Chapter 24
I collapsed back onto the carpet, beyond sated. I’d probably have rug burn on my hip and shoulder tomorrow, but at the moment my nerves sang with the last aftershocks of pleasure.
Griffin sat up and looked down at me fondly, the firelight haloing his hair. “Well. You seemed to enjoy that.”
I glanced away, uncomfortably aware I’d behaved like a wanton. “Yes.”
As my heated blood cooled, I began to shiver. Griffin noticed and pulled the throw from the back of the couch. He stretched out beside me on the floor, wrapping us both in the heavy cloth. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
His fingers trailed gently along the side of my face. I kissed his fingertips, then rolled over onto my back to stare at the ceiling.
“I just want to be myself,” I said at last. “But no one else wants just me, except for you.”
His hand slid over the curve of my hip, the touch gentle and reassuring. “Dinner with your family didn’t go well?”
I swallowed back a laugh more desperate than amused. “At least I could leave when it was over. At least I didn’t have to go back to my room after and stare out the window, wondering if I’d ever escape. At least Father gave up on calling me into his study for lectures after I went to Arkham.”
“What happened? You don’t have to tell me, but I’m curious. What led to your falling out?”
“There was no falling out on my part,” I said eventually. “Perhaps because there had never been any ‘in’ to fall out of. Father expected his sons to behave in a certain way. I never did. Not to suggest I didn’t try, when I was younger at least. Once I grew older, I knew how futile it would be. The only thing to do was to bear it and hope one day I could escape.”
His fingers stroked the nape of my neck soothingly. “I’m sorry.”
“Not long after Leander died, I was informed I would be attending Widdershins University, where I would study law. Upon graduation, I would join Father and Stanford in the family business.”
“What happened?”
“I told him I wasn’t going to do any of those things. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? I suppose it was, in a way. I told him over and over, day after day, while he raged and threatened and ordered.” I could remember standing in front of his desk with crystalline clarity: the fustiness of his tobacco, the portrait of great-grandfather glowering down at me from above the hearth, the way the light through the window played over the crystal decanters on the sideboard. And all the while, Father shouting and banging his fist on the desk, listing all of my faults loudly enough for the entire house to hear.
“Eventually, he just…gave up, I suppose,” I said. “Mother sold some of her jewelry to pay for my education, since he refused to give me so much as a penny ever again. I went off to Miskatonic University, studied comparative philology, and found a job at the Ladysmith. After all this time, it shouldn’t bother me…yet I sat down at the table tonight and I felt like I was ten years old and the family disappointment again. Well, I suppose I still am a disappointment, but—”
He cut off my words with a fierce kiss. “You’re nothing of the sort,” he whispered against my mouth. “To hell with them if they can’t see how strong you are.”
The words were only meant as a kindness, of course, but warmth curled in my chest nonetheless. “Shall we go to bed?” I asked. “I fear my bones won’t thank me should we fall asleep on the floor.”
Griffin gave me a searching look, but let me change the subject. “Of course, my dear. Anything you want.”
~ * ~
I rose before Griffin the next morning and dressed quietly, not wishing to wake him. The sun had barely edged its way above the horizon, and I could just make out his face in the light of dawn, his hair tousled. He was beautiful, from the curve of his lips to the delicate wings of his eyelashes against his cheek. Perhaps I could climb back under the covers for just a little while…but no.
Time was surely running out; Blackbyrne would make his move soon. I might not know precisely when or where, but I knew we didn’t have long to expose his plans and find some way to counter them. As pleasant as it would be to linger with Griffin, my time would be better served looking for a solution.
I shut the door quietly behind me and went into the study. The fire slumbered as coals; I stoked it and laid on more wood. At least Griffin would find a warm room when he rose and joined me. The pile of papers he’d been looking over last night still sat on the floor by his chair. Perhaps a fresh eye could uncover something new.
To that end, I pulled the chair closer to the fire, seated myself, and began to sort through the stack. Although there were loose papers, most were sorted into envelopes with labels such as “The Brotherhood,” “Philip Rice,” “Percival Endicott Whyborne—”
I read the words again, surprised. Why on earth would Griffin have information about me?
The envelope contained an assortment of notes, letters, and newspaper clippings. On top was a letter from Mr. Rice, recommending Griffin contact me to break the cipher. “He has published monographs on various ciphers, where they intersect with his philological work,” it read in part. “He’s a strange duck to be sure, but supposed to be brilliant. If his surname seems familiar, it’s because he’s the son of Niles Whyborne. You’ve probably traveled on some of his trains.”
In the margin, scrawled in Griffin’s hand were the words: Brotherhood member?
Dear heavens, Griffin had suspected I was a member of the Brotherhood? It made a certain sort of sense, I suppose. I came from wealth, and I did have the sort of esoteric knowledge which might be of value to the Brotherhood. Obviously, he’d quickly ruled me out as a suspect, or else he wouldn’t have shared his findings with me.
Unable to resist finding out what else had been said about me, I set aside the letter. Beneath was a page torn from a notebook, where Griffin had apparently written notes and questions to himself.
Seems to have had a falling-out with his father. About what?
Colleagues say he is brilliant but aloof. Secretaries and janitorial staff are fond of him. Women mention he has not made untoward advances, or let his hands rove, unlike most of the male staff.
Have not been able to confirm the existence of a lover, or indeed any friends outside the museum. Has reasons to be discreet? A Sodomite, perhaps?
My stomach clenched. The ugly word didn’t seem to have anything to do with me, or with the man sprawled asleep in the next room. Certainly it had no connection to the way he’d held me last night after we’d retired, with such tenderness.
But he’d been the one to write it. He must feel differently. Perhaps he simply didn’t know what else to call us.
There was another word after that one. Blackmail?
No prettier a word. Had he feared the Brotherhood might have been blackmailing me, or…
No. I wouldn’t think it of him. I forced my eyes down to the next line and kept reading.
If not a part of the Brotherhood, then a valuable asset. Need to think how to recruit, if seems useful beyond the cipher. If a Sodomite, could be the simplest way.
My head was light, but the frantic beating of my heart seemed oddly far away. I read the damning words again, and then again, desperate for them to miraculously change into something else. But they didn’t.
Perhaps another paper would shed light, or…or something. Anything. I set the note aside with a shaking hand. Beneath it was a newspaper clipping about Leander’s death. It was a short article, but it gave the main details: we were childhood friends, we’d been in a boating accident on the Somerby Estate, and Leander had died while I lived.
Griffin had pretended not to know. He’d stood there by the bed, having secured my loyalty through sexual gratification, and acted as though he wasn’t already familiar with every detail of the sordid story. Had he laughed inside, while he listened to my faltering account?
No, no, no, beat my heart. It couldn’t be true. I had to be mistaken.
I’d seen his talent as an actor at the brothel. He had fooled others: hard men, men of the world. How much of a challenge had a lonely philologist, a virgin, proved?
Not much of one at all.
“Whyborne?”
I started badly. Griffin stood at the entrance to the bedroom where I’d let him…no, I couldn’t think about it now. Where we’d slept. He had dressed for the day, handsome as always in his colorful vest and tie, such a contrast from the drab browns and grays I wore. How many times had I asked myself what a man like him could possibly want with someone like me?
Well. I had my answer now.
“Whyborne? What’s wrong?” he asked, coming closer. Then he stopped abruptly, when he saw what I held. “Ival?”
Had I loved the pet name? I loathed it now. How simple I must have seemed to him. How naïve and pathetic.
I flung the papers into the fire with a sudden, convulsive movement. Griffin started forward, then stopped, his eyes wide with alarm.
I rose to my feet, clinging to whatever shred of dignity I yet maintained. “You could have been honest, Mr. Flaherty,” I said. I don’t know how I kept my voice from breaking. “But I can see how such a course might have been less entertaining for you.”
His looked transformed into one of fear and worry. He was indeed an excellent actor. “I’m not sure what you read—”
“Enough,” I snapped. There was something lodged in my chest, a black tumor crushing my heart and lungs as it swelled malignantly. “You knew about Leander, about my father, about everything before we met. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“My dear, please, just let me explain.”
“There is nothing to explain, Mr. Flaherty.” My voice quavered, and I clamped down on the sign of weakness without mercy. “I suppose I should be grateful you decided I was an asset rather than a threat.”
“Ival, please,” Griffin exclaimed, grabbing my arm.
I wanted to forgive him. Never to touch him again, never to hold him in the bed we’d shared, never to sit across the breakfast table with him…I was bleeding inside, the black malignancy shredding my organs.
He would let me. I could apologize right now, and everything would go back to what it had been. I would have the illusion of warmth. The illusion of love. And wasn’t that better than nothing at all?
But could I do it, could I look at him, kiss him, speak with him, all the while knowing it was nothing but a sham on his part? His seduction had been calculated before we even met. It had nothing to do with me and never had.
In the end, even one such as I had some pride. “Don’t touch me,” I said, pulling my arm free.
He let go. I went downstairs to the hall and took my overcoat from the rack, flinging it around my shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” I said. Just a few more minutes, and I could give in to the burning behind my eyes. “I will not abandon the investigation. I’ll let you know if I find anything useful, Mr. Flaherty. I’m afraid I must request you don’t contact me, however.”
“Whyborne—”
“Oh, and as for the blackmail, I suggest you don’t try. My father may not care for me, but he cares for the family name and for his money, both of which he will protect ruthlessly. As for me, the only thing I have to take is my job.”
I strode to the door. He made a small sound, like a wounded animal, and despite myself I glanced back over my shoulder. Shock was on his face, and grief, and something like resignation.
“You missed your calling in the theatre,” I told him, before slamming the door behind me.
He did not try to follow.
~ * ~
I went to the museum, of course. Where else did I have to go?
I walked through the streets like an automaton. The world was a jumble of shapes and sounds, none of which fit together in a coherent pattern: not the newsboys, or the avenues I’d known since childhood, or the carriages and cabs. A driver yelled at me as I crossed the street without looking; the heat from the flank of his horse brushed against me, but it didn’t seem real.
How could I have been such a fool? I’d spent my adult life in control of every urge, and yet I’d surrendered to Griffin with barely a fight. How could I have let him touch me, let alone believe I’d fallen in love with him?
The memory of his face, his smile, his voice, was like a live animal clawing madly for freedom inside my rib cage. How could I not have loved him?
Rockwell tried to speak to me when I walked past, but I was beyond caring. I would have struck him had he dared touch me. I kept my gaze carefully focused on the floor a few feet in front of me, as if deep in thought, and no one tried to engage me in conversation before I reached my office.
I threw the lock and stood there trembling, my forehead pressed against the solid oak. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.
But what other choice did I have?
“Back to work,” I said aloud. Griffin might be a scoundrel and a cad, but the threat of the Brotherhood was no less for it.
I went to my desk and collapsed into the chair. Taking the Arcanorum from my breast pocket, I set it on the desk in front of me and stared down at the worn and cracked leather cover.
I could make him love me.
How, I didn’t know, but there must be something. The book contained tantalizing hints of hypnotic suggestion, of exerting one’s will over another, using certain signs and symbols. I could put them together into a coherent ritual. Griffin had used me without qualm; why should I not do the same to him?
I could have him back. I could have…
I could. But I’d still know, deep down, he hadn’t chosen to be with me.
I shoved the book aside and propped my elbows on the table, pressing my fingers into my closed eyes. If only I’d never met him. If only there had been someone else who could have solved the cipher. I might have spent the rest of my life in happy ignorance.
Well, not happy. I hadn’t been happy. I’d just existed, caught in some colorless limbo. How could I bear to return to that life?
Damn Griffin. Damn him to hell.
The locked door rattled, and for a horrible moment I imagined he might have followed me.
“Whyborne?” Christine called, pounding on the door with a heavy fist. “I know you’re in there. You might as well open the door.”
I sighed and let her in. She entered, smiling brightly, happier than I’d seen her in months. “Good news! I managed to book passage on a steamer leaving tomorrow!”
“That’s…that’s wonderful.” First Griffin broke my heart, and now my best friend abandoned me. Which wasn’t at all true, of course; I’d known she was leaving as soon as possible, and yet I couldn’t suppress the emotion.
My thoughts must have shown on my face, because she stopped smiling and started frowning instead. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Everything is fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, Whyborne. I won’t have it.”
She’d only badger me until I gave in. I sat down and told her the whole, sorry tale. I stared at the blotter on my desk as I spoke, unable to meet her gaze as I detailed my complete and utter folly.
When I was done, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Shall I go give him a good thrashing before I leave?” Was she joking? I hoped she was joking.
“I don’t think it will be necessary,” I said, dredging up a false smile.
“I’m no good at this kind of thing, as you are no doubt aware, but…have you considered at least hearing him out? Yes, his notes were rather cold-blooded, but if he made them as preparation for the case, he didn’t know you then. After all, he thought you might be part of the Brotherhood.”
“And then, what—he met me and changed his mind? Was so overcome by my charms he decided to pursue me for some reason other than an asset in his fight against the Brotherhood? Don’t be absurd.”
Christine let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, my friend,” she said, and patted my shoulder awkwardly. “You’re worth a hundred of him. There are other men in the world, believe me.”
I didn’t wish to point out the problem was me, not the existence of other men. I only said, “Thank you, Christine.”
“Any time.” She gave my shoulder a hearty squeeze and let go. “Well, there’s work to be done. I’m going down to the docks to make sure they load my equipment correctly. I’ll stop by tomorrow before I depart.”
I nodded mutely. She closed the door behind her, leaving me utterly alone.