Chapter Text
Autumn, 1820
Mr. Spring’s first night back at Greenwood Park after his stay in Brighton had been a fitful one. He had retired to his room early, just after dinner, and spent most of the wee hours in bed with only the company of his own thoughts.
When morning came, he dressed and went down to breakfast as usual. When Miss Spring asked how he was, he assuaged her concerns and assured her that he was better, though neglected to elaborate.
Mr. Spring spent the morning in his library, thinking. He sat at his desk, hunched over the newspaper laid out before him. A man had been imprisoned for “an attempt to commit an unnatural offense” on the 4th of September.
There was a knock at the door and Mr. Spring straightened up. “Come in.”
Carson entered the library. “Mr. Nelson for you, sir.”
Mr. Spring rose from his chair. “Show him in.”
Mr. Nelson entered the library and broke into his characteristic grin that always prompted Mr. Spring to return it. Mr. Nelson approached, and Mr. Spring stepped forward to meet him halfway. But before the pair went in for their customary welcoming embrace, Mr. Spring noticed that Carson remained at the door, rather than shutting it as usual.
Mr. Spring tore his eyes away from Mr. Nelson’s eager smile to ask Carson, “Was there something else?”
“A letter has just arrived by express for you, sir.”
Rarely did any letter arrive at Greenwood Park by express, and when they did, they were almost always addressed to Sir Julio, so Mr. Spring did not know what to make of it. “Bring it here.”
Carson crossed the room and handed the letter to Mr. Spring.
“Thank you, Carson,” Mr. Spring said.
Carson left and shut the door.
Mr. Nelson promptly wrapped Mr. Spring in a hug, which was readily returned. “I missed you,” Mr. Nelson breathed into Mr. Spring’s neck. “It felt strange sleeping alone last night.”
Mr. Spring leaned back, and Mr. Nelson gave him a peck on the lips. “I did not pass a peaceful night, either,” Mr. Spring admitted.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Nelson suggested, swaying side to side with Mr. Spring, “you might have better luck if you shared my bed tonight.”
“Do not tempt me.”
“For the sake of your health, of course,” Mr. Nelson said in mock outrage. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing which should shock you, I daresay. Now if you will excuse me,” Mr. Spring said, tapping the letter to Mr. Nelson’s shoulder, and turning away, but Mr. Nelson still held him around the waist. Mr. Nelson kissed Mr. Spring’s cheek, and Mr. Spring squeezed Mr. Nelson’s arm. It was quite difficult to attend to business in such a position, but Mr. Spring would not detach himself from Mr. Nelson, as he had really missed him, too.
As Mr. Nelson kissed along Mr. Spring’s jaw, Mr. Spring tore open the seal hastily, that whatever business was so urgent might be done with all the sooner. Upon examining the letter, the familiar handwriting commanded Mr. Spring’s attention, and he began to read with renewed focus.
Mr. Nelson raised his head when he felt Mr. Spring tense. “Charlie?”
Mr. Spring suddenly disentangled himself from Mr. Nelson’s arms and dashed to his desk.
“What is the matter?” Mr. Nelson asked in alarm, following him.
Mr. Spring scrambled for paper and ink. He threw the letter on his desk in Mr. Nelson’s direction. “Read it,” he said before he began scribbling frantically.
Mr. Nelson took up the letter and a jolt of outrage took hold as he read the signature. It was from Mr. Hope. Mr. Nelson hurriedly read on to know what Mr. Hope was threatening this time to send Mr. Spring into such a frenzy.
My Dear Mr. Spring,
I know that this letter may not be welcome to you, but I hope its urgency may compel you to read it. I shall convey the circumstances in which I find myself as concisely as possible.
I have been arrested on charges which I presume you can surmise. I am currently detained at the police precinct in Moorfields—I trust you know the area. Bail is set at £40.
You may no longer think well of me, but I know you to be too good a man to wish me this fate. Please, Charlie, I must beg your help. I have not a true friend in the world but you.
Yours most humbly,
Ben
Mr. Nelson was livid. After having committed such offenses against Mr. Spring as assaulting him, blackmailing him, and threatening him, Mr. Hope now had the gall to beg Mr. Spring to spare him from the very fate to which he would have thrown Mr. Spring without mercy.
Mr. Nelson looked to Mr. Spring, who was blowing the ink dry on the letter he had just finished. “What are you doing?”
“I am leaving for London,” Mr. Spring said as he sealed his letter.
“You are not actually going to help him, are you?”
“I am.”
Mr. Spring rushed for the library door, opened it, and ducked his head out. Mr. Nelson could hear him calling Carson’s attention.
“Carson,” Mr. Spring said urgently. “Send this letter by express immediately, and ready a carriage.”
“Right away, sir.”
Mr. Spring shut the door and returned to his desk where he began counting out bank notes.
“Charlie,” Mr. Nelson implored, reaching for Mr. Spring’s arm. “Pause a moment and think this through.”
Mr. Spring did not look up. “I have not a moment to spare, and I have thought this through.”
“Leave him! He has done nothing but cause you strife. Let him rot in prison, he deserves it!”
“Not for what he is being charged!” Mr. Spring insisted, finally meeting Mr. Nelson’s eye. “I grant you, he has done much wrong, but he has been arrested for something that is not wrong. It is unjust.”
“What if it is a trap? What if he has made some sort of deal to implicate you in exchange for leniency?”
“I am not going to gamble with his life.”
“But you would with yours?”
That gave Mr. Spring pause, and his expression softened. “Nick,” he said gently, taking a step closer to Mr. Nelson. “He has no one else to turn to. He is desperate and in fear for his life and reputation. I would not wish that on my worst enemy. I am not going for him, I am going on principle. I could not live with myself if I did not.”
Mr. Spring was quite determined, and Mr. Nelson knew any further attempts to dissuade him would be futile and only hinder him.
Mr. Nelson sighed. “You are a better man than I.” He took Mr. Spring’s hand. “Let me come with you.”
“No. I need you to stay here in case I need any assistance from Truham.” Mr. Spring did not add that if this was a scheme devised by Mr. Hope to entrap him, then he wanted Mr. Nelson as far away as possible. Mr. Nelson looked as if he suspected as much. “Please, Nick. You are the only one apprised of the whole situation, and the only one I would trust with such a delicate matter.” Mr. Spring looked up at Mr. Nelson pleadingly.
Mr. Nelson squeezed his hand. “What do you need?”
Mr. Nelson helped Mr. Spring pack whatever may be necessary for his journey. As it was not known precisely what situation into which he was entering, nor how long would be required to settle the matter, Mr. Spring wanted to be prepared for any variety of circumstances. Mr. Spring wrote a short note to his sister, stating that he was to be in London at the request of an acquaintance. With everything he could think of accounted for, Mr. Spring was ready to set off.
Mr. Nelson cupped Mr. Spring’s cheek in his palm. “Please be careful, Char,” he whispered.
Mr. Spring nodded. “I will. I shall write to you as soon as I know anything.”
Mr. Nelson kissed him softly on the lips, then on the forehead. “I—” Mr. Nelson swallowed. “I…hope you come home soon.”
“I will try.”
Mr. Nelson walked with Mr. Spring out to the carriage and helped him inside.
As the carriage swiftly drove away, Mr. Nelson set off down the lane after it, wishing to prolong, even marginally, the time when Mr. Spring might remain within his sight. Mr. Nelson watched as Mr. Spring’s carriage sped farther and farther away, until it took a fork in the road, and Mr. Nelson was obliged to take the other.
After a few minutes’ walk, Mr. Nelson noticed a man approaching him whom he soon recognized as Mr. Xu.
When he was a polite distance away, Mr. Nelson tipped his hat to the gentleman. “Mr. Xu.”
Mr. Xu returned the courtesy. “Mr. Nelson.”
“What brings you this way?”
“I have just come to call on Mr. Spring. He wrote he was returned from Brighton.”
“He has just left for London. I know not how long he shall be gone.”
“Is everything well with him?”
Mr. Nelson hesitated, letting out a shaky breath, feeling entirely powerless. “I do not know,” he answered truthfully. “I am worried about him.”
“What has happened?” Mr. Xu asked urgently.
“He has…gone to the aid of an old acquaintance.”
“Who is the acquaintance?”
“I cannot say. Only, it is someone with whom he does not wish to remain acquainted. I fear that Charlie is risking himself too much to do a noble thing.”
“That sounds like him. Is there anything I may do to help?”
“I do not believe so. I am waiting to hear word from him.”
Mr. Xu nodded. A brief silence elapsed between them before Mr. Xu said, “I wish to apologize.”
Mr. Nelson furrowed his brow. “Whatever for?”
“I misjudged you and I made accusations that were unfounded.”
Mr. Nelson thought back to their conversation at Mr. Spring’s dinner party, which seemed ages ago. Mr. Xu had warned him against any ill intentions he may have had toward Mr. Spring, a gesture which had inspired in him both intimidation and admiration. “You were only looking out for your friend,” Mr. Nelson placated.
“I also wanted to thank you. For taking Charlie to Brighton. For taking care of him.”
“You do not need to thank me for that.”
“I shall, all the same. Thank you. Truly. I may venture to say that Charlie is most grateful to you, as reluctant as he is to be looked after.”
Mr. Nelson nodded knowingly. “I shall always look after him.”
Mr. Xu gave Mr. Nelson a grateful smile, which Mr. Nelson eagerly returned. The two gentlemen lapsed into silence, and the moment was not charged with suspicion nor tension, but anchored by a steady understanding.
Then Mr. Nelson said, “I shall leave you to the rest of your day.”
“I suppose I shall call on Miss Argent,” Mr. Xu mused. “I had intended to do so after calling on Charlie.”
“Please relay to her my regards.”
Mr. Xu nodded and was about to part ways, but hesitated for an instant before deciding, “Would you care to join me?”
Mr. Nelson was so thrown by the offer that he merely stared at Mr. Xu.
“She would approve, I assure you,” Mr. Xu told him, wondering if he had made another error in judgment.
Mr. Nelson was very keen to return home to await any news, but, logically, he knew it would be impossible for Mr. Spring to travel to London—let alone learn any information, and have the opportunity to write to him—in the time it would take for even a lengthy social call. He knew it would be a mistake to refuse this very considerate concession of Mr. Xu.
So Mr. Nelson accepted. “I would, very much. Thank you.”
Mr. Spring had directed the driver to take him first to the law office of Sir Geoff Young, primarily—in the event that his letter had not arrived before he did—so Mr. Spring could apprise Sir Geoff of the circumstances; and, secondarily, to avoid any scandal which could arise from the implications of walking into a police precinct. Were he to be seen by anyone who should know him, Mr. Spring could contrive a perfectly legitimate reason for meeting with his family’s lawyer.
Upon his arrival, Mr. Spring was informed by a secretary that Sir Geoff had left on official business, with the instruction that Mr. Spring was to wait at the office until his return. Apparently, Sir Geoff had received Mr. Spring’s letter, and acted on its information promptly. Part of Mr. Spring wished to go to the precinct anyway, to offer his assistance, to hear of any developments all the sooner—anything to feel useful rather than to wait helplessly. But Mr. Spring trusted Sir Geoff, and saw the wisdom in his instruction.
Sir Geoff had been in service to the Spring family since before Mr. Spring had been born, and, being entrusted with the security and reputation of the family, was most capable of what Mr. Spring required. Even still, his competence could not guarantee a favorable outcome.
Mr. Spring began to pace the length of the foyer, gripping his arm anxiously. The secretary, upon noticing his distress, offered Mr. Spring tea, which was declined.
Mr. Spring realized he was drawing attention to himself, which at present was unwise. With nothing else to do, Mr. Spring sat on a long bench and waited.
He considered writing to Mr. Nelson, but decided against it, as there was nothing to tell other than his arrival in London. Surely it was better to keep Mr. Nelson in suspense than to give him false hope.
Mr. Spring wished he knew more of the particulars of Mr. Hope’s situation, so he could determine a course of action or at least speculate a likely outcome. He pulled out Mr. Hope’s letter from his pocket. Mr. Hope had not specified the precise charges against him, so Mr. Spring could only guess at the circumstances of his arrest.
In his letter, Mr. Hope had mentioned Moorfields. Though never having been there himself, Mr. Spring knew it by reputation. There was a long field divided by a wall known colloquially as The Sodomites’ Walk; it was unsheltered, visible to passersby, and an open secret of which even the most undiscerning were aware. The location alone painted a particular picture in Mr. Spring’s mind: Mr. Hope strolling among the shadows cast in the moonlight, meeting a similarly inclined man who had come for the same purpose.
It was an undue risk, cruising in such a spot so openly, especially for a gentleman of Mr. Hope’s means who could afford the luxury of privacy. It made Mr. Spring wonder at the state of mind Mr. Hope must have been in to defy his greatest fear of getting caught.
Once Mr. Hope’s intentions were known, any number of things could have gone wrong. There could have been witnesses, police patrols, informants, all willing to give their testimony. Mr. Hope could have been arrested then and there, or followed from there and later reported. Much depended on the state in which Mr. Hope had been discovered: evidently, the circumstances were such that warranted his arrest, and the desperation in his letter led Mr. Spring to believe that all could not be explained away as an innocent misunderstanding. So Mr. Spring was left to assume that the evidence against Mr. Hope must be great.
Would it be the compelling testimony of a witness who had caught him in a compromising position which would seal Mr. Hope’s fate? Or an unfortunate encounter with a police informant placed precisely to entrap men like Mr. Hope? Or had Mr. Hope’s chosen co-conspirator given up his partner to save himself?
Mr. Spring turned over possibility after possibility in his mind as he waited, each worse than the last, each inevitably leading to the abrupt end of a rope.
Mr. Spring knew not how much time had passed when the door to the office opened, and he stood expectantly. In walked Sir Geoff, his expression unreadable. Directly behind him was Mr. Hope.
Mr. Hope’s eyes were on the floor, his posture hunched and his clothes rumpled. When he looked up, Mr. Spring could see the dark circles under his watery, uncertain eyes. When he saw Mr. Spring, Mr. Hope exhaled deeply and broke into a relieved smile. Mr. Spring did not return it.
“Mr. Spring,” Sir Geoff said, drawing Mr. Spring’s gaze away from Mr. Hope. “A word, if you please.” He gestured toward his office.
“Of course,” Mr. Spring agreed, and walked inside.
Sir Geoff followed, shutting the door behind him.
“Thank you,” Mr. Spring uttered before Sir Geoff could say anything.
“You have not even heard the outcome yet,” Sir Geoff reminded him gently. He gestured to a seat, which Mr. Spring took.
Mr. Spring thought that the fact that Mr. Hope was not currently imprisoned was at least one bright spot to look on. But he waited impatiently for Sir Geoff to tell him the rest.
Sir Geoff took his seat across from Mr. Spring. “Mr. Spring, I did not post Mr. Hope’s bail, as you had instructed in your letter.”
Mr. Spring tensed in anticipation.
“Instead, I convinced them to drop the charges.”
Mr. Spring breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“I could not risk the case going to trial, as I am sure you well know. Though you were not directly implicated, if your name were to be mentioned in connection to Mr. Hope, it would be in all the papers.”
“I know,” Mr. Spring said softly. “Your circumspection and discretion are invaluable.”
“There is no need for flattery, Mr. Spring. It is not my place to chastise you.”
Mr. Spring let out a tiny smile.
“Although, if I may offer some legal advice: I must caution that you exercise similar circumspection and discretion in the future, so that you are not required to rely on mine.”
“Of course.”
“And that any…acquaintances of yours be likewise circumspect and discreet.” Sir Geoff looked at Mr. Spring with a stern, fatherly expression.
Mr. Spring swallowed and nodded.
Sir Geoff furrowed his brow, for the first time giving way to feeling. “It is a disgraceful practice,” he muttered, and Mr. Spring sunk slightly in his seat. But then Sir Geoff continued, “To hang a man for such a thing. The law creates a criminal and a victim where there otherwise may be none.”
Mr. Spring perked up. “Quite,” he agreed. “Are you going to tell my father about this?”
“Are you?”
Mr. Spring had not thought about that yet, as his mind had been occupied with more pressing matters.
“I believe that a man’s business is his own,” Sir Geoff offered. “As it was my wits, and not your father’s money, which liberated your friend, I see no reason to inform him of your affairs if you do not.”
Mr. Spring nodded. “Very well. Though Mr. Hope is no friend of mine.”
“Be sure that Mr. Hope is aware, lest he seek the benefits of your friendship in the future.”
Sir Geoff stood and Mr. Spring followed suit.
“If I may ask one more favor of you before I leave,” Mr. Spring began, “might I trouble you for some paper and ink?”
Sir Geoff supplied Mr. Spring with what he requested. Mr. Spring wrote out a brief letter to Mr. Nelson before thanking Sir Geoff again and bidding him farewell. On his way out, Mr. Spring left the letter with Sir Geoff’s secretary, asking that it be sent by express at the earliest convenience. The secretary left with the letter forthwith.
This left Mr. Spring alone in the foyer with Mr. Hope.
“Charlie, I—”
Mr. Spring held up his hand, silencing Mr. Hope. “Let us speak somewhere private.”
He walked past Mr. Hope and out of the building, Mr. Hope trailing on his heels. They stepped out into the street and Mr. Spring let Mr. Hope into his carriage first before embarking himself.
“Keep the carriage here for a moment,” Mr. Spring directed the coachman. “We shall be brief.”
“Very good, sir,” the coachman acknowledged before he shut the door.
Mr. Spring sat across from Mr. Hope and drew the curtains.
“I thank you for coming,” Mr. Hope addressed Mr. Spring with uncharacteristic humility. “If my father knew about this he would disown me.”
“I know.”
Mr. Hope let out a long sigh. “I have erred most profoundly.”
Mr. Spring could not recall a single instance in which Mr. Hope so readily admitted fault, and it put Mr. Spring on his guard. Now that both he and Mr. Hope were out of immediate danger, Mr. Spring felt a twinge of anger that Mr. Hope had gotten him involved.
“What did you tell the police?” Mr. Spring asked in a measured tone.
“Nothing. I swear. I did not say a word of my activities, current nor prior. And I did not mention you at all.”
“That may be the most sensible thing you have ever done,” Mr. Spring muttered.
“I only meant that I should never have gone to Moorfields in the first place. It was reckless, and I was not as circumspect as I should have been. I was distraught after Miss Heaney broke things off. I just wanted something good. You were the one I would turn to when I wanted something good. But I could not go to you, so I went...elsewhere.”
Mr. Spring sighed. “Does he need to be bailed out as well?”
“No. He…he was the one who reported me. And then he disappeared.”
“Did you pin him against a wall and threaten him, too?”
Mr. Hope’s face reddened. “No! No. He seemed very agreeable.” Mr. Hope pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, before looking back up at Mr. Spring with a small smile. “He was nothing compared to you.”
Mr. Spring remained stone-faced. “Because I would not have reported you?” Mr. Hope’s smile dropped. “It does not feel good, does it?”
Mr. Hope blinked and flexed his jaw. “I suppose you think it serves me right.”
Mr. Spring considered a moment. “You were short-sighted and selfish and you endangered more than just yourself—not that you have ever had much regard for how your actions affect others. But this time, you got a taste of the threat that you have always held over my head.” Mr. Spring stared squarely at Mr. Hope, who recoiled at the reminder. “Nobody deserves that.”
Mr. Hope’s eyes widened. “Oh, Charlie, I knew you must not have come to me for nothing. You have been so good to me!” He reached forward and seized Mr. Spring’s hand.
Mr. Spring jerked his hand out of Mr. Hope’s grasp, as if out of the jaws of a snake. “Just because I do not believe you deserve to hang does not mean that I forgive you,” Mr. Spring spat. “You were not good to me.”
Mr. Hope retreated. “You are right. I was not. I did not deserve you. But I want to do better, I want to be worthy of you. It is my sincerest wish that we may put past wrongs behind us and that we may remain friends.”
“You wish to remain friends?”
Mr. Hope smiled. “Very much so.”
“At what time do you imagine we were friends?” Mr. Spring asked pointedly, and Mr. Hope’s smile sank. “When you refused to acknowledge my presence in company, were we friends? When you threatened to report me to the police if I did not do as you wished, were we friends then? What about when you repeatedly blackmailed me? Or when you cornered me in a dark alley and assaulted me so I was bruised and bloody? When you threatened me in public and those most dear to me, were we friends then? Or perhaps it was only when you wanted to get off with me? You have not once called me a friend prior to your most recent letter, and in the entire time I have known you, you made it quite clear that you had no wish of acknowledging me as such. We are not friends. We never have been, and we never shall be.”
He expected Mr. Hope to react with some angry retort, so Mr. Spring was taken quite by surprise when, instead, Mr. Hope said, “I am so sorry, Charlie.” Mr. Hope’s eyes softened and watered. “I did not know how to behave toward you, and I ruined things with you, and I will always, always regret it. You were the one good thing in my life I could always count on, and I ruined it. Can you ever forgive me?”
Mr. Spring just stared at him as he cried. Never in all their acquaintance had Mr. Spring seen Mr. Hope look so vulnerable and helpless. He neither pitied nor relished Mr. Hope’s distress, but rather found the situation to be quite strange.
Mr. Spring shook his head. “I never cease to be surprised by your audacity. The only thing I ever asked of you was to leave me alone, and you could not even do that. You wrote to me, begging for my help, and I gave it. And as if that were not enough, you expect me to forgive you? ‘Sorry’ does not make up for everything that you did to me.”
“Please, Charlie. How can I make amends? What must I do?”
“You are in no position to ask anything of me—not my forgiveness and certainly not my friendship. I very well may have spared your life. You owe me. I shall consider that debt discharged only if you follow my terms exactly.”
Mr. Hope swallowed. “What are your terms?”
“To begin with, you will not bother Miss Heaney. You will not pester her over breaking things off, nor any other grievances you may have against her. Nor will you speak ill of her to anyone else. You will not speak of her in any other manner than disinterested civility.”
“I will do as you wish. What else?”
“You will leave Mr. Nelson alone,” Mr. Spring enunciated venomously. “If you threaten him, if you write to him, if you seek him out, I shall hear of it. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“And, lastly,” Mr. Spring said, “you will never speak to me again. You will never make demands of me again. You will never write to me again. The moment you step out of this carriage, you will cease to ever seek me out. I do not want to see you ever again. Do you understand?”
Mr. Hope’s lip quivered, but he nodded.
Mr. Spring thrust open the carriage door. “Goodbye, Mr. Hope.”
Hurt flashed across Mr. Hope’s face, but Mr. Spring only gave him a cold look. Mr. Hope wiped his tears and exited the carriage.
Mr. Spring watched Mr. Hope disappear before sighing and closing his eyes.
“Where to, sir?”
Mr. Spring opened his eyes. The coachman was looking at him through the open door with concern. Mr. Spring squared his shoulders. “Greenwood Park, please.”
“Very good, sir,” the coachman said before closing the door.
Mr. Spring thought that he might arrive in Truham before his letter to Mr. Nelson did, but he did not wish to remain in London a moment longer.
He thought of all the thousands of ways the whole ordeal could have gone differently. In the end, it had been resolved fairly quickly and quietly. Really, it was the best outcome Mr. Spring could expect. Yet he still felt a sense of impending doom.
As his carriage brought him closer and closer to home, all he could think was an endless spiral of What if I cannot protect him? What if I cannot protect him? I cannot protect him. I cannot protect him as long as I am endangering him. I cannot protect him as long as I am with him.
It was late when Mr. Spring returned to Greenwood. He retired to the library, and hunched over his desk with his head in his hands, nursing a headache.
Mr. Spring knew what had to be done. He had an end in mind, and a firm resolve to see it out, even if he was as of yet uncertain of the means through which it was to be achieved. Breaking one’s own heart was no small matter.
He opened the top left drawer of his desk and took out Mr. Nelson’s letters. He flipped through them, reading the salutation My dear Charlie, in Mr. Nelson’s hand, over and over again. He paused on the letter in which Mr. Nelson had heartily consented to staying the night with him. How happy he had been to receive it; how he had treasured the tangible evidence of Mr. Nelson’s regard, esteem, and affection in his yes . Now, Mr. Spring could not help but see the letter as incriminating. If he truly cared for Mr. Nelson, he ought to burn the lot of them.
A knock at the door startled Mr. Spring, and he threw the letters back in the drawer before quickly locking it. “Come in,” he called.
Carson opened the door. “Mr. Nelson for you, sir.”
Mr. Spring reeled for a moment, wanting almost nothing more than to see Mr. Nelson, while knowing that the longer they remained in each other’s company, the harder it would be to keep him safe.
Evidently, Mr. Nelson had received Mr. Spring’s letter and set off at once upon hearing the news of his success in London and his prompt return. He adored Mr. Nelson for it, but his arrival was most inconvenient, and Mr. Spring found himself uncharacteristically wishing for more time apart, if only to delay the inevitable.
But there could be no putting it off. Mr. Spring stood. “Show him in.”
Carson let Mr. Nelson in and shut the door behind him.
Mr. Spring approached Mr. Nelson. “Nick, I did not mean for you to come all this way at such a late—”
Mr. Spring’s stomach dropped when he saw Mr. Nelson’s expression, looking so withdrawn and diffident that it could only mean something was very wrong. “What is it?” Mr. Spring asked in alarm, taking hold of Mr. Nelson’s arm. “What has happened? Is your mother ill?”
“No. She is well, thank you,” Mr. Nelson replied woodenly, not meeting Mr. Spring’s eyes.
Mr. Spring led Mr. Nelson to a chair by the fire and made him sit before kneeling in front of him.
“And the rest of your family?” Mr. Spring asked, still gripping Mr. Nelson’s arm.
“They are all in good health.”
“Then what is it?”
Mr. Nelson finally looked into Mr. Spring’s eyes. “My mother has received a letter from my father.”
Such a seemingly innocuous statement should not have caused such a stir, but Mr. Spring knew better. He was familiar enough with the personal affairs of the Nelson household to know that such an occurrence was a portent of some significance.
Mr. Nelson continued. “He cannot put off his creditors much longer; they are demanding payment in full. If he does not come up with the money soon, he is going to sell the house in Truham.”
Without a moment of consideration, Mr. Spring said, “How much is needed to satisfy your father’s creditors?”
Mr. Nelson’s eyes flashed in astonishment, and when he spoke, he sounded more like his old self. “Char…no.”
Mr. Spring insisted, “If it is money that is the issue, you can have mine, whatever you need.”
“I could not ask that of you. That is not why I came here.”
“You are not asking. I am offering.”
“Even if I was convinced that you could spare such a large sum—which I am not—what means would I have to pay you back?”
“You would not have to pay it back.”
“I could not do that. I have nothing to give you in return.”
“You know I do not want anything. You have already given me everything.”
Mr. Nelson sighed. “You are a far too generous man, Charlie. It will be the ruin of you. I did not come for your charity, I came for your counsel. I know the situation is quite impossible, but I thought if anyone might see another solution which I cannot, it would be you, because you are so clever and perceptive.” Mr. Nelson gave a pleading smile and took Mr. Spring’s hand in his own. “What am I to do, Char?”
Mr. Spring recalled the occasion upon which Mr. Nelson had confided the difficulties of his father’s finances: it had been at Mr. Greene’s shooting party, prior to Mr. Hope’s appearance. At that time, Mr. Nelson had acknowledged the most obvious solution, which he now seemed even less willing to entertain. An ample dowry was the quickest legitimate means of securing a large sum without seeking charity nor acquiring more debt.
More importantly, it occurred to Mr. Spring that this could be the means of protecting Mr. Nelson that he had been searching for—the stone which would kill two birds.
He looked up at Mr. Nelson decidedly, and watched Mr. Nelson’s expression closely as he gently led him to the necessary conclusion. “An advantageous marriage could remedy that.”
Mr. Nelson was stunned into silence at Mr. Spring’s suggestion.
“Surely you can see the merits of it,” Mr. Spring reasoned. “You have considered it before.”
Mr. Nelson’s wide eyes looked pained, but Mr. Spring pressed on.
“I truly believe that this is the best course of action for everyone.” Apart from himself, Mr. Spring thought, though his feelings were nothing to Mr. Nelson’s welfare. “You would secure your place in society. You would save your father from financial ruin. You would ensure your mother a pleasant home. And I have no doubt you would make any lady a most excellent husband.”
“And…where am I to suppose you fit into this plan?”
Mr. Spring had thought his omission was implied. “I would not presume to compete for your affections with your wife.”
Mr. Nelson blinked. “You could not. Surely you do not expect that I would throw you over for a convenient match.”
“I expect that you would be a man of honor and abide by your duty,” Mr. Spring replied. “But it is more than that. You know it is not only material comfort which can be found in a convenient marriage: there is security in marriage—protection, acceptance. It would deflect rumors and gossip. It would keep you safe.”
“What about you?” Mr. Nelson implored. “What of your safety?”
“The more time we spend apart, the safer we will both be. You must know that we cannot carry on as we have been.”
Mr. Spring watched the light leave Mr. Nelson’s eyes and felt him squeeze his hand unconsciously.
Mr. Nelson took a deep breath. “Is it Mr. Hope’s arrest which has made you wary?”
“It has only served as a reminder of the danger ever present to a connection such as ours. I have been flirting with disaster for far too long now. I have been reckless with your safety, as well as mine, and it is only right that I should remedy that carelessness by advising you to do the responsible thing, which you no doubt would have done without my interference.”
There was no resentment nor bitterness in Mr. Spring’s voice. It sounded like he was releasing Mr. Nelson from an obligation, a courtesy for which he ought to be grateful. Instead, Mr. Nelson felt his heart sink.
Mr. Spring saw it reflected in Mr. Nelson’s face, and felt his own resolve waver for an instant. “Are you very disappointed?” he asked Mr. Nelson softly. “I know you have said you wished to marry for love.”
“I…no longer believe that is possible.” Mr. Nelson looked down at their joint hands.
“Marriages of convenience are not necessarily unhappy ones,” Mr. Spring offered. He pulled his hand back but Mr. Nelson held on, returning his gaze. “There is no reason to suppose you could not make a happy marriage with someone suitable. Surely you have someone in mind?”
Mr. Nelson just looked at him, welling up.
“Miss Jones, perhaps?” Mr. Spring suggested. “You like her. I have no doubt you both could make each other reasonably happy. You should marry her.”
“But I do not love her. I—”
“But you could,” Mr. Spring interrupted and took a deep breath. “You should. Marry her. At least for your family’s sake if nothing else. Ensure their security and comfort. And,” Mr. Spring squeezed Mr. Nelson’s hand in both of his, “be happy—with Miss Jones or any other lady of your choosing. That is all I want for you.”
All Mr. Nelson could get out was a strangled-sounding, “Charlie.”
Mr. Spring’s gaze bore into Mr. Nelson’s. “Please.” Please leave me. Please save yourself.
Mr. Nelson only stared at him for an interminable moment before he finally whispered, “Very well.” He cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice was strained. “It is…a sensible plan. If there is nothing else to be done…I shall ask Miss Jones to marry me.”
“Good.” Mr. Spring put on the most convincing smile he could muster, but Mr. Nelson only frowned.
Mr. Spring rose to his feet and pulled Mr. Nelson up along with him before dropping his hand.
“It is quite late,” Mr. Spring observed. “I do not wish to detain you any longer.”
“Forgive me,” Mr. Nelson said, blinking back tears in an effort to regain his composure. “I do not wish to intrude.”
“Not at all. I only meant that you ought to return to the company of your mother.”
“Quite right.”
“Let me see you out.”
Mr. Spring walked Mr. Nelson to the front door and opened it.
Mr. Nelson passed over the threshold into the cold night air. He turned around and stared at Mr. Spring, looking lost, as if he did not know which direction to turn if Mr. Spring was not at his side.
So Mr. Spring put on a smile that did not reach his eyes and said, “Goodbye, Nick.”
Mr. Nelson attempted to smile back but it appeared more like a spasm. “Bye, Char.”
Mr. Spring held out his hand stiffly, as if reaching for a doorknob.
Mr. Nelson stared at it for a moment before realizing that Mr. Spring intended to shake hands, as if they were indifferent acquaintances. He put his hand in Mr. Spring’s, but the gesture was empty. He knew he could never be indifferent toward him.
Mr. Spring squeezed Mr. Nelson’s hand briefly and then dropped it. “I really do wish you the very best,” he said, before stepping back and shutting the door.
No sooner than the door closed did Mr. Spring’s eyes fill with tears. He leaned his forehead against the door, gasping for breath.
“What did Nick want?”
Mr. Spring started, but did not say anything, and slowly turned around to face his sister.
She stood by the staircase with her arms crossed. Mr. Spring considered how to answer her but his mouth only opened and closed.
Then Miss Spring saw that his eyes were red and glassy. “Shall I kill him?”
“No,” Mr. Spring answered immediately, his voice weak.
“What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“Charlie.”
“He did nothing wrong. He is…perfect. The problem lies with me.”
Miss Spring uncrossed her arms and walked over to her brother. “What happened?”
Mr. Spring shook his head. “It does not matter. It is done now.”
“What is?”
“I am tired, Tori.”
“I am worried about you.”
“Do not concern yourself with me.” He tried sidestepping her, but she got in his way.
“Charlie!” she insisted, desperation leaking into her voice. “You were returned from Brighton not a full day before you ran off to London for some mysterious purpose, of which you informed me with only a hastily scribbled note. When you returned late, I barely saw you before you shut yourself away in the library. And now I find you in tears after sending off your very dearest friend. What am I to make of all that if not to be most concerned about you?”
Mr. Spring sighed, feeling disarmed. “I am sorry. I know my behavior recently has been…inexcusable. But I feel that I have finally gotten control of things. So you need not worry.”
His assurances had the opposite of their intended effect, and instead gave Miss Spring new reason to worry. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Spring hesitated, but Miss Spring stared at him unrelentingly, and he knew she would not give up until she knew the truth.
He took a deep breath and spoke barely above a whisper. “Before I met Nick, I was…familiar with another gentleman. I admired him, but he made me feel like I was ruining his life. That is why I was in London: to sort things out with him, to put an end to our acquaintance once and for all. And it made me realize that I am putting Nick at risk in the same way. I had not intended—” his voice broke off and he took a shaky breath. “I did not dare to imagine that things would get this far. But somehow they did, and before I knew it, it was out of my control. So, for the good of everyone, I cannot continue to see him.”
“But he makes you so happy.”
Mr. Spring could only nod, feeling the tears return.
“You care for him deeply. Do you not believe he feels the same?”
“That is precisely why I must part with him: because I care for him deeply, and because I believe he feels the same! This is no mere flirtation, nor a weakness of the flesh; I love him!—body and soul! And I am all but certain that he loves me. And it will ruin him. And it is all my fault!”
Miss Spring reached for him, but he shrugged her off.
“Leave me!” His sister dropped her hand. Mr. Spring took a deep breath and gave a tempered, though detached, answer. “My apologies. I wish to be alone. Goodnight, Victoria.”
His words pierced through her, freezing her in place, and she watched as he dashed upstairs without looking at her.
As Mr. Spring undressed for bed, he found, waiting at the back of a drawer, Mr. Nelson’s shirt. He had hidden it there, after Mr. Nelson had left it, as a memento of their night together. Now, Mr. Spring took it out and held it to his face. Even after all these weeks, it still smelled of him.
Mr. Spring put the shirt on instead of his own and crawled into bed. He pulled the covers around him, imagining they were strong arms instead, or perhaps better yet, the inviting earth of his grave.