A shrewd man. "Are you aware his tonic is opium, Trent?" He gulped and nodded. "Then you know about my commission?"
"I do, miss. You have been employed to cure Mr. Redcliff's need for it."
"Yes." So far Trent had not told her anything of his opinion on the matter. A careful servant as well as a clever one. "To do that, I'll need your help from time to time."
"Help?"
"To find his cache of opium and give it to me."
The open, friendly face suddenly closed. "He's run out."
"When he buys some more then."
"I cannot do that, miss, unless the master wishes it."
His response was to be expected but it was still disappointing to hear. She would need Trent as an ally if she was to succeed in her endeavor.
"Tell me, Trent, how long have you known Mr. Redcliff?"
The change in her questions appeared to take him by surprise. "Well...I've been his valet for nearly ten years now, miss, but I knew him a few years before that when I was a footman in his father's household." She suspected he wanted to tell her more so she encouraged him with a nod. "Mr. Redcliff has been good to me. He was only a young man when I came into his service." His mouth hooked into a wry smile. "Full of himself he was in the early days, setting quite the figure at all the clubs. He excelled at everything he put his hand to—fencing, boxing, languages, accounts. He's turned his father's allowance into a fortune in the time I've known him, and he's had a string of young ladies and their mamas try to catch him." The smile turned to a beaming grin. "He's eluded them all so far." Then all his good humor vanished without a trace as if it were sucked out of him.
"He's not like that anymore, is he?"
He shook his head and glanced around as if he were set adrift in a vast sea with only a raft and no oar. "I shouldn't be speaking to you like this."
"It's all right. We're not discussing anything I couldn't learn from other sources."
"I suppose so."
"Please, Trent, tell me what Mr. Redcliff is like now."
He nodded as if coming to a conclusion. "He's changed. He's...quiet. Too quiet. And not the kind of quiet of a man at peace but like there's a silent rage inside him that he can't let out. Or won't."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Why is he angry?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose he's mad at someone or something. He's been like this ever since his return from the Continent." The sound of footsteps made him glance nervously down the hall. "Just a maid," he said with relief.
Poor Trent. He seemed a kind soul and genuinely concerned for the master he admired, even loved. He was exactly the sort of valet she was hoping Redcliff would have.
"Thank you, Trent, you've been a great help already." She smiled at him and his pale skin turned redder than a radish.
He stretched his neck, looking both pleased and uncomfortable. "Glad of it, miss."
"But I'll need more help from you."
"I can't—."
She lay a hand on his arm and he gulped. "Listen," she said, steadily. "I'm assuming Mr. Redcliff is going to speak to Sir Oswyn now to see if he can convince him to sever my contract. It's what I'd do in his situation. But he'll fail." Sir Oswyn must have something terrible on Redcliff or the situation wouldn't have gone this far—Redcliff would have tossed her out as soon as she arrived. Sir Oswyn was an expert at discovering a person's weakest point and pressing on it. "So, in order for this to go smoothly, I will need you to do some things against your nature, some things Mr. Redcliff may not like."
"I can't."
"I will explain to him that I've forced you, that you are not to blame."
"Please, miss, don't ask me to do anything he'll not like."
She hadn't wanted to explain the particulars—it wasn't seemly to tell the valet all the awful things that might happen to his beloved master—but he'd given her no choice.
"Do you know what happens to opium eaters and smokers, Trent?" He shook his head but a hint of alarm settled into his eyes. "Have you seen them struggle for breath, desperate to get air into their bodies only to find they can't? Have you seen the way it numbs the mind, makes them incapable of clear thought, turns them into a pathetic, empty shell? If you don't help Mr. Redcliff, that is what will happen to him. He may only be taking it to ease his pain and help him sleep now but soon that will not be enough. He'll need more and more of it and then he'll become just like I've described. A witless, frail remnant of the great man he once was. He's in the early stages still, he has minimal symptoms compared to a long-time user, but if he doesn't stop, that's what will happen. Do you want to see him like that, Trent?"
He stared unblinking at her. "No, miss," he whispered.
"Then help me." When he hesitated, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Someone in the house needed to understand the implications and since Redcliff was proving to be a stubborn nut to crack, she would have to work on Trent. "
Help
him
."
He nodded ever so slightly. "I'll try."
It was the best she could hope for and she wouldn't push him further. Not yet. Let him see the outcome of his master's discussion with Sir Oswyn. Tomorrow, she would begin the real work.
"One more thing," she said. "Did you go with him to the Continent?"
"Yes, miss."
"Were you with him when he acquired his injuries?"
"No, miss."
"I see. Did he tell you how he got them?"
Trent swallowed, sending his Adam's apple bobbing up and down like a buoy in a stormy sea.
"Is it a delicate matter?" she prompted.
"Yes, miss. He told me the brother of one of his...mistresses caught him unawares."
Mistresses plural? Good lord. "Do you believe him?"
"Not really, miss. It's more likely to be the husband."
Husband? So his lovers were usually married?
"Thank you, Trent. If you learn anything more about that day could you be so good as to inform me. It might help."
He said nothing and she suspected it was too great an ask for the loyal servant. She thanked him again then headed back to her room, contemplating that mysterious night in Berne. A night that something so important had happened to Redcliff that Sir Oswyn was prepared to blackmail him to discover what lay hidden in his memory.
***
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