Just a Little Wickedness

by Merry Farmer

  It was surreal and unsettling. There wasn’t a spare bedroom for him among the servants’ rooms at the top of the house. Joe insisted he would be fine sleeping in Alistair’s dressing room until other arrangements could be made, knowing that wasn’t where he would end up sleeping at all. Everyone from Joe to the butler to the hall boy found the arrangement and Joe’s sudden presence in the house awkward and vaguely wrong.

  After a meal eaten in painful silence with the rest of the staff, Joe made the excuse of familiarizing himself with Alistair’s wardrobe and ventured back upstairs. But hiding away in Alistair’s room, waiting for his lover to come home, felt just as strange as loitering below stairs with a dozen people he didn’t know.

  In the end, his restlessness propelled him to walk through the house, familiarizing himself with the layout, and his wandering brought him into a cozy family parlor where Lord Winslow sat, reading a book by the fire. As soon as Joe stepped into the room, Lord Winslow glanced up, then blinked.

  “Good heavens. What are you doing here?” he asked, removing his reading glasses and closing his book.

  “Your son, Lord Farnham, hired me as valet, my lord,” Joe explained. “It was all rather sudden, and I still haven’t quite gotten my bearings. I was investigating the house. I didn’t realize anyone was in this room. I can leave, if you’d prefer.”

  “Not at all, not at all.” Lord Winslow gestured to the ottoman beside his chair. Joe winced internally at being invited to sit like a child, but he crossed the room and took a seat all the same, if only because he knew Alistair’s father was ill and fragile. “You were a great help to me at Lord Chisolm’s ball,” he said. “I didn’t thank you properly.”

  “No thanks are necessary, my lord,” Joe said. “It was my pleasure to be of assistance.”

  “Thanks are always necessary,” Lord Winslow corrected him. “Kindness is a rare gift, as I well know. And I’m glad my son hired you away from that villain, Burbage.”

  Joe smiled, lowering his head slightly. “To tell you the truth, my lord, I am as well.” Oddly enough, he had to fight the urge to confess more to Lord Winslow. Something about the man touched his heart and made him want to be as honest as possible. Perhaps it was because he saw so much of Alistair in the man.

  “Good men should stick together,” Lord Winslow went on. “It pained me to think of you mired in the filth that Chisolm and Burbage wallow in.”

  Joe’s compassionate smile tightened at the statement. He felt as though someone had lit a match in his thoughts. “What do you know of Lord Chisolm and Lord Burbage’s dealings, my lord? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Lord Winslow said. He set his book on the table beside him and adjusted the blanket that was draped over his legs. “The entire Eccles family is as black as coal. Always have been. They’re slave-traders, every one.”

  Joe was familiar with Lord Winslow’s delusion, but at that moment, he didn’t seem deluded at all. “Do you mean they built their family’s wealth on the slave trade in the eighteenth century?” Joe asked, scooting closer to the man and resting his elbows on his knees as he waited for an answer.

  “Yes, they did that,” Lord Winslow said. “But the trade never stopped.”

  “The slave trade was made illegal generations ago, my lord,” Joe reminded him.

  Lord Winslow snorted. “Legal, illegal, it doesn’t matter to those Eccleses. And it doesn’t matter to the devils who see innocent souls as theirs to use in whatever black-hearted way they see fit.”

  Joe’s pulse quickened. “My sister was a maid at Eccles House. She went missing last year. That’s why I came to London from Leeds, to find out what happened to her.”

  Lord Winslow let out a sad sigh. “If that is the case, then we can only hope God is watching out for the poor girl.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?” Joe leaned closer to the man, placing a hand on his knee.

  “I wish I did, my boy.” Lord Winslow patted Joe’s hand. “I’ve been trying to discover exactly what sort of evil that family is involved in and to bring an end to it, but they are clever, as devils often are.”

  “Anything you can tell me would be of help,” Joe said.

  “If only my mind were what it once was.” Lord Winslow sank back into his chair looking as feeble as ever. “As Hamlet said, I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand saw. Unfortunately for me, the wind is north-northwest more and more these days.”

  He lapsed into a contemplative silence that Joe didn’t feel right breaking, no matter how important the information trapped in the man’s head might be. It was a strange sort of comfort to him to know that Alistair’s father wasn’t as mad as everyone seemed to think he was. Or, if he was indeed mad, that the spark of the man Lord Winslow had once been hadn’t gone out entirely.

  “Would you like me to read to you, my lord?” Joe asked at length.

  Lord Winslow roused himself from his contemplation and smiled. “That would be lovely,” he said.

  He handed Joe his book and pointed out where he’d stopped reading. Joe scanned the page quickly, then read in as soothing a voice as he could manage. He’d read to his younger siblings before leaving home, and entertaining an increasingly drowsy Lord Winslow the same way stirred every sort of nostalgia that Joe could imagine.

  Time passed, and just as Joe was about to check whether Lord Winslow had fallen asleep or whether he was merely listening with his eyes closed, a door opened and closed somewhere toward the front of the house and hurried footsteps rushed down the hall. Alistair sailed right past the parlor doorway before skidding to a stop and rushing into the room.

  For a moment, his expression was all surprise. When it settled into an anxious frown, he said, “Burbage received word that an important meeting he had scheduled for later in the week has been moved to tonight.”

  Joe jerked around to stare up at Alistair in alarm. Lord Winslow opened his eyes, proving that he was awake after all. Alistair glanced between the two of them, looking as though he didn’t know what to do.

  “Wirth needs to know about this as soon as possible,” Joe said, standing and setting the book aside.

  Alistair nodded in agreement, shoving a hand through his hair. “I think we both know what is about to transpire.”

  “We do.” Joe stepped away from Lord Winslow and went to meet Alistair. The panic in Alistair’s eyes felt like a knife in his gut. His instinct to comfort Alistair in every way was almost overwhelming. Alistair might have been educated and capable, but his heart was too tender for the evil they were facing.

  “Perhaps you could summon one of the footmen to help me up to bed?” Lord Winslow asked, attempting to push himself out of his chair and stand. The fruitlessness of his efforts was difficult for Joe to watch.

  “Certainly, my lord.” Joe smiled at Lord Winslow, sent Alistair a brief look, then marched out into the hallway. A footman was waiting nearby. Alistair was already helping his father out of the chair when they returned.

  “Your father knows more than you’ve given him credit for,” Joe whispered to Alistair as they watched the footman lead Lord Winslow out of the room.

  “He does?” Alistair’s reply was slow and heavy as he watched his father leave. He then turned to Joe. The pain of watching a man he’d likely spent his whole life looking up to was vivid on his face.

  Joe rested a hand on Alistair’s arm. “His mind might be slipping, but it’s not gone entirely. He’s known all along what Burbage and Chisolm are up to.”

  “I should have listened to him,” Alistair said in a haunted voice, shaking his head. “I’ve had my suspicions about the things he’s been saying for weeks now. But it’s been such a long, slow decline that I’ve grown used to writing off the things Father says as symptoms of his illness. I shouldn’t have dismissed the things he’s said as the ravings of a madman.”

  “You weren’t to know.” Joe gripped both of Alistair’s arms, forc
ing him to meet his eyes. “From everything you’ve told me, his claims have sounded outrageous. You are not to blame for assuming they were baseless.”

  “But I should have—”

  “And besides,” Joe cut him off. “He doesn’t know any more than we know about who else is involved in this modern slave trade or how to stop them. Listening to him sooner wouldn’t have changed things.”

  “I’m a terrible son,” Alistair hissed, his miserable heart on his sleeve, as he lowered his head in shame. “All I ever wanted to do was my duty to him, to make him proud of me. I wanted to be the ideal son and heir, but I’ve failed him at every step. I haven’t been man enough. I haven’t married well and given him an heir. I haven’t even listened to him when he was trying to tell me something desperately important.”

  “You are who you are, Alistair,” Joe told him, resting a hand on the side of his hot face. “And I would venture that you’ve been the most amazing son to him that a man could ask for. You’ve cared for him. You’ve loved him and sheltered him from the cruelty of the world. You’ve stood by him when so many other sons would have abandoned him as a lost cause. Everything else, the duty and the marriage and heirs and all that, it’s inconsequential compared to the way you’ve loved him. Even I, though I haven’t been part of your life for that long, can see that.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without you,” Alistair whispered.

  “You won’t have to find out,” Joe reassured him.

  He hesitated for only a second before leaning into him and kissing him with all the bottomless depth of emotion in his heart. Alistair was a good man, the best Joe had ever known. It didn’t matter what sacrifices he had to make. They wouldn’t be sacrifices at all if the two of them could fight their way through life together. He sank every bit of that determination and that love into his kiss as Alistair parted his lips to allow him in. Joe slipped his tongue alongside Alistair’s, blending passion with devotion to show Alistair, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just how much he loved him.

  “Good God. What is the meaning of this?”

  A deep shout from the parlor doorway ripped Joe and Alistair apart. They turned to see Alistair’s brother and Lady Matilda standing in the doorway, their faces masks of shock.

  “Darren,” Alistair said, pivoting to face his brother but not stepping away from Joe.

  His brother marched fully into the room, eyes wide with outrage as he glanced between Alistair and Joe. “Is this what Burbage was attempting to hint at this evening?” he demanded.

  Lady Matilda followed him into the room, though her steps were much more cautious and she looked as though she might be sick.

  Joe was caught between wanting to stand up for Alistair and the deference that had been ingrained in him.

  Alistair wasn’t as stuck. He grabbed Joe’s hand. “I see no point in denying things now,” he said. “Joe is my lover.”

  Joe’s brow shot straight to his hairline at the speed and surety of Alistair’s confession.

  “Your what?” Alistair’s brother boomed.

  “You heard me.” Alistair squared his shoulders and faced his brother bravely. “He’s my lover and has been for some time now.”

  “And you dared to bring him into our house?” his brother shouted.

  “Keep your voice down,” Alistair hissed. “And yes, I did. I love Joe and I want him near me.”

  “Disgusting,” Lady Matilda hissed, sinking into the chair closest to her. “I refuse to marry a man who is mired in such wickedness.”

  “I never asked you to, my lady,” Alistair told her with kindness in his voice that Joe never could have managed, given the circumstances.

  Lady Matilda stared up at Alistair with an oddly heartbroken expression.

  “This is outrageous,” Alistair’s brother continued to rage. “I never would have thought you were capable of this sordid kind of perversion.” He flung a hand toward Alistair and Joe and made a sour face.

  “Love is not a perversion,” Alistair insisted. “You may not understand it, but my feelings toward Joe are most certainly love.”

  “As are my feelings for Alistair,” Joe added, though he didn’t think his input would help the situation at all.

  Indeed, Alistair’s brother sneered at him as though he were something dirty and soiled. “Get out of this house at once,” he spat.

  “No,” Alistair answered, gripping Joe’s hand harder. “Joe will stay right where he is.”

  “I’ll tell Father and Mother,” his brother threatened. “They’ll be so disgusted they’ll disown you.”

  “Then they disown me,” Alistair said with surprising calm. “And you’ll become the heir.” He paused, glancing to Lady Matilda, who continued to watch the scene as though witnessing something horrific. “You’re more or less the heir already,” Alistair went on, letting out a breath as he turned back to his brother. “I tried being a dutiful son and marrying as I should, but it’s no use. Not when I’ve found the man I wish to spend the rest of my life with.”

  An odd blossom of emotion erupted in Joe’s chest at the ill-timed confession of love and fidelity. It felt wrong for him to so much as blush at that moment.

  “You’re sick,” Alistair’s brother grumbled, pacing a few steps across the room and back. “Perhaps there is a cure.”

  “There is no cure,” Alistair assured him. “And there is no time to debate inconsequential things when children’s lives are at stake.”

  “This is not inconsequential,” Alistair’s brother shouted as he turned to storm back to Alistair.

  “What children?” Lady Matilda asked, pressing a hand to her chest.

  Alistair didn’t back down from his brother’s charge, but it was clear to Joe that the force of his brother’s anger intimidated him.

  “Several children have gone missing,” Joe said, taking control of what truly mattered. He let go of Alistair’s hand and moved closer to Lady Matilda. “The hall boy and scullery maid from Eccles House, for one, and my sister, Lily. She disappeared from Eccles House several months ago.”

  “She probably ran off,” Lady Matilda said, still visibly unsettled. “Staff runs off all the time.”

  Joe shook his head. “Not these children. And there are more, all across London. There’s an investigation ongoing, spearheaded by the solicitors of Dandie & Wirth. We believe we have enough information at this point to determine that there is a…a ring of kidnappers and those who traffic in human cargo.”

  “Trafficking in children?” The color drained from Lady Matilda’s face.

  “And your lot is involved, no doubt,” Alistair’s brother hissed, breaking away from his staring battle with Alistair. “You’re all a bunch of filthy pedophiles.”

  “No, we are not,” Joe insisted, sickened at the idea, but knowing how common the notion was. “Alistair and I have been doing everything in our power to catch the perpetrators and bring them to justice, and to retrieve the children.”

  “For your own ends, no doubt,” Alistair’s brother said with a grimace.

  “How dare you speak such filth in our home,” Alistair growled, glaring at his brother. “Do you really think me capable of harming a child?”

  “I didn’t think you were capable of buggering a valet, until I saw it with my own eyes,” his brother snapped.

  “It was a kiss,” Alistair said, raising his voice. “A much-needed kiss at that. The world is not divided into angelic and sordid. Or do you expect me to laugh off the way you dallied with that maid, Rosie, last year until she was forced to quit?”

  Joe’s brow shot up. Alistair’s brother glanced quickly away, his face going red. Lady Matilda’s mouth dropped open before snapping shut as the full impact of what must have happened hit her.

  “None of us is perfect, Darren,” Alistair went on. “You can rail away at me for being who I am later. For now, the lives of children are at stake. Burbage is deeply involved in the disappearance of these children and—”

  “Burbage?” Lady
Matilda squeaked, clutching a hand to her chest. “No. No, no, no. It can’t be. We were just at his house.”

  “He and his father are deeply involved,” Joe informed her, trying to soften the blow, even though it was impossible. “We found evidence in his study proving as much.”

  “And the exchange that we thought would happen on Thursday is, in fact, happening tonight,” Alistair went on. “We need to cease this pointless madness and go tell David Wirth and Officer Wrexham what is happening immediately.”

  Alistair nodded to Joe, then started across the room to the doorway. Joe began to follow, but when Alistair was stopped by his brother, he stopped too.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Alistair’s brother said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Unhand me.” Alistair shook out of his brother’s grip.

  “I want that man gone from my house immediately.” His brother pointed at Joe.

  “Joe stays with me,” Alistair insisted.

  “I will not have your sort of perversion under my roof,” his brother argued.

  “This is my house as much as it is yours,” Alistair insisted. “We don’t have time for this. It’s already late. Burbage left his house before I did. And we still need to determine the location of whatever exchange is about to take place.”

  “I won’t let you go anywhere until that man is out in the street where he belongs.” His brother held firm.

  Lady Matilda burst into tears where she sat, shaking her head and burying her face in her hands. Joe would have done something to comfort her if he thought any sort of gesture would be welcome.

  “Would you throw me out in the street as well?” Alistair asked his brother.

  “If I have to,” his brother answered.

  “I’ll go,” Joe said, holding up a hand to end the argument. “I’ll go of my own accord.”

  “No.” Alistair stepped closer to him, determination mingling with desperation in his expression. “You don’t have to go.”