Free A Christmas Odyssey by Anne Perry Page B

took a little while, and when Crow was finally satisfied, Lucien lay back on the rags, exhausted. “Thank you,” he said with a gasp.
    “What happened?” Crow asked.
    “Someone stuck me with a knife,” Lucien replied. “What the hell does it look like?” He was still speaking between gritted teeth.
    “It looks like you were caught in a fight,” Crow told him. “What happened to the person who stabbed you?”
    “Why?” There was a faint flicker of a smile. “You want to go bandage him too?”
    Crow ignored the question. “Are you injured anywhere else? Is there anything more I can do?”
    “No.” Lucien hesitated. “Thank you.”
    Crow put his instruments away and closed his bag. “I rather thought the other person might be dead—was it a man or a woman? Or one of each? Which was how they managed to strike back at you.”
    Lucien stared at him, moving a little so hefaced him, his eyes wide, his face fallen slack with amazement.
    Crow waited, looking expectantly for an answer.
    Slowly Lucien lay back, relaxing against the rags with a wince as his muscles pulled against the bandage.
    “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said wearily. “It was a stupid fight over cocaine. Some idiot thought I had his and he attacked me.”
    “And did you?” Crow raised his eyebrows.
    “I don’t even use the damn stuff! I like opium … now and then.” His eyes looked somewhere far away. “I’m drunk on life, on laughter and passion, on dreams of the impossible, on Sadie, and something that seems like love, or at least seems like not being alone.” His voice dropped. “How in hell would you know what I’m talking about.” It was a dismissal, not a question.
    “No idea,” Crow replied, his sarcasm barely discernible. “The rich are the only ones who have any idea what loneliness is, or loss, or the sense of having failed. The rest of us are too busy with hunger, cold, and disease, and finding somewhere to sleep for the night—or at least to lie down.”
    Lucien stared at him, and Crow stared straight back. Very gradually something in Lucien changed.
    “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “That was stupid. I despise self-pity. Most of all in myself.”
    Crow gave him one of his dazzling smiles. “So do I,” he agreed.
    Squeaky returned with food and water. Bessie portioned it out and carefully fed Lucien his share before eating her own.
    When they were finished Henry turned to Lucien. “I came at your father’s request,” he stated simply. “He wants me to ask you to come home, but before that is possible, we need to clear up the matter of the murder of Sadie, or Niccolo.”
    Outside the wind was rising, rattling the windows.
    Lucien gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Clear it up! You mean explain it? Somehow make it all right?” His mouth twisted with contempt. “You’re an idiot. Go back and tell my father you couldn’t find me. It’s true enough. You have no idea who I am now, or what happened to the Lucien Wentworth you thought you knew.”
    “I intend to find out,” Henry replied.
    Lucien turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    “Don’t be so incredibly arrogant,” Henry said sharply.“Do you think you are the first young man to indulge himself and throw away the life he was given? To tell other people that they wouldn’t understand is to give yourself a uniqueness you don’t possess. You are desperately and squalidly ordinary. The only thing different about you is that you had more to throw away than most of us.”
    Now Lucien was angry. “And what the hell would you know about it? You comfortable, complacent, self-satisfied …” He trailed off.
    “Self-pity again?” Henry inquired.
    “Self-disgust,” Lucien replied quietly. “Go back and tell my father that you couldn’t find me. It’s not a lie. You couldn’t find the son he wants back. That man died a year ago.”
    “Who killed him? You? Or Sadie?”
    Lucien gave an abrupt laugh. “Very good. I did. Sadie only