The Shooting Season Page 8

  The snow began to fall in earnest as we approached Glasgow and the train slowed down to the pace of a snail. The Caledonian Sleeper train would not depart until ten p.m this night, and so as it was near six of the clock I would have several hours to spend in Glasgow city. Part of me wanted to head to the nearest snug and drown my sorrows; however, the fates had something else in store!

  I left the train at Glasgow Central Station, and pulling the lapels of my greatcoat closed and gripping my hat and cane, I headed for the ticket office to purchase my berth on the Caledonian Sleeper. I expected a queue but what I found was worse than my expectations. I was faced with a ten-meter long line of irate passengers. It was peak traveling season as many of those who left the English countryside to seek work in Glasgow city would be returning home for Christmas to spend their precious few days off with their loved ones.

  “Excuse me miss, what appears to be the trouble?” I asked, trying to be heard over the hearty din of the Salvation Army choir with bell, trumpets and drum accompaniment.

  The Irish woman raised her voice as she replied to me. “Sir, did ye not hear? The last train left two hour ago an got snowbound in Carlisle. It’s awful bad in England. Not a train movin’ on the tracks in the whole of the country. We’re stuck, so we are.”

  On hearing that, I brimmed with frustration. I decided I would not join the queue and needed to be on the move. I imagined that the other guests who had departed before me were on the train stranded in Carlisle. I was lucky to remain in a big city where I had more choices on how to proceed. This whole debacle to Scotland had been a huge waste of my time and I did not see myself standing around in a chilly train station to wait for news of how and when I was to travel to London.

  I claimed my trunk from the luggage car of the West Highland train and with my cane; I pushed my case under my arm. Feeling overburdened and ridiculous, I dragged the wheeled trunk, and with my bullish, no-nonsense gait, I made swift work through the crowds and hubbub.

  I found my way to the stagecoach stop. There was already a large crowd assembling there too, so other travelers had the same idea as me. A line of ten coaches waited but not one was laden with baggage and the horses wore their nose bags, so they were still feeding and not yet readying for the off. There was muttering and angry words among the crowd complaining of the delays.

  “If we don’t set off now while the daylight is upon us the night will soon come and the roads will be impassable,” One irate man argued with a driver in a most improper manner. I was sure that the driver knew his business and would set off when it was time.

  I turned to see the glass-covered arcade with paneled pilasters of the Central Hotel which was adjoined to the station concourse. It would be a nice place to ease the aches from my bones and take tea while awaiting the latest report about the weather. The Central Hotel was a four-star establishment and an expensive place to stay overnight, but the more I thought of a journey in a jammed stage-coach the more it did not appeal to me and dragging my baggage around Glasgow seeking a room did not appeal either. Knowing how the snow could make the whole country grind to a halt I needed to secure lodgings immediately and so I made my way to the entrance.

  The hotel foyer was proper and comfortable, and one would not have guessed we were just two days from Christmas Day. There were no garlands, ribbons, or boughs decorating the foyer, and I was reminded that the Scottish Church punished any who celebrated Christmas. A porter stepped to my side,

  “Can I be of assistance to ye sir?” He hurriedly relieved me of my burden and not used to carrying my own luggage, I was grateful for it. He wheeled my trunk to the mahogany reception counter and pushed the brass counter bell for service.

  “Thank you my boy”, I said and gave the young man a copper. In the office behind the counter, I recognized the rapid clicking of a telegraph machine. The desk clerk was hovering in the doorway his attention sidetracked by the telegraph operator.

  “A moment sir”, he called to me. The operator handed him a message and when he had read the ribbon of message tape, he harrumphed and then came to the counter.

  “My deepest apologies, sir. This bad weather has had a significant effect on everyone it seems!”

  “Indeed. Do you have a room available?”

  “If you would have asked me an hour ago I would have regretfully had to turn you away. However, the telegraph has been clicking non-stop with messages from customers who are unable to travel because of the brutal weather.” He said exasperated. “But their bad fortune is your good fortune. There are several rooms now canceled and available until Hogmanay.”

  I was relieved to hear this and thought it best that I immediately signed and paid in advance for three nights stay. The porter hefted my luggage into the lift and assisted me to my room. I was pleasantly surprised by the spacious corner room with a lounge area, bathroom, and double bedroom and when I peeked through the drapes I saw it overlooked the hustle and bustle of Gordon Street and Hope Street, where Glaswegians went about their daily business, treading carefully on the slippery snow-covered pavements.

  When I had changed my garments I penned a missive explaining my predicament which, when I returned to the reception desk, I asked to be telegraphed to my auction house, my sister Gracie, and then to my household so they knew not to expect me on Christmas Day.

  I took tea in the lounge, smoked a cigar and read The Times newspaper, and then The Scotsman. The Scotsman ran a rather salacious story on the Gentleman Thief and his daring robberies of the London elite. Having now met the man in the flesh and engaged him in conversation several times I found I was rather entertained and charmed by their descriptions of Sebastian Cavell and his daring-do. He had outfoxed the authorities in England and several countries on the continent. This rather tickled me. I found I like the idea of Sebastian getting away with his immoral practices if he was, as he said, stealing to return items to their rightful owners.

  I ate alone in the restaurant, watching the back and forth of waiters serving larger parties and couples. I felt rather old and invisible and it seemed all who looked at me eating on my own did so with piteous gazes.

  I could not get the happenings at Dunecht Hall out of my head. There were so many unanswered questions. Did Cavell set the chimney afire to act as a distraction so he could steal the Staff? That awful scenario seemed most likely to me. The hall was constructed of thick stone and so the whole house would not have caught alight, but there was plenty of smoke to blacken the walls. And why had Cavell stolen the Staff at all? Was it, in fact, his true prize and he’d lied to me about wanting the gold and gem Tigers head ornament?

  After dinner, I ordered a bottle of Port to be sent to my room. I was not in the mood to be sociable, so I would spend the remainder of the night reading and writing in my diary.

  The Visitor

  On returning to my room I found that the fire was lit and I was not alone. I smelled pipe smoke. I strode into the lounge to see a pair of splendid boots drying out on the hearth. I knew who they belonged to.

  “Ah, you’re back at last,” Sebastian Cavell said as he exited my bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, and using a second towel to dry his ginger hair.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I was frozen to the bone and took a good hot bath to get my blood pumping again.” He explained.

  Cavell disheveled was a lovely sight to behold I was quite lost for words. His skin was flushed and glistening and from his bath. Sebastian’s chest was broad and ginger blond hair covered his pectoral muscles and ran down to his navel where the white hotel towel covered up his decency. His arms were slender, with small defined muscles and they were lightly freckled. There was elegance to his frame, and seeing his pale-skinned nakedness left my mouth dry and my heart working hard to keep the blood moving around my body.

  “I…I... What are you doing here?” I attempted to protest at his unexpected appearance and his presumptuous lack of manners, but it was as if my mouth would not marry with the thoughts in my head. This
man had me completely befuddled. A knock at my door made me start. I remembered with horror that I had ordered a bottle of Port to be delivered to my room. I could not very well allow the waiter into my chamber where a half-naked man stood.

  I rushed to the door and on opening it the room service waiter made to enter but I put a foot to the back of the door to prevent it from opening any further. The waiter gave me a quizzical look. I reached for the docket and pencil, signed my illegible scrawl upon the receipt and then grabbed the bottle by its neck, and the two glasses, and said a dismissive, “Thank you, goodnight”, and then closed the door on the dumbfounded fellow.

  “Ah, a man after my own heart, I see!” Sebastian enthused when I returned to the lounge and he saw what I held. I was grateful that he had donned trousers and a shirt while I had dealt with the waiter. Then I noticed that the garments were mine. We were of similar build but I was horrified that this man, this stranger thought it acceptable to take my clothing without even seeking permission. He saw the stunned look on my face and then said,

  “I got soaked to the skin and my trunk is still on that ruddy train in Carlisle. I’ve hung my clothes to dry in your bathroom. The radiator in there is nice and warm.”

  “What do you mean your trunk is in Carlisle?”

  “I planned to get back to London before you so I could seek you out and take you up on your invitation to dinner, but this blasted weather scuppered that idea.”

  “That invitation was for John Edwards of Massachusetts, not Sebastian Cavell.”

  “I can be whoever you want me to be, dear heart!” He said flirtatiously. I felt my cheeks redden, but secretly, I did like it when he called me that affectionate name.

  “The train kept stopping and I knew there was no way we’d reach London today. We paused at Hamilton while navvies cleared the snow from the track. I hopped off the train, borrowed a horse, and rode back to Glasgow. I knew you would be stranded too, and what better place to seek refuge than the hotel adjoining the train station.” Sebastian surmised.

  I was pleasantly surprised by the warmth that ran through me from head-to-toe knowing the lengths Sebastian had taken to return to Glasgow to see me. But I couldn’t for the life of me understand why he’d done it. Why was this man so interested in me? My countenance toward him softened and it appeared I didn’t mind him wearing my garments after all—if it was a choice between my shirt and trousers or a bath towel.

  “Would you care for a glass of Port? I’ll warm the bottle by the fire if it pleases.”

  “That would be most welcome.” Sebastian sat in a chair by the fire and extended his long legs so his bare feet would be warmed. I had never taken much notice of feet before but Sebastian’s were rather lovely. I prized open the cork of the bottle and stood the bottle beside the fire. I sat in the chair opposite Cavell and placed my hands in my lap. I fidgeted, checking my nails, and then my pocket watch. It was eight o’clock. I looked up and it felt peculiar for me to sit back, relax, and see this attractive barefoot man wearing my clothes, his head resting against the chair and his eyes closed. This was intimate in a way I hadn’t known in quite some time. I still did not know Sebastian Cavell and yet he seemed to be on my side and had sought me out to protect me from Euan and his devilish plans.

  “I suppose I should thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “You were correct… about everything. Euan was trying to use me. He’d said he would gift the Staff to me if I did him a service, but I discovered he would never have let me have it. And the auction of the old masters, that was another charade. He would have taken the proceeds from the auction and run off to the continent, abandoning his wife and sons. He still might do that if he can find another sot who will fall for his ruse.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve met men like Euan Ardmillan before. They want what they want and to hell with who gets in the way of their plans.”

  “You said you were acquainted with him?”

  “Ten minutes up against a cold alley wall is hardly an acquaintance. But yes, I know all about Euan Ardmillan and his tastes.”

  I was shocked by the candor of the reply. My heart was beating double time in my chest. I could not believe that Sebastian had just admitted that he too favored male companions.

  “Why did you seek me out?”

  “Oh, at first it was because you were recommended as someone trustworthy that I could do business with.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I am very careful about who I approach. Discretion is paramount when one is a gentleman thief!” Sebastian grinned and I could feel his smile infect me.

  “I’ve watched you for the past six months, Benedict Hannan.”

  “I was your mark?”

  “Yes, I suppose you were. But not for thievery. In making my measure of a man I like to test him under trying circumstances. If he passes the test I proceed to the next part of my plan—revealing my true identity.”

  “Test, what test?” I did not like the idea of being tested without my knowledge.

  Sebastian stood up then hunched his body, leaned on his chair and stood on one leg. He scrunched up his face and crooned,

  “Ave a coppa for an old soldier sir?” He said, his cupped hand outstretched.

  I sat up in my chair, my eyes bulging with surprise. “Josiah?”

  “The very same, sir. You wuz awful good to me. You gave me coppa’s every day so’s I could get some ‘ot grub. You took me into your office durin’ the storm an’ let me sleep by your fire. You gave me bread an’ ‘unny wiv warm milk.”

  “I did do that”, I recalled that Josiah was the old beggar who stood at the corner of my premises in Fitzrovia. I never had the heart to make him move on as many a shopkeeper did. I conversed with him and he told me he was a soldier for her Majesty in India and he had been injured. He could no longer find work because no one wanted to employ a cripple. I thought it better to show him fellow feeling than badger him to the next street corner. It was a short fall for all men to go from having a livelihood to injury sending us to the gutter. And so each day I would bid him good morning and toss a copper into his tin cup. I gave him shelter and food during a terrible storm that near washed every man and beast living on the streets toward the river. I could not leave my premises to return home that night so my workers and I made ourselves comfortable in our offices and remained overnight. Josiah slept on the floor in front of my fire. I’d offered him my couch but he refused.

  “My goodness!” I stared at Cavell making theater as this old beggar. This revelation meant that I had allowed Sebastian Cavell into my business premises and slept in the same room as him. I recalled waking the morning after the storm to find Josiah gone. I knew that my secretary, Annie did not like the fact I had invited the smelly beggar into my office for shelter, but she’d remained tight-lipped. I did not believe him to be a thief, but after Josiah left she checked that nothing had been stolen and was frustrated that Josiah appeared to have left empty-handed.

  I looked at the dashing Sebastian Cavell playing Josiah and realized I was completely wrong about both men. I could not help it. I began to laugh. I laughed so hard that tears sprang to cloud my vision. Sebastian Cavell was a marvelous actor and he had outfoxed me at every juncture. Sebastian relaxed his posture stood erect and then bowed. I applauded as he slumped down in his chair.

  “You are indeed the most fascinating man I have met in many a year.” I laughed. And it was true. I should be alarmed and repulsed by Sebastian’s interest in me but I was secretly delighted. I felt comfortable in his company and that was a rare occurrence. I rescued the warmed bottle of Port from beside the fire and poured two generous glasses. I handed one to Cavell. He took a deep draught,

  “The longer I watched you the more I became interested in you, Benedict, rather than the business side of my plan,” Sebastian admitted as he met my gaze. “You fascinate me. You are humble, benevolent, exceptionally intelligent, and dare I say it, rather easy on the eye for a man of y
our years. And yet, I do not understand why, in all the time I watched you I never saw you with a companion.”

  “That is… my personal choice and no one else’s business.” I bumbled. I had not expected the conversation to become so personal and it made me deeply uncomfortable.

  “I enjoyed playing Josiah. When in character I can watch people as they really are and they don’t see me, because who pays any mind to an old beggar? I watched you… saw how you looked at comely men who passed you in the street, forbidden men. You looked with such unquenched longing. It near broke my heart to know exactly what you were going through—you wanted and believed you could never have it.”

  My throat closed up and my chest felt tight. Cavell gazed at me as if he could see into my very soul, blackened with the sin of my lust. That look made me naked.

  “I know you believe your desire to be a sinful affliction. I used to think that too about my own desire. But having a heart is not a sin, Benedict. Falling in love is not a sin. Would a benevolent God really give us the capacity to love our fellow man and then bar us from expressing that love?”

  We both fell silent and listened to the blizzard swirling outside. My mind was swirling too with trying to balance the teachings of the Church with my personal needs. I had denied myself for so very long that these feelings thundering inside me made me feel unstable as if the ground I’d spent these last thirty years walking upon was cracking beneath my feet. What did this man want from me? I was torn. I was a nothing, a nobody, and yet Sebastian was in my room speaking in terms that made me equally ache with longing and recoil with disgust. Then Sebastian said,

  “You are a religious man?”

  “I am.”

  “And yet you covert The Staff of Asklepios. Is that not problematic for you?”

  I stared at him, non-plussed.

  “Christianity is a religion that expresses sexual control through guilt and denial. You deny yourself the attention of a lover, do you not?”

  I was very uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “That is none of your damn business.”