-1Chapter 43
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Author's note: I may use some terms for asians that would be considered offensive here and there by today's standards, when I'm in the point of view of British Victorian-era character. I waffled between being politically correct and historically correct and decided to go for a middle ground..
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The air was foul.
Kenshin hunched down into his overcoat, shivering, as a damp rain trickled dispiritedly from the sky. The air smelled of sewage and smog and too many unwashed people packed too closely together and it bothered him. The worst part was the 'unwashed people' ... there was sickness in the city often and he suspected much of it had to do with the lack of hygiene by the city's inhabitants. Didn't they know that filth led to disease?
Well, they did, he'd learned, and there were efforts to improve cleanliness, and apparently things had been much worse once. But still, the dirtyness of the city had been an unpleasant surprise.
The long overcoat, a bulky, itchy garment, was necessary both to conceal his sword (strapped diagonally across his back) and as proof against the miserable weather. A hat kept the rain out of his face, but some still trickled down his back. His English style trousers bothered him; the wool itched and he felt odd without the comfortable and utilitarian hakama that he'd worn for most of his life.
On the other hand, he could pass for English, as long as he didn't open his mouth. The first day here, he'd changed his clothing to blend in, valuing the protection of his family over a personal statement. He'd learned that he could pass for European on the boat ride over, and British if nobody heard him mangling the language -- and he had very quickly learned that keeping his mouth shut was the best way to avoid trouble.
Britons tended to guess his age very low; he wasn't sure if it was his lack of height or his clear skin and absent facial hair, but they often thought him no older than twelve or thirteen. He'd considered growing a mustache -- he knew he couldn't manage a beard, because he'd tried a few times to hide his scar -- and Kaoru had laughed so hard at the suggestion of mustache that she'd snorted tea out her nose. The words, "Take a photograph and send it home ..." had been barely audible among her helpless giggles.
Now, on the street, the guttural sounds of English swirled around him, barely understandable at best. Vendors barking wares, pedestrians yammering at each other, a police officer yelling at a scraggly boy wearing dirty clothes too thin for the weather and running for all his might with a loaf of bread clutched to his chest -- he didn't have to understands the words completely to find the street life oddly familiar. Some things were universal.
Japan, of course, had more than its share of poverty and street urchins and impoverished, disease-ridden poor. England wasn't too different on that account; it seemed some things were universal. But his impression was that it was worse here. Perhaps poverty was complicated by the weather, which had been unremittingly cold and foul in the four days since he'd arrived.
Kenshin lengthened his stride, hurrying home, inasmuch as Jessica's London townhome was home. He'd gone out simply to explore -- the wanderer in his soul was called by the exotic foreignness of this new land. But he found himself worrying about his family.
He'd been walking for hours, covering miles of city. Retracing his route was simple enough -- he'd made note of the twists and turns his travels had taken -- and he eventually reached the wealthy neighborhood where Jessica owned a vertical, four-story home that stood cheek to jowl with a whole block of similar homes, all inhabited by very wealthy families. The townhome was enormous, but, she'd explained, not the largest nor by far her only home in Britain. She had multiple country manors, preferring to avoid the nasty miasma of the city as much as possible.
But she'd been away for well over a year and it would take time to open up one of the country manors and hire staff to run it. Hiring staff seemed alien to him -- he understood the need for a few servants, but she spoke as if she needed an army of people.
Her butler -- a middle aged man who towered over Kenshin and who almost never smiled -- opened the front door as he approached. The man said something that Kenshin didn't quite catch.
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand ..." Those words he'd learned weeks ago, memorized, and put to good use.
The butler repeated himself, louder.
"I'm sorry ..."
"He's just wanting to know where you were," Chiyoko said, coming down the stairs.
He glanced up at her. She was dressed Western style -- she'd insisted on it, wanting to fit in -- with a fitted bodice and loose skirt. She was barefoot, though; the Britons found the whole family's habit of removing shoes at the door odd.
Given how cold the house tended to be, Kenshin was starting to see the point of wearing shoes inside for comfort's sake. It was little details that sometimes drove home how different this land was.
"I am ... walking ..." he sat down in a chair by the door and yanked his boots off. He had tabi on in lieu of western style socks -- simply because they hadn't had a chance to purchase socks yet -- and he left the split socks on against the chill.
"... dangerous ..." the butler said, among other words. Kenshin knew the word danger, so he assumed dangerous had a similar meaning.
Chiyoko answered before he could, with a peal of laughter. She said something that made the butler scowl, but Kenshin only understood one word, the man's name, Jeffrey. She added to Kenshin, "I was walking. You need to use the past tense."
"I was walking," he repeated dutifully.
"For hours?"
"Four? No, maybe six or seven. I left very early," he replied.
"For hours ... oh, nevermind." She shook her head, leaving him mystified where he'd gone wrong with the language this time.
"How do you say ... exploring? ..." He asked, in Japanese.
"Exploring," she provided the word. "Say, I was exploring."
"I was exploring ... city?"
"I was exploring the city."
Dutifully, he repeated that. It was difficult to form his mouth around the alien words; the foreign rhythms to it made his jaw ache.
She grinned and nodded her head. "Your accent's pretty good. You just need to work on your vocabulary ..."
"I'm not sure I'll ever be fluent, Chi-chan. This is harder than I thought it would be."
"You're doing great. You only started learning two months ago." She frowned, then added, "You might want to be careful, Kenshin-papa. It's dangerous out there."
"No worse than Japan is, for me. I can handle criminals and it's very difficult to give much offense simply by walking down the street and looking about." With a hint of dark irony, he said, "What's the worst that could happen -- I get killed?"
"You could run into another Immortal," Jessica pointed out from the top of the grand staircase. She descended it quickly, holding her skirts up with one hand. "I received a message from Russell Trevor today."
"Aa?" Kenshin said, perking up. Jessica had written him a letter simply asking to see him regarding news of his grandson, and explaining she'd just returned from Japan. The letter had been perfectly truthful in indicating that she may have accidentally turned up information about Alastair Trevor's fate.
What they weren't telling the old man -- he was in his seventies -- was that they planned to surprise him by showing up with Kenji with them. Jessica was concerned that there might be trouble from Kenji's brothers -- who had reputation for being cutthroat in both business and family relations -- if word reached them of Kenji's existence.
"He's offered to meet with us immediately, as soon as we can get there -- he's got a country manor half a day away," Jessica said, with a grin. "He said he would see us there. I'm having my carriage brought around. You might want to change into something dryer and pack a change of clothing. Kenji's changing now, as well."
That would explain why she was wearing a particularly formal dress. Kenshin nodded, "I'll go change. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting such an immediate response from him. This one hopes he didn't cause a delay by his wandering."
"It's okay, I didn't expect him to send a note to requesting to meet us right now either. And apparently his son's fate has been something of an obsession for Lord Trevor for years. My name is well known." She sounded smug. "I've met Lord Trevor a few times and I do like him, though I can't say much for Kenji's brothers!"
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The country manor that Jessica had mentioned was enormous -- it was a huge, brooding home on a hill, gothic in appearance. Kenshin found it dark and foreboding.
Kenji looked out the window over his head and then went very, very still. Any doubt that Kenshin might have had about his son's birthright was quelled when he said, "I've been here before. I remember ..." his face screwed up in concentration. "I remember ... I remember being scared, and alone, and nobody coming for me."
Kenshin said quietly, "Remember that whatever happens, Kenji, Kaoru and I will always love you."
"There's no doubt about that!" He barked a surprised laugh. "I'm not sure I could go through with this if you two and Jessica weren't coming along. I want to know about my birth family, but they're not really my family, if you know what I mean."
Jessica's driver stopped the carriage in the front door and Jessica -- who had always opened the door herself and bounced out in Japan -- sat quietly in the seat until the footman opened the door. He offered her his hand and helped her out, then did the same with Kaoru. After Kenji and Kenshin had also gotten out, the footman hopped up on the back of the carriage and the driver drove away, disappearing around a corner of the building.
A well-dressed man appeared almost out of nowhere. He said something that Kenshin didn't catch except for, "Miss Marshall ..."
"Jonathon," Jessica said, by way of greeting, with a bit of a smile. "This is Kenshin and Kaoru Himura, and Kenji Himura, and they've come back with me from Japan."
Kenshin understood most of that.
Jonathon's eyebrows rose. "From Japan?" he murmured, staring up at Kenji.
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Kenji watched his father covertly out of the corner of his eye as they entered the great hall. Knowing that Kenshin had his sword slung over his shoulder was a bit of a relief -- though it was remarkable how well hidden it was. Kenshin couldn't do the sword-what-sword? trick that Chiyoko did with such skill, but Kenji was amazed at how hard it was to tell that Kenshin was armed.
Perhaps a bit of magic after all, or just careful rigging of the sword harness and a loose fitting overcoat. He wasn't sure.
The building ... scared him. Dark memories were surfacing, of hiding, and beatings, and pain. Ever since he was a little boy he'd hated being alone. He'd been alone here. He remembered being curled in a dark place and listening as people searched for him, and being terrified he would be found.
It made him want to run to Kenshin and Kaoru like he was still that small boy, and seek safety in their arms.
Firmly, he told himself he was a grownup, and he could face any trouble that came without their help.
His grandfather Trevor's secretary, Jonathon, lead the way up a gloomy hall that was poorly lit by high windows and dankly drafty. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and there were oversized paintings of ancestors in ornate frames. Bad paintings -- but the thought of painting people made him itch to get his watercolors out. He had a mischievous urge to capture an image of Kenshin in western garb; he was reasonably sure that Kenshin wasn't aware of how ... silly ... he looked dressed as a gaijin. He might make more than one painting, and send a copy to Yahiko as well as keeping one for himself.
His mother looked ... well, different, but not as ridiculous as Kenshin did. She seemed to like the swishy skirts and fitted bodices that Jessica had bough for her, though Jessica had giggled a bit when Kaoru had commented that she'd be able to fight better in a western skirt than she would in a kimono. Kenji suspected that Kaoru's easy adoption of western clothing had more to do with her adventurous streak than it did with fighting ability. She was very non-traditional, quite curious, and quite open-minded.
And she'd made it clear that someday, she would go home. She wasn't abandoning her heritage, she was just playing dress-up with foreign clothes.
Kaoru's English was a bit better than his father's, as well -- her accent was thicker, but her vocabulary was much broader. He suspected she understood more than she said, now.
As for me, I knew this language once. It comes back as if I merely needed reminding.
The secretary kept giving him decidedly odd looks. Kenji suspected the man had jumped to a very logical conclusion. Still, when they reached the top of a flight of stairs and turned a corner and came face to face with his twin, it was a stunning shock to Kenji. He'd never seen a man his own height, with red hair to match his own.
"Oro!" Kenshin said, behind him.
"Hello, William," Jessica said, coolly, to this apparition.
Kenji blinked, and realized they didn't actually look much alike at all. The other man was actually about two inches shorter than he was. His skin was sallow and heavily scarred by acne. His teeth, when he opened his mouth, showed ample signs of decay, with several blackened or chipped. His red hair stuck greasily to his head and was cut short. He needed a bath in a desperate way, judging by the sour smell that radiated from him. And he was ... soft. Overweight, a bit, with a belly that folded over his belt. He carried himself like a man who was not in good physical shape.
"Jessica!" William said, in marked surprise. "Did you come to see me? I'd hoped you would ..."
Jessica drew back a step. "I'm actually here to see your grandfather on personal business, William. Will you let us pass?"
"Who are these people?" William ignored her request. "Odd company you're keeping."
"Kaoru-san and Kenshin-san are friends of mine from Japan, and Kenji is my fiancé," she rested her hand on Kenji's arm.
He wanted to say, "Hey! You're my brother!" to this man. But they had agreed to approach Lord Trevor first -- particularly since, by all accounts, his grandfather had never given up hope. It was right that he knew first.
"Your. Fiancé." William sounded dismayed. He grabbed her wrist, yanked her hand to his mouth, and gave her a somewhat clumsy kiss on the back of the fingers. "You could have had a nobleman, Jessica!"
"Who, you?" She scoffed, reclaiming her hand and wiping it on her skirt. Kenji was peripherally aware that Kenshin had tensed and stepped away from the others, likely so he could draw his sakabatou in the clear if he had to. That would be a disaster if he really did pull his sword -- but likely, that was just Kenshin's hitokiri instincts coming into play. He was leaving violence as an option if this man didn't leave Jessica alone.
"At least give me one more chance!" William wailed, sounding to Kenji's ears like he was much younger than his apparent age -- which was a few years younger than Kenji, but not many.
Kenji said quietly, but with menace, "Jessica loves me. And I love her. And if you touch her again, I will hurt you."
"Do you have any idea who you are speaking to, foreigner?" He puffed up, outraged. "I'll have you thrown out! And just what sort of an accent is that, anyway?"
Jessica snorted a laugh. "William, you might find out who you are speaking to first. Come, Kenji, he's all hot air."
She brushed past him.
William stuck his shoulder out as Kenji passed so that Kenji ran into it, and hissed very close to Kenji's face, "What do you have that I don't?"
Kenji replied, "Jessica."
He then hurried to catch up to Jessica and said, low, "You never told me my brother was your suitor."
"He's not. He's just a pig. He hits on all the women like that." Jessica shook her head. "He's something of a joke. No woman of any breeding would have him unless she were truly desperate. I have a hard time believing the two of you are related."
"So do I," Kenji said, honestly. He wished she'd said something about this man before -- but perhaps she'd wanted him to draw his own conclusions first.
The secretary led them into a solarium filled with greenery and wicker chairs. Kenji felt some of the tension leave his body at the welcome beauty of the plants, and the soft rush of warm air. He hadn't been warm since they'd left Japan.
An old man sat in a chair. He saw them coming and stood up.
He'd been very tall, once, and still stood taller Jessica. But he was stooped, shoulders bent, back a bit crooked with age. The top of his head would reach Kenji's nose, Kenji thought. He had a hint of blond left in his greying, balding hair, and a palsy in one hand.
And the blue eyes that Kenji found studying him were keen and clear and the exact shade of Kenji's own. They shot back to Jessica after a moment's steady regard. "You said you had news of my grandson in the message you sent?"
And again, the man stared at him. This time, there was a hint of sharp suspicion and skepticism.
Kenji reached up and pulled his mother's locket from under his shirt. He unclipped the clasp and wordlessly handed it to his grandfather. That cynical look changed to one of soft, simple wonder in a heartbeat.
The old man tried to fumble the locket open with shaking hands, then shook his head, frustrated. "I know what's in here. Your father gave your mother this locket as a wedding gift. There were earrings to match it."
"They're dead, I'm sorry," Kenji said, reluctantly imparting bad news to this elderly man. He took the locket back, opened it, and showed the man the small photograph of his parents. Lord Trevor did not try to reclaim it a second time. "It was influenza, twenty years ago. They died in a clinic run by a friend of my parents -- the parents who adopted me and raised me."
His grandfather spoke very carefully, "I have feared these many years to hear such words. It is perhaps fitting that I hear this from you, however."
He blinked hard, twice. "I suppose if they lived, they would have contacted me." Gnarled hands grasped his arms and pulled him into an embrace. The man smelled of liniment and cologne ... Kenji was startled to find that the scents triggered memories from the past, of being hugged just like this before. This man, his grandfather, had been a safe harbor. The fear that he would find his own flesh and blood wholly distasteful faded. His younger brother William hadn't left him with the best first impression, but his grandfather was different.
The man stammered, "You are ... I always knew you were alive, Alastair. Y-you were just a sweet child. You were always my favorite. And you look so much like your mother!"
Kenji hugged him back, then said firmly, "I don't want to be your favorite -- I'm sure you love my brothers too. But I would like to know you ..." he paused, struggling to find the words. "Forgive my difficulties, I'd forgotten English and Jessica has been teaching it to me anew."
"Jessica Marshall," Lord Trevor turned his attention to her with a vigorous wave of one hand, "Has anyone ever told you that you are a remarkable woman? I shall have to reward you appropriately for this!"
"No reward his necessary," Jessica said, with a laugh, "Finding Kenji -- Alastair -- was reward enough!"
"You are courting?" The man was sharply intelligent, Kenji decided.
"We are engaged to be married," Jessica said, with a most unladylike snort. "And I assure you, I said yes to him when I thought he was a penniless orphan boy -- with very good looks."
"Mmm. Foolish of you, perhaps, but I can see the merit in marrying for love."
"I don't want you to think," Kenji said, quietly, to his grandfather, "That I'm coming here looking for a share of a fortune, or power, or fame. I simply wanted to meet my birth family -- and we heard, from Jessica's mother, that you longed to know what happened. We thought you needed to know the truth so you would no longer wonder. It's been twenty years and doubtless my siblings have more claim on your family fortune and titles than I do. I do not need wealth which I have not honestly earned."
Lord Trevor was silent for a long, long moment. Then he snickered. "If you're marrying Jessica, it is I who should be asking you to rejoin the familyfor your share of her fortune. I know several of your brothers have attempted to court her for several years without success. Along with every other bachelor in Britain with an eye for her wealth! Fools, the lot of them."
Kenji wasn't sure if Trevor was serious or not, but Jessica apparently found this funny, because she laughed.
Kenji felt introductions were in order -- he could feel his parents being silently patient behind him, though Kaoru's form of patience involved a bit of fidgeting. "Lord Trevor, this is Kaoru Kamiya, the woman who adopted me ... and Shinta Kamiya."
And I really hope he doesn't ask Kenshin's relationship to me before we know if we can trust him. He didn't want to start off with a lie to his grandfather, but the truth was implausible at best and dangerous at worst for them. They'd learned that, the hard way.
"Another fosterling?" Lord Trevor asked, curiously.
"He's as dear to me as a brother," Kenji said, firmly, thinking, Except he's my father.
Not quite a lie.
Trevor sat down, suddenly, in one of the wicker chairs, and said, "Forgive me, this is a stunning shock. I'd hoped to hear that Jessica knew something, but to see you standing before me ... with that locket, with their picture in it ... Alastair, I always said they were alive, but to find I was both right and wrong ..."
Tears welled in his eyes. "You're making an old man cry!"
Wordlessly, Jessica handed him a handkerchief.
Kenshin said, quietly, in Japanese, "Does he believe you?"
"The locket was proof to him. And I think he wants to believe," Jessica murmured back, in the same language. She cleared her throat. "Lord Trevor, may we sit? I think we all have questions. We know nothing of how Kenji's parents ended up in Tokyo, and I'm sure you'd like to hear about his life."
"Yes, yes, sit." He gestured at the other chairs. "Draw them up. I cannot believe this has happened, after all these years. I prayed to God a miracle would happen, and He has delivered one."
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Lord Trevor watched the tall young man who was his long-lost grandson with amazement. So tall, so handsome, so hale. When he grinned, which was often, he displayed an even row of perfect white teeth. His skin was clear and smooth, tanned and unblemished.
The woman who'd raised him scarcely looked old enough; he put her age at thirty, then revised it upwards a bit, remembering that orientals didn't show their age as quickly as the British did. Forty. Maybe. Maybe. She looked and moved like she was much younger.
She was as quick to smile as Alastair was, though she hadn't said anything, and he assumed that neither she nor Shinta spoke much English because Jessica Marshall spoke to them in Japanese.
Kaoru Kamiya was a tiny woman, something particularly noticeable when she stood next to Alastair. Shinta, who Trevor assumed was either another orphan or a halfbreed that the woman had adopted as well, also had an easy grin ... but Trevor, who'd fought in a few wars, wasn't the slightest bit fooled.
Lord Trevor pegged Shinta for at least a decade older than his very youthful appearance. It was more in the way that he carried himself than anything else. It was very hard to make an accurate guess, but he thought the man was probably mid to late twenties in age.
Moreover, his hands were battered and scarred -- broken fingers, and old knicks and cuts, though none looked recent. They were the hands of a man who had either had multiple unfortunate accidents involving various sharp tools, or who had spent quite a bit of time holding a sword and occasionally getting whacked in the hand either in practice or combat. Trevor's own gnarled fingers bore similar damage.
There was an old samurai who worked for the Japanese minister -- a man often dispatched to Lord Trevor's manor on various bureaucratic missions generally involving begging for his vote -- who had similar fingers, and a similar stance and way of watching the world.
No, Trevor wasn't fooled at all. Shinta was no innocent boy.
But Alastair was clearly very, very fond of him. Their body language spoke of trust and affection between them. Moreover, Alastair clearly looked up to Shinta because Trevor had twice seen him glance in Shinta's direction, apparently seeking approval. He sees him as an older brother, perhaps, if they were fosterlings together. Though he can't be much older.
Given the snake's nest of family politics that Alastair was about to find himself smack in the middle of, Trevor was rather glad that his grandson had someone like Shinta on his side. Shinta was even now glancing quickly around the room, with an almost instinctive survey for trouble. It didn't escape Trevor's notice that Shinta had positioned himself so he could see the door, as well; he'd carried a chair several feet to Trevor's other side.
He glanced at Alastair's hands, curiously, and saw that his grandson had a few scars of his own -- though nowhere near as many -- and heavy calluses. Hrm. He'd have to break out the old broadsword and have a go with the kid. Maybe at least one of his grandsons would know what to do with sharp and pointy things besides hang them on the wall and tell stories about them!
He surveyed all this in a few moments while Jessica interpreted Kaoru's story of finding Shinta. Jessica, speaking for Kaoru, said, "... my husband was helping at the clinic of a woman named Megumi, a good friend of ours. Kenshin," here both Kaoru and Alastair quickly glanced at Shinta, who pretended not to notice their looks, "... my husband brought the boy home when his parents died. We tried to find his family but had no luck. We notified the police, and the various embassies, but nobody ever claimed him."
Kaoru bowed her head. Then she spoke in halting English, "Lord Trevor, no children from Kenshin and I. Not ever. Kenji -- your Alastair -- he is our son. It is true. We love him. We raise him as our own."
Jessica put in, "He was only what, four? He didn't speak any Japanese and they didn't speak any English. By the time Kenji learned enough Japanese to talk to them, he'd forgotten his birth name and his parent's names."
"He would have been three, but very tall for his age," Trevor said. "I'm not surprised you thought he was older."
"I really am robbing the cradle," Jessica teased.
He smirked and said something in Japanese that set Jessica off into gales of laughter. Kaoru smacked him with an impatient open-handed swat and said something short, sharp, and very firm.
"Gomen nasai," Alastair said, apologetically, to his adopted mother. He ducked his head, abashed, then said to Lord Trevor, "She can still whip my butt with a shinai. I have to be careful, you know, and apologize ..."
"I understood that!" Kaoru swatted him again.
He probably should have been scandalized by the thought of Alastair Trevor raised by a pair of orientals. On the other hand, Trevor was rather impressed by the boy on multiple levels. He was smart, polite, strappingly healthy, confident, and somehow wholesome ... Lord Trevor reflected that first impressions, of course, could be wrong, but a long time ago, when he'd been a military man, he'd have been happy to have a boy like this serve under him. Abuse from his mother notwithstanding.
That wasn't something he could say about any of the other ninnies in the family.
Very ... interesting.
He wished he knew what had happened to Alastair's parents. There ship had been badly damaged in a storm, had sought shelter in the port at Yokohama, and from there, neither he nor Kaoru Kamiya knew how Alastair and his parents had ended up in Tokyo. He suspected they might never find the story there.
The door opened at that moment, admitting George Trevor, Alastair's older brother. George stalked across the solarium and said, "William said something about some foreigner threatening him!"
Alastair turned around, then rose, followed by the rest of his family. Lord Trevor remained seated. This was going to be interesting ...
"George, settle down," Lord Trevor said, shortly.
"That's the man that William said threatened him!" George pointed a finger at Alastair.
Alastair gravely inclined his head, "I am very sorry. Perhaps I spoke to hastily."
"You have a weird accent," George said, suspiciously. And rudely.
"It's Japanese," Trevor said, impatiently. "He's lived there since he was three."
There wasn't the slightest flicker of recognition from George. He simply said dismissively, "Well, he needs to leave now. Honestly, Father, I don't know why you would give an audience to foreigners like this. What is she, Chinese?" He indicated Kaoru with a flick of his fingers, "And Jessica Marshall! She's the biggest strumpet in the country!"
He grabbed for Alastair's arm. Tugged hard. Alastair didn't move. Instead, he said quietly to Jessica, "Is 'strumpet' an insult?"
Jessica replied in Japanese, apparently providing a definition.
"Come along, now. You're bothering an old man ..."George pulled insistently.
Trevor grinned when he saw Alastair's muscles bunch. Without any obvious effort, Alastair simply broke free. "I talking to Lord Trevor."
"And I'm throwing you out. Lord Trevor doesn't need to have visitors right now." George sounded profoundly unhappy that he'd been unable to move Alastair. George had a good fifty pounds on Alastair, and they were almost the same height -- but Lord Trevor thought his son had been spending too much time at the dinner table and not enough time doing healthy exercise. Alastair appeared to be a good bit more solid under his waistcoat and trousers.
"Oh, Lord Trevor was very happy to see this visitor," Lord Trevor said. "George, I'd like you to meet Kenji Himura, also known as Alastair Trevor. Alastair, this is George Trevor, your brother -- who, if I don't miss my guess, has had too many glasses of wine between lunch and dinner."
Silence from George. Then he scoffed, "Another imposter."
"Hardly. He has Josephine's locket."
"Josephine's locket." George echoed.
"The one she's wearing in the portrait in the library, if you care for proof."
"It could be faked."
"He's marrying Jessica Marshall," Trevor said, glancing at Jessica. Two angry spots of color were standing out on her cheeks. "You can deny him if you want, but I'm not."
Silence, from George. Calculating silence.
"Strumpet, hmm?" Jessica said, with a tight smile.
"I'm sorry," George said, stiffly, "Perhaps William earned the threat he received."
"Perhaps he did," Lord Trevor agreed.
"You're my ... brother," George met Alastair's eyes. Trevor saw fear there. Good, he thought. It was well-deserved fear. He was sick of these boys and their games.
Apparently, Alastair saw the fear too because he said calmly, "Yes, we are brothers. But I do not call myself Lord Trevor's heir. I wanted to meet all of you. Family is important."
The damndest thing was, Lord Trevor thought, this man sounded as if he was telling the truth. And he thought with utter relief and savage glee that he kept carefully schooled from his expression, My boy, you may not claim your inheritance, but I claim you
Alastair Trevor -- or Kenji, or whatever the hell he wanted to call himself -- couldn't possibly be worse than any of his three brothers. Trevor had an idea that he might well be an improvement.
