Tobias had always been careful with money, but since he'd lost his Seat on the Council he'd given all his attention to his financial dealings. The man who had once been one of the real firebrands of the Conservative Cause had become a bitter and secretive recluse. He wouldn't see anyone he didn't absolutely have to, and even then strictly only by appointment. But he'd see Hardcastle. Hardcastle was a friend, and more importantly, he had something Tobias wanted. The offer of a Seat on the Council;
In return for a sizable contribution to campaign funds, of course.
The door finally opened a crack, and Tobias glared out at them. He recognized Hardcastle with scowl and opened the door a little wider. He was a grey, shabby man with pale skin and stringy grey hair that hung listlessly around his shoulders. His clothes were filthy and years out of style, and you had to look hard to see that under the dirt and wrinkles they had once been of exquisite style and cut. His face was all sharp planes and angles, with a down-turned mouth, and his eyes were cold and knowing. Tobias looked at Hardcastle for a long time and then sniffed loudly.
"Hello, Cameron, I should have known you'd come scratching at my door, with the election so close. Are all these people with you?"
"Yes, Geoffrey," said Hardcastle patiently. "I vouch for them."
Tobias sniffed again. "They stay out here, all of them. I won't have them in my house."
He stepped back to allow Hardcastle to enter, and then slammed the door shut behind him. The narrow hall was gloomy and oppressive and smelled of damp. There was cracked plaster on the walls, and the floor was nothing but bare boards. Tobias led Hardcastle down to the end of the hall, pushed open a door and gestured for him to enter. He did so, and found himself in a comfortable, brightly lit room. The walls were covered with highly polished wood panels, and there was a deep pile carpet on the floor. A huge padded armchair stood by the fireplace, next to a delicate wooden table covered with papers and set with an elegant silver tea service. Tobias grunted with amusement at Hardcastle's surprise.
"I may be eccentric, Cameron, but I'm not crazy. I haven't much use for show or vanity anymore, but I still like my comforts."
He sank carefully into the armchair, and gestured for Hardcastle to pull up the only other chair opposite him. They sat looking at each other for a moment.
"Been a while, Geoffrey."
"Two years, at least," said Tobias. "I've kept busy, with one thing and another."
"So I hear. They tell me you've doubled your fortune since you left the Council."
"Leave? I didn't <em>leave</em> anything, and you damned well know it! I was forced out of my Seat, by that little snot Blackstone and his whining Reformers. He promised them the earth and the moon, and they believed it. Little good it did them. Their precious Blackstone is dead, and his successor couldn't make money if his life depended on it. Just wait till the Heights is hurting for money and can't balance its budget, and see how fast they scream for me to come back and save them!"
His voice had been rising steadily, and by the end he was practically shouting. He stopped as his breath caught in his throat, and he coughed hard for several moments.
"You should take better care of yourself," said Hardcastle. "You've let yourself go."
"That's one way of putting it, I suppose." There were flecks of blood around Tobias' mouth. He patted his lips with a folded handkerchief, looked indifferently at the crimson stains on the cloth, and put it away. "What do you want here, Cameron? I've no influence anymore."
"That could change," said Hardcastle. "With a little persuasion I think I can get you official Conservative backing in the next election for the Heights. Full support; right across the board. Of course, a large contribution to Conservative funds would help to sway things in the future. That's how the world works."
"Oh, I know all about how the world works, Cameron." Tobias chuckled briefly. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't really care about the Heights anymore. I still get mad about how they treated me, but I wouldn't go back if they got down on their knees and begged. Being a Councilor always meant more to my poor Maria than it ever did to me. I still miss her, you know;" Hardcastle looked nonplused for a moment, and Tobias chuckled again. "Not used to being caught out, are you, Cameron? You've been surrounded by Advisors for too long. You can't trust Advisors. They just tell you what they think you want to hear."
"I need them," said Hardcastle. "I can't do everything myself. And my friends haven't always been there when I needed them."
"You never needed me," said Tobias quietly. "You never really needed anyone. And I had my own problems."
"Why didn't you tell me you were ill? I would have come to you long before this."
"I go my own way, Cameron. Always have, always will. I don't lean on anyone. Don't worry; you can have your contribution. Tell my lawyers how much you need, and I'll see it gets to you. Buy some more mercenaries. Buy whatever it takes to crush those Reform scum into the dirt. Make them pay for what they did to me."
"I'll do that, Geoffrey, I promise you. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes. Leave me in peace. Goodbye, Cameron. Don't slam the door on your way out."
In Brimstone Hall Jillian Hardcastle sat on her bed, her back pressed against the headboard, hugging her knees to her. Her husband had finally returned. She could hear him moving about downstairs, talking to people. His people; none of them were hers. She had no friends, no one came to visit her, and she wasn't even allowed a servant of her own. All she had was her husband, the great Cameron Hardcastle.
She looked at her bare arms, and the bruises stood out plainly even under the extra layer of makeup. She'd have to put on some long gloves before she went downstairs. Her back still ached, but it was bearable now. At least there hadn't been any blood in her urine this time.
She often thought about leaving, but she had no one to go to. And wherever she went, Cameron would be sure to find her. He had people everywhere. She sometimes thought about killing herself, but she could never find the courage. Hardcastle had beaten all the courage out of her.
She heard footsteps outside on the landing, and fear rushed through her like icy water, freezing her in place. It was Cameron, come to look for her. She knew it. She stared fixedly at the closed bedroom door, barely breathing, her stomach churning with tension. The footsteps approached the door, and then went on past it, continuing on down the hall. It wasn't Cameron. Just one of the servants.
She ought to go down and welcome Cameron home. He expected it of her. If she didn't go downstairs, he would come looking for her, and then he would be angry. But she couldn't go down to meet him. Not yet. She'd go downstairs in a minute, and greet him in the polite monotone he'd taught her. She would go down. In a minute. Or two.
Hardcastle sank into his favorite chair, looked around his warm, comfortable study, and sighed gratefully. It had been a long hard day, and he wasn't as young as he used to be. He started to order Jillian to fetch him a drink, and then scowled as he realized she wasn't there. She ought to have been there. It was her place to be at his side, to carry out his wishes. He'd have to have another little talk with her, later on.