“Exactly what he’s having, but I’ll give it proper attention,” Almsley said. The waiter nodded, and betook himself off, vanishing into that limbo in which the Exeter Club waiters existed when they were neither taking orders nor bringing food. “Now, what has that poor bit of meat done to make you so annoyed at it?” Almsley asked, taking a roll from among the folds of the linen napkin lining the breadbasket between them, breaking it apart with long fingers, and buttering it, somehow turning the simple act into a pantomime the equal of a Japanese tea ceremony, though with none of the solemnity.
Peter chuckled. “It’s what I’ve done that worries me,” he replied, rather glad to have someone to talk to. Once the letter had gone out, he’d been taken with mixed feelings. What if she replied? What if she didn’t? “And I’m afraid that there’s a distinct possibility that the other—members—will be more than merely annoyed at me if they find out.” He explained what he had discovered about Doctor Witherspoon as succinctly as possible, although he had to catch himself once or twice when he realized he was dwelling on the lady’s virtues a little more enthusiastically than the short acquaintance would warrant. Lord Peter’s face remained an absolute blank the entire time, telling Scott little or nothing about what the other was thinking.
When he had finished, Almsley examined his half-eaten roll with every sign of interest, but his pale blue eyes had that look in them that told Peter that his “twin” had absorbed and was now considering every word he said. He finished just as Almsley’s luncheon arrived, but although the plate steamed invitingly when the waiter uncovered it and vanished again, Lord Peter made no move to take up his implements. Instead, he put both elbows on the table, steepled his fingers together, and stared intently at Peter Scott across them. The intelligent eyes took on a sharpness that few people ever saw in them.
“I think, Twin, that you had better not tell anyone about these plans of yours, at least not for a little while,” Almsley said. “But I also think that this is the only possible thing you could do. In your place I’d have done exactly the same, and devil take the hindmost.” His eyes gleamed with suppressed enthusiasm.
“Even this moment, I’d make the offer to help her, if I wasn’t a total stranger. I’d do it if you hadn’t already, that is. She sounds completely fascinating, this paragon of yours.”
“I think she’ll be suspicious, and rightly,” Scott said thoughtfully. “The trouble is, so far as what I’ve done is concerned, and the way the club is likely to think about it, you’re far more likely to—to—”
“To get away with it!” Almsley laughed, loud enough to attract a curious glance or two before the other diners glanced away. Laughter seldom broke the sonorous murmuring of the club dining room. “I will help if you think you need an extra set of hands and talents. We can’t just leave her the way she is; the magic will break out, one way or another, and it’s just a jolly good thing that so far it’s only broken out in healing and self-defense with her. My grandmother’s told me stories—well, if I need to convince her, this doctor of yours, I’ll trot them out, no need to bore you with them now.”
Magic had skipped a generation in Lord Peter’s family, and he was the only one of the four siblings in his own generation to have it. I wonder if some of those stories are about Young Peter? He could very well have been an unholy terror as a child. Scott kept his smiles to himself, but he was pretty sure that whatever else he’d been like, Peter Almsley had never been a timid or reticent child.
“I may hold you to that promise,” Peter Scott replied. “You don’t erect a defensive barrier unless there’s something to defend against; you don’t use magic that confuses other mages as to where you are unless you expect to find another mage looking for you.”
“Agreed, to all of it,” Lord Peter said, now moving to attack his meal. He sobered just a moment, then lightened again, as if he didn’t want to voice his own unease. “Do get the trick of that last bit from her, if you can, won’t you? I can think of any number of useful purposes a bit of ‘don’t look at me’ could be put to. Better than being invisible, that.”
Why Lord Peter’s open approval should have made Peter feel as if a huge weight had been taken from him, he didn’t know—until Almsley added, after allowing an expression of bliss to pass across his features following the first bite of his meal, “I’ll back you in front of the Old Man himself, if that’s needed. Absolutely. And I doubt he’ll argue with me.”
“You will?” Perhaps he sounded a bit too surprised; Almsley chuckled.
“Oh, ye of little faith. Of course I will. We’re not doddering about in Victorian parlors anymore. We have serious business to attend to and not enough hands to attend to it. Well, think of it! The more people there are in the world, the more mages there will be, of course! And the more mages there are, the more likely it is that some of ‘em will go to the bad, or be born into it. The Old Man’s obstinate refusal to bring in the ladies or the—ahem!—tradesmen—”
“Other than me, and that only because I was too strong to ignore—” Peter interrupted, with just a touch of bitterness. “—and even if I wasn’t one of you, I was at least a ship’s captain, which might slide in under the definition of ‘gentleman.’ ”
“Pre-cisely.” Lord Peter allowed another bite of the tender lamb to melt on his tongue, and Peter Scott followed his example, finally doing justice to the meal by according it the attention it deserved. “It’s antiquated, it’s ridiculous, and it’s going to cost us one day. What if we need more manpower than we’ve got? That lot old Uncle Aleister’s got hanging about him isn’t worth much, but what if some day he corrupts a real Master? What if one of the ladies decides she’s had enough of being patted on the head and patronized and tells us all to go to hell when we most need her? Have you ever had to try and placate an angry Earth Elemental?”
“Ah—no. The project’s never come up on my watch.” Scott replied carefully.
“I have.” Lord Peter’s wry expression held no pain, but from the shadows in his eyes, the experience had been no pleasure either. “And if you ever do, you’ll be glad enough to have an Earth Master there. The ones that surface in the city are—not pleasant.” Lord Peter shrugged. “For some reason, that Mastery tends to go to women and country folk. Neither of which are likely to be invited to the Council if the Old Man continues to have his way.”
“See here, Twin—you’re not talking palace revolution here, are you?” Peter asked, a spark of alarm lighting up within him. The last thing he wanted to do was to challenge the entire structure of the Council and Lodge! To his relief, Lord Peter laughed.
“Great heavens, no! Just that the Old Man needs to change with the times, and I think your clever doctor may be the one who makes him see that. She’s certainly got the brains to best him in argument, and if she’s as strong as you say—well, Earth can support Fire, but it can also smother it. I don’t think he’d put it to the Challenge.” He gestured with his fork. “Now—eat. I’ve got heredity to thank for my lean and hungry look; there’s no excuse for you to go about looking as if you were starving for something.”
It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to say that he was starving for something, but he was afraid that his “twin” would only make a joke of it. Lord Peter was, to all appearances, perfectly content with his ballet dancers and his sopranos, and to put it bluntly, he had the resources to indulge himself with them as much as he cared to. His rank and wealth allowed him to spend time in the company of many sorts of women, from the educated to the artists, the debutantes to the little dancers. If he wanted the company of an educated woman, or a clever one, he had any number of open invitations to the salons of the intelligentsia. If his need was more—well—carnal, he could afford a woman who made carnality into a delicate and sensual art.