A loud curse answered his knock, warning Henry not to expect a warm welcome. "I am glad to hear your lungs are recovered enough for such energetic pronouncements," he said on coming into the room. The large cast drew his eye first, and it was evident how little mobility such a huge encumbrance would allow. Next he noticed the number of bottles scattered about in various degrees of emptying, of which none looked to contain the watery wine Henry had limited himself to over the past week. Nor did he see any other distractions as he had been availed of: no books, no pen and paper, no letters or pictures were present to bid the patient consider more than his own fate.

"Are you here to stare, or did you want something else?" were the words that interrupted Henry's abstraction.

"I only wished to check on your progress. Doctor Morton has been concerned it was proceeding slowly."

"That man is a fool and the devil may take him. A common surgeon in the regulars could have done the job as easily, and without all this bother about keeping to a diet or avoiding spirits or johnny may have you."

Henry smiled sympathetically. "It is never pleasant to take one's medicine. But the weather is very fine today, and not at all cool: would you like the window open?" Without waiting for an answer he went to do so, pleased to feel his arms capable of the action. Turning back to his brother he asked, "What about a game? The chess board is in the drawing room: I could have it sent for, you have not enjoyed the pleasure of beating me in some time."

He was met with suspicious eyes and an unfamiliar lethargy rather than a sharp retort threatening him with perdition, as he half expected. Frederick shrugged at last, as if he had not energy to decide, and Henry took that as permission to send for such things as he thought might be pleasant distractions: newspapers, nuts and dried fruit, as well as the backgammon and chess sets. Soon he had the latter pieces set up, generously yielding white to his opponent, and started a one-sided conversation about topics he usually displayed little enthusiasm for. He spoke of horse markets and races, asked after the latest scandals and gossip, almost begged to be corrected in his knowledge of the political sphere.

Whatever bleakness oppressed Frederick's spirits had not diminished his faculties. Henry's initial bold strokes were soon checked by the other's deft use of his knights, and it was not long before the black queen fell victim to the same strategy as her pawns and bishop. Here the other man showed the first signs of life as he swept his prize off the board. "Best keep your eyes open, Henry, or you are sunk in six moves."

"That long? Surely five would do."

"Easy enough; I was offering you a chance, but for a small wager I could do it in four."

"Overconfidence is hardly a sign of good health. I shall not take your money when you are obviously not in your right mind."

"You mean you are too nervous to risk yours; or are you going to plead piety? Because I could tell tales about our chaplain that would make this little game look like child's play. Clear took the shirt off a new recruit before he had even bought his full uniform."

"Well I hope he lent it back, as the sermon on the mount instructs, at least until he earned a proper income. Which, by the by, I must consider, as between this past Sunday and the next I have surrendered a portion of the tithes to my curate, so you will forgive me if I am not eager to lose any more money on that account." Seeing an opening, Henry was happy to at last claim one of the hated white cavalrymen, triumphantly holding it aloft. "You see Frederick, it never pays to gambol a horse ahead," he laughed, unable to resist teasing, but stopped at the sour look on the other's face.

"Why are you still hanging about? I would have expected you to run away soon as you had the chance."

"Believe me, that was my intention," Henry answered, eyeing his brother carefully. "Come, Frederick, your move: still convinced you have me?"

"Of course. Ten pounds and two moves."

"I do not think—"

"Five pounds then. Do not prove yourself a coward, that's as much as a child would bet."

"And childish I would be to take it. No, Frederick, I sense my defeat looming, I feel no desire to prove I am bereft of pence as well as strategy."

"You can take your jokes straight to H—l if you are only here to mock me. It is bad enough you broke my leg! if I had my whip I could show you how we handle wags on the front lines."

"Careful Frederick, you will convince me I am playing opposite our father if you keep talking that way. I am sorry: no more cleverness, on my honour, I shall take my drubbing like a good soldier."

"A soldier!" Here Frederick actually attempted to sit up, the board so delicately wedged between them shuffled so that all the pieces shifted and rolled in the quake. But the cast proved an impediment, and his brother settled for reaching across the scattered battlefield to grab Henry's sleeve in a violent grip. "You, a soldier? You would not last a day, an hour. Do not dare imply otherwise, you don't deserve to even speak of him. He was ten times the man you are, than the general, than half the army thrown together!"

"Who?" Henry asked, startled and alarmed by this outburst.

"Who do you think? And do not pretend like our father you don't remember him, I shall jog your memory myself if I have to."

"Tell me then, only for Heaven's sake please hold still Frederick, I have not the strength to lift us both if you upset yourself further."

"You never did."

"Perhaps not. But I would hate to admit as much to Morton: he would sentence me to another week of the abbey for sure."

"As if you must suffer the same prison as I."

"I assure you I have: I barely moved from my own sickbed until two days ago."

The brothers stared at each other, one prone and glaring, the other struggling to keep his composure. At last Frederick let him go, and Henry fell back in the chair, messaging his aching arm and shoulder.

"So you were ill?" was the calm, innocuous inquiry that came next.

"Fairly," Henry returned, prepared to offer the same civility as he was given. "Pneumonia, fever, confined to bed, just the usual; but otherwise, I am fit as ever."

"You always did take it poorly when hurt. Cried your way to Mother's arms and begged to be coddled at the slightest bruise to the head."

"As I recall, I fell from a tree and hit a boulder, but your point is taken." Henry caught himself from arguing further, and turned back to his real concern. "Perhaps, though, you could enlighten me as to whom you were referring? I am afraid I have not a notion."

Frederick continued eyeing him with some penetration, hiding whatever his feelings were behind that black glassy stare. But then he turned away, looking out the window, and pointed to the newspapers. "Read for yourself."

It took Henry some shifting about to discover the correct article, as Frederick refused to communicate further on the subject. But whatever Henry lacked in stratagem and cunning, he more than made up for when presented with a logical puzzle, aided by years spent sifting through testaments for any scrap of meaning. Deducing the offending news had to relate to the military, and of a date prior to his own arrival back at Northanger, Henry soon narrowed his search to a few pages, and from there, it was a matter of doggedly skimming each paragraph till he had found something promising:

"In Holland there has been a great deal of severe fighting, and the French have counted every inch of ground with great tenacity. On the 5th, there was bloody action in which both parties suffered much. The want of forage is the real impediment to more rapid advances, as is the loss of the brave Colonel Beaumont, who died leading his men to safety. He will be forever remembered as the proper example of an English commander, loyal to the last."

The name struck him as someone he should know, though the exact identity remained a mystery to him. "Frederick, I seem to recall this Colonel Beaumont. Did we meet with him in London some time?"

"He was in charge of the 27th and fought with our father on the continent, they served together for years. I suppose you never remember him taking us around a garrison, and demonstrating how to light a canon?"

"I recall nearly burning my hand trying to grab at it once, but I had thought that was some time Father toured us around."

"He never did. Generals are not to be bothered with such things."

That phrase caught Henry, as none of the other descriptions had, and he seemed to bring to mind a vague picture of black whiskers mouthing the words even as the man smiled and took their hands. "Did he have a star, or something like, on his coat? I seem to remember that."

"The Order of the Bath: he was knighted, we went to the ceremony."

Henry had no recollection of ever attending it, nor could he bring to mind any further details of this individual. "I am afraid he made a firmer impression on you than me."

"Of course. You never really cared for the service or its honours."

He could not argue against this accusation, and looked back at the newspaper for further clues to why this man should matter.

"I went to stay with him and his men at nineteen. Capital season, absolutely bracing. He was past forty and still could shoot of a morning, drink in the afternoon, and dance until dawn. We never came in before midnight. You do not know what you missed, sitting at home reading your books."

That year held very different memories for Henry, who had read books and songs and even advertisements, anything he thought might cheer their thirteen-year-old sister still fresh in mourning, while earnestly praying through his own difficulties when they were separated. He had never considered where Frederick was, just as he had only noticed the general's frequent removals with relief. Obviously, they had been schooled in different methods of consolation, the former of which left Frederick with few options for expressing his bruised feelings now. Nor did Henry believe their father as forgetful as Frederick believed: likely, as with his last great loss, the general was very afflicted by the news, and as unwilling to admit it except by a greater fluctuation of temper than was usual even for him. As with his brother's lacklustre seduction, the germ of his father's belligerence may have been as little connected with either Henry, Catherine, or their marriage: they were all merely convenient targets in lieu of what he was impotent to strike at, and ones he could not escape despite his druthers for seclusion to alloy his gloom.

"It does not say when his funeral was held," Henry remarked, falling upon politeness to fill the silence.

"Of course not, how could there be when he was lost on the French side? He'll have been buried with the rest of the fallen after the battle." Frederick rolled his eyes in disgust at his brother's feeble grasp of warfare.

"Yes, I see. But I have known of some ceremonies to be held even without the body present."

"I have drunk to his health: that is all he would have wanted. Do not go pulling your prayer book out like a ninny."

That was actually the next suggestion Henry had been considering, and though slightly irritated at being so transparent, he was left with little to direct him in helping this difficult ram, so shorn of any flock and in need of a shepherd's guidance. He thought of retiring, but was less than sanguine at the idea of Frederick left for weeks to come, immobile and inconsolable, grieving despite himself, and with nothing to distract him except his servant's harassment.

"Have you heard any news from Vermond lately?" he asked, searching for something they could agree on. "I have been somewhat dead to the world at large, but as far as I am aware, there has been no sighting of a future viscount to make our sister's joy complete."

"No, and I would have heard by now if it had been done, having endured enough predictions on that front to turn the Ace of Spades red. The general's eager enough to do the deed if our brother does not hurry, providing he could make it stick in court." And Frederick laughed aloud with so much good humour that Henry kept any strictures against ribald musings to himself.

"I cannot speculate on that front, but as they are not engaged at present, why not write and see if you might winter with them? It will be warmer at our sister's home, they always set a good table, and you would face a better opponent across the board than my poor offices may provide."

"Perhaps." Frederick shrugged, unenthusiastic.

"Of course you would miss out on the club entirely, or the Michaelmas accounting; I suppose you might have been looking forward to a share in the workings of the estate."

"You can help him jig about the countryside distributing pamphlets and overseeing projects, being made for that sort of thing. Spare me entirely. Besides," and Frederick pointed with undisguised relish, "I am injured. Reprieve from active service and all, I shan't be called into the field till the new year at least."

"Shall I write to Eleanor then?"

"Well I should like to face someone decent at chess: lord Henry, you played like a novice. Stepped into your own mousetrap and had your head stuffed with bacon ever since."

"I will admit to not having played in some time; my wife and I prefer cards of an evening. However, if you will allow me to set up the pieces again, we might test whether your boasts were idle or warranted, and I shall even lay a guinea down if you like."

Frederick closed at once with the opportunity to profit from his brother's downfall, and by degrees was coaxed from tolerating the idea of removal, to anticipating it, and finally to adding his own instructions to the letter Henry began penning, even as he mercilessly took every black chessman in sight. I leave it then to be determined if the soldier or the cleric acquitted himself with more cunning; and though it was the ebony king who eventually bowed low, both sides left the game pretty well satisfied with the outcome.