Laxton nodded submissively. Titus walked out with exaggerated care, ran up the stairs with his heart thundering, and returned a few minutes later holding a small phial. “You first, Mr. Baynes. Just a sip.”
He handed Baynes the phial. Baynes tipped it up to his mouth; Laxton lunged for him, and snatched the phial from his hand. He swigged without care. Baynes let out a bellow and tackled him, and they struggled for a few seconds, until Titus gave in to temptation and stamped hard on the back of Laxton’s heel.
He shouted with pain. Baynes wrested the phial from him and shook the last drops into his mouth. “Not enough!”
“You’ve had as much as you need,” Titus assured him truthfully. “I daresay you will both feel very ill for a few days. You’ll want to be near a privy. In fact, you had better go and seek one now.”
“Eh?”
“Get out,” Titus clarified. “Get out of my house, the pair of you, and I hope you enjoy your gut-rot. And remember this: I know more poisons than the whole French secret police put together, and if either of you crosses my path again, you will never be able to trust another bite of food or drop of drink. Do you understand?” He sought for something that would express his feelings. “Jean-foutres! Espèces de, de swine!”
Baynes recoiled. Laxton seemed about to say something, but clutched his stomach with an alarmed look. Titus shouted, “Go!” and they went.
He stood in silence until he heard the hall door open and shut. He sat down hard, put his face in his hands, and breathed deeply.
Then he looked at Nico’s shrouded corpse and said, “You can get up now.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nico sat up, pushing the coat away. “Thank God. I thought I would suffocate.”
“Oh, did you? Because I thought I would have an apoplexy! What the devil just happened?”
Nico came over to him. Titus rose, and Nico walked into his arms, warm and firm and close, and it was so perfectly right and natural for him to be there that Titus could have cried.
“You were magnificent,” Nico said, face muffled against Titus’s chest. “Magnificent, mon coeur.”
“Awfully good,” Vespasian agreed from the door, where he was lounging with the maid on the other side. Or rather, Evelyn Perreau in a dress. Titus had noticed he never seemed to need a shave, but had put it down to honed valeting skills.
He was still holding Nico, he realised. He glanced down, and up at Vespasian, who just gave him a broader grin and said, “Maybe there should be two of us treading the boards.”
“No, thank you.” Titus reluctantly released Nico. “Could someone please explain?”
“Just a moment. Alma is bringing wine,” Vespasian said.
“Without turmeric in, I hope.”
“I told you he was good at yellows,” Nico remarked. “Sit, mon ami. Are you all right?”
“No, I am not. Laxton held a gun to my head and made me write— Oh God, the banknotes!”
“I didn’t send the letter to the bank, Mr. Pilcrow,” Alma assured him, entering with a bottle and four glasses.
“Oh great God, thank you. One for yourself as well, please, I will use this glass. Er, why not?”
“Let us start from the beginning,” Nico suggested, as Vespasian poured wine for everyone. “How did they get in?”
“The footman let them in here without asking me.”
“IsaidJames was no good,” Alma said with professional affront. “I bet he takes bribes. Pa will send him packing.”
“I imagine they joined forces when I threw them both out yesterday,” Titus went on. “Baynes wanted the picture; Laxton wanted ten thousand pounds. He admitted he killed Miss Whitecross, and said he would kill me. I was terrified. I don’t know what happened then.”
“Alma took charge,” Eve said.
Alma blushed. “Oh, no. Well, sort of. Only, sir, you looked awfully odd, and I heard that Laxton’s voice, and I knew you didn’t want him in the house. So when you gave me the letter, I might have—you know, by accident—”
“Whatever you did saved my life, and ten thousand pounds,” Titus assured her.