He was awakened by a knocking at the door.
Dizzy with sleep, Theo sat up, wincing at a lance of pain in his neck from dozing in an uncomfortable position.
Lights wavered outside the glass of the front windows. There were at least two lanterns, which sent a spike of panic through him.
The constables.
Scrambling to his feet, Theo took a step toward the door before stopping himself. He stared at the wood of the door as the persons unknown on the other side rapped again. His mind felt sluggish, still mired in sleep. He needed to conceal himself, and Philip.
It would have to be the secret cellar downstairs, though he knew not how he intended to transport both himself and Philip thence when he could barely keep himself on his feet.
As he turned over the logistics of the problem in his head, he became suddenly aware of what was before his eyes, what he'd been staring at on the front door of the inn without comprehending what he was seeing.
He'd left the door off the latch.
Jaw falling open, Theo leapt for it, hand outstretched toward the latch as the door opened. He stopped short, too late, in the face of Mr Button and Mr Nash.
"Sirs," said Theo, knowing himself caught.
"You see, your honour?" said Mr Nash. "I did tell you the bird would come home to his roost."
As Theo stared, Mr Button stepped into the room, followed by Mr Nash, Lord Kearney, three men whom Theo did not recognise, and Judith Wright. They fanned out in the space of the front room, and all but the earl showed deference to a middle-aged gentleman in a respectably curled white wig and a handsome black coat with gold trim.
The gentleman was short and stout, and he regarded Theo with a sharp, alert eye. "Are you Doctor Theophilus Aylmer?"
Theo glanced back to where Philip was still asleep on the bench, blood-spattered and bandaged. He could see no escape from their situation. Philip was wounded, and Theo exhausted. Neither of them had the ability to fight or flee.
"I am," he confessed, removing his hat and holding it in his hands as he regarded the company.
"My Lord Kearney?" said the gentleman, turning to regard the Earl of Glynn. "Is this indeed the man?"
"It is," said Simeon Kearney. His eyes glinted cruelly. Theo returned his gaze with a scowl.
"And you, Mistress Wright?" the gentleman continued, gesturing for Judith Wright to step forward. "Can you confirm that this is the man you saw?"
"He is not," said Judith.
A ripple of surprise went through the present company. Theo wondered what in the world she had told them in order that the assembled engine of justice had brought her along.
"The man I saw was the unmistakeable copy of Lord Jeremiah Kearney, who was so tragically taken from us by a wasting sickness." Her arm lifted, pointing past Theo to Philip. "He is there."
Theo clenched his fist, stepping between her and Philip as if to defend him.
"I am," said Philip, pushing himself up on his elbows, "Benjamin Kearney, son of Lord Jeremiah Kearney, and heir to the title of the Earl of Glynn, and I do attest before the present company that my uncle, Simeon Kearney, did conspire to have me killed."
The company's attention turned to the earl, whose lip curled. "I do not know this creature," he said, and spat. "He is no kin of mine."
Theo gritted his teeth and held himself back from the urge to throttle Simeon Kearney.
"Do you deny," Philip said. He strove to sit up and wavered, almost collapsing.
Theo steadied him, hovering by his side. "Ph—" he started, but caught the name behind his teeth while it was still just an exhalation.
"Do you deny that your brother had a son," Philip asked, "who should have inherited the lands and title of the Glynn estate?"
Simeon Kearney sneered. "That boy died as a child."
"How?" Philip asked.
Impatient, the Earl of Glynn turned instead toward the stout gentleman. "Magistrate, do you intend to tolerate this nonsense? I demand that you arrest these brigands. I have apprised you of their crimes, as have Masters Button and Nash informed you likewise."
"What is your opinion, my Lord of Glynn?" the magistrate asked him. "Does this young man resemble your lost brother?"
"The hair is similar," said Simeon. "Perhaps someone not closely acquainted with the family might be able to make the mistake, in the dark."
"I have served the Kearney family all my life," said Judith Wright. "That boy is the son of Jeremiah Kearney."
"I, too, will attest to it," said Mr Crouch, appearing from the direction of the kitchen. "I knew Lord Jeremiah Kearney. This man is the living image of the former Earl of Glynn."
"Who the devil are you?" Simeon snapped.
"I, too," said Mr Mondy, from the base of the stairs. "I served the Kearney family in my youth. This man can be none other than Jeremiah's son and heir."
"Well, well," said the magistrate, looking around. "Anyone else?"
The rest of the company was silent.
"Three witnesses to the resemblance is significant, don't you agree, my lord?" the magistrate asked. "I'm certain we can put some resolution to the question. To be sure, there must be some portrait or likeness of your brother remaining in order to put the comparison?"
Simeon grimaced. "I hardly think that is necessary."
"I hope you will indulge me, then. Answer the young man's question."
Simeon looked between the magistrate and Philip, angry and disbelieving. "I hope you do not intend…"
"How," Philip repeated, "did Benjamin Kearney die?"
Face red with fury, Simeon looked around the room for some escape from the question. "He fell down a well!"
"How do you know," Philip began, matching Simeon's fury with white-hot determination, "that the boy fell down a well?"
"Everyone knows he fell down a well. The bones were found." As Simeon's gaze travelled the room, it settled briefly upon Judith. Theo saw him tense.
"They weren't his bones," said Judith, stepping forward to speak. "The bones were found much later. Old bones, and bare. Some other child, long since lost down the well. They weren't his bones."
"She would know, wouldn't she, Uncle Simeon?" Philip asked, cold and taunting.
Reminded suddenly of the stolen book in his pocket, Theo retrieved it, flipping it open to stare at the pages within.
Tight, sharp handwriting scrawled across each page, with a name at the top and a list beneath.
Reuben Blackburn.
Drunk.
Adulterer. w whom?
Stole a loaf from M. Plenty.
"He hated his brother," Judith was saying. "Hated the child more. He compelled me, threatened my self and my poor brother. He knew my secrets, about a lover I oughtn't have had and a child I lost. He knew that my brother, rest his soul, had stolen some silver, but he hadn't revealed the theft. He'd hidden it, keeping the secret locked away to use against me."
Blinking at the itemisation, Theo flipped through the little book, finding another page with his own name written at the top.
Theofilis Aylmer. Doctor.
Arrogant prick.
Smuggling. Brandy.
"You thief!" the earl interrupted what Judith was saying, finger raised in accusation toward Theo. "Magistrate, that book is mine. He did steal it when he intruded unto my house tonight."
"So I did," Theo confessed, paging through the book quickly. The oldest entries were near the front, and it did not take him long at all to find a page titled Judith Wright. "Do you then confirm that this book is yours?"
Sensing the trap, Simeon Kearney hesitated.
"Mrs Wright," Theo said, "I pray you, continue with your recounting." Holding the little book open to the page with Judith's name, Theo gave it to the magistrate. "And I think your honour will find that this book, which Simeon Kearney just claimed as his own, confirms her story."
"He bid me take the child," said Judith. "I told him that I cast the infant down the well in the old monastery."
"And did you do so, Mistress Wright?" The magistrate asked her.
"I did not."
"What, then, became of the child?"
"I left him on the steps of the foundling hospital, in Truro," she said.
"How interesting," said the magistrate. "And a very serious allegation. Master Button, my eyes are not what they once were. Can you read what it says here, at the bottom of the page entitled 'Judith Wright'?"
Mr Button peered closely at the little book. "Murdered Jeremiah's brat."
"What a shocking thing to record," said the magistrate.
Everyone's attention turned toward Simeon Kearney, who stiffened his shoulders.
"And exceedingly peculiar that you would not report a suspected murder. Have you any evidence of this supposed murdering by Judith Wright?" asked the magistrate.
"I suspected it," said the earl, small eyes flicking about from face to face. "I saw how she acted toward the child. Resented it, because she'd lost her own child. I saw her leave that day with the infant, though she claimed not to have seen it. I said nothing, it's true, because I had no particular fondness for the boy."
"And a title to gain," Philip said.
"Difficult to prove the matter with your word against hers, of course," the magistrate said, seemingly disregarding Philip's interjection. "And yet we do have this young man, of remarkable resemblance to your departed brother."
"A passing resemblance." Simeon Kearney sneered.
"Such a complicated matter will have to be the jurisdiction of the court," the magistrate said, tucking the little book into his own pocket. "The young man's claim to the title, the accusation of attempted murder. And I don't believe there was ever an official inquest into the deaths of Jeremiah Kearney or his wife?"
The earl scowled.
"And then there's the matter of the smuggled brandy," Mr Nash added.
"I think that can be resolved once the question of the inheritance is settled, don't you? The fees will be small enough for the Earl of Glynn."
"Nay, he won't keep that title if he's a Jacobite spy," Mr Nash said.
The eyes of the company swivelled once more to Philip.
"I believe I can speak as to that," said the magistrate.
Philip startled visibly, gazing at the magistrate in puzzlement. "What?"
"I suppose you don't recollect me at all, my lad?" asked the magistrate. "The years have not been kind to me, and I favoured a beard, in my youth. I recognise you, though. You were scarce more than a boy, and had gotten yourself into some trouble with a ring of thieves and smugglers. I thought you had potential."
Philip's jaw fell open. "You!"
"Ah, so you do remember me."
"You made a spy of me," Philip said.
"So I did. And a very skilled and loyal spy you were, too, from the reports I heard." The stout magistrate beamed with pride, eyes sparkling. "Thomas Huxley had his start with me as well. He came to me, when he feared you lost. If you'd fallen into my hands, I intended to sort the matter as best I could, although I will make quite clear that I do disapprove of any involvement you've had with smuggling or highway robbery in the meantime."
"I'd forgotten," Philip said, gazing at the magistrate in amazement. "You were a constable then, though in secret service to the king. And now you are the Magistrate of Truro? You… you can speak on my behalf! The Duke of Cumberland was my contact for the matter with the Jacobites, but he will not hear my suit, nor speak on my behalf."
"I can, and do. You are no Jacobite, but a loyal servant to the king. I would not forget you, my boy, nor that ring you wear."
Judith cried out suddenly, clasping her hands to her chest. "The ring!"
"My ring?" Philip asked, holding up the heavy golden band with the blank jade stone. "Of what matter my ring?"
"You begged for it," the magistrate said. "I thought you'd stolen it, but you pleaded that it was yours, that it had always been yours, and that it was the only link you had toward a family that you had lost."
"That's true," Philip said, closing his fist to protect it.
"I did not believe you, but despite my better sense I found myself touched by your pleas. I expected that you'd make a fool of me within the week, and sell it. When I sent you off to be a spy, I asked your handlers to remember the ring you wore, and to mention to me if it stayed on your hand. For as long as your reports reached me, until you transferred unto the supervision of his lordship the duke, I was told that it did."
"The ring!" Judith said again. "I forgot the ring."
"Mistress Wright," said the magistrate. "May you perhaps cast some light upon the origin of the young man's ring?"
"It was your father's," said Judith, coming forward and curling her hands reverently around Philip's fingers. "I stole it, I do confess. I feared that it would be taken from you, by some greedy hand at the foundling hospital, but I did press it into your tiny hand, and I bid you keep it secret. So you have!"
"Let us have the ring, young sir," said the magistrate, holding out his hand. "Is there some inscription, perhaps?"
"There is none," Philip said, surrendering it. "I have searched it a thousand times for some trace of a worn inscription or sigil, but the gold is unmarked."
"The gold," said Judith, "but not the stone!"
"You are mistaken, my good woman," said the magistrate. "The stone is blank."
"Has anyone," Judith asked, "a pen knife?"
"I have," Theo offered, retrieving it from his pocket and holding it out, fascinated to find out why she wished it.
"I forgot about the ring," Judith murmured, taking the knife and the ring and beginning to pry the stone from its setting. "I feared that if anyone recognised the seal and had the sense to return you home for some reward, your uncle would try again to be rid of you. So I pried the stone from its setting and turned it to the reverse. It's an easy matter: the gold is soft, as you can see."
The stone popped free. Theo crowded close, along with nearly everyone else, to see the design inscribed upon the obverse.
"What is it?" Philip demanded. He pushed himself to his feet and nearly fell. Theo caught him just in time, setting him down again upon the bench.
"It is the sigil of the Earl of Glynn," the magistrate announced, "and quite unmistakably so."
"My ring," Philip repeated, stunned by the revelation.
"I return it to you, my lord," the magistrate said, surrendering the two parts of the ring into Philip's hands. "And I do officially recognise your claim to the title of the… which Earl of Glynn will it be, does anyone know?"
"The eighth," Judith answered. "He is Lord Benjamin Kearney, the eighth Earl of Glynn."
"Just so," said the magistrate, nodding his approval. "Now, then. Master Button, Master Nash, if you would please arrest Master Simeon Kearney for two counts of murder and one count of suspected murder. I do think that we might sort out all the rest of the details in a proper court, in Truro, at a civilised hour."
"This is absurd!" Simeon Kearney shouted. "I am the earl, not that upstart impostor! I demand that you return my ring to me. They are thieves and brigands! Arrest them at once!"
He was still ranting as Mr Button and Mr Nash led him away.
"My Lord Kearney," the magistrate said again, bowing to Philip, who was holding the two pieces of the ring in befuddled shock. "I think it best if we continue this matter when you are somewhat less bloodied."
Philip nodded, half dazed. "James Althem, was that your name?"
"So it is. Magistrate Althem, now. I'll send a physician your way, once I've returned to Truro. My constables won't bother you further, as long as you are willing to endure some lengths of bureaucracy as we sort out your titles and your transgressions."
"I will. If you please, magistrate: do you have some news of Thomas Huxley? He was a loyal friend to me."
"I do. He is safe with me, in Truro. He and I were friends, once, and I am glad to have his acquaintance once again."
"Magistrate Althem," Philip said. "I owe you more than words can say."
"The pleasure of seeing Simeon Kearney's face red with rage is satisfaction enough for me," the magistrate said, twinkling with mirth. "As soon as you're hale, call upon me in Truro, and we'll see to some of the necessary paperwork. I'll contact the necessary trustees and authorities who can legitimise your claim. Mistress Wright, I presume there's a competent butler or housekeeper who may oversee the estate until we can arrange to have the young lord installed officially as the Earl of Glynn?"
Mrs Wright bobbed a curtsey. "I'll see to it, sir."
"That's settled, then. My Lord Kearney, I bid you good day."
Tipping his hat to Philip, the magistrate made his exit, and the rest of the company followed suit, leaving Theo and Philip alone in the front room.
Philip took a ragged breath, leaning back against the wall behind the bench. "Christ."
"I think I do dream," Theo said, sitting beside Philip and wrapping his arms around his lover to keep him warm. "By some miracle we are neither dead nor imprisoned."
"The Earl of Glynn, Theo," Philip said, gazing down at the jade sigil. "It is true."
"Did you not believe it?"
"No, not in truth. Not until now. My ring, it bore my father's seal all along. I never thought to check the reverse."
"The obverse, truly," Theo said, smiling fondly.
"Will you still love me when I am earl?" Philip asked.
"I will. And you, will you still love me when I am not?"
"I'll marry you, and you may be a count."
Theo laughed, hugging him tighter and pressing his face into Philip's golden hair. "I do believe it would be safer if we did no such thing."
"I think you'd be a perfectly respectable count."
"I think you will be by no means in any way a respectable earl."
"Such shocking disrespect from my lord husband," Philip teased.
Dissolving into helpless laughter at Philip's blithe teasing, Theo held him, twining their fingers together. "Shall I call you Benjamin now, my Lord Kearney?"
"Certainly not," Philip said, smiling impishly. "You shall only ever call me my lord, as you ought."
"My Lord Highwayman."
Philip laughed. "I don't know, Theo. Call me Philip. It is the only name I have ever known, and I am not entirely prepared to surrender it."
Mr Mondy returned with a pot of tea. He set it within Theo's reach and then bent to stoke the fire.
"Thank you, Mr Mondy," Theo said. Philip's weight was warm against his side, and his breath tickled at Theo's throat, slow and even as he relaxed into sleep.
Through the front windows, Theo could see that the sky was beginning to lighten.
He combed his fingers through Philip's hair, watching over him as he dreamed.