‘If anything.’
‘Indeed, but I am sure there will be something, and it will direct you.’
‘To where?’
‘If I knew that, Jimmy, there wouldn’t be any need to examine the original work of art. Now, are we clear about the details?’
‘No. What did you mean about how a man might die and still live?’
Archer fixed him with an expression of sadness. ‘Deception is the lie that tells the truth, Jimmy. As I said, there is much taking place behind the scenes of this obvious play. Quill has manipulated the earl to his own purpose, and knowing of my presence at Kingsclere House from the society lists, timed the arrival of the forgery. It would mean nothing to the earl, apart, perhaps, to serve as a metaphor for what will happen to him should he not comply with Quill’s demands. Example, have his insides cut out, as has happened to the painting.’ The sadness had lifted, and Archer’s spark of enthusiasm returned. ‘I am meant to follow the clues from that painting, but that, however, is a diversion. Thus, you are to explore the mystery of the missing plinth, and I suspect you will find it leads to a location. Not the setting of the painting, that would be easy to discover, but elsewhere. I think we will find something which will point you to a place where Quill will be waiting to kill me. This is my theory.’
‘To kill you? You’re sure of this?’
‘No. Not yet.’
More pieces on James’ imaginary puzzle board slipped this way and that, and still, there was no pattern.
‘And what will you be doing while I am deciphering a work of art and walking into Quill’s trap?’ James asked, noting that Archer had still not explained the meaning of his earlier question. ‘Pretending to be dead?’
Archer smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I will be visiting my brother in his cell in Dordrecht, with Mr Danylo.’
‘What?’ Another puzzle piece came into play. ‘Why?’
‘Because of something that has not yet happened,’ Archer replied. ‘As I keep saying, you will understand in time, and when you do, you will take whatever resources you need, whatever men, and you will follow Quill’s clues until you find him. By that time, you will understand everything and will know what to do.’
Scribbling in the pocket-note, James was becoming more confounded by the second.
‘We have two copies of Baedeker’s Continental at Clearwater House, do we not?’ Archer asked.
‘Two…? Er, yes. Two current editions and several old ones.’
‘Keep a current one to hand when you return. I shall travel with the other.’
‘Very well, Why?’
The viscount raised an eyebrow. ‘I have absolute trust and faith in you and our comrades, Jimmy. The man I don’t trust is Quill. If anyone is likely to intercept our communications, it is he. Now, do you trust me?’
‘Of course. We all do.’
‘Then, for now, there is nothing more to be said.’ Archer raised his glass. ‘So let’s finish this most alarming wine and see if this place has any strong cheese to take away its aftertaste.’
‘No, hang on, Archie. You think Quill has set this up so that he can kill you?’
‘Naturally.’
‘And you’re blundering into his trap willingly?’
‘As he expects.’
Seeing James’ expression of pained confusion, Archer reached across the table and took his hand.
‘Jimmy,’ he said. ‘There can be only one outcome to this charade. Either Doctor Quill, my brother, or I must die.’
Seven
His Lordship’s rooms made ready, Thomas left the gentlemen’s corridor and was descending to the ground floor when he heard a carriage draw up outside. The telegram had warned him the viscount would be returning early, but the house was prepared. Hearing cases being dropped in the porch, he headed for the front door, straightening the flower arrangement Mrs Norwood had placed on the circular hall table and checking his uniform in the mirror before answering the knock.
The caller was clearly a man of means, but despite wearing similar clothes, it was not Lord Clearwater. The suit was elegant and fitted well, the top hat was silk, not beaver and glistened in the midday sun, and the cravat, although rather ostentatious, was well placed beneath the wing collar. The gentleman was looking at the departing cab when Thomas greeted him with, ‘Good day, Sir,’ and it wasn’t until he turned that the butler realised it was his lover.
‘Mr Wright!’ he exclaimed with a mix of delight and confusion. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’
‘Morning, Mr Payne.’ The glint in James’ earthy eyes betrayed his delight. ‘His Lordship told me to come to the front.’
‘Yes, of course, come in. Here, I’ll help you with the cases.’
‘Would you? I’ll take them straight to His Lordship’s rooms and drop mine upstairs before I unpack.’
The luggage inside, Thomas closed the door before following James to the stairs.
‘Where is His Lordship?’ he asked, admiring how the valet’s body fit so snuggly in the dark-blue suit.
‘He has some people to see,’ James replied. ‘He won’t be back until the late afternoon. Is Mr Hawkins at home?’
‘He is at the Foundation in Greychurch,’ Thomas informed him. ‘Just his usual weekly meeting with Doctor Markland. He should be home in a couple of hours.’ The sight of James was enough to set Thomas’ blood racing, and before they reached the turn in the stairs, his excitement was straining against the front of his trousers. ‘And Mrs Norwood has gone to place orders at the grocers. Mr Andrej is driving her. I’m afraid the house is empty.’
They carried the suitcases to Archer’s rooms in knowing silence and left them there before continuing via the backstairs to the servants’ floor. No sooner had Thomas followed James into his bedroom than he closed the door and locked it. His tailcoat was off before he reached the bed, and the valet was already removing his jacket.
‘I’ve missed you, Jimmy.’ Thomas threw his arms around James and clutched his head to his shoulder.
‘Fucking missed you, Tom,’ James replied, before kissing his lover’s neck, quickly working his way towards his mouth, all the time manoeuvring him around the bed.
‘Three days feels like a lifetime,’ Thomas gasped between kisses, clutching at James’ hips to press them urgently to his own. ‘I hate it when you travel without me.’
‘Ah, just get on that bed, Tommy Payne. I’m going to show you just how much I’ve missed you.’
‘Me first,’ Thomas said. Lowering James onto his back and grinning, he licked his lips.
His kisses started at James’ mouth before making a slow journey downwards, as he unbuttoned his shirt, lingering over his nipples and delighting at the way James squirmed beneath his fingers. His hand worked his fly buttons, opening them before his mouth arrived, his lips parted, and he wasted no time wrapping them around James’ rigid cock, until his nose was nestled in his lover’s straw-coloured hair. James bucked beneath him, gasping and grabbing Thomas’ head, stroking the back of his neck and thrusting his hips while his lover held his mouth steady, allowing James to go at his own pace. A pace which soon increased, until James couldn’t hold back. Despite a warning, Thomas held him still and took over the rhythm, leaving James helpless to prevent the orgasm that pumped into Thomas’ throat.
Withdrawing his mouth, he held James’ cock as he worked his way back up his muscled body until they kissed again.
‘I can taste myself on you,’ James whispered. ‘Want to know what that’s like?’
He returned the gentle undressing, the kissing of sensitive nipples, and when he had teased Thomas enough, tantalised him some more, massaging his balls while kissing his long shaft from base to tip, before gradually taking it into his mouth. It wasn’t long before Thomas was bucking helplessly and making Ja
mes gag as he shot his load, but every drop was swallowed as if they were engaged in a ritual sharing of each other’s essence.
Clothes crumpled, bodies sweating, and their faces red, they lay kissing until their lips were sore. Thomas rested his head on James’ chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed, and ran a finger over his firm flesh. In return, James stroked the side of his face and his freckled shoulders until they were both in danger of drifting into sleep.
‘We should get back to work,’ Thomas sighed, after an age of bliss.
‘We should,’ James agreed. ‘Something’s going on.’
Thomas lifted his head and looked up through contented eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll tell you as we dress.’
They stood by the sink to wash each other with their trousers still around their ankles, an undignified reminder of a frantic, but passionate reunion.
‘Archer thinks Quill is up to something,’ James said, wrapping Thomas’ semi-flaccid cock in his soapy fingers, because it gave him pleasure to wash his lover. ‘I’m not sure what, but Archer will explain it when he gets back.’
Standing behind, James lifted the thick shaft over the lip of the sink to wash away the soap and kissed Thomas’ neck.
‘When did this start?’ Thomas asked, enjoying the trickle of warm water and the playing of fingers.
‘Yesterday while we were at Kingsclere. It has something to do with the earl and a painting, but best wait until we’re all together, otherwise I’ll only have to go over it again, and to be honest, I’m confused.’
They changed positions, and as Thomas pressed himself between James’ buttocks to reach around and return the washing, he couldn’t help but grow hard again. James’ skin was so smooth, his cheeks so firm, and he knew the warm depths of what lay between them. It was tempting to take him there over the sink and unload himself once more, but there was work to be done, and the night would allow plenty of time for love.
‘Why are you wearing his clothes?’ Thomas asked, reaching for the towel. ‘You smell of bay rum and oranges.’
‘We spent the night at an inn. A right old dump if you ask me, but Archer was happy enough, because he was away from Kingsclere.’
‘Horrible man,’ Thomas agreed. ‘And I assume it was there that you began calling His Lordship, Archer? He insisted, I take it?’
‘You know what he’s like, Tom.’ James hung the viscount’s clothes ready for cleaning before redressing in his own. ‘He was on one of his campaigns to get me to admit I would rather be a man with my own business than his valet.’
‘I spent most of last month receiving the same treatment,’ Thomas said, buttoning his braces. ‘He doesn’t understand that I am more than happy where I am. You are too, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I’m happy, Tom, and I told him so. All the same, he was, and still is, in a peculiar mood. I’ve not seen him like this before.’
‘How do you mean?’ Thomas examined himself in the full-length mirror, tutting at the creases in his shirt and covering them with his waistcoat.
‘Giddy as a… something, he said he was. This painting was delivered to the earl, he sent for Archer, who brought me along, and we had a look at it. Like I said, you’ll get the full details later, but he’s convinced Quill is playing another of his games, a diversion is involved, and so is the earl. He’s sent for Danylo to come up from Larkspur.’
‘Yes,’ Thomas said. ‘I know. Mrs Baker telegrammed. He will be here this evening. What does he want the assistant gamekeeper for in London?’
‘Who knows?’ James nudged Tom away from the mirror as he muscled in to straighten his tie. ‘We’ll find out, but it’s like he knows something we don’t and isn’t prepared to tell me.’
‘Maybe he is waiting until the team is together.’
James laughed. ‘You make it sound like we chase after Quill for a living,’ he said. ‘You’re as bad as Archer with his band of comrades.’
‘Nothing bad about it,’ Tom said. ‘Would you rather spend your time dressing a man, ironing, mending, and being dragged around the country from one house party to the next, or would you rather have these… adventures his feud with Quill offers?’
James stared at him, surprised. ‘You enjoy it, don’t you?’ he grinned. ‘And there was me thinking you didn’t approve.’
‘I enjoy it to a point,’ Tom replied. ‘When I don’t like it is when it puts you in danger, but we are sworn to obey the man and stand by each other.’
‘You’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?’
‘I would, Jimmy, and I would do anything for you.’
‘That’s good,’ James said, buttoning his jacket, ready to leave. ‘Because I have this nasty feeling we’re in for a rough ride in the coming days.’
Across town in Chancery Lane, Archer paid the driver and skipped up the steps to his solicitor’s office. Two firm taps of the brass knocker brought a clerk scurrying from an inner sanctum, and Archer was ushered to the back of the building where, screwed to an impressive oak door, a gaudy, brass sign announced, ‘Alex Marks, LL.B (Hon)’.
‘Not bad for a lad from Bradford,’ Archer muttered. ‘I wonder if that’s where James got the string from.’
‘I beg your pardon, Sir?’ the clerk said, his hand poised to knock.
‘Nothing, Sedgewick. Knock away.’
Archer was called in and found Marks standing at the window, gazing out to the railed garden. He was in the process of filling a pipe and turned to greet Archer with his moustache sagging in a frown.
Fixing Archer with a stern glare reminiscent of a schoolmaster and offering his hand as he approached, Marks greeted him with, ‘I assume this is about the strange requests you made of me last time we met, Your Lordship.’
‘Indeed, but before we start, I have another. Marks, there is, in the archive, a record of Crosstown Mine in Derbyshire. I need its location and description, and, if there is any, news of its current activity. Could you send Sedgewick?’
‘Of course, My Lord,’ Marks said. ‘Although it may take him some time, but I’ll see what he can find.’
‘Obliged.’
Marks barked the order to his clerk before taking a more congenial attitude towards the viscount.
‘And so, Sir. To your strange request.’
‘Which one?’ Archer joked, removing his glove to shake the podgy paw on offer.
‘All of them. Sit, Sir. Glass of something?’
‘Not for me, but you carry on.’
Discarding his pipe, Marks poured himself a thimbleful of sherry, and held the glass as daintily as his fat fingers would allow.
‘Shall we get straight to it?’ Archer watched with interest as the solicitor filtered his drink through his moustache. ‘I have a couple of other appointments, and we had to take a late train. How is Mrs Marks?’
‘Barely bearable,’ the solicitor grunted, replacing the empty glass. ‘Just.’
‘Glad to hear it. So, item one from our previous discussion.’
‘Aye, Sir. Your will is current. Unchanged from when you redrew it in May.’
‘Excellent. And it’s watertight? Everything is available but the title?’
‘That’s right, Sir. Charity, business and title obligations aside, the personal funds and estate to be divided according to your wishes. It has been registered. All in order.’
‘Good. And the power of attorney?’
Marks grumbled as he shifted a pile of files to the side and pulled out a bound set of papers.
‘Now I don’t want you to take offence, My Lord,’ he said, opening the document to the first page. ‘I am legally obliged to ask this, but are you quite sure you want to hand over the running of your affairs in this way?’
‘I do, because I must, Marks,’ Archer re
plied. ‘And I have no qualms in stating to whom I should give the authority, as I swore in the affidavit two months ago.’
‘And you are certain the time is right to bring it into force? Now, Sir?’
‘I am, sadly. I don’t expect any problems, but if anything should happen, the man has my authority until the will comes into effect, correct?’
‘Correct, Sir. And this man understands your affairs, does he? That is to say, he would be able to deal with the family and the inevitable stream of distant cousins and their wives, not to mention the matters of inheritance? Those estate lawyers are a tricky lot when it comes to costs.’
‘Indeed,’ Archer replied pleasantly. ‘I should go so far as to say he knows my affairs better than I do. As for coping with the flock of vultures you allude to, and the family, the man is more than wily and more than capable.’
Marks was dubious, but he lifted his pen, ready to sign off on the instruction. ‘Last time I saw him, Sir, he were hanging off a gantry eighty feet above some damn countertenor. Are you certain?’
‘Yes, Marks. Mr Hawkins must have total control over my business at any time he feels appropriate until I return to un-swear this affidavit, or whatever one does.’
‘Well, you know what you’re doing.’
It was clear to Archer that Marks thought he did not, but Archer was confident he knew what was coming, and was determined his men should be looked after if the future did not work out to his benefit.
He had sensed Quill’s move the moment James read the address on the paper. When he had seen the damaged artwork and learnt it was a fake, he was confident Quill had begun a new scheme. The sending of messages, the clues, their obscurity and most of all, the timing, all bore Quill’s hallmark of deception. The earl’s behaviour, acquiescing to Archer’s demands so readily, and his footman’s smirk had combined to reinforce Archer’s suspicions, and when his eyes fell by accident on Muller’s ‘Artful Deception’, he knew precisely what Quill had planned. By the time he reached his bedroom door, he had not only worked out Quill’s intentions, and how he was to carry them out, he had also begun his own plan to stay one step ahead.
Artful Deception (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 6) Page 8