Page 86 of The Chef and the Countess

Chapter 25

William stood in the parlor, entertaining his guests: Mr. Silas Foster and his daughter Lynda. The girl, or rather, the young lady, impressed William. She sat straight, looked him in the eye, and answered his probing questions without hesitation or acting like a simpering girl. She would be perfect for keeping Troy in line. Lynda was solidly built, possessed a good shape, and was tall, perhaps only two or three inches shorter than his son’s six-foot height.

Troy had gone out. William had no idea where, but he took advantage of his son’s absence and invited the Fosters for early tea while instructing the footmen to pack Troy’s trunks and load them on the back of William’s Clarence carriage. He did not whitewash his son to the Fosters; in fact, he was entirely blunt, describing in detail Troy’s wayward behavior and wicked ways.

“We will soon bring him to heel, eh, Lynda?” Foster said. “Hard work will smash any of those notorious tendencies. I’d say starting as a furnace operator should sweat out all the evil within.”

Miss Lynda Foster glanced at Troy’s portrait on the opposite wall. “I will ensure he becomes as striking inside as he is outside. I do love a challenge.”

Baldwin stepped into the room. “My lord. If I may speak to you a moment?”

“Of course. Foster, Miss Lynda, help yourself to more biscuits and cakes. I shall return shortly.”

William lumbered into the hall, closing the parlor door behind him.

“The viscount has returned. He came in a hansom cab and entered through the rear door,” Baldwin murmured. “He looks somewhat shaken, my lord. He is upstairs.”

“Bring hot tea and more cakes to my guests. I am going to my son’s room.”

William used a cane today, for he suspected he was developing gout. Taking his time, he climbed the stairs. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he flung open the door to Troy’s room, finding him looking out the window, which faced the street.

“Watching for the coppers?” William asked.

Troy swung about, a worried look on his face. “If they ask, I’ve been here all morning.”

William’s insides twisted. “What have you done now, boy? Tell me, or I will hand you to the police myself!”

“I hired some dock rats to throw bricks through Hallahan’s restaurant windows. The blasted idiots were supposed to do it before the restaurant opened! They arrived late. The place was nearly full.”

Dear God! William fought to keep his temper in check. “And where were you during this chaotic scene?”

“I was in a hansom cab at the end of the street. Once I heard the screaming, I left.”

Screaming. Meaning injuries. “You gormless worm. Now you have really done it. You will have to leave. Immediately.”

Troy’s eyebrows furrowed. “What, the city?”

“The country, you blasted dolt! You are not the first aristocrat to flee England because of the law. It has been done for centuries. You’re lucky I have your escape route planned.”

“What do you mean?” Troy whispered.

“It means that you will be charged with multiple acts of assault and probably arson! It is not like the old days when aristocrats got away with all sorts. Times have changed. There is nothing I can do for you now. Our solicitor, Signet, says you will be charged with assault causing grievous bodily harm, which means up to sixteen years in prison. And if they can prove intent, it’s a bloody life sentence!” Perhaps William exaggerated slightly; Signet claimed that being an accessory after the fact brought a marginally lesser sentence.

Troy gasped. “No, that cannot be right.”

“It is! The solicitor would know! He says you will be sent to Newgate Prison. Why, the place is seven hundred years old. Numerous groups are lobbying to have the moldy, damp pile of stones torn down. Many men have died in there, coughing their lungs out. And there are many hardened criminals in Newgate. A pretty boy such as yourself would be fresh meat to them.”

“Father!” All the blood drained from Troy’s face. William had no choice but to be blunt. The situation was dire.

“Mr. Silas Foster and his daughter, Lynda, are downstairs. You will be leaving with them within the hour. Your trunks are already packed and loaded. You will catch a train to Liverpool, then take a Cunard ship to America. You’ll be there in a matter of days. The crossing takes no time at all thanks to steamers. Everything has been arranged.”

Troy’s eyebrows shot skyward. “America? Jesus, no.”

“I am not sending you to hell. Stop being so dramatic. Mr. Foster is wealthy and owns a profitable steel mill in Pennsylvania. It is there that you will marry his daughter. You will also go to work in the steel mill and earn a salary. I will continue your monthly stipend as long as you stay with Foster and marry Lynda. And get an heir off her. With frugality, you will be able to save a pretty penny. Behave yourself, and Foster will leave his fortune to his daughter and you. Provided there are children.”

An expression of utter horror covered Troy’s pale face. “You cannot be serious.”

William ignored him. “I would not recommend trying to run away. Foster’s associates here will watch you day and night. And don’t even think of doing a runner once you reach America. You will be penniless and never survive, as it is a wild place. Face it, you’ve gone too far. There is no escape except the path I have opened for you.”