"What brandy would that be?" Theo asked.
"A slippery one, you are," said Mr Nash.
"Makes sense, it does," said Mr Button, "that you'd be taking in illegal brandy, seeing as how your establishment has been so eager to shirk your excise duties to the parish authority."
"I demand to know what this nonsense is about illegal brandy," Theo said, setting his feet and preparing to defend his inn and its inhabitants.
"We have evidence," said Mr Nash.
"And testimony," said Mr Button.
"That you have served illegal brandy in this inn on more than one occasion."
"I will see your evidence," said Theo.
"Certainly." Mr Nash smiled a sharp-toothed grin. "At the court case. For the time being, Master Aylmer, we have papers for your arrest."
Theo set his jaw with stubborn temper. "I will see your papers."
Mr Nash held them out.
Theo had never in his life seen arrest papers before and had little inkling of their usual appearance. The papers did seem to be appropriately official, marked as a Warrant from the Justice of the Peace of Cornwall at Truro. Likewise, the papers did name him as Theophilus Aylmer, Doctor of Chemistry, so he had no grounds under which to object that they had the wrong man, despite the fact that half of Cornwall seemed set on referring to him as Master Aylmer.
He thrust the papers back, searching his thoughts for some excuse or escape from this situation.
Mr Nash carried a blade at his hip, and Mr Button was armed with a pistol, both of which conditions immediately discouraged Theo from thoughts of combat or flight. Philip could offer no rescue and knew not of what was transpiring. Mr Crouch and Mr Mondy were at hand, but if they had any recourse they should have offered it at once.
"Very well," said Theo, since he could think of no plan and knew that any rash action might put his inn or his employees in danger.
Mr Button put a heavy hand upon Theo's shoulder, and the two of them escorted him out to the dark little carriage waiting in the road.
*~*~*
They took him to Truro.
It was only a handful of miles to Truro, and though it was the county town of Cornwall, Theo had never entered its boundaries.
Travelling by night, with only the bouncing light of the carriage lantern to show the way, he saw little enough. Mr Button and Mr Nash crammed on either side of him in the carriage, with a close-mouthed driver to see to the horses. Mr Button was girthy, and Mr Nash's breath stank, which made for a miserable ride along the rough country road. The jostling of the carriage cast him constantly against one or the other. Mr Button's pistol-butt jammed into his side with every bump of the carriage, and Mr Nash's elbows were sharp and inclined to jab whenever Theo was jostled in his direction.
It was, altogether, the most unpleasant carriage ride Theo had ever endured, and it ended with a cold stone cell.
Theo balked upon the threshold, faced with the prospect of a bare dungeon cell, the sort which he had not expected to find anywhere in the enlightened nation of England. "I have the right to provide bail," he said.
Mr Button pushed at him. Theo stumbled forward half a step and dug in his heels to go no further.
"In the morning," said Mr Nash, with irritation.
"This is not…" Theo sputtered. "We are a civilised nation! You cannot keep me in a dungeon!"
Mr Nash laughed. It was a harsh, cruel sound. "You spoiled child. Is this truly the worst you've seen?"
Mr Button shoved him with enough force to bruise between Theo's shoulders. He stumbled a few feet into the cell, then whirled about to face his captors, only to have the heavy metal bars of the cell shut in his face.
"Your cell is dry and enclosed," said Mr Nash, "and unlike some regions of England, the administration of Truro is inclined to respect the portion of the Declaration of Rights which protects you from 'cruel and unusual punishments inflicted'. Be grateful for it."
He was at their mercy, and had no more than a schoolboy's familiarity with law. He had seen their papers, and knew that there was credence in their accusations.
The clunk of the lock echoed in the bare stone room.
*~*~*
There was no bedding in the cell but a hard wooden bench and a thin, tattered blanket that looked like it housed fleas.
Theo sat perched on a corner of the bench, knees hugged to his chest.
As the sun rose, slats of watery yellow light fell through a high window in an adjacent cell onto the stones of the hallway in front of him. He watched as the light warmed to gold, tinged red, and then paled and strengthened to a white watered in grey and yellow.
With the light came the waking sounds of Truro.
The sounds of Truro were sleepy and pedestrian. Theo heard the distant bustle of a town square, and even smelled the odours of fresh-baked bread. It made his stomach clench, though he had eaten well enough the night before. Surely there could be no excessive torture or neglect of prisoners in any place that so calmly went about the business of baking its bread in the morning. If he screamed and begged, he would be heard. If he howled from torture, the bakers and merchants would know of it.
Theo picked at the edge of the bench, where the wood was worn and polished from years of use.
Somewhere, only a few miles away, Philip was safe, and the customs men hadn't made any intimations of arresting the employees of the inn. For the time being, Theo was the only one in jeopardy. He hoped desperately that would continue to be true.
Lord, keep him safe.
From the angle of the light, Theo judged it to be sometime in the mid-afternoon when they came to fetch him.
He was drowsing again, body sore and tired from the night without sleep, with no rest or comfort but that offered by the ungentle wood of the bench.
The guard who turned the key in the lock was a tall, scrawny man, with a hooked nose and a thin line for his mouth. He was all knees and elbows, looking younger for his gawkiness, while the lanky, ragged hair that fell around his cheekbones made him look aged.
Theo rolled to his feet, awake at once despite the waves of exhaustion crashing through his bones. "I don't suppose I'm to be released?"
The guard held the door and waited for him to emerge from the cell.
Annoyed by the lack of information, which he suspected to be intentional, Theo marched forward and started down the corridor.
The guard caught up quickly, keeping pace with him and pushing him down a side hallway, goading him to a room nearly at the end.
Mr Nash and Mr Button were waiting.
There was a plain wooden table, with two chairs on their side and a simple three-legged stool on his.
Theo sat.
"Good day, constables," Theo said. His temper bubbled in his heart, full of reckless insubordination. He tamped the feeling down as best he could. "By the grace of the Magna Carta, I do know that you cannot hold me without trial by jury."
"And by the good grace of Dalton's Country Justice," said Mr Nash, with a mocking sneer, "I do know that we may detain you until the next assizes of Truro's court."
Theo pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, at a loss to combat them on legal technicalities.
"The fees to be paid for your smuggled brandy will be substantial, of course," said Mr Nash.
"It might be simpler for everyone," Mr Button said, "if we went ahead and seized upon your inn and sent you to a debtor's prison."
"Much simpler," Mr Nash agreed. "But, you see, there are other things we want."
Catching himself before he could curl his lip at them, Theo tightened his jaw.
"Your conspirators, for example," said Mr Button.
"If you were to name your associates in the brandy-smuggling ring," said Mr Nash.
"Are you suggesting," Theo demanded, "that I am involved in a brandy-smuggling ring?"
"Or to identify the location of your hideout."
Theo bristled. "I'm a scholar and a chemist, not a smuggler."
"Would you say, Master Aylmer," said Mr Nash, as he consulted one of the papers in front of him, "that a chemist would be particularly suited to the work of distilling brandy?"
"Oh, merciful heavens," Theo said. "Am I accused of smuggling brandy or creating it?"
"Oh, any of the charges," said Mr Button. "Perhaps all of them."
"I want a solicitor and a jury," Theo said.
"In due time," said Mr Nash. "We are discussing your crimes, Master Aylmer. It would be very inefficient, you see, if you were to go to trial without the full docket of accusations against you, after all. We'd have to hold another trial, and no one wants that. Now, are you confessing to the charge of distillation of brandy?"
"I most certainly am not! Who is the authority around here? I demand to speak to the magistrate."
"How very impatient he is, Mr Button," said Mr Nash.
"Reprehensibly impatient," said Mr Button.
"Perhaps it would better suit you," said Mr Nash, "to be laid by your heels in the coop another day or five."
Theo scowled at them, but held his tongue.
"You'll not name your conspirators?" Mr Button asked.
"I have none," said Theo, "for, lo, I am a mere innkeeper, and not a smuggler."
"Are you an innkeeper?" said Mr Nash. "For I thought you did say you were a scholar and a chemist."
"Troth, I am the lot," Theo said, despairing.
"Innkeeper, scholar, smuggler, chemist," said Mr Button.
"I am not a smuggler," said Theo, though he reflected that it was perfectly true that he was, indeed, a party to the smuggling of illegal brandy.
"We'd be perfectly satisfied with your fines," said Mr Button, "if not your conspirators."
"Pah, he shall not talk," said Mr Nash. "Perhaps a different tune. What know you, Master Aylmer, of the intrusion to the estate of the respectable Earl of Glynn yestereve?"
"I'll thank you to call me Doctor Aylmer," said Theo.
Mr Nash took up a pair of spectacles and settled them upon his nose, drawing forth another of the papers to the top of the pile. "I stand in no need of your thanks. Where were you, Master Aylmer, last night?"
"You know it," said Theo, "for I have been in custody in your gaol for that time."
"It was late indeed when we did arrest you," said Mr Nash. "Where before that?"
"Out for a walk," said Theo.
"Very late for strolling," said Mr Button. "And cold."
"It has been my habit since childhood to take long walks when I cannot sleep."
"A convenient habit, for a smuggler."
"Oh, to the devil with you both!" Theo snapped.
"To the devil with us," said Mr Nash, and made a note of it. "Did you mark, Mr Button, that he said to the devil with us?"
"I did mark it," said Mr Button.
"I have changed my mind," said Theo, "and would thank you to return me to my cell. I tire of your sham of justice."
"When we're done," said Mr Nash, making further notes upon the page. Theo made an effort to read it upside-down, but Mr Nash's handwriting was too illegible for the purpose.
Mr Nash drew the page jealously away and glared at Theo.
"What was it, Master Aylmer—" began Mr Button.
"Doctor Aylmer."
"—that drew you to Lord Kearney's estate yestereve?"
"I tell you I was not on Lord Kearney's estate. I have not set foot upon Lord Kearney's estate since I first returned from Cambridge and went to pay him my regards."
"Who, then, was playing the ghost of Lord Kearney's dead brother?" asked Mr Button.
Theo pulled the most bewildered face he could manage. "The ghost of Lord Kearney's dead brother?"
"By the name of Jeremiah Kearney," said Mr Nash. "May the Lord rest his soul."
"Forgive me, gentlemen, but you aren't speaking a lick of sense. You're accusing me of being my Lord Kearney's dead brother?"
The constables exchanged a glance.
"In counterfeit," Mr Button said at last.
"With all respect, my good sirs, and with consideration to the fact that I only knew the former Earl of Glynn whilst I was a very small child, do you really suppose that I could be mistaken, under any circumstances, for anything other than a dusty scholar?"
Mr Nash and Mr Button fidgeted.
"Which of your associates, then," said Mr Nash, "was involved in counterfeiting the illusion of Lord Kearney's dead brother?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Theo, throwing up his hands.
Mr Nash nodded and got to his feet, evidently deciding that they would get no further information out of Theo by this process. "Let's get him back to his cell."
*~*~*
Time passed in fits and starts.
Unaccustomed to privation, Theo's stomach clenched around itself and rumbled, distracting him from all rational thought.
He dreamt of Philip hanging from the gallows, dressed all in white as the ghost of the dead earl. His skin was pale and cold, eyes white from edge to edge.
Startling awake, Theo hiccoughed in terror. His stomach ached, and his head was pounding.
The bars of light across the floor had gone, with only a pale yellow cast of light remaining. Late evening, he supposed.
They stood Theo on the gallows and looped a rope around his neck. He wore all white, and his hair spilled down and down in skeins of gold, gold that tightened around his neck. The trap-door of the gallows opened beneath him and he dropped.
Theo fell off the wooden bench, and woke. He wobbled as he went to get up, and opted instead to remain on the floor.
Crossing his legs, he drooped his head forward, focusing on each shaky breath. He could still see the stones of his cell in hazy, ambient evening light, telling him that almost no time had passed.
A day without food and only fitful sleep, and already I'm falling apart. I had thought myself made of stouter stuff.
Truro was quiet in late evening. Theo could hear the intermittent yowling of a cat, usually followed by irritated profanity from a female voice. Occasionally there was a rattling of metal, which Theo thought to be a wagon, or a gate with a rusty mechanism.
Never was there any sound from the cells around him. It seemed that there were no other convicts in Truro, which was both reassuring and lonely.
Theo gasped awake, disoriented with the knowledge that time had passed without him being aware of it. The cell around him was fully dark, and felt as though it was spinning in sharp, uneven revolutions. He found that he was still sitting on the floor and braced his arms against it to help steady the room's spinning.
His stomach twisted, as though he would be ill, but there was nothing in it to be purged.
"To the devil with constables," Theo snarled, trying to push himself to his feet.
"Ah, there you are," said a calm, cheerful voice from the hallway beyond.
Theo tripped over his own feet and landed harshly on his knees. "Hell!"
"Theo?"
It was a voice he recognised, even through the spinning mire of his head. Theo sat back on his heels, gathering himself. "Philip?"
"The same. Are you well? Where… I can't see a thing. Is there a door somewhere hereabouts?"
"It is… the bars. They…" Endeavouring to rise, Theo stumbled forward, nearly braining himself on the bars of his cell. One of his arms reached through, clasping at the solid, certain warmth of his lover. "Philip?"
"To be sure, it is not Erasmus Mondy," Philip teased, clasping Theo's arms through the bars in return.
"Philip, why are you here? You'll be caught for sure. You must go."
"Of a certainty, I am here to rescue you. What else would you suppose?"
The eventuality of rescue seemed at once obvious and yet unimaginably dangerous. Theo's head gave another spin, and he wavered on his feet. "How shall you? I thought you couldn't pick locks."
"Lo, that is why I troubled to steal the keys," Philip said. "Now where the devil is the lock? All I feel are bars."
Theo caught one of his hands, guiding it to the heavy metal lock that he remembered seeing.
"Ah, there it is." Philip's voice made light of their situation. Theo feared for them both, but he couldn't help the rush of relief when the key turned in the lock.
"How the devil did you steal the keys?" Theo asked, pushing open the door and tumbling into Philip's arms.
Philip caught him, hugging warm arms around Theo's back and helping to keep him on his feet. "What do you suppose? I trussed up the guard. He gave me hardly any trouble."
"You trussed up the guard! Philip."
Philip kissed him before Theo's fretting could get any farther.
Sighing, Theo relaxed into his embrace. They clung to each other in silence for a moment.
"I love you," Philip said. He sounded like he was smiling.
"Philip." Theo's head lifted, shocked by the sincerity of the confession.
"I thought you should know. In case we're both hanged."
Theo felt the simultaneous urge to kiss him and to hit him. "If I flee, they shall know my guilt."
"If you do not flee, you may be branded or hanged. I beg you, Theo. Come. I'll take you somewhere safe."
Theo hesitated. If he went, he would be an outlaw, fleeing justice. It might leave the inn and its employees at risk of further persecution from the constables. But with Mr Nash and Mr Button executing justice, Theo could not trust that he would be tried fairly, and flight would give him some further hope of action. His fingers tightened on the cloth of Philip's coat. "I'll come," Theo said.
"I have a horse waiting. Can you ride?"
"Nay."
Philip sighed. "Can you endeavour to hold on to my waist and not fall off?"
"Mayhap."
Philip rested their heads together. Theo could hear the fond smile in his voice. "Well enough. Do you know, is anyone else cooped up here?"
"Nay, I've heard no one but myself."
"Then they haven't Thomas Huxley. Damn! Where the devil is he?"
"I know not."
"Come, Theo." Philip pecked his lips swiftly with a kiss. "I have you. Keep quiet, and we'll away."