afflictions would affect him more seriously than they might affect another man, but it didn’t mean there was any real danger.
“How bad do I look?” he asked his aunt when the curtain fell for the last time and the audience finished applauding.
“Not well, my dear,” she said, frowning. “I badly want to put you to bed with a mustard poultice and I’ve never had such an urge in my life. If you’re asking whether you’ll alarm your friend by appearing in such a state backstage, I’m afraid you might.”
“I’m afraid I’ll also alarm him by not showing up at all.” But that was clearly the lesser evil; he wasn’t going to appear backstage and distract Will from what ought to be his moment of triumph. If Aunt Bermondsey was moved to tuck Martin into bed, Will would probably act on the impulse, and Martin would be cheating him out of his celebration. God knew Will had been cheated out of enough. Martin could at least make sure he had this.
“I’ll write him as soon as we get home,” Martin said.
“Quite right,” his aunt responded, shepherding Martin down the front of the stairs and toward the line of waiting carriages. He was dimly aware that his aunt was using promises of coin and threats of dire consequence in order to circumvent the line of waiting theatergoers, but Martin was too tired to object.
“But I saw him,” Will said for perhaps the tenth time.
“And so did I,” Hartley responded. “He was here, in a box with a lady who wore a turban. Perhaps the crush was too great for him to get backstage, or perhaps his aunt had other plans for him. There are a hundred possible explanations for why he isn’t here, and you can sort it out with him tomorrow.”
Will knew his brother was being perfectly reasonable, but he had a lingering presentiment that something was wrong.
“Drink,” said Hartley, handing him a glass of wine. “And then drink more. We earned it. The play went well.”
“Better than well,” Will said, grinning.
“I thought I was going to faint from nerves. Or have an apoplexy.”
“I noticed,” Will said, elbowing his brother.
“Now, come and let people congratulate us.”
He and Hartley didn’t stumble out into the street until well past midnight, neither of them remotely sober. “We’re going to get murdered,” Will said.
“Pfft. It’s twenty minutes if we hurry.”
“Do you think either of us are capable of hurrying? Because you look hardly capable of standing upright.”
“Come,” Hartley said, looping his arm through Will’s, “we’ll take Portugal Street.”
“No, can’t go that way,” Will said, shaking his head.
“Why not? It’s the fastest. Don’t tell me you really are afraid of being murdered. A few months of country living have made you soft, Will Sedgwick.”
“Can’t go past St. Clements. Avoiding temptation.”
“Avoiding—oh.” Will felt Hartley go stiff beside him. “I’m sorry, it didn’t even occur to me. Here, we’ll take the Strand instead.”
“S’alright,” Will said. “Been a long time, and it wasn’t you dragging me out of those places anyway, was it? Can’t have expected you to memorize the map.”
“I suppose I never did give Martin enough credit for that, did I?”
“You never give Martin credit for anything,” Will grumbled under his breath. “You know, that’s how he got sick.”
Hartley fell silent for a few moments. “Even if Martin did ruin his health by following you into filthy places, I daresay he’d do it again.”
Will grumbled incoherently.
“You’d do it for him, wouldn’t you? I’d do it for Sam, and he for me. When the person you love needs you, you don’t refine overmuch on self-preservation.”
Will tried to believe this—no, he did believe it. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible. “It was my fault for being in those places.”
“Oh, bugger that. I’d really like to know what a man’s supposed to do when His Majesty’s Navy does its damnedest to ruin his mind. If the opium helped you escape your thoughts, then so be it. What other options did you have? Gin? Ben would have suggested prayer, but even he used to say that every night you landed in an opium den was at least a night you hadn’t walked into the Thames.”
“I could have tried harder.”
“You tried pretty damned hard and you’re still trying, you absolute arsehole.”
“You swear a lot when you’re drunk.”
“I swear a lot about this particular topic, thank you.”
They managed to make it back to the Fox and into their respective beds, and all too soon Will woke to the sound of someone knocking