not gaming at Boodle’s, as our fathers did, Stephen. Because we are not welcome amongst gentlemen. A Gypsy bastard and a murderer’s son. Society wants none of us. We are in the gutter, where we belong.’
His opponent tensed at the word—bastard—but it was no less than the truth.
‘I am sorry that I am not suffering enough to satisfy you. If you wish, we can go out in the alley, and I will let you remedy the fact. If you mean to frighten me into losing with this?’ He looked down at the rope at his feet, and kicked it until it lay in front of his former friend. ‘I have the real rope that did the job. My family bought it to keep it out of the hands of the ghouls gathered round the gallows. There is nothing left for you to do that will frighten me. Since irony is not likely to prove fatal, I suggest that you cease playing games. We are no longer children. If you truly want me dead? Then be man enough to shoot me.’
For a moment, he thought that the taunting had finally hit home. For Stephano the Gypsy nodded and smiled, as though there were nothing he would like better than to kill Nate and put an end to the meeting. But then, he said, ‘I am afraid it is not that easy, Nathan Wardale.’
Nate cringed for a moment, and felt the old fear that someone might hear the name, and know him for the child of a murdering traitor. He might be cast out as unworthy, even from the Fourth Circle. And then where would he go? He recovered his poise and demanded, ‘What is it to be, then?’
‘That is not for me to decide. I am but an avatar in this. I bring you the rope. And now, fate will decide the method of your punishment.’
‘My punishment?’ Nate almost laughed. ‘For what? When the murder happened, I was ten years old. Hardly a criminal mastermind, I assure you.’
‘You are the son of the murderer.’
‘Then your coming here serves no purpose, Stephen. My word is no good for anything but wagering. But if it were, I would swear to you on it that my family is not to blame for what happened.’
‘Your father…’
‘Was hung for something he did not do. He swore on the stand that Kit Hebden was dying when he found him. He did not strike the blow that killed him. He said the same to me, my mother and my sisters. By the end, there was no reason for him to lie to us. It would have gained him nothing, nor given us any comfort. He was sentenced to die, and we were quite beyond comforting.’
For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of emotion on the other man’s face that might indicate understanding, belief or some scrap of mercy. And then it was gone. ‘If it is true that you are blameless, then circumstances will prove that fact soon enough. And I will break the curse and set you free.’
He laughed. ‘It is a bit late to talk of freedom, Stephen. I have wealth, but no one to share it with. I have no friends. No one trusts me. No decent woman would want me. In the course of gaming, I have ruined many and caused men to do unspeakable things, convinced that one more hand will be all it takes to break me.
‘And now, you will set me free? Can you wipe out the memory of the things I have done? Will you go to the House of Lords and insist that they clear my family’s name? Can you get me my title? And my father, as well? Can you raise the dead, Gypsy? For I would like to see you try.’
Stephano the Gypsy spat upon the floor, and passed his hand before him as though warding off the suggestion. ‘Your father was a murderer who deserved what he got. And I mean to see that you accept your share of his punishment.’
Nate had learned to see his past as a single dark shadow that threw his empty life into sharper relief. But now that the shadow had become the foreground, the picture created was so ridiculous, he let out with the first honest laugh he’d had in ages. ‘My share of the punishment?’ He leaned forward and grinned into the face of the man who had once been Stephen Hebden, daring him to see the joke and laugh along. ‘Well I have news for you. You enriched me by a hundred pounds before you brought out the damned rope and began speaking nonsense. If this is a curse, then many would welcome it. But if you wish to see me punished? Then take my luck with you, and we will call it even.’
He pointed a finger at the rope on the floor. ‘But do not come here, pretending to make my life worse with vague threats and portents of doom. There is nothing coming that will make things worse than they already are.’
And then the Gypsy smiled with true satisfaction. ‘You think so, do you? We shall see, old friend. We shall see.’ And he rose from the chair and exited the room, leaving the silk noose on the floor behind him.
In his dreams, Nate was at Newgate, again, surrounded by angry giants. They laughed and the sound was hollow and cruel, seeming to echo off the stone walls around him. He pushed through the crowd. But it was difficult, for he was so small and they did not wish to part for him. They had arrived early, to get a good view.
And he had come late, for he’d had to sneak from home. Mother had said it was no place for the family. That father had not wished it. But was Nathan not the man of the family, now? It was his responsibility to be there, at the end. So he had forced his way through the mob to the front, and had seen his father, head bowed, being led to the gallows.
He called out to him, and William Wardale raised his head, searching for the origin of the cry. His eyes were so bleak, and Nathan was sure he must be lonely. There was no friend left who would stand by him at the end. He looked down at Nathan with such love, and such relief, and reached out a hand to him, as though it could be possible to gather him close, one last time. And then, his hand dropped to his side, and a shudder went through him, for he knew what Nathan did not. While he was glad that his last sight on earth would be his son, he had known what it would mean to a child.
The hangman bound his father’s hands, and the Ordinary led him through a farce of meaningless prayer. And all around Nathan, the people were shouting, jostling each other and swearing at those who would not remove their hats so that the men in the back could see. Vendors were hawking broadsides, but he did not have the penny to buy one. So he picked a wrinkled paper from the ground before him, to see the lurid cartoon of his father, and his supposed confession.
It