Highgate, Middlesex.
November 1816

The young man slipped quietly into the sunlit library and immediately found himself the object of two identical glares from two very similar pairs of eyes.

"Uncles," he said politely, nodding at the two men seated before the large mahogany desk. A third pair of eyes, a good deal more friendly in their appraisal, was turned upon him from the other side of the desk, and the young man acknowledged their owner.

"Mr Pemberton, I trust you are well?"

"Quite well thank you, Mr Doyle..."

"Raymond!" the larger of the other men spluttered. "I thought that on this day of all days you would at least attempt to arrive for an appointment on time."

Raymond Doyle glanced pointedly at the ornate marble clock which was ticking noisily upon the mantel. "My apologies, Uncle," he replied, careful to maintain his respectful tone. "I was informed that the reading of the will was to take place at twelve o'clock. I see that we are still two minutes short of the hour." He seated himself in the one vacant chair as his uncle raised his eyes heavenwards and snorted derisively.

"Can we get on with it now, Pemberton?" the quieter of Raymond's two uncles asked impatiently.

"I am sorry, Sir Edgar. Miss Doyle's instructions were quite clear," the solicitor replied authoritatively. "The proceedings were to take place at twelve o'clock and not before."

For once in his life Raymond Doyle shared his uncles' feelings wholeheartedly. This was the moment that he'd been dreading for months; from that first terrible day that he'd been gently told by old Doctor Miller that his beloved aunt would not recover from her illness. Now that she was gone -- one of the few people in his life who had ever truly loved him -- all he could see stretching before him was a lifetime of misery and destitution, and that being the case he would as soon get the whole sorry business over and done with without any further delay. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, causing the old leather to squeak noisily, and earning himself yet another glare of reproach from his uncles.

Watching the hands of the clock drift slowly towards the appointed hour, Raymond could only sit and wait as an air of impending doom settled inexorably about him. His future, once so pleasant to consider, now seemed to him to resemble nothing more than the jaws of a dark and loathsome cavern. He expected nothing from his aunt's estate; he had no inkling of her financial affairs but he knew beyond doubt that she was not wealthy. Their comfortable but fairly frugal lifestyle bore witness to that fact. And the house in which the two of them had lived -- the Dower House, which had been graciously bestowed upon his aunt by his uncle Edgar and in which Raymond had lived since the age of three -- remained the property of his uncle. That he would be allowed to remain there was more than he could hope. So lost in his thoughts was he that the striking of the clock gave him a start, and he sat up in his chair as Pemberton slowly shuffled the papers before him on the desk and cleared his throat theatrically.

"Sir Edgar, Sir Nigel, Mr Doyle," he addressed each of them in turn. "We are here today, as you are aware, to witness the reading of the last will and testament of Miss Charlotte Doyle, spinster, late of the Dower House, Highgate, in the county of Middlesex..."

"Get on with it, man, can't you!" Sir Nigel exclaimed bitterly. "Never mind all the rigmarole, just read the damned thing."

Raymond looked wide-eyed at Pemberton, and saw his own sense of shock reflected in the older man's expression. The solicitor turned his gaze toward Sir Edgar, obviously seeking direction. The older of the two brothers sighed, his air of indifference completely unruffled. "Just the bare bones, Pemberton, there's a good fellow," he said languidly. "We can hash out all the details later."

"As you wish, Sir Edgar," the elderly man replied distractedly as he hurriedly rearranged the documents in his grasp. "It is most unusual, but nevertheless..."

Raymond was beginning to wish that he was a thousand miles away from this nightmare. He certainly had no desire to sit and listen to his dear aunt Charlotte's last instructions; the very fact that there was a will to be read at all was like an arrow in his heart. And yet if the thing had to be done then it was as well that it were done properly, with the respect that was due to her memory. How she would have hated this.

"Now then... yes, here we are," Pemberton continued hastily. "Miss Doyle's primary instructions concern her nephew, Mr Raymond Doyle." He looked up at the said nephew, ensuring that he had that gentleman's full attention. Raymond returned his glance with a sinking heart. "The 'bare bones' of Miss Doyle's bequest, Sir Edgar, is that Mr Raymond Doyle should receive an allowance of two thousand pounds per annum from her estate..."

Raymond stood abruptly as the other occupants of the room turned as one towards him. He looked agog at his uncles.

"Two thousand pounds per year!" bellowed Sir Nigel. "Impossible! Charlotte was as poor as a church mouse."

"Please, Sir Nigel. If I may continue?" Pemberton protested. Sir Edgar laid a restraining hand on his brother's arm and nodded towards the solicitor.

"Two thousand pounds per annum," the older man continued. "Until such time as the said Raymond Doyle chooses to marry or reaches the age of thirty years, whichever is the sooner, upon which event the allowance will increase to six thousand pounds per annum."

Raymond felt himself physically stagger at the pronouncement, the sight of his uncle Nigel's face taking on a particularly florid shade of vermilion the only thing that registered with his shattered senses.

"I... forgive me," he stammered, clutching the back of his chair for support. "I am feeling somewhat... Forgive me, Uncles, I need some air." He lurched from the room, intent only upon escaping its claustrophobic clutches.

The cooler air of the passage outside the library served to improve the feelings of panic and bewilderment that had threatened to overwhelm him. Leaning against the wall for support he loosened his collar as he rested his head back against the oak panelling and attempted to bring his rapid breathing back under control. His mind was reeling. Surely there was some mistake? Two thousand pounds a year? Six thousand if he married?

From the room behind him came the sound of raised voices demanding explanations of the solicitor. Pemberton's voice in response was calm and evenly toned and Raymond only caught the odd word here and there; "sound investments"... "intuitive speculation"... The words came at him as if in a dream.

Suddenly aware of a cautious hand on his arm he turned to see Mr Pemberton standing beside him. "Mr Doyle? If you are recovered, sir, there are some papers that require your signature."

Raymond took a deep breath, and then another. "My apologies, Mr Pemberton," he replied. "Your words came as something of a shock. I never expected..."

"Indeed, sir," the solicitor observed quietly, a wry expression upon his face. "I suspect that you are not the only one who has received a shock here today. If you would be so kind..." He gestured towards the library door and Raymond preceded him into the room. Observing the barely disguised contempt upon the faces of his uncles, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor and returned to the seat that he had previously vacated so abruptly.

"Now, Mr Doyle," Pemberton began as he resumed his place at the desk. "In accordance with your late aunt's instructions an account has been opened in your name at Hoare's Bank in Fleet Street, and an initial deposit of two thousand pounds has been made. Further deposits of the same amount will be made each year upon the anniversary of your aunt's death until such time as you either marry or reach the age of thirty. In which case, as I have previously stated, the amount will increase to six thousand pounds per annum."

"This is madness!" Sir Nigel interrupted, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "The whole amount in one fell swoop? The boy'll spend the lot in a month, I'll wager. Surely a quarterly allowance would be more appropriate?"

His uncle's noisy rantings seemed to cut a swathe through the fog that had been occupying Raymond's brain; suddenly there were a multitude of questions that he was eager to know the answers to. Too impatient to await the solicitor's response to his uncle's protestations he gave vent to his all-consuming curiosity. "It is probably not my place to ask," he began tentatively, surprising himself by his own audacity. "But I am totally perplexed by this whole turn of events. Mr Pemberton, just how was my aunt able to settle such a bequest upon me? She was not a wealthy woman -- at least, not to my knowledge. How on earth did she manage to accumulate such a fortune?"

The business-like demeanour with which the elderly man had carried out his duties thus far seemed to thaw somewhat, and he looked at Raymond Doyle with something akin to kindness in his expression. "As I have explained to your uncles, Mr Doyle, your aunt was a very shrewd woman. As a young lady she was herself the recipient of several sizeable bequests and -- being an eminently sensible young person -- rather than spend her fortune on fripperies as one might expect a young woman to do, instead she chose to invest her money. It was my honour to advise her in her dealings during those early years, but I have to say that her knowledge in such matters soon outpaced my own, and in more recent times she has been ably directed by Mr Hichens of Threadneedle Street. In short, Miss Doyle eventually increased her fortune a hundredfold and, apart from several small bequests to her brothers and a few others, the bulk of that fortune now passes to you, sir."

Raymond could do no more than gape at the man. The very thought of his aunt -- his dear, sweet, practically-minded aunt Charlotte -- dealing on the London Stock Exchange was enough to send his brain reeling.

Noticing his air of confusion, Pemberton turned to Sir Nigel. "In answer to your question, sir, regarding the regularity of payments into Mr Doyle's account, it was your sister's express desire that the specified amount should be deposited yearly as a lump sum rather than as a monthly or quarterly allowance. I will admit that I initially advised her against such a decision but Miss Doyle was most adamant that her nephew was an exceedingly level-headed young man who would handle his inheritance wisely." A snort of disgust was the only response forthcoming from the increasingly irate man.

As Raymond prepared to ask his next question of the solicitor, Sir Edgar Doyle cleared his throat noisily. "I am sure that the regularity of the payments into Raymond's account -- and what he decides to do with the money -- are of no import to us, Brother," he said softly. "You mentioned some papers which need signing, Pemberton?"

Raymond felt the familiar chills along his spine at the sound of his uncle's voice. He had grown used to his uncle Nigel's habitual bluster over the years, but Uncle Edgar's unctuous tones remained as terrifying to him now as they had when he was a small boy.

Pemberton shuffled the papers before him once more. "Yes, Sir Edgar," he replied. "Mr Doyle, if you would be so kind as to place your signature on this document -- there are two copies also -- you will now have full access to the monies in your newly-opened account." Raymond scrawled his name obediently at the bottom of the sheet that was thrust before him and then repeated his action twice more. "Excellent," the solicitor continued. "I shall witness your signature..." There was a pause as he signed his name with a flourish. "And then if you, Sir Edgar, and you, Sir Nigel, would also witness the documents..."

Raymond watched uneasily as his uncles silently obliged with their signatures and passed the documents back to Pemberton, who added two of the copies to his pile of papers and held the third out towards him. "This is your copy, Mr Doyle. Of the other two, I shall retain one and the other will be kept by Hoare's. The money is there for you whenever you choose to withdraw it."

"Yes. I thank you, sir," Raymond replied dazedly, studying the document in his hands and yet seeing nothing. It was only the movement before him that made him look up, and he stood to shake the solicitor's hand as that gentleman made to take his leave.

"Mr Doyle, please feel free to call upon me at any time if you need advice of any kind," Pemberton said as he moved towards the door.

"Yes, I shall. Thank you."

Raymond watched as the elderly man nodded curtly toward his two uncles and then was gone. It was only the sound of his Uncle Edgar's voice that brought his attention back to the present. "Well, Raymond. A rather eventful and surprising day for us all, I think."

"Yes, indeed sir," he stammered in reply.

"Would you be good enough to leave us. There are matters which my brother and I need to discuss, as I'm sure you'll understand."

"Oh... Yes, of course, Uncle. I shall... um... I shall see you at dinner, if not before." He bowed stiffly to the two men and left the library, the document which encapsulated his change of fortune now resembling nothing more than a throwaway scrap of paper in his hands. He was barely through the door when the discussion of his future began behind him. Shocked at his own inclination to eavesdrop, there was nevertheless nothing he could do to stop himself from indulging in that most unfortunate practice. Not surprisingly, it was his uncle Nigel who was expressing his opinions with the most fervour.

"What's to become of the boy? Will he remain here?"

"Hardly a boy, Brother. He is almost four and twenty, after all."

"Well, he may as well be a mere boy for all the use he is to either of us. I ask again, what's to become of him?"

"He cannot stay here. I intend giving the Dower House to my boy Charles when he marries next year. And I won't have him under my feet here, eating me out of house and home. Can't you take him?"

"Certainly not! What the devil will I do with him? He'd be nothing more than an encumbrance to my household, not to mention an embarrassment."

Raymond sank back against the wall, dismayed at the words he was hearing. He was under no illusions as to his uncles' opinions of him, but to hear those opinions expressed so forcibly made him feel as though he was the lowest form of living creature. His face began to feel clammy with sweat as his comfortable world crumbled around him. Realising that his uncle Edgar was speaking once more, he forced himself to listen, despite now knowing that the old adage about eavesdroppers never hearing good of themselves was undeniably true.

"Two thousand a year isn't enough for him to set himself up in his own household. If we want to get him off our hands there is only one solution -- he must marry. With six thousand a year he'd have no need for us to keep him. Yes, we must marry him off. And the sooner the better."

Raymond lurched forward and grabbed the banister for support. Marriage! The whole idea was unthinkable! He had known for several years now that the institution of marriage was not for him, and the thought of his uncles arranging such a thing filled him with a sense of panic. He tried unsuccessfully to blot out the conversation which was continuing behind him in the library.

"Do you know of a suitable girl?"

"I believe so. More than one, in fact."

"Excellent! Marriage it is then, and the boy out of our hair for good."

Suddenly aware that he had no desire to hear any more of the conversation taking place in the library, Raymond moved swiftly and quietly towards the stairs, his mind in a whirl. As he reached the top of the staircase his eyes moved automatically upwards and he stopped abruptly. The painting of the five Doyle children had always been a part of his life, but he felt as if he were seeing it for the first time. There was his father, William, the oldest of the five, of whom he had no recollection. His uncle Henry, the second son, who had disgraced the family in some way that was never spoken about, and whom he had never met. Then his uncle Edgar and uncle Nigel, who were currently mapping his entire life out for him at that very moment, and finally his aunt Charlotte.

He looked at the face of the young girl in the painting before him, seeing so clearly the fire and determination that he had come to know so well in those six-year-old eyes. And where would he be now without her? He had been orphaned by the age of three, and it had been his unmarried aunt who had taken him under her wing; who had taken him to live with her in the Dower House despite the protestations of his uncles and who had cared for him and nurtured him throughout his young years. What would have happened to him had his uncles taken on the responsibility of his upbringing he shuddered to think. Even now he could recall his aunt fighting like a lioness to keep him at home when his uncle Edgar had decreed that he should be sent away to school. She had forestalled that particular plan by employing a tutor to teach him his lessons, thus opening up a whole new world of learning and creativity to him. And as he grew older she would share with him her hopes and dreams for his future. Foremost amongst those dreams was one of the day when he would be happily married and the Dower House would be filled with her great-nephews and nieces. He could still hear her words, even now:

"Oh, Raymond! How I shall love your children!"

How could he ever have told her that marriage would never play a part in his life? That there would never be any offspring of his running wild with delight through the rooms and gardens of her home as she so fervently desired? He could never have disappointed her so. The memory of his aunt and the depth of his feeling for her seemed to calm him somewhat, the sense of panic he had felt at his uncles' words now replaced by one of bewilderment and loss. She had been such a lively and vital individual that he simply could not have envisaged that the day would come when she would not be there by his side. And now here he was, faced with the legacy that she had left him. He could not condemn her for it. It had been done for love, nothing more and nothing less. And yet now it seemed that the material manifestation of his aunt's love for him was about to make his life one of abject misery. It was with a heavy heart that he descended the stairs and left the house.

---

The short walk along the drive to the Dower House helped to concentrate his thoughts somewhat. The more he considered his situation the clearer the solution seemed to be. He would have to go away. Away from the house that he had grown up in, away from this part of the country that he knew and loved so well, away from his friends...But then, would that be such a hardship after all? He would not be allowed to continue living in the Dower House for very much longer; he had heard that from his uncle Edgar's own lips. His friends, few as they were, were staunch and true, and would always remain his friends whether he stayed here or not. And why should the idea of leaving Highgate distress him so? He was a fit and healthy young man with no responsibilities. And moreover, he reminded himself, a fit and healthy young man with two thousand a year to his name; perhaps it was high time that he broadened his horizons, maybe even travelled abroad. Despite his initial misgivings, he could actually feel a small knot of excitement and anticipation beginning to form in his stomach. His pace increased as he neared his destination; tonight he would make plans for his departure and tomorrow he would put those plans into action.

So lost in his thoughts was he as he approached the Dower House that he was suddenly taken aback at the sight of an unfamiliar carriage standing in front of the house. Puzzled, he approached cautiously and was surprised to see the solicitor, Pemberton, alight as he drew near.

"Mr Pemberton! I thought that you had returned to the City. Have I neglected to sign something?"

"Forgive this intrusion, Mr Doyle," the other man replied, seeming a little flustered. "There is one other matter pertaining to your late aunt's will which needs to be settled. A matter which your aunt afforded a certain degree of... um... secrecy."

Raymond frowned and gestured towards the house. "We'd best go inside then."

---

Seated in the study, Raymond waited patiently as the elderly man rummaged in his overflowing bag, eventually extracting a sizeable package which he passed to his puzzled host. Raymond examined the package with an air of bewilderment; it was wrapped in oilcloth and tied securely with twine to which was attached a small label bearing a name and address which he read aloud. "Mr Acton Chaplin of Banstead, Surrey." He glanced up at Pemberton and shook his head. "Who is Mr Acton Chaplin? The name means nothing to me."

The solicitor seemed taken aback. "Your aunt never mentioned the gentleman to you?" he asked.

Raymond frowned and shook his head once more. "No, never. Should I know him?"

Pemberton sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It was Miss Doyle's wish that you should deliver this package to Mr Chaplin personally. I had assumed that you would know of him, even if you had never actually met the gentleman."

"Mr Pemberton, I can assure you that I have never heard of Mr Acton Chaplin in all my life. Who is he? And what does this package contain?"

The solicitor was slow to respond, seemingly taking a few moments to gather his thoughts. "When I first met your aunt, Mr Doyle, she was a young woman. A charming young woman, in fact, with her fair share of admirers. Mr Chaplin was one of those admirers; I believe that he was the one she favoured above the rest. I fully expected them to marry, as did everybody else acquainted with them. But alas it was not to be, for what reason I do not know. Suffice to say that Mr Chaplin left Highgate and I never heard of him again until the day that your aunt entrusted me with the safekeeping of the package which you now hold. As to what that package contains, your aunt did not say, but I suspect that it is something that was very important to her, and probably equally important to the gentleman in question."

Raymond's eyes remained fixed on the package as he toyed absently with the label. "Why did she never tell me about him?" he asked quietly. "If he meant so much to her that she remembered him all these years later... It makes no sense."

The older man leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. "Mr Doyle," he said kindly. "You are a young man of the modern century. You do not understand the attitudes of thirty years ago. Then a young woman would not have dared to go against her family's wishes in the matter of matrimony."

"Against her family's wishes?" Raymond replied, looking up sharply. "Is that why they never married?"

Pemberton shrugged. "The fact that your aunt would entrust the delivery of this package to you and you alone and, in addition, beseech me not to inform her brothers of your errand leads me to assume so."

Raymond sighed. "Hence your somewhat furtive arrival at my door."

"Precisely."

There was a moment's silence as Raymond pondered the situation. "Very well, Mr Pemberton," he suddenly said. "I shall undertake this final errand for my dear aunt with pleasure. I had been considering leaving Highgate, as luck would have it. Surrey is as good a destination as any to start with, I suppose."

The solicitor smiled and nodded as he stood, extending his hand to the younger man as he also rose from his chair. "I wish you luck in your travels, Mr Doyle."

"Thank you, sir," Raymond replied warmly as he clasped the elderly man's bony hand. "You have been a true friend to my aunt, Mr Pemberton, and I'm grateful to you for it."

"I always held your aunt in the highest esteem, Mr Doyle. It gives me great satisfaction to be able to carry out her last wishes as she directed. I hope that you will come to see me upon your return. I should like to know that the package was delivered safely."

"Of course. Goodbye, sir."

As the door closed behind the solicitor, Raymond sank back into his chair and ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. How could he have known his aunt so well and yet have been oblivious to the existence of someone who had been so important to her? He felt suddenly ashamed as he realised that he had never given a second thought to the fact that his aunt had never married; never doubted that her chosen role in life was to devote herself to his upbringing. Was he really that insensitive?

He found himself gazing through misty eyes at the package that he had placed on the desk. Did this Mr Chaplin even know of his aunt's passing? Was he still alive himself? Cuffing his eyes dry, he rose and took up the package, placing it in the large bottom drawer of his desk which he carefully locked before placing the key in his waistcoat pocket. It seemed that he would be leaving Highgate after all then, although Surrey hardly qualified as one of the exotic climes that he had envisaged. But, as he had said to Pemberton, he supposed it was as good a place as any to start.

He suddenly found himself yawning loudly as the day's confusing events caught up with him. He would forgo dinner with his uncles; in all truth, he did not think that he could face them tonight. His bed seemed a far more attractive proposition. He crossed the room slowly and paused in front of the well-stocked bookcase, reaching down to take a fairly recent copy of the Universal British Directory from one of the lower shelves. Thumbing through the pages he quickly found the information he was seeking, and then replaced the hefty volume. He yawned again, surprised at how exhausted he suddenly felt. He should retire early, he knew; he would need to arise well before dawn if his swiftly formulating plans were to be brought to fruition. He had one more thing to do before he retired though, and with a hundred and one questions echoing through his brain he closed the door of the house behind him and set off in the direction of the stables.

---

The evening light was fading fast as he tapped on the door of the cottage adjoining the stables, smiling broadly as that door was thrown open and he was bathed in the warmth and the light spilling out from within. "Good evening, Martha," he greeted the comely middle-aged woman standing before him.

"Master Raymond! Now here's a surprise!" beamed the woman as she stood aside to allow him entrance to her home. "Come inside, do."

He allowed himself to be hustled into the tiny cottage, taking pleasure as always in the homely, happy atmosphere within. A tall, rangy figure uncurled itself from a seat in front of the fire as he entered, and clapped him unceremoniously upon the shoulder. "Well, lad! A surprise indeed, as Martha says. Come and sit yourself down by the fire."

"Thank you, Jem," he replied as the recently vacated chair was moved nearer to the flames and he was guided into it. "The evening is somewhat chillier than I expected, I'll admit."

Martha made a disapproving noise as she poked the fire up vigorously. "And you out without a topcoat as well. Catch your death, you will," she chastised him. An amused glance passed between Raymond and his host as Jem pulled another chair up to the fire.

"He's not a boy anymore, Martha," Jem smiled. "No need to keep clucking around him like a mother hen."

Raymond looked at the two of them affectionately. How he envied them their easy companionship and the love they so obviously shared. Not for the first time in his young life he wondered whether it would ever be his good fortune to experience something similar. He very much doubted it. But still, he counted himself lucky that he'd had Jem and Martha's love and friendship over the years. For as long as he'd been able to remember, in fact. Next to his late aunt they had always been the two most important people in his life, and they had always made it plain that they were equally as fond of him. Whether it was because they had never been blessed with children of their own, he did not know, but he suspected that he played as big a part in their lives as they did in his.

His thoughts were interrupted by the thrusting of a large mug of ale into his hand, accompanied by a scowl from Jem. "Something's troubling you, lad." It was a statement of fact rather than a question.

Raymond sighed and took a swig from his mug. "I'm going away," he announced bluntly. There was a gasp of disbelief from Martha as she sank onto the settle. Jem nodded silently and waited for him to continue.

At the outset he had intended telling them only the barest of facts but as he began to recount the day's events to his two dearest friends he found himself unable to hold anything back. The extent of his inheritance and the shock of its discovery, his horror at the plans his uncles were already making for him, Pemberton's secretive visit, and lastly the responsibility that had been placed upon him to ensure the safe delivery of the package to the mysterious Mr Acton Chaplin. By the time Raymond had completed his narrative he felt quite drained. It did not seem possible that so much could have befallen him in just a few short hours.

"Have you supped this evening, Master Raymond?" Jem asked, practical as ever, and breaking the silence which ensued.

"What? No... no, I haven't."

A nod of the head from her husband was enough to send Martha scurrying off into the pantry. Jem eased forward and placed his big ex-prizefighter's hand on the younger man's arm. "When your visit to Mr Chaplin is completed... will you be coming back?"

Raymond hesitated. "I don't know, Jem. I think perhaps not," he replied quietly.

Jem nodded. "I think we'll keep that from Martha for the time being," he said in a low voice. "Your going to Banstead will be enough for her to cope with for now." He smiled at Raymond's look of consternation. "Always told her you'd go one day. Young chap like you wants to see the world, I told her. Only natural." He patted Raymond's arm encouragingly and looked up as Martha returned, hands full of plates of bread and cheese, and a decidedly delicious looking side of ham. "There's a name we haven't heard for a long while, eh Martha?" Jem asked in a cheerful voice. "Mr Acton Chaplin, eh?"

Raymond looked from one to the other in amazement. "You know of the gentleman?"

"Never away from here was he, Jem?" Martha replied as she set the food down on the table. "Before you were born, of course. Very sweet on poor Miss Charlotte, he was."

"Why didn't they marry? Mr Pemberton told me that everyone assumed that they would."

"None of us ever knew for sure." Jem replied. "Always thought your uncles mustn't have approved the match. Anyway, he left Highgate suddenly and we never saw him again."

Martha shook her head sadly as she handed Raymond a fully-laden plate. "Poor Miss Charlotte was upset for many a long month. Not that she ever said anything to the likes of us, but you could see it in her face."

Raymond could feel a knot of anger in his stomach. "It seems that arranging other people's lives for them is not a new diversion for my two uncles," he said coldly.

"It was a long time ago, lad," Jem replied kindly. "And your aunt had a happy life, especially after you came here to us." They ate in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. "'S funny, that," Jem said suddenly, startling Raymond enough to make him spill his ale.

"What's funny?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Mr Chaplin living in Banstead. I did hear tell that it was down in those parts that Sir Henry ended up."

Raymond gaped at him open-mouthed. "Sir Henry? My uncle? I thought nobody knew where he was!"

"Oh no, they know all right. Just never talk about him, that's all."

Raymond's inquisitive nature was immediately aroused. "Nobody's ever told me a single word about him, do you know that? What happened all those years ago?" Jem studied the inside of his glass with great concentration. "Jem, if you know I wish you'd tell me. After the day this has been I don't think one more revelation about my family is going to shock me."

"Well... this is only hearsay, of course..."

"Jem, I know full well that you know everything there is to know about this household," Raymond interrupted with a snort, fixing Jem with his best glare as he did so.

Jem sighed. "Your Uncle Henry was a gambler, Master Raymond. He would wager on anything; cards, horse racing, cock-fighting, bull-baiting. He didn't always lose, mind you. I made him a pretty penny or two during my days with The Fancy, always used to place a few pounds on me he did. His trouble was that he didn't know when to stop. Couldn't stop I suppose, if the truth were known. Anyway, before too long he was in debt. He couldn't honour his IOUs and he fled to France, but when he got there he carried on gambling just like before. Only then he started forging the old master's moniker on his notes, and nobody was any the wiser until they were called in."

Raymond looked at him aghast. "He forged his own father's name on his IOUs?"

Jem nodded. "The old master was livid when he found out. Settled Sir Henry's IOUs though, but then he disowned him. Old master was never the same again. He died five or six years after that."

"And nobody in the family has ever seen Sir Henry since then?"

"Oh, he turned up when the will was to be read. Don't know what he thought he'd get out of it. I remember the look on your father's face when Sir Henry arrived on the doorstep. Thought he was going to take an apoplexy, I did. Brought his wife and the boy with him too."

"There is a family, then?"

"Only the boy that I know of. 'Course, there could well have been more. D'you remember that day, Martha?"

"That I do," Martha replied with a chuckle as she looked at her young guest. "You and the other little laddie were running round and round the garden all afternoon. Like two peas in a pod, you was."

"You'd have been about two year old then," Jem continued. "And the other boy about five. Martha's right though, you could've been twins 'cept that he was a head taller than you."

"And that was the last anyone saw of Sir Henry?" Raymond asked doubtfully, still unable to quite believe that a family would cast out one of their own so coldly, no matter what misdemeanours had occurred.

"As far as any of us know," the older man shrugged in reply. "Sir William sent him off with a flea in his ear and nobody's heard of him from that day to this. Maybe Mr Acton Chaplin will know something of him."

Raymond smiled at him. Jem's last comment had mirrored his own thoughts precisely. "Jem, can I ask a favour of you?" he asked, the mention of Mr Chaplin's name bringing his mind back to his current situation.

"Ask away."

"Will you take me into London in the cart tomorrow morning?"

Jem nodded his assent as a shocked expression appeared upon his wife's face. "Must you go so soon?" she asked, twisting her apron in her hands in her distress.

"I'd as soon get this business over and done with, Martha," Raymond replied kindly. "Then I can decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my life." He reached out and took one of Martha's hands in his own. "Surrey isn't foreign parts, you know," he grinned. "I don't think I'll be in danger of being eaten by cannibals or some such." She giggled as she gently pushed him away in mock irritation and he turned his attention back to Jem. "I'd like to leave at first light, Jem, before there's anyone up and about at the big house."

His friend frowned at his words. "Secrets, Master Raymond?"

"Yes, Jem, I'm afraid so. My aunt was quite clear in her instructions that her brothers should know nothing of this. I'm afraid that I shall have to ask you both to keep this evening's conversation between ourselves."

"Very well. You can trust Martha and me, you know that. I'll have the cart at your door at seven tomorrow morning. Martha and young Samuel can look after the stables between them until I return." He looked at his wife for confirmation, which she readily gave with a nod of her head.

"Thank you, Jem. And you, Martha. Leaving the two of you behind will be the hardest part of all."

"But surely you'll be home after a week or two," Martha protested.

Raymond found himself on the receiving end of a glare from Jem and silently cursed his slip of the tongue. "Yes, of course I shall be. I'm very tired, and today has been a very strange day. My thoughts are jumbled, forgive me." He stood and looked around, wondering how long it would be before he sat and talked with his friends like this again. Pulling Martha up from her seat he encompassed her in a huge hug and, whilst he hoped that he was not being overemotional, still he could not resist the urge to do so. He gave her a wide grin as he released her and turned to her husband. "Until the morning then, Jem," he said, clasping the big man's hand warmly.

---

Both men breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as they turned into the Strand, knowing that their journey was all but completed. Neither held any great affection for the teeming London streets, despite the fact that Raymond had frequently accompanied his aunt on her visits to the metropolis, and Jem had spent a good deal of his life there in the pursuit of his former occupation. Raymond looked around him at the bustling humanity that surrounded them as they slowly progressed. It never failed to amaze him that the quiet lanes of Highgate were but a few miles away from all of this.

Jem guided the small cart expertly around the impressive landmark of St. Clement Danes and into the courtyard of the Angel Inn, where there was hardly any less activity than on the busy thoroughfare. Finding a reasonably quiet corner of the yard, he pulled the cart to a halt and jumped down. "We made good time, Master Raymond," he observed as he reached to retrieve his young master's bag from the back of the cart.

Raymond consulted his pocket watch as he joined him and took the bag from his hand. "We did that, Jem," he agreed. "The Kingston Mailcoach is due to depart at two o'clock. That will give me ample time to secure a place on the coach and enjoy a leisurely meal."

"And when you reach Kingston?"

"With luck I will find a local carrier to take me to Banstead. Failing that I can walk. It is but a few miles." Jem nodded silently. "It would probably be wise if you set off back to Highgate as soon as you have watered the horse, Jem. The chances are that you won't have been missed, but best not to tempt fate," the younger man warned."

"Don't you worry, lad. Martha and me have got it all worked out. If the master sends word for me she's to tell him that I've been called to visit my old uncle Tom in Hampstead." He flashed Raymond a sudden grin. "Did you know that the poor old fellow is dangerously ill?"

Raymond grinned back at him. There was a strangely awkward silence between them for a few seconds before Jem spoke again. "D'you remember when you were a nipper and the two of us used to spar in the stable yard?"

"Of course I remember," Raymond smiled. "I'm not likely to forget all those bloody noses you used to give me."

"Them bloody noses was all your own fault," the other man answered indignantly. "Used to keep telling you not to come forward all the time. Sometimes you've got to back off, give yourself time to plan your next attack. You'd have made a terrible fighter, lad."

Both men laughed at the memory of those happy times many years before. "Remember the first thing I learnt you all those years ago? The most important thing of all?" Jem continued.

"Keep your guard up," Raymond replied without hesitation.

"Aye, that's right. And you just remember that, lad. Always keep your guard up. And I don't just mean your fists, either."

Raymond nodded and grasped Jem's shoulder. "Don't worry about me, Jem. What's the betting I'll be back in Highgate as soon as I've carried out this errand? You won't even have had time to miss me!" He tried to assume a carefree tone to his voice, but even so his words failed to ring true. Somehow he had the feeling that it would be a very long time before he saw his home again, and he knew that Jem could see right through his false air of bonhomie. "I'll write to you and Martha!" he suddenly declared cheerfully.

Jem's face lit up. "A letter! Well, that would be something, to be sure." He waved a finger in Raymond's face. "Nothing fancy, mind. Just plain and simple words. You know I'm not much of a scholar."

"Nonsense, Jem. You were always a far better pupil in the art of reading and writing than I ever was in the art of pugilism," Raymond laughed in reply.

"Well... begging your pardon, Master Raymond... that's not saying much, is it?" Jem observed drily.

The two laughed again as they slowly walked the horse over to the drinking trough and watched in easy silence as the creature noisily drank its fill. When the horse finally lifted its head Raymond reached out and clasped Jem's hand. "Best not delay any longer, Jem. The morning will be well advanced by the time you return."

Jem nodded and returned Raymond's handshake strongly before climbing back up onto the cart and easing the horse around. The younger man raised a hand in farewell as the cart moved briskly towards the courtyard gate, slowing just long enough to allow Jem to look back over his shoulder. Raymond heard his voice boom out as the cart neared the exit -- "No forgetting that letter, mind!"

---

The late November afternoon was already dark and decidedly chilly as Raymond Doyle alighted from the letter carrier's cart in front of the Woolpack Inn. He hurriedly thrust a florin into the man's outstretched hand and watched thankfully as he went on his way. Raymond had found him a most insalubrious individual, with a surly nature and a smell that reminded Raymond of a chicken coop that was in dire need of mucking out. He looked about him, to little avail. The bright lights of the Woolpack were the only sign of life in Banstead at this hour and, shouldering his bag, he stepped forward and opened the door. The heat and the smell of tobacco hit him immediately, causing him to catch his breath. Several heads lifted from their tankards of ale to regard him suspiciously before returning to their previous positions. He made his way to the counter and plastered a nervous smile upon his face.

---

The morning mist was still clinging to the trees as Raymond strode purposefully along the lane. He had been thankful to discover from the landlord of the Woolpack that Mr Acton Chaplin's house was situated only slightly less than two miles from the inn. The thought of having to avail himself of the letter carrier's services yet again had not been a pleasant prospect, and he was grateful that he was within easy walking distance of his goal. The opportunity to stretch his legs was also more than welcome after all the hours he had spent the previous day seated in various modes of transport, none of which had proved to be especially luxurious, and the lumpiness of the mattress upon his bed in the inn had provided him with something less than a restful night's sleep.

Shifting the hefty package which he carried from one arm to the other, he contemplated his forthcoming meeting with his aunt's old friend as he walked. As little as he relished the thought of breaking the news of his aunt's death to the gentleman, his feelings of trepidation were far outweighed by those of curiosity concerning the relationship which had existed between the pair, and the reason for its sudden ending. Added to this was the hope that Mr Chaplin might also have some news of the errant Sir Henry Doyle or his family.

As he rounded a bend in the road his eyes alighted upon an ornate gateway from which a wide driveway swept downwards, and there at the bottom of the hill, exactly as described by the innkeeper, stood the elegant red-brick house which he knew to be his destination. It was only then that a disturbing thought occurred to him; could he be sure of a warm welcome here? Had the parting of the ways between Mr Chaplin and his aunt been acrimonious? Perhaps that gentleman would take none too kindly to the reopening of old wounds and the awakening of unhappy memories.

He hesitated for a moment as he passed through the open gate and for a brief instant he almost gave in to the desire to turn around and retrace his footsteps. Those feelings of apprehension were not too difficult to suppress however. A strong sense of duty had been instilled in him from an early age, and his natural instinct was to carry out the task with which he had been charged. He therefore hefted the parcel into a more comfortable position under his arm, took a deep breath and strode toward the house with renewed vigour.

---

His loud rap at the door was answered rather warily by an ancient-looking individual who regarded him with some suspicion. "Good morning," Raymond greeted him with more cheeriness than he was in fact feeling. "Is Mr Chaplin at home?" His enquiry was met by a searching look and air of disbelief on the part of the elderly manservant. Raymond awaited a reply, but none was forthcoming as the man continued to gape at him. "This is Mr Chaplin's residence, is it not?" he ventured tentatively.

"Yes, sir. I... er... I beg your pardon. For a moment I thought..." The man suddenly seemed to gather his wits and opened the door fully so that Raymond could enter. "Forgive me, sir. Please come in." Raymond looked around him at the warmly decorated hallway as his hat and coat were taken from him.

"Mr Chaplin is out exercising the dogs at present, sir, but he should be returning shortly. If you would care to wait in the study..." Raymond nodded his thanks as the man turned and gestured towards an open door. "Might I ask your name, sir?" the servant asked as Raymond passed by him, still clutching his precious parcel.

His answer died on his lips as the front door of the house suddenly burst open and three decidedly shaggy and exceedingly muddy spaniels launched themselves playfully at him. Placing the package on a table out of harm's way he returned the animals' interest with delight, more than happy to revel in their friendly greeting despite the damp smudges being left behind on his clothing.

The servant hurried from the room to greet his master and Raymond heard the murmur of voices as his presence was made known. "A visitor, Lorimer? Who is it?"

"I was just about to ask the gentleman's name, sir, when the dogs..."

Raymond looked up as a rotund, red-faced man entered the room and was alarmed to see the affable expression upon his face immediately change to one of amazement. "Good morning, sir," he said, as he extricated himself from the attentions of his newly acquired canine friends and stepped forward, hand outstretched. "My name..."

"...is Doyle, of that I have no doubt."

Raymond looked back at him in utter bewilderment. "Yes..." he stammered in reply. "Raymond Doyle. At your service, sir." His hand was grasped in a strong grip which lasted for several seconds as the older man studied his features intently.

"Incredible... absolutely incredible..."

"I fear that there is something about my appearance that troubles you, Mr Chaplin," Raymond ventured cautiously.

His words seemed to bring the other man back to his senses and the grip on his hand was released abruptly. "Please excuse me, Mr Doyle. I have been unforgivably rude." Chaplin gestured towards a chair, which Raymond took gratefully, all the while aware of the unremitting scrutiny of his host. Shifting awkwardly in his seat, Raymond opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by an upraised hand. "One question, Mr Doyle. Might I ask the name of your father?"

"My father? My father was Sir William Doyle of Highgate." He took a deep breath and continued. "The brother of Miss Charlotte Doyle, with whom I believe you were once acquainted."

The older man faltered momentarily at the sound of the once familiar name, and sank into the chair which was fortuitously standing behind him. He closed his eyes and seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. "Then you are her nephew," he eventually answered as he looked at his young guest thoughtfully, his manner subdued. Raymond nodded silently. It was patently obvious to him that his aunt still meant a great deal to this man, and he frantically searched for the words with which to inform him of the sad event of her passing. As it transpired there was no need. "And you have come here today with news of her, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir. Sad news, I am sorry to say."

Chaplin nodded and slowly passed his hand over his face. "It has to be either illness or death," he said. "There is no other reason for a member of your family to seek me out. Which is it?"

"The worst of the two, sir."

"As I feared," Chaplin sighed and fell silent again. Raymond waited patiently while the other man composed himself. "How long since?"

"A little over a fortnight."

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Chaplin stood, fussily straightening his apparel in -- or so it seemed to Raymond -- an attempt at normalcy. "I may ask you for more details some day, Mr Doyle, but not just now, I think." His discomfiture was all too apparent to the younger man as Raymond took up the package from the table and held it out to him.

"My aunt left this for you, sir."

Mr Chaplin looked at him in puzzlement as he took the parcel from him. "What does it contain?"

"I do not know, sir," Raymond replied with a shake of the head. "All I know is that it was one of her last wishes that I should deliver it to you personally. It is the reason that I am here today."

He watched in silence as the older man stripped the wrappings away to reveal a lidded box. Lifting the lid slowly, Chaplin sighed audibly as he caught sight of the box's contents. "So many years ago..." he murmured quietly as he extracted a handful of letters from the box. "To think that she kept them for all those years..."

There was a long silence as Chaplin shakily examined the contents of the box, seemingly oblivious to the presence of his visitor who quickly began to feel acutely embarrassed at the knowledge that he was intruding upon the other man's obvious grief.

As he stood to take his leave his host sniffed loudly and looked up at him with misty eyes, his complexion now pale in comparison with the healthy glow he had exuded not five minutes before. He placed the letters carefully back into the box which he then transferred to the table alongside him before rising slowly from his seat. "Mr Doyle, I am forgetting my manners once more," he said croakily, as he grasped the younger man by the arm. "Please be seated. There are many things I should like to discuss with you if you have the time."

"Of course," Raymond replied as he sat once more. "I must admit that my own curiosity is somewhat aroused."

"Then we shall exchange views and information as we partake of a brandy or two," the other man said as he crossed the room and took up a decanter and two glasses. "Not that I am accustomed to strong liquor at this hour normally, but today is somewhat exceptional I feel."

Raymond nodded his approval, relieved to see that something of the older man's earlier air of bonhomie was gradually returning. "I have to tell you, Mr Chaplin, that I was completely unaware of your existence until a day ago," he began, as he accepted the offered glass. "But I have been told that you were very close to my aunt at one time."

"Close? Mr Doyle, I loved your aunt dearly. If she had consented to marry me I would have been the happiest man on this earth."

"Then why...?"

"It was not to be," Chaplin replied, shaking his head sadly. "The match did not meet with the approval of your uncles, and so..." He held up his hands in resignation. "It was a long time ago, Mr Doyle. But now, tell me of your aunt's life. Was it a happy one?"

"I believe it was, sir," Raymond smiled. He began to recount the story of how his aunt had taken on the responsibility of a small orphaned boy, and before too long he found himself laughing at some of their escapades, laughter that was echoed by his host as that gentleman was reminded of Charlotte Doyle's fun-loving nature and kindly spirit.

The atmosphere became more subdued as Raymond told of his aunt's last days, but as he concluded his tale he found himself feeling surprisingly uplifted and at peace with himself for the first time in many weeks. The very act of recounting so many happy years spent with his aunt had somehow seemed to lift the dark gloom that had settled around him, and had left a sensation of peace and tranquillity in its stead. He gathered his thoughts to find Mr Chaplin looking at him with a kindly expression on his face, and he instinctively knew that he was in the presence of someone who could prove to be a steadfast friend. "And what of you, sir," he asked quietly. "I hope that your life has turned out to be as happy as my aunt's was."

Chaplin looked at him ruefully. "I have been... content," he replied.

"You have a family?"

Chaplin shook his head. "No, no family."

"You never married?"

"Why would I have wished to marry, Mr Doyle? I could never have settled for second best."

Raymond was suddenly filled with a great sadness at the thought of what Mr Chaplin and his aunt had given up, an emotion that was swiftly replaced by an even greater anger as he thought of the hurt and despair that they had suffered at the hands of his uncles. His anger only served to strengthen his resolve that those two gentlemen would not dictate the path that his own life would take. "Why do some people insist upon interfering in the lives of others?" he said bitterly, allowing the words to slip out before he could stop them.

"Ah. There speaks a man who has also suffered from a degree of interference in his life, if I am not mistaken."

A look of understanding passed between the two men.

"You are not mistaken, Mr Chaplin," Raymond sighed. "If I had not been charged with the delivery of this package to you, then I should have left my home in any case. As it was, the instructions which my aunt left merely led to my departure taking place sooner rather than later."

"It is a sad day indeed when the actions of relatives lead a young man to leave the only home he has ever known," Chaplin replied with concern. "What are your plans now that you have carried out your errand as directed?"

Raymond looked back at him in confusion. "Why, that I do not know, sir," he admitted. "Suffice to say that I shall not be returning to Highgate within the foreseeable future."

The two men sat in silence for some minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. When Raymond looked up again at the older man he found himself being regarded with undisguised sympathy. "Mr Doyle, I see a great deal of your aunt in you. I believe you possess the same appetite for life that she had and, that being the case, I am sure that you will make a success of whatever you choose to do with your life." Raymond managed a half-hearted smile, unconvinced by Chaplin's optimism but appreciative of his words nevertheless. "As for now, we appear to have talked the morning away and Lorimer will no doubt be preparing to serve my midday meal. You will join me, of course?"

---

Luncheon in the company of Acton Chaplin turned out to be a pleasant and somewhat educational affair. Raymond found that his host and he had many interests in common, and he was happy to sit and listen to the older man's knowledgeable discourse on a variety of subjects. By the time the remnants of the meal were cleared away Raymond felt as if he had known the other man for years rather than hours. As they returned to Chaplin's study, a thought suddenly occurred to Raymond and he turned to face the older man. "Mr Chaplin, when I arrived here both you and your man seemed surprised -- shocked, even -- at my appearance. May I ask why that should be so?"

Chaplin looked askance at him. "Surely others have remarked upon the resemblance before?" he replied. "It cannot be the first time that you have been mistaken for him, I'll be bound."

"Resemblance? Resemblance to whom? Whom did you mistake me for?"

"Why, Frederick of course!" Chaplin replied, surprised. Raymond looked nonplussed. "Frederick Doyle," Chaplin said, looking at him as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses.

Raymond shook his head and shrugged. "Who is Frederick Doyle?"

"My dear young sir..." It was Mr Chaplin's turn to look baffled as he sat abruptly. "I am referring to the son of your uncle, Sir Henry Doyle. Your cousin, Frederick Doyle..."

"My cousin?" Martha's tale of Sir Henry's son and himself playing together in the garden suddenly sprang into his mind.

"Who happens to be the exact image of yourself!" Chaplin exclaimed. He paused and peered at his young visitor a little more closely. "Apart, of course, from the mark that you bear upon your cheek. Well, this is a fine turn of events and no mistake..."

Raymond almost fell into the nearest chair. "A legacy from a childhood accident," he replied abstractedly, lifting a hand to his damaged cheekbone as he spoke. "We really are that much alike?"

"The positive spit and image," Chaplin replied. "And you really knew nothing of him?"

Raymond shook his head. "I knew that Sir Henry had a son a little older than myself, but nothing more. To be truthful I was hoping to learn something of my uncle during my visit here. I understand that he settled in this part of the country after he left Highgate. Can you tell me where I might find him, Mr Chaplin?"

"Mr Doyle, I am sorry to be the bearer of sad news. Sir Henry passed away some four years ago."

"Oh... I see. Then what of his family? Where can I find Frederick? Are there other cousins?" As the questions poured from his guest's lips Mr Chaplin held up a hand to silence him.

"Frederick was Sir Henry's only child, Mr Doyle. As to where you might find him, well..." Chaplin hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I understand your desire to seek out your family, sir, but I should tell you that neither Sir Henry nor his son were well-liked in this parish. I have no desire to speak ill of the dead, or of the living come to that, but I would advise caution in your dealings with that young man if you should happen upon him."

"I know why Sir Henry left Highgate, Mr Chaplin. I know that he brought dishonour upon my family and almost ruined my grandfather. Nevertheless I am sorry that I shall not now have the opportunity to meet him. But I should dearly like to meet my cousin Frederick, if only to see if we are as alike as you say."

Chaplin sighed. "I have no idea where Frederick is now. His departure from these parts was very sudden -- one day he was here, the next he was gone. That was just about a year ago or thereabouts and as far as I know, he has never returned. It was always the opinion of the local populace that the Law was not far behind him, and knowing his reputation I see no reason not to concur with that theory."

"But is there nobody who would know of his whereabouts?"

Chaplin considered his reply. "There is one man," he eventually replied. "A neighbour of mine; he and Frederick were great friends from boyhood. Inseparable, in fact, until something occurred that rendered their friendship asunder. What that was I do not know, but I'm told that from being the best of friends they became the worst of enemies. Nevertheless, I believe that Captain Bodie would be the man to help you."

"Can you take me to see him?" Raymond asked excitedly.

"I know that Captain Bodie is not at home today, but I will take you to him tomorrow if you so wish."

"Thank you, sir. I am grateful for your help."

Chaplin regarded him thoughtfully. "I am not entirely sure that introducing you to your errant cousin would be a wise move on my part, but still..." After a moment or two, the older man stood and crossed the room to where Raymond sat. "And now to practical matters, Mr Doyle. Where are you staying? At the Woolpack I daresay?"

"Yes sir, I..."

"Then I shall send someone for your belongings and have them brought here. I would not see the nephew of my dearest friend lodging in such a place. I trust that that would be acceptable to you?"

"Why yes, of course, Mr Chaplin. I should be most happy to avail myself of your generosity," Raymond replied delightedly.

"Good, then that is settled. And in the morning we shall pay a visit to my friend, Captain Bodie.

---

Raymond was in good spirits as he and Mr Chaplin strode out along the country lane. A pleasant and affable evening had been spent in that gentleman's company, good food and good wine being the precursors to a night of exhilarating conversation, and now the bright, sunny morning was having a positive effect upon his demeanour.

'Rosebriars', the home of Captain Bodie, was less than a mile from Mr Chaplin's residence, and Raymond found the short walk to be a perfect start to the day. A vague sense of excitement was curling inside him as they were shown into the library by Captain Bodie's manservant, there to await the arrival of his master. He had been vastly intrigued by Mr Chaplin's tale of a long-lost cousin whom he resembled so closely as to be practically identical, and he hoped beyond hope that this morning's meeting would lead him to his kinsman.

"Ah, here is Captain Bodie now." Chaplin's voice cut into Raymond's wandering thoughts abruptly. He turned and extended his hand with a smile towards the newcomer. To his dismay the gentleman's jaw dropped in amazement and an expression of utter disbelief played across his face for just a brief second before his features contorted with fury.

"You!" he hissed incredulously. "I told you never..."

Raymond instinctively took a step back as Captain Bodie raised his riding crop to shoulder height, convinced beyond doubt that he was about to be struck.

In an instant Mr Chaplin, moving surprisingly quickly for a man of his age, was between them. "No!" he exclaimed. "Captain Bodie, you have made a dreadful mistake!"

"It is not I who have made the mistake, sir. I vowed to kill this blackguard if he ever again came within fifty miles of me."

Raymond stood transfixed. He had never in all his life witnessed such abject fury as that now displayed by this man.

"Hear me out, sir," Mr Chaplin continued. "This gentleman is not who you think. If you would but take a moment to calm yourself you would see that I speak the truth."

Raymond found himself being studied intently by a pair of the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen. He watched as the anger which those eyes had contained when first lifted to his face gradually abated to be replaced by a look of sheer disbelief.

There was silence in the room for several minutes as both men looked at each other. "I don't understand..." Bodie eventually croaked. "Just who are you?"

"You may know the face, sir, but you do not know the man," Chaplin said quietly. "Allow me to introduce Mr Raymond Doyle."

Again Raymond extended his hand, albeit somewhat hesitatingly.

"Doyle!" Captain Bodie almost spat the name.

"The cousin of the... er... gentleman whom you mistook him for," Chaplin continued. "The resemblance is remarkable, I'll admit."

Deciding that the time had come for him to play some part in the proceedings Raymond took a step forward and bowed politely. "At your service, sir."

The proffered hand was accepted at last, although the expression on his host's face was still one of incredulity, and he continued to stare at Raymond until that young man began to feel decidedly uncomfortable.

It was only the sound of a nervous cough from Mr Chaplin that seemed to snap Captain Bodie out of his trance. "Forgive me, gentlemen," he apologised. "I am a poor host. Please be seated." He waved absently at two easy chairs before being seated himself. "It is a long time since we last met, Mr Chaplin." His eyes never left Raymond's face for one instant as he spoke and, for his part, Raymond's eyes remained locked hypnotically upon those of Captain Bodie.

"Indeed it is," the older man replied, clearly relieved that the conversation had taken on a more pleasant tone. "You have been away from home again, I hear."

Bodie nodded. "Ireland," he replied distractedly. "Regimental doctors to see, papers to be signed. The inner wheels of the British Army sometimes turn exceedingly slowly. But still, it is all settled now."

"Ah, then we shall have the pleasure of your company in Banstead a good deal more than we have been used to! Splendid!"

Raymond squirmed nervously under the continued scrutiny of his host, and listened with growing impatience to the pleasantries being exchanged by the two men. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask of Captain Bodie and, judging by the expression on the other man's face, he was also in no mood for polite conversation.

As Mr Chaplin continued to expound the delights of life in Banstead as opposed to that of an Army officer, Raymond suddenly felt unable to sit and listen in silence any longer. He took a deep breath and prepared to interrupt the conversation if necessary, as rude as that might be. He was forestalled however by Captain Bodie, who rose abruptly from his chair and crossed the room to stand before him. "Mr Doyle, I can stand this suspense no longer. You say you are Frederick's cousin?"

"So Mr Chaplin informs me. I myself have never met the gentleman, but now that I am aware of his existence I am desirous to do so. It is part of the reason why I am here in Banstead. Mr Chaplin was under the impression that you would be able to help me."

He was shocked at the range of emotions that played across Bodie's face in the space of a few short seconds. As the other man turned away and moved slowly and somewhat unsteadily over to the fireplace, Raymond was at an utter loss to understand what was going through his mind. He was also taken aback to realise that he had not noticed Bodie's distinct limp before, a fact which disconcerted him for some reason.

"I cannot help you, Mr Doyle," Bodie replied quietly, his back still turned towards the room. "I have had no contact with your cousin for well over a year now, and that is precisely how I wish things to remain."

"But..."

"Mr Chaplin! Have you not informed our young friend here exactly what manner of man Frederick Doyle is?" Bodie's anger seemed to have returned with a vengeance as he turned and faced his two guests.

"Sir, it is not for me to..."

"Then it falls to me, Mr Doyle, to tell you that your esteemed cousin is nothing but a liar, a cheat, and..." He hesitated and ran a hand through his unfashionably short hair. "...and worse, if I could but prove it." The outburst seemed to drain him and he leant, pale-faced, against the mantel.

"Are you unwell, Captain Bodie?" Raymond stood and moved towards the other man, concerned that his presence should have caused his host so much distress.

"No," Bodie replied between clenched teeth. "It's just this damned leg. It will pass in a moment."

Raymond remained close by, unconvinced that Bodie was not about to pass out at his feet. "I'm very sorry, sir, for causing you so much distress," he said quietly. "It was merely my intention to contact a member of my family, nothing more. I shall make enquiries in other quarters and trouble you no more." He was unprepared for the anguished look that the other man gave him; a look, he was sure, that had not been prompted by pain of a physical nature.

As the colour began to return to Bodie's face he shook his head ruefully, his expression composed once more. "It is I who should apologise, Mr Doyle. I am usually a more even-tempered soul, but..." He rubbed his injured leg tellingly. "It's perfectly natural that you would want to know about your family. Unfortunately I shall be busy for the rest of today but if you would care to call again tomorrow..."

There was a quick flash of his eyes in the direction of Mr Chaplin, unseen by that gentleman but noted instantly by Raymond who knew at once -- although how he knew he had no idea -- that he was to come alone when next he called. "Yes, I shall. Thank you, Captain Bodie," he murmured, somewhat confused. "I... er... I trust that the rest of your day will not prove too arduous."

For the first time Bodie smiled, and Raymond felt an odd but not unpleasant sensation steal over him. "Not arduous, Mr Doyle. Thoroughly boring, more likely. Entertaining an auctioneer come to discuss the disposal of my father's library. He'll tell me yet again that I need to have the damned books catalogued before he can sell them, and I'll tell him yet again that I don't have the time or the inclination to do so. Fortunately the man's anxious to have the collection otherwise he would have washed his hands of me a while ago."

"Until tomorrow then," Raymond replied, returning the smile, and this time his hand was grasped strongly.

"Until tomorrow."

---

Captain William Bodie watched from his window as the two men walked slowly down his drive, passing from his sight as they rounded the bend by the grove of poplar trees that shielded 'Rosebriars' from the road. He was unsure whether the sense of unreality that he was currently experiencing was due to the waves of pain emanating from his injured leg or, more likely, to the shock of being confronted by the sight of Frederick Doyle's double standing before him, as large as life, within the four walls of his home.

He recalled his last meeting with the man, some eighteen months previously. An ugly encounter that had ended with him having to be forcibly restrained from inflicting serious injury upon his former friend. Even now, the memory was enough to rekindle the feelings of blind rage that Doyle was capable of arousing within him.

He hurriedly turned away from the window, oblivious to the stab of pain that the sudden movement caused him, and reached for the decanter of brandy which stood on a nearby table. Pouring himself a large measure of the spirit, he cursed himself under his breath. Anger was an emotion that he could deal with. Indeed, it was an emotion that had served him well on the battlefield, giving him an edge, or so he believed, that had ensured his survival when his comrades were falling around him.

Harder to deal with however was the self-disgust which he felt at the other emotions that Frederick Doyle aroused. That his body could betray him so was an anathema to him. For at that last meeting, even while he was being prevented from strangling the other man by the rough hands of unknown bystanders, he knew that his desire for Doyle had not diminished. His craving for him was as strong as it had been for all of the eight years that they had been lovers. And he knew that even now, if Frederick Doyle was to offer himself up to him, he would take him without hesitation despite all that had passed between them. It had ever been the same. Frederick Doyle was a temptation that he found impossible to resist.

He drained his glass and slammed it down heavily upon the table. There was now another element to the equation. This stranger, bearing the hated name of Doyle, who had walked into his house today. A stranger with the face and body that he still wanted so much. Looking up he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror which hung over the mantel. Have you taken leave of your senses? Why ask the man to return here tomorrow? Far better to have shown him the door and be done with him.

He knew, of course, the answer to his self-posed questions. His lust for Frederick Doyle was a vice that he would never, ever allow himself to indulge in again. Raymond Doyle, however, was another matter entirely.

---

Raymond found himself reflecting upon the events of the afternoon as he slowly dressed for dinner. He had been in the man's company for less than an hour, and yet he was greatly intrigued by Captain Bodie. Never had he seen anybody display as many varying moods in so short a time; never had he seen the evidence of such distress upon another man's face before. The fact that some of that distress was obviously attributable to a physical injury of some sort also aroused his well-developed sense of curiosity. What had befallen this otherwise apparently fit and healthy young man? An occurrence serious enough to cause his discharge from the Army, that much was plain from his conversation with Mr Chaplin.

He allowed himself a tiny smile as he thought of his garrulous host; no doubt Mr Chaplin would be happy to discuss the enigmatic Captain Bodie over dinner. A brief flicker of guilt arose as he realised exactly where his thoughts were leading. His interest in the whereabouts of Frederick Doyle, and the capability of his cousin to arouse such violent reactions in his new acquaintance, was perfectly natural and acceptable. His interest in Captain Bodie, he realised equally well, was not. For although Raymond's dealings with the members of his own sex whose inclinations mirrored his own were few and far between, he was not so naïve as to be unable to recognise his own feelings of arousal when confronted by an attractive man. And Captain Bodie was nothing if not attractive to Raymond's eyes. He wondered exactly what the reaction of the other man -- and Mr Chaplin, come to that -- would have been if either of them had known that the stunned expression upon his face when first confronted with Bodie's fury was not entirely due to the violent outburst to which he was subjected. For, quite simply, Bodie had taken his breath away. The very sight of him had filled Raymond with a longing that he had never experienced before.

He finished dressing with his mind on anything but dinner. Tomorrow he would call on Captain Bodie as invited -- and how grateful he was that that invitation had been issued! Even if Bodie had no relevant information about his cousin, the prospect of seeing the other man again was more than enough. Tonight though he would learn what he could about Bodie from Mr Chaplin. For a moment he chastised himself as he paused with his hand upon the door handle; sometimes a streak of self-interest emerged in him that both surprised and grieved him. Mr Chaplin would no doubt be happy to discuss his neighbour's affairs with his new friend; that Raymond's interest was anything but innocent would not occur to him. So where was the harm? he thought as he pulled the door open decisively. Nothing would come of it anyway...

Later that same night Raymond reflected upon the conversation which had taken place between Mr Chaplin and himself over dinner. As he had suspected, his host was nothing if not forthcoming upon the subject of his friend and neighbour. The elderly gentleman seemed to positively revel in the telling of how Bodie had been injured upon the field of battle at Waterloo, the victim of a sabre blow which -- according to Mr Chaplin -- had almost resulted in the amputation of the young man's leg. It seemed that it was only due to the skill of the Army surgeon who had attended Bodie that the limb had been saved, although the injury had brought his Army career to an abrupt end and it appeared unlikely that Bodie would ever be completely free of pain again.

As Raymond lay in bed his thoughts kept returning to the other man's plight. It had been Bodie's imposing physical presence that had first snared his attention; although only an inch or two taller than himself, Bodie was none the less solidly built and Raymond had no doubt that the man was used to using his physique to its full advantage. It was not difficult to imagine him in command of a body of men; in point of fact he appeared to be everything that Raymond had ever imagined an Army officer to be. How on earth would such a man learn to cope with life as little more than an invalid?

The wave of compassion which suddenly swept over him took him by surprise; why should such a thought bother him? Despite his feelings of attraction towards Bodie, the fact remained that he barely knew the man, and it was certainly no concern of his as to whether Bodie was capable of adapting to a life as a less than able civilian. And yet he was concerned. For even if he disregarded the physical aspect of his attraction to the other man, there remained an attraction of another kind. The kind of attraction in which sexuality plays no part but which is firmly rooted in friendship; an attraction which Raymond had felt but a few times before but which he recognised now without hesitation. As much as he wanted Bodie as a lover, he knew that he wanted him just as much as a friend.

His eyelids grew heavy as he lay there thinking of his new acquaintance, and he snuggled further down into the soft feather mattress. Tomorrow he would see Bodie again; he smiled indulgently to himself at the picture that appeared in his mind. The dark-haired man astride his horse, resplendently handsome in his red dress uniform and tall hat, and every inch the Army officer. He did have to admit to a certain weakness for a uniform, and he had no doubt whatsoever that Bodie would fill his admirably. And with that pleasing image in his head he gave himself up to the arms of Morpheus and slept soundly until morning.

---

He was halfway to Bodie's house before he even thought to question the wisdom of his actions. The sudden realisation of the fact that he could well be acting extremely foolishly made his footsteps falter. Why was he so sure that Bodie had wished him to call unaccompanied that morning? There had only been the merest flicker of an expression upon the other man's face that had led him to believe so. Was that enough to justify the outright lie that he had told Mr Chaplin? Feigning a headache and the need for fresh air in order to make his escape from that gentleman's household was hardly an acceptable way of displaying his appreciation of the generosity that he had been shown since his arrival here.

As common sense prevailed, he turned and slowly began to retrace his footsteps, only to come to a halt once more a few moments later. There had been something in Captain Bodie's eyes yesterday, he was sure of it; and if there was some information about his cousin that Bodie wished to impart to him away from the presence of any other person, then he was eager to learn what it could be. There was also a sense of urgency about the matter that he could not shake off. The merest mention of Frederick Doyle's name had aroused such passionate reactions in the other man that he suspected that Bodie could easily change his mind and refuse to entertain any further discussion of his cousin's whereabouts. If his prevarication caused him to lose this opportunity... His mind made up he turned yet again and set off towards his original destination with an air of determination.

---

His welcome on this occasion could not have been further removed from that of the previous day. To Raymond's great relief Captain Bodie actually looked pleased to see him, and as he followed his host into the large book-lined library the shocking memory of the anger that the other man had displayed upon their only other meeting quickly began to fade.

The other emotions that his new acquaintance had aroused in him at that other meeting, however, were less inclined to fade away, and Raymond found himself regarding with no little pleasure the sight of Bodie's broad back as he preceded him into the room. He was also gratified to notice that the other man seemed to be untroubled by his injury this morning, and was moving with a confident ease that only added to his ever-growing allure in Raymond's eyes.

"I'm glad that you chose to return here, Doyle," Bodie said as he waved his visitor into a chair, his expression a little grim. " I behaved abysmally yesterday, and I apologise for it. Perhaps today you'll allow me to show you that I can be a dutiful host."

"My appearance was obviously a great shock to you," Raymond replied pleasantly. "And your injury was obviously causing you a deal of pain. Your apology is accepted. Let's speak no more of it."

He was rewarded with a smile and a brief nod as Bodie sat across the room from him. "Even so, I feel that I owe you an explanation for my behaviour..."

Raymond held up his hand to silence him. "Captain Bodie, I am simply seeking my cousin's whereabouts. I have no wish to delve into the reasons for your obvious displeasure with him. If you can help me to find him I will be extremely grateful and will ask no more of you." There was an uncomfortable silence as a frown passed across Bodie's face, and to Raymond's disquiet the other man seemed to struggle to find the words with which to continue. "Are you able to help me?" he asked eventually. "I assumed that you could when you asked me to return here today, but if I was mistaken then I will take up no more of your time."

The bleak expression that Bodie turned upon him took him aback. What on earth had his cousin done to this man to affect him so profoundly? The look of utter defencelessness upon the other man's face only served to increase the intensity of Raymond's attraction towards him, something that he would not have thought possible given the already turbulent state of his emotions where Bodie was concerned. The words he had uttered just a moment ago were suddenly forgotten. If it was within his power to right whatever wrongs Frederick Doyle had perpetrated then he would do so. It was an instinctive reaction which he gave no conscious thought to. Instead his thoughts were far more concerned with the entirely inappropriate response which his host was currently causing him to experience and which, if he was not careful, could very well overwhelm him completely. He really was unable to remember feeling such a strong attraction to another man before.

Suddenly aware that he was gaping at the object of his unruly thoughts he rose abruptly and turned toward the fire, fervently hoping that his face had given nothing away. In doing so, he missed entirely the look of surprise, swiftly followed by one of jubilant understanding, which flitted briefly across the face of the other man.

As Bodie's eyes roved up and down the slender form which currently stood unmoving in front of the fireplace, he felt almost triumphant. Perhaps his seduction of Raymond Doyle would not prove to be too difficult after all. More than one man had looked at him in that way before, and Bodie was under no illusions as to its meaning. There was no doubt that his interest was returned. The absolute certainty of it caused the blood to course hotly through his veins, and he felt almost faint at the thought of possessing that most desirable of bodies, so like the one that he still yearned for. Almost two years since he and Frederick had lain together. So damned long. But now...

He looked up as his guest turned unexpectedly back towards him. The glint in his eyes that had given so much away was now gone, and had been replaced by a look of concern that Bodie found disconcerting. He found himself suddenly ashamed at the direction his thoughts had been taking. This was not Frederick, who was capable of treating his lovers with callous disregard and expected nothing more in return. The man that stood before him now was an innocent in comparison, Bodie was sure of that, and as such he would need to be wooed and befriended. He was not the type to tumble into another man's bed like a shilling whore.

"Captain Bodie, is there anything that you can tell me about my cousin?"

The voice was quietly persuasive, and Bodie found himself struggling to reply. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Doyle. I'm afraid that I still find your appearance somewhat... distracting." It was no less than the truth, although he suspected that as yet Doyle would have no inkling of just why he was having trouble concentrating on the conversation. Bodie was taken aback to see a sudden flash of anger in the green eyes of the other man, a fact which sent a shiver of delight through him.

"Since my arrival in Banstead people have spoken of nothing else but my strong resemblance to Frederick Doyle. Even so I have yet to learn a single thing about him," Raymond said tersely, his voice increasing in volume. "Is he such a man of mystery that nobody is willing to discuss him with me? Do such dark and dire secrets surround him that everybody shuns any talk of him? What on earth has he done to make him such a pariah?"

Bodie looked on, entranced at the first signs of spirit to be shown by the man that was becoming more attractive to him by the minute. So, Raymond Doyle is not always as placid as he seems; the man has a temper. This could prove to be an interesting courtship.

Surprised that he was now thinking in terms of courtship rather than seduction he smiled apologetically and gestured for Raymond to resume his seat, which he did with a grunt of annoyance. Bodie took a deep breath; his guest's growing impatience was doing nothing to help his increasingly unsettled frame of mind. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts and, finding himself still on the receiving end of a green-eyed glare, eventually he spoke. "I'm sorry that my reluctance to speak of Frederick upsets you," he said slowly. "He was my greatest friend for many years; now there is nobody on this earth that I detest more than he."

Raymond frowned, his frustration disappearing immediately as he became aware of the discomfort that the other man was going through. "Please, Captain Bodie," he interrupted quietly. "There is no need to speak of things that are painful to you. If you can but point me in the right direction, that is all I ask."

Bodie shook his head. "No, you deserve to know what manner of man you are seeking. You may decide not to pursue your quest once you know all there is to know. I hope for your sake that that is the case."

"Then please, tell me what you will."

Bodie stood and moved to stand in front of the fire. Taking up the poker, he raked amongst the glowing coals for a while. As the fire began to blaze once more he began to speak again. "Frederick and I were boyhood friends. Our fathers were friends and neighbours, and also had business interests in common. I cannot remember a time in my early childhood when Frederick was not there also. I idolised him, Doyle -- he was four years older than I and he could do no wrong in my young eyes. When he was sent away to school I was grief-stricken. I lived for the times when he came home, however brief they were. When I was also sent to the same school, and our friendship was renewed, I was the happiest boy in England."

Raymond watched his host's face with growing concern; the distress that he was feeling was only too plain, highlighted as it was by the glow from the fire. "Bodie..." he began.

The other man held up a hand to silence him. "When I look back at those times I can see it all now. The cruel tricks he would play on people, the way he would manipulate others, turning friend against friend, the sheer nastiness of the things he would do to others too weak to stand up to him. Even as a boy he had an evil streak running through him -- and I, blinded by my hero-worship, never even realised what was happening. I am ashamed now to think of the way I stood by and did nothing."

"You were just a child..." Raymond protested.

"It was the same when we reached our early manhood," Bodie replied ruefully. "Still I followed his lead like an idiot and thought nothing of it. I was such a damn fool..." Returning to his earlier preoccupation with the fire Bodie fell silent.

"Something must have happened then, to bring you to your senses," Raymond prompted after a minute or two. When Bodie looked up Raymond was shocked to see that his eyes were shining with unshed tears. No less a shock was the almost overwhelming urge that he felt to stand and take the other man in his arms in order to comfort him.

"Yes, something happened. Something that I will never forgive Frederick Doyle for. Something that if there was any justice in this world he would have swung for."

Raymond watched with fascination as Bodie's expression changed once more, suddenly sliding into the thunderous fury that he himself had experienced the previous day. He couldn't begin to imagine the conflicting emotions that were assailing the other man, and he cursed himself for having forced this entire situation upon his host.

"There was another boy at school that I was on friendly terms with," Bodie continued quietly. "His name was Thomas Neale, and a more pleasant, amicable soul you could not wish to meet. For some reason Frederick despised him; would call him weak and spineless, and would cuff him around the ear whenever he saw him. He bullied poor Tom unmercifully throughout our schooldays. And beyond..."

The light thrown up by the fire played upon Bodie's face, emphasising the haunted shadows that seemed to lurk in his eyes. Raymond waited patiently, unsure as to whether he wanted to hear any more of Bodie's narrative when the subject was obviously a source of great distress to the other man. Bodie, however, seemed determined to continue, despite the torment that showed so plainly upon his face. When he spoke again the anger seemed to have vanished; instead his voice sounded remarkably weary to Raymond's ears. "I did nothing to help him, Doyle. Even after we had left our schooldays behind and were grown men ...I continued to stand by and watch Frederick demean him at every opportunity. I did nothing..."

The sadness that was so apparent in the other man's voice now began to send a whisper of alarm through Raymond. He was suddenly sure that some terrible tragedy had befallen Bodie's old school friend, and that Frederick Doyle was somehow responsible. He rose and moved closer to his host. "What happened to your friend?" he asked softly.

Bodie took a deep breath and turned to face his guest. "It happened when I was away. In Ireland with the Regiment... A letter came telling me of Tom's death..."

Raymond was shocked. "Was there an accident?" he gasped.

"No, no accident," Bodie replied, shaking his head sadly.

"Then how..."

Bodie's eyes grew cold as the anger returned, his mouth taking on a cruel twist as he spoke. "It seems that he was plied with drink and inveigled into a game of cards one night. He lost heavily, but returned the next night in an attempt to win his money back. And then the next night, and the night after that. By the end of that week he had lost everything. He was ruined." He took a step closer to his guest, his troubled gaze never leaving Raymond's face. "The knowledge of what he had done was too much for him. He had disgraced his family and left his wife and child destitute. He took the only course of action that he could see fit."

The realisation of what had happened to Bodie's friend hit Raymond like a slap in the face. "You mean he..." he whispered.

Bodie nodded. "He hung himself, Doyle."

Raymond searched for the words to express his shock but none came to him. Instead he rested his hand on Bodie's shoulder and left it there as the other man continued. "Tom was neither a drinker nor a gambler. He never indulged in strong liquor, and as for cards, well he wouldn't have known a spade from a club. Those that were present believe that he was probably given a drug of some kind, something that would affect his judgement." He paused and looked long and hard into Raymond's eyes. "Aren't you going to ask me who else was playing cards with him? Who took all his money from him, and then laughed in his face afterwards?"

Raymond shook his head in reply. "I think I know..."

"Frederick Doyle murdered Tom Neale, as surely as if he'd held a pistol to his head. If there were any justice in this world he would have swung for his crime. I'll not rest until he's brought to answer for what he's done." Raymond's hand was shaken off as Bodie turned away from him. "There you have it, Doyle. This is the manner of man that you are seeking. If you have any sense you will forget that you have ever heard of him."

"As you should too, perhaps. I fear that your desire for vengeance will prove to be the undoing of you," Raymond ventured quietly.

Bodie suddenly whirled to face him. "And why should you concern yourself if it does?" he spat accusingly.

Raymond's jaw dropped and he stood speechless, unable to answer Bodie's question. He had no idea why the prospect of the other man's undoing should concern him, but he knew beyond doubt that it did.

Bodie seemed to take pity on him in his confusion. "Do yourself a service, Doyle," he said, somewhat wearily to Raymond's ears. "Go back to Hampstead or wherever it is that you've come from. Forget that you ever heard of Frederick Doyle. Forget that you ever came to Banstead and heard the sorry tale that I have related to you today."

Raymond knew that Bodie's words made perfect sense; the desire to find his cousin no longer existed. He had no wish to ally himself with a man who was capable of driving another to take his own life. Instead he was filled with a deep shame that such a man could have the same blood running through his veins as himself. And yet, if he was no longer seeking the whereabouts of his kinsman then where was the need for him to continue his association with Captain Bodie? For, despite the maelstrom of emotions that Bodie's story had stirred in him, one thing was clear to him. He could not walk away from this man and never see him again. If he did, he knew that he would regret it for the rest of his life. "Highgate," he said softly.

"Beg pardon?"

"Highgate, not Hampstead. And I won't be returning there, not for some time at any rate. But you are right, Captain Bodie. I see now that it would be unwise for me to claim any sort of kinship with such a man as you have described to me. I will not pursue my search for my cousin."

Bodie nodded and allowed a small smile to appear. "I am glad. You and your cousin are worlds apart, Doyle. Believe me when I tell you that he would chew you up and spit you out as soon as look at you. I have no wish to be instrumental in putting you within his reach."

And with those words of undoubtedly genuine concern a tiny spark stirred within Raymond Doyle, a feeling that only served to emphasise his desire to get to know this man better; to call him his friend and be called friend in return. "And what of you, sir? Can you forget the wrongs that have been done? Will you place yourself in harm's way to see your friend avenged?"

"If I have to."

"Then I regret that it has been a member of my family that has caused this sorry state of affairs."

Bodie stood in silence, frowning as his eyes raked over Raymond's face, his expression unreadable as he did so. "So alike, and yet so different..." he murmured quietly, almost to himself, before suddenly crossing to the door and throwing it open, indicating that Raymond's visit was now at an end.

His guest followed him slowly, frantically searching for something to say that might prolong his stay. As he reached the threshold his eyes alighted on a pile of books in the corner of the room and inspiration struck. "I trust that your transaction went well yesterday?"

"Transaction?"

Raymond nodded towards the pile. "Your father's books, I take it."

Raymond was rewarded with a smile as Bodie sighed, obviously relieved to return to a more mundane topic of conversation. "Ah! No, Doyle, it did not go well. But there, it was just as I expected. It was made quite plain to me that the books must be catalogued before the auction house will consider dealing with them for me, and so my next concern is to engage a secretary who will undertake the task for me. It is a bother that I could well do without if I'm being honest."

"I could do it." The words were out before the idea had even formed properly in his brain.

Bodie looked at him as if he were mad. "You?"

"Why not?" Raymond shrugged. "I have a fair and legible hand, or so I've been told. And I have a great fondness for books. I should probably find the task more than pleasurable."

Bodie continued to regard him with a look of disbelief. "I hardly think that it is fitting and proper for one gentleman to employ another in such a way, Doyle," he replied incredulously.

"Then do not consider it as employment -- goodness knows, I would not expect you to pay me for doing it. Consider it a favour. You have a job that needs to be done, and I need a worthwhile pursuit of some kind to fill my days. It seems to me to be the perfect solution to both our problems."

As the shock of his guest's suggestion gradually began to wear off, Bodie actually found himself considering the idea with some degree of favour -- although the fact that he was not impervious to the expression in the green eyes which were now studying him almost pleadingly was not lost on him. But most of all it was Raymond Doyle's ability to surprise him with his unconventional outlook upon the everyday proprieties that struck the deepest chord within him.

"I suppose it almost makes sense when you put it like that..." he conceded slowly. His reward was an answering smile that very nearly took his breath away and banished any remaining doubts from his mind.

"Then the matter is settled," the other man replied with a laugh that could almost be described as triumphant. "Will I begin tomorrow?"

He extended a hand which Bodie took without hesitation. His guest's enthusiasm was contagious and Bodie found himself grinning in return as his hand was taken in a strong grip which sent a tingle down his backbone. When his hand was eventually released -- had he imagined that Doyle had held onto it slightly longer than was strictly necessary? -- he could not help but feel a ridiculous sense of loss. He felt almost dazed as Doyle took his leave and left the house. As he watched him walk jauntily along the drive and out of sight, Bodie was suddenly struck by the unnerving realisation that whereas he had started the day by planning Raymond Doyle's seduction he now knew that the likelihood was that he would be eating out of the other man's hand before the week was out.

---

It was with a growing sense of pleasant anticipation that Raymond stood before the heavy oak door of 'Rosebriars' the next morning. As he was admitted to the house and was relieved of his coat by Bodie's man he could not prevent himself from glancing around the spacious hallway in the hope of seeing his host appear. Those hopes were dashed however as the servant showed him into the library. "The Captain's apologies, sir. He has been called up to Town unexpectedly on pressing business," the man explained. "He hopes to return home before evening, but cannot guarantee that he will be able to. In the meantime, sir, I am to inform you that the house and staff are at your disposal."

"Thank you," Raymond replied, his previously sunny mood disappearing to be replaced by a sense of dejection that he immediately chastised himself for. What had he expected? That Bodie would dance attendance upon him whilst he was carrying out his allotted task? A task, he reminded himself, that he had undertaken completely voluntarily and, having done so, would complete to the very best of his ability. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the other man's voice.

"...writing materials here for you, sir," the servant was saying, indicating the items assembled neatly upon the large library desk. "And I have had all the cases of books brought in so that you can organise them in whatever way you see fit."

Raymond's eyes widened in surprise. The few wooden boxes that had been present in the room yesterday had now grown in number to a dozen or more. "My goodness!" he exclaimed.

A small smile appeared upon the other man's face, only to be swiftly hidden. "The old master was quite the collector, sir."

"So it seems! This is the entire collection?"

"There are some other volumes on the shelves, sir. The Captain will show you which of those he wishes to dispose of."

Raymond nodded his thanks to the servant as he gave a slight bow and left the room. The size of the task at hand had taken him aback at first but now, as he discarded his jacket and started to open the first box, he found himself wondering just how long it would take him to complete the undertaking and thus remain in regular contact with Captain Bodie. The thought that it would most certainly be longer than he had originally anticipated was rather agreeable, he decided.

---

He had not been speaking untruthfully when he had told Bodie that he had a great fondness for books. An hour into his self-appointed mission found him completely absorbed in his task, for it had not taken long for him to realise that Bodie's father and he had one great interest in common. The vast majority of the books that he had so far uncovered were concerned with the subject of natural history; the flora, fauna and geology of his native country that he had studied so much himself since childhood. The artist in him thrilled at some of the colour plates that the books contained, the detail in them filling him with a sense of admiration and awe. So engrossed was he that he politely declined the offer of luncheon, returning his attention immediately to the volume that he was currently inspecting and therefore completely oblivious to the servant's raised eyebrows at the sight of the grubby, wild-haired young man sitting cross-legged on the library floor surrounded by a seemingly disorganised clutter.

The sound of voices in the hallway startled him. At some point in the late afternoon someone must have entered to light the lamps. Raymond had not been aware of anybody doing so, and the realisation that almost the whole day had passed took him completely by surprise. It was with a sense of horror that he was suddenly aware of the fact that Bodie had obviously returned, and that he himself had achieved absolutely nothing other than to make an unholy mess of the man's previously pristine library.

His knees and back protested as he raised himself from the floor, and he was in the process of indulging in a spine-cracking stretch when the door opened, and he found himself staring into a pair of incredulous blue eyes. "Bodie!" he stammered. "I apologise for all of this..." He waved a hand in the direction of the book-strewn carpet. "I am afraid that my curiosity got the better of me."

He stooped and began to hurriedly gather the books together, only to be stopped by a loud burst of laughter which came from the direction of the other man. He stood and looked at Bodie in confusion. That his host was having difficulty containing his mirth was only too apparent. "Doyle, do you have any notion of what you look like?"

Raymond looked back at him blankly. Bodie's gaze alighted upon his shirtfront, and as he allowed his own gaze to follow suit he gasped. "Oh! How on earth..." He placed the books he was holding on the desk and looked at his hands. They were blacker than a coal-miner's.

"I've seen cleaner street urchins," Bodie chuckled as he crossed the room. "Here, you've got a..." He lifted a hand to Raymond's face, only to drop it hurriedly back to his side as the other man's eyes widened. "Simmons tells me that you have eaten nothing all day," Bodie said, somewhat awkwardly. "Will you dine here tonight? You can tell me of your... er... progress." Bodie's eyes were twinkling with amusement once more as they surveyed the chaotic state of the floor.

Raymond looked down at himself in despair. "I'm hardly in any fit state to dine, Bodie, as much as I would like to."

"That can be easily remedied," Bodie replied as he walked to the door and called loudly for his manservant. "Simmons will show you where you can wash. I'll have him lay out a clean shirt for you to wear as well. It may be a bit on the big side for you, but it will suffice for a few hours I'm sure."

"Thank you, that would be most kind."

He was aware of Bodie's eyes upon him as he knelt to gather the evidence of his day's labour -- or lack of it -- but his host's voice stopped him as he retrieved the first book. "Do not trouble yourself, Doyle. Leave them as they are. No doubt you will wish to... er... organise them in a similar way tomorrow."

Raymond was suddenly aware of the fact that he was being laughed at -- teased almost -- and yet there was no malice in Bodie's voice or his expression. Instead there was an indefinable quality to the other man's manner which, if he did not know better, he would have been inclined to call affection. He banished the thought from his mind hurriedly, for as much as he might wish that to be the case, he knew from experience the dangers of interpreting such things erroneously. Instead he chose only to return the smile that was currently lighting up the other man's handsome features before grabbing his jacket and following Bodie from the room.

As they crossed the hall Bodie suddenly stopped and turned. "Would you like to see him?" he asked. "The governor, I mean?"

Raymond looked back at him in confusion. "Your father? But I thought..."

"Oh, not in the flesh. The old boy's long gone, thankfully." He nodded towards the staircase. "There's a reasonably good portrait of him on the landing, if you're interested."

Raymond studied him quizzically. He was interested, of course, in seeing the man whose collection he had volunteered to catalogue. But he was even more interested in seeing the man who had sired the person now standing before him. Not only that, but it seemed to him that Bodie was offering him something more: an insight into something more personal. Yet again he was aware of an almost gravitational pull towards the other man. It was as if Bodie had thrown an invisible loop around him and was drawing him ever closer. And, for his own part, Raymond had absolutely no inclination or desire to resist. Aware that Bodie was awaiting his response he nodded. "Indeed, if it is not too much bother."

Following Bodie slowly up the stairs he noticed how the other man favoured his injured leg, and he inwardly cursed his own insensitivity. It was all too easy to forget that Bodie was not as able bodied as himself. "Your leg is troubling you. You can show me the portrait another time," he said, instinctively grasping Bodie's elbow as he spoke and pulling him to a halt. Bodie stiffened immediately, shaking off the offending hand as if he were burnt, and whirling around with eyes blazing. Raymond gasped with shock at the reaction his gesture had caused and was relieved to see the other man's anger dissipate as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'm sorry... forgive me," Bodie stammered, his own face mirroring Raymond's obvious discomfort. He turned and resumed his ascent of the staircase in silence, moving with a renewed sense of determination and vigour that Raymond could not help but admire. As Raymond watched him reach the head of the stairs he vowed that would never refer to the other man's injury again, unless Bodie himself broached the subject. By the time he had gathered his senses and caught up with his host Bodie was standing before an ornately-framed painting, his expression unreadable as he studied its subject.

"I am sorry if I caused offence. It was not..." Raymond began, only to be silenced by a raised hand.

"No. Yet again it is I who must apologise. I have spent the past year listening to trite expressions of sympathy from everybody in the vicinity. I do not need their pity, Doyle; I know that my health will improve. I walk miles every day to strengthen my leg, did you know that? I exercise religiously every morning as soon as I rise. It will get stronger..." He paused, his eyes never wavering as they looked into those of his guest. "Sometimes," he continued ruefully, "I think perhaps I should remind myself that at least some of the concern expressed is genuine."

Raymond met his gaze determinedly. "It is, I assure you," he replied quietly.

Bodie nodded silently, a faint smile playing upon his lips briefly before he turned his attention back to the portrait before him. When he eventually spoke his voice seemed strained. "Well, here he is. What do you think of him?" he asked.

Raymond moved to stand beside him and looked up into an older, harsher version of the face that was becoming so familiar to him. "You are very like him," he observed after a while. "And yet..."

"If you can find something dissimilar in our appearance I should be gratified to hear it," Bodie responded coldly.

"William Bodie," Raymond read aloud from the plate affixed to the base of the frame, somewhat disconcerted at Bodie's words. "You are also William, are you not?"

"I was baptised with that name, yes. I do not choose to use it."

"Why ever not? My father's name was William also. It seems a perfectly good name to me."

"Ah, but no doubt your father was everything a good father should be. Unlike him." Bodie gestured disdainfully at the portrait. "He was William Bodie. I have no wish to bear the same name as him."

Raymond felt a faint stirring of annoyance at Bodie's presumption. "My father died when I was three years old. I barely knew him." His reply seemed to fluster the other man somewhat.

"Well then, I expect that your Mama will have told you stories of his heroism and kindness," Bodie continued hurriedly.

"My mother died when I was born. I knew her not at all."

Bodie sighed and shook his head, an expression of regret upon his face. "Yet again I have to ask for your forgiveness," he replied awkwardly. "That was unthinking of me. I am sorry."

"There is no need. For all that I was left an orphan at the age of three, my childhood was not an unhappy one."

Bodie turned his eyes back to those of the man that was scowling down at him from the wall. "Would that I could say the same," he observed softly.

Raymond watched in silence, unsure of what he could say to alleviate the pain that the other man was obviously feeling. No words were forthcoming from his host for almost a minute, but just as Raymond was about to say something -- anything -- to lighten the mood Bodie turned to him and regarded him with a puzzled expression. "I've known you less than two days, and yet already I have told you more about myself than I would tell another in a whole year. I wonder why that should be so?"

Because, Raymond immediately thought, I remind you of a lost friendship. It has nothing to do with me whatsoever. The thought saddened him more than he could have thought possible.

---

Banstead, Surrey
Early December 1816

Raymond relaxed drowsily upon the cushions of the large armchair which had been drawn up to the blazing fire for him. As he nursed the generously poured glass of brandy in his hands and gazed into the flames he felt a sense of contentment that had been lacking from his life for too many months now. It seemed a little odd to him that he should feel thus in the company of somebody who was in reality little more than a stranger, but at that moment he was not inclined to question the fact. The mood was too enjoyable and too comfortable to analyse.

He glanced across at Bodie, seated on the other side of the hearth, and was gratified to see that the other man looked as bonelessly languorous as he himself felt. They had fallen into an easy pattern over the past fortnight; with the exception of one day, when the necessity of replenishing his meagre wardrobe had had to be attended to, Raymond had presented himself at Bodie's door each morning without exception. On most occasions Bodie was present, but even on the days that he was not, Raymond was quite happy to be left alone to continue with his work. The disappointment that he had felt on that first day when told of the other man's absence did not recur, for as the days progressed he began to feel a closeness between them which was not dimmed by separation. The very fact of being within Bodie's house, working upon an undertaking which he knew would benefit his friend, was enough to keep him content. And the knowledge that Bodie would always return before late afternoon, and that he would be asked to dine with him and thus spend several hours in his company before departing for Mr Chaplin's house was enough for now.

The fact that it might not remain enough as time went by was something that Raymond had spent many lonely hours considering, and yet sitting here in companionable silence before a crackling fire with a good meal in his belly and an admirable brandy in his glass, how could he fail to feel content? His attraction to Bodie was something that he made no attempt to deny to himself, but he had never considered himself to be a sensual being. He could live with the fact that the attraction was one-sided as long as he could continue his daily contact with the other man. For in his early morning musings, huddled under the covers in his freezing bedroom, he had quickly come to the conclusion that friendship was all. He would not lose Bodie's friendship, of that he was determined. He glanced across at the other man again and smiled at the sight of him dozing before the heat of the fire, his glass balanced precariously upon his knee.

The meal of which they had recently partaken had been exquisite. As grateful as Raymond was for the recent hospitality extended to him by Mr Chaplin there was no question that Bodie's cook was far superior in her talents to that of the woman in the elderly gentleman's employ. The thought of Mr Chaplin suddenly caused him to sit upright in his chair and inspect his pocket watch. Not quite able to believe the evidence of his own eyes he uttered a quiet curse as he rose. "Good heavens, Bodie! It's approaching eleven o'clock. Mr Chaplin will be expecting me."

Bodie rose from his chair with a start and seemed flustered for a moment. "Forgive me, Raymond," he replied, almost coyly. "When I noticed the lateness of the hour I took the liberty of sending word to Mr Chaplin that you would probably be spending the night here. I trust that that will be acceptable to you?"

For a second Raymond was speechless. He knew that he should feel annoyed that Bodie should make such a presumption without consulting him, and yet he could not find it within his heart to do so. Neither could he fail to be affected by the sound of Bodie's voice speaking his name; the first time that he had addressed him by his Christian name rather than by his surname. The warm glow that had been present within him all night threatened to burst into a veritable flame as he stood there. He felt positively flustered as he replied. "Er.. yes, that is quite acceptable, thank you. I am very grateful to you for your hospitality."

Bodie cleared his throat awkwardly, and Raymond was suddenly aware that the other man seemed as nervous as he himself felt. "In fact, it would seem to me to be a much more practical arrangement if you were to stay here rather than with Chaplin. After all, if you are coming here every day..."

Bodie's voice tailed off and a tiny little tendril of hope began to entwine itself around Raymond Doyle's heart. Where had the supremely self-confident man that he had come to know gone? Could it possibly be that the thoughts which had become increasingly prevalent in his mind were shared by the other man?

Raymond made an effort to pull himself together; courtesy demanded that he respond to Bodie's invitation. "Yes, indeed. That would seem to be eminently sensible, thank you. To tell you the truth I have been feeling somewhat guilty to think that I have been availing myself of Mr Chaplin's hospitality for so long when I rarely spend any time there." He was pleased with the matter of fact way in which he had replied, even though he was convinced that Bodie must be capable of hearing the hammering of his heart within his chest.

"Splendid! Splendid!" Bodie's voice was too loud, too falsely ebullient, and bore the traces of an obvious nervousness that Raymond had not perceived in the other man's manner before. He almost laughed at the over-exuberance of Bodie's response, but swiftly stamped down upon the temptation to do so. For it was only too plain to him that there was suddenly an atmosphere between the two of them that laughter would not dissipate. The almost soporific air of contentment that he had been experiencing just a few short moments ago had disappeared completely. An awkward silence filled the room, alleviated only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Raymond lifted his glass and slowly drained the remainder of his brandy and, as he raised his eyes to Bodie's face, he found himself on the receiving end of an intense midnight-blue scrutiny. Forbidding himself to look away, he met the other man's gaze with an air of defiance that he hoped would look more convincing than he knew it to actually be. For in reality, his innards were churning uncontrollably, and he clenched his hands firmly behind his back in order to disguise their sudden tendency to shake.

Bodie's inspection of him never faltered, his eyes seeming to scan every square inch of his features as Raymond fought the impulse to turn away. Instead he stood as impassively as he could, and when Bodie's eyes met his own once more he returned their scrutiny with undisguised interest. He was stunned to find that interest reflected in his friend's eyes. This cannot be right. It cannot be possible. He has given no indication that...

It was at that point, as Bodie took a step towards him, that Raymond's thoughts started to become jumbled. The hand that alighted upon his shoulder almost made him jump, and he made a conscious effort to gather his thoughts. The expression that the other man turned upon him was bleak, almost pleading in its helplessness. Raymond raised his hand and placed it upon Bodie's shoulder, mirroring his action. "Bodie?" His words were barely audible, so quietly did he speak. "Is there something amiss?"

He watched as his friend struggled for the words that he needed to express his obviously warring emotions. Raymond squeezed his shoulder gently. "If there is something that you wish to tell me..."

"Yes. Yes, there is. Something that I have wanted to tell you since the start of our acquaintance, and yet I could not be sure..."

His voice tailed off into silence and Raymond waited in vain for him to continue. "Bodie," he encouraged gently. "We may have known each other but a short time, but I think that we have become friends, have we not?"

Bodie nodded. "I hope so."

"Then please..." Raymond smiled. "I am a good listener..."

The hand upon his shoulder tightened noticeably as Bodie took a deep breath, seemingly unsure of where to begin. Then, as Raymond held his gaze, the midnight-blue eyes took on a determined air, and Bodie's chin came up defiantly as he began to speak. "I told you when we first met of my friendship with your cousin Frederick; of the closeness of our friendship, and of my hero-worship of him when I was a young boy."

The sound of his cousin's name took Raymond aback. Despite the fact that it was his determination to find Frederick Doyle that had brought him to Bodie's home in the first place, it was something of a surprise to realise that he had not thought of his cousin in days. He allowed his surprise to remain unexpressed however. Instead he nodded silently, unwilling to interrupt the other man's words.

"What I did not tell you was that Frederick and I were much closer than you could ever imagine. Far closer than two young men should be, most would say."

Raymond's throat had suddenly become dry. Even if he had wished to speak, he doubted whether he would have been capable of doing so. The hand that had been gripping his shoulder so tightly began to move slowly, gently stroking his upper arm. Bodie's next words seemed to come at him as if in a dream. "We were lovers, Raymond. From the time that I was fourteen years old. He was everything to me; at the time I believed myself to be deeply in love with him. For many years I persuaded myself that my feelings were reciprocated. I know now that I was a fool, but back then..." His eyes suddenly closed as the memories obviously became more painful. When he opened them again his expression was unbelievably sad. Raymond's heart melted.

Suddenly Bodie took a step nearer, his face only inches from that of his guest. "Do my words disgust you, Raymond?" he asked quietly. Speech was still impossible. A shake of the head was all that Raymond could manage as the hand upon his arm moved upwards into his unruly curls. "I suspected -- I hoped -- that they would not."

Raymond's eyes widened as the other man moved closer still, and he stood transfixed as Bodie lowered his gaze, hardly daring to breathe as the other man leant forwards almost imperceptibly and grazed his lips with his own. The blue eyes were almost black as they were raised once more, their expression questioning as they sought permission to continue.

That permission was given without hesitation as Raymond renewed the contact between them, unable to wait for any further advances on Bodie's part. He had yearned for this since the first moment he had laid eyes on the other man; spent virtually every waking moment thinking of it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. His arms slid around his friend's back as he pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together and taking Bodie's mouth in an almost frenzied assault which was enthusiastically returned.

He clutched at Bodie's shirt frantically as both the other man's hands threaded into his hair, holding him so firmly in place that he could not have moved even if he had wanted to. Aware of a sudden pressure on his groin from a leg insinuated between his own, he ground his thickening erection into the muscular limb, groaning into the other man's mouth as he felt the answering hardness against his own thigh. Both men were gasping for breath when their mouths eventually parted, each continuing to grind their lower body against the other man's as they took the much needed oxygen into their lungs. It was only as Bodie's trembling hands left his hair and moved to the fastenings of Raymond's shirt, that a flicker of panic shot through the slighter man.

"Bodie..." he whispered breathlessly, his voice somewhere between a gasp and a sob. "We cannot do this..."

The eyes that were lifted to his were frantic. "We must..." Bodie gasped. "Raymond, I cannot stop now. We must..."

The other man shook his head in desperation. "I mean here... We cannot do this here. The servants..."

"...have all been dismissed for the night, and will have been in their beds an hour since," came the strained reply, as Bodie continued to deal with his lover's clothing. "We will not be disturbed."

Raymond shuddered with delight as first his jacket and then his shirt were discarded, and Bodie's arms encircled him, hands deftly mapping his back as the dark-haired man kissed his way along Raymond's collarbone. Raymond pulled desperately at the other man's clothing. "Yours too," he mumbled almost incoherently. "Want to feel you..."

Bodie pulled away slightly, his hands joining Raymond's in relieving him of his garments as quickly as possible. As they came together again, and their hands and mouths renewed their frenzied explorations of each other, Bodie pulled on the other man's arm. "Down here," he said thickly. "By the fire..."

He sank to the floor somewhat awkwardly, pulling Raymond down to lie on top of him, one hand embedding itself again in the other man's curls, while its partner fumbled frantically with two sets of trouser buttons. Raymond buried his face with a groan into Bodie's neck as he felt his cock spring free, only to be taken firmly within his lover's capable hand. And as his hardened flesh was joined within that grasp by another of similar hardness, he groaned even louder and came without warning into the shaking hand that held them both. As the last waves of his orgasm subsided Bodie thrust once, twice, three times; and with a growl from deep within him, his seed shot from him to mingle with that of the man who was now lying spread-eagled and satiated upon him.

They lay in silence together; their joint heartbeats almost tangible in their chests, the only audible sound that of their