“In—? For goodness’ sake, why was anyone admitted? I said I am not at home!”
James gave him a lofty look. Titus hadn’t warmed to him: he seemed to find Carey Street an unimpressive place to work, and Titus quite beneath his dignity. “I believe they have visited before, sir, so I showed them in.”
Nico and Perreau, Titus thought immediately. Could it be? To say goodbye?
“Very well,” he said, and hurried downstairs. His heart was thumping absurdly as he pushed open the parlour door.
There were indeed two men there. Neither of them was Nico, and the disappointment hit so hard, it took him a second to realise who they were. Chilcott Baynes and, marred by a terrible, purpling black eye, Matthew Laxton.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Titus said. “What are you both doing back here? I told you to go away!”
“We have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Pilcrow,” Baynes said. He was rocking on his toes, hands behind his back. “You are an intransigent man.”
“I am a perfectly reasonable man. The problem is that neither of you understands the word ‘no.’ I will not give you money, Mr. Laxton, and I will not sell you the portrait, Mr. Baynes. Go away.”
“No,” Laxton said. Aside from the great bruise, he looked dreadful: pouchy, sallow, and grubby, in an ill-fitting, baggy coat. “Sit down.”
“This is my house,” Titus said furiously. “Leave or be escorted out.” He drew a breath to shout for the footman, and almost choked on the inhalation as Baynes withdrew his hand from behind his back.
He held a pistol.
“What—?!”
“Sit down,” Baynes said. “You damned pander to the whore’s son, sit!”
“And be quiet.” Laxton extricated a pistol of his own from under his coat, with a momentary struggle to free it from the fabric that made Titus fear it might go off. “If you shout, I’ll shoot.”
He walked round to shut the door firmly as Titus sat, pulse pounding. Baynes’s eyes were bright and glittering. Laxton was red-faced. When he moved, Titus could smell wafts of brandy.
“I wish you had been reasonable,” Baynes remarked peevishly. “This is a great inconvenience to me.”
Titus attempted to marshal his voice. “What is going on? Why are you together? What—” He gestured in lieu of words, and Laxton raised his pistol sharply, as if threatened. Titus shoved his hands under his thighs.
“We have a common cause,” Baynes said.
“That you are a damned nipcheese,” Laxton added bitterly. “That spiteful hag thought she could put one over on me at the last; well, I won’t have it. I need my money, and this fellow wants some painting or what-have-you, so you will give them to us.”
“Iwillhave the painting,” Baynes said. “It is mine, it was promised to me, and she wants me to have it. I know she does. I will not rest until it is safe. You will give it to me, and you will give this gentleman ten thousand pounds.”
“What?”
“It’s the least I should have, you damned thief,” Laxton said. “Pay up or—” He wagged the pistol indicatively.
“But I’m in myhouse,” Titus said blankly. “You can’t just shoot me in my house. People would hear. It would be murder.”
“You think I care? Christ, you think it’s the first time? The first time in this house, even?” he added, and gave a little involuntary snigger.
Titus stared at him. “You did it, didn’t you? You tripped her. I always thought you did, but—”
“And now you may be sure, for all the good it did me, or will you. But I’ll have my pay. You’re going to send to the bank for ten thousand. Two notes of hand, five thousand each—”
“And the painting!” Baynes said insistently. “I want thepainting.”
Laxton jerked the pistol. “Get on. Write.”
“You can’t shoot me,” Titus repeated, striving for calm. “You’ll swing for it.”
“Swing? You bloody fool, if I don’t pay my debts, I’ll be face down in the river by tomorrow night!” Laxton took a step forward and jammed the end of the pistol against Titus’s temple, the metal cold against his skin, grating painfully on the bone. “My life isn’t worth tuppence, so what difference does it make how I end it? I’d as lief take you with me, so write or by God I’ll blow your brains out!”