‘Coming?’ Thomas was at the servant’s door in the far corner.
‘I’m needed,’ James said. ‘Mr Hawkins.’
Thomas bowed his head, giving permission, and James followed Silas to the staircase.
‘Yes, Sir?’
Mt Hawkins was on edge, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I need to speak to you,’ he said, standing so close that James could smell the wine on his breath.
‘Of course. Is everything alright?’
‘I don’t know. Can you spare a minute?’
‘I am your footman, Sir, it’s up to you.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a high-pitched, shrill laugh that rattled around the hall. James winced, but Mr Hawkins gasped and said, ‘Fuck.’
He grabbed James’ arm, tugged him onto the stairs and didn’t let go until they were at the turn.
‘I need your advice, Jimmy,’ he said.
‘Really?’ James was both surprised and flattered. He’d never been asked for advice. ‘About what?’
The secretary was having trouble finding the right words. He kept looking down to the hall and then at James, opening his mouth to speak and then not saying anything.
‘Sir?’
‘It’s not easy.’
James could only see one way to break his deadlock. He passed Mr Hawkins and climbed to the landing, giving him no option but to follow. When they approached the bedroom, James stepped back to let the other man enter first. Once inside, Mr Hawkins was no less ill at ease, but at least their pretence could be dropped.
‘I’ll light the fire,’ James said. ‘It’ll give me a reason to be in the room should anyone ask.’
Silas followed him to the grate as if he was a stray dog given the promise of a good home. When James knelt to attend the kindling, he drew up a footstool and rested forward with his forearms on his knees. It was time to switch roles.
‘Okay.’ James spoke quietly even though the door was closed. ‘What’s up.’
‘Thanks, Jimmy.’ Silas’ words came with a sigh of relief. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘About what?’
‘It’s stupid. I always know what to do, and if I don’t, I do it anyway.’
‘And what is it you don’t know what to do?’
‘Next.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what I should do next.’
James put down the log basket. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘How about you start by telling me what’s worrying you. I saw it at dinner. You don’t like His Lordship’s friend, do you?’
Silas regarded him from beneath his dark brows and shook his head. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘But something got you wound up. I could see it in your knuckles. Another second and you’d have shattered that burgundy glass. Thomas would have been outraged. Can you imagine the drama?’ Making light of Silas’ earlier mood didn’t lift his current one.
‘Yeah, thanks for that, mate,’ he said, but ran straight into, ‘Now I’m away from it, I feel better. I just had to get out of there.’
‘Why?’ James’ interest turned to concern. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ Silas sat. ‘Sorry, I’m thinking aloud. I shouldn’t have dragged you away.’
‘No, come on,’ James nudged his knee with an elbow. ‘Won’t go any further.’
Silas was looking off into the distance, and clamped his bottom lip under his top teeth, sucking in air and thinking. James returned to the fire. It was best to stay quiet; Silas would talk when he wanted to.
‘Yeah,’ the Irishman said at length. ‘Sorry again.’
‘Makes no matter to me,’ James shrugged. ‘I’m just worried about you.’
‘Ah, don’t be worried,’ Silas smiled, falsely James thought. ‘There’s something I want to talk about, but I ain’t sure. Can I ask you something, though?’
‘You can ask me whatever you want.’ James took the matches from the mantlepiece and shook the box. He would need to refill it in the morning.
‘You and Thomas,’ Silas said. ‘You said you talk to each other, but do you talk much?’
‘All the time. Below and above stairs.’
‘It’s the below stairs stuff, I suppose,’ Silas mumbled. ‘I mean when you’re alone. You talk about what?’
‘Everything from where we grew up to cleaning silver,’ James admitted. ‘We sometimes sit up until well after two in the morning just chatting about all sorts of things. His dad’s farm, the problems I had at school. All and nothing I suppose. Don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Silas said. ‘But what if it’s something… tricky?’
‘We haven’t come across any difficulties yet,’ James said, assuming he meant an emotion like jealousy, the topic of homosexuality, or similar. He and Thomas never used the word, they swapped it out in sentences such as, “When did you know you were like this?” Or, “Can you imagine not being how we are?” Polite euphemisms which eased the built-in guilt of being different.
Silas was thinking again, gazing wearily at the bed. ‘Once you’ve been physical it’s hard to admit things you should have said before.’
James didn’t understand. ‘It shouldn’t be,’ he said. ‘Actually, with me and Thomas, it’s the other way around. It was awkward at first, seeing as how we didn’t know each other and how he’s my butler, but we’ve found a way, and now we share a lot.’
‘You feel you could tell him anything?’
‘I do, but it would depend on the place. If we’re in the pantry, say, then I’d ask him if that coffee pot was clean enough for his liking even if I knew he had been the one who last cleaned it. I wouldn’t directly criticise him for bad work, not that I’ve seen any. But when we’re alone in our rooms, I have no trouble telling him to…’ He wondered how graphic he could be and how much Thomas wouldn’t want him to say.
‘Yes?’ Silas was waiting for an answer.
James welcomed the chance to share his excitement, wonder, call it what you will, but it might be betraying Thomas’ trust to be too detailed.
‘Was going to say, I have no trouble telling him what I want to try, pleasure-wise, but he might not like you knowing that.’ That seemed to cover the point while also stressing the need for discretion. James thought he’d done rather well.
So did Silas. He grinned broadly and even managed a chuckle. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘And how far has that gone? Is Tommy the bottom boy?’
‘Please, you mustn’t say a word,’ James insisted through an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’m not putting Tom down. He knows how to get me going, and we’ve only been doing it a few weeks, but I’ve got to tell someone. I’m that in awe of him.’
‘What? For letting you fuck him?’
James instinctively slapped Silas’ leg. ‘Don’t be filthy,’ he gasped. ‘We haven’t tried that. He’s worried about them new laws. I meant I’m in awe because… well, it’s got to hurt, hasn’t it? And yet he says he’ll put up with it for me.’
‘He’s gone topper-over-toes for you, mate,’ Silas beamed. ‘’Course he’s going to let you do what you want. I just can’t picture it, that’s all.’
‘And he’d rather you didn’t.’
Silas drifted off again, looking at the wardrobe and nodding silently to himself.
The bawdy exchange had lifted his spirits somewhat, but James was unable to identify his problem, except to see that it was still needling him.
‘What about you?’ he asked, fishing for a match. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but…’
‘Ah, no, you’re alright.’ Silas turned back, cheerful again. ‘We have the same arrangement as you. We talk like this alone, but never in public. He’s in charge, and that’s fine by me, in fact, I learn faster ’cos I want to please him, but I don’t critic
ise him in public. No need. When it comes to…’ He pointed to the bed. ‘I’m what you’d call a bottom, and he’s the one telling me to tighten my arse. Bloody cheek. Like I don’t know what I’m doing.’ He was being playful.
‘Does it hurt?’ James ventured. If he didn’t ask now, he’d never know. ‘I’m not… built like Thomas down there. It’s not going to be easy to squeeze him in, if you get me.’
‘No, mate, doesn’t hurt. Not now. Only hurt me the first time ’cos…’ Silas sighed and swallowed, remembering an incident from his past. ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting it. If you want to do it, and Tommy wants to, and you take it slow, then no trouble. I love it, being honest. But you should be asking Tommy about this, not me.’
‘Yeah, I should,’ James agreed, stung by a sharp pang of guilt. He struck a match and held it to the grate. ‘Did you ask what you wanted to ask?’
‘About what?’
‘The reason you brought me up here,’ James reminded him. ‘Are you alright?’
Another sigh, this time more resigned. ‘I am for now, mate. There’s something I’m not sure of, and I want to ask Archer about it, but it concerns him, so it’s difficult. That’s all.’
‘I get it.’ The kindling had caught, but James watched it closely. ‘Well then, as you’ve been good enough to ask for my advice and share some secrets with me, I’ll tell you what I think.’
‘Go on?’
James considered Silas as he put his words in order. The conversation had been brief, but exciting. He was aroused and hoped it had nothing to do with being alone with the man talking about sex. Silas was younger, but so much more experienced. He was pretty, for want of a better word, smooth and boyish, shining with innocence one moment and dark with knowing the next. He was alluring, and any man would be proud, not to say aroused, to have him as their lover.
Realising his stare might give the wrong impression, he attended to the fire-irons. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that it depends. If what you want to tell His Lordship is related to his work, then that’s fair game. If it’s personal, you have to find the right time and judge his mood.’
‘I’ll do that, mate, no question. But it’s just struck me that I don’t know how he’ll react, because I don’t know who he is. Not really.’
‘Me neither,’ James admitted. ‘But we will. His Lordship’s a book that wants to be read one page at a time. Whatever you’ve got to tell him, he’ll thank you for being honest.’
‘Yeah.’ Silas nodded in agreement and with finality. ‘Right, thanks again, Jimmy. Sorry to be so soft.’
Inside James, something had altered, and it was thanks to the conversation. It had lifted him from the rank of servant to the status of friend, and even if they had to play roles beyond the bedroom door, they would only be a temporary disguise. The true nature of their relationship would always lie beneath; that they were new friends bonded by similar circumstances.
James was about to thank Silas for his trust when a piano sounded from below. He felt it through the floorboards as a dull vibration of muffled notes. A tune floated up followed by a voice, clear, loud and high-pitched.
‘Is that a man? Roxton?’ James was incredulous. He mimed the man’s height and broad chest, muscled arms and manliness.
Holding in a laugh, Silas waved his hand for silence. They listened carefully, but James could only make out vague words.
‘What’s he saying?’ he mouthed, shrugging.
‘“When I am laid in earth”.’
‘Cheerful.’
Silas released the laugh. ‘Yeah. I better go and join the fun.’
James put the guard across the fire and stood. ‘Very good, Sir. Will you require me later?’
Silas rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh. ‘Sounds like you’ve got better things to work on,’ he said looking at the ceiling. ‘Don’t worry about me, Jimmy.’
‘Very good, Sir.’ James crossed to the door, straightening an occasional table as he passed.
‘Before you go.’
‘Sir?’
‘Can you tell me, and this is right out of nowhere, did you know many other messengers when you were at the post office? Any others like you, I mean. Like us.’
‘Yes,’ James admitted. ‘Not intimately if you know what I mean, but some of the lads were up for it, so I was told.’
‘Up for it?’
‘Making money on the side.’
‘I get you. You didn’t, by any chance, know one by the name of Edward Lovemount, did you?’
The name gave life to a cascade of snatched, unpleasant images: Tall, lanky, a bully, an enormous cock, inviting James to sell his body, standing at a urinal, the smell of piss.
‘You don’t want anything to do with him,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Silas crossed to the door.
‘Did you know him in the East End?’
‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter. Thanks, yeah?’
Silas was gone, leaving James intrigued and concerned.
Eight
The evening was deemed a success by Lady Marshall who called it to an end promptly at ten-thirty. Silas followed the guests from the drawing room where Thomas and James waited to help them into their coats. Miss Arnold, still in awe of the star, practically ran to help Roxton with his. Nudging James out of her way in her haste, she dropped the garment. The footman, unfazed, helped her gather it, but she fumbled it away from him and won the prize; a salacious, ‘Thank you, Angel,’ from the singer, which caused Markland to clear his throat pointedly.
Lady Marshall led her nephew from the house, steadying him against the effects of too much alcohol. Archer was swaying similarly, but managed to give his farewells to the others without incident before he joined Silas waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Ready to go up?’ he asked as Archer approached.
‘Oh my God!’ Archer exclaimed, turning a circle with his arms spread. ‘It was so good. Everything is in place for Saturday. Seeing Cadwell again. Finding him so amenable to our cause. I knew he would be. He’s incredible.’ He focused on Silas, but even that didn’t prevent him from tacking unevenly towards the banister.
Silas was glad to see him so happy, but the niggling doubts about Archer’s friend didn’t allow him to share so much enthusiasm.
‘You didn’t tell me you played the piano,’ he said, catching Archer’s arm.
‘I used to. Hardly touch the thing now.’
‘Away with you! It was perfect.’
‘You weren’t there!’ Archer held Silas around the waist as he was led upwards.
‘Yes, I was.’ Silas laughed, even though the words hurt. ‘I sat at the back so I didn’t put you off. He’s got a good voice.’
‘The best. Don’t you think so?’
Silas didn’t. It was high and affected as if he was impersonating a woman. He preferred a real man’s voice, deep and bawdy, preferably singing a folk tale about shipwrecks and maidens, not tragedy and death. ‘I do,’ he said. There was no point discussing anything with Archer when he was in this mood, and yet he had something to tell him that, unless he spoke of it soon, would keep him awake through the night.
‘No, I mean, don’t you think so? Really?’ Archer persisted.
‘I said yes.’
‘Everyone’s going to be there to hear him.’
‘And hear what he has to say about your Cheap Street Mission,’ Silas reminded him.
‘It will cause discussion in the newspapers,’ Archer grinned. ‘His performance and the subject of the speech. Our mission will be talked about openly, and we will benefit from so much publicity.’
The idea that a famous singer would speak before a performance was, according to Lady Marshall, a new thing, at least for those who attended the op
era. Silas was doubtful that Archer’s charitable work would be looked on charitably simply because of a speech, but he said nothing as he helped his lover to his room. Thomas had laid out his night clothes and attended the fire. Archer sat heavily on the bed, and Silas fetched him a glass of water from the bathroom.
‘Are you very drunk?’ he asked, as he put it beside the bed.
‘I’m not drunk,’ Archer protested, and, as if to show it, grabbed Silas around the waist and pulled him backwards.
Silas fell on him in a heap, doing his best to laugh through his annoyance. He rolled off, but taking advantage of Archer’s now prone position, immediately leapt on him, wrapping their legs together and leaning over.
Archer tried to kiss him, but Silas pulled away wagging a finger playfully.
‘How much have you had?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. What does it matter? Everything is perfect, and I’ve got you in my bed.’
‘It matters ’cos I’ve got something on my mind.’
Archer struggled to lie on his side. Facing Silas, he said, ‘He’s just a friend. I love you. I know I am giddy, but it’s the excitement of seeing him and hearing him sing. Isn’t it the best voice?’
‘Yes, I told you.’
‘But isn’t it though? The best?’
‘Yes, Archie, it’s the fecking best, now shut up and listen.’
‘You’re angry.’
‘I’m not.’ He wasn’t; he was frustrated.
‘Sorry.’ Archer pulled a baby face and nuzzled his head.
‘Yeah, alright,’ Silas pushed him away. ‘But honest, Archie, listen. You listening?’
Archer nodded, his forehead resting on Silas’ chest.
‘He has got a good voice, but I think I’ve heard it before.’
‘Then you’re lucky.’
‘It’s where I might have heard it that’s the problem.’
Archer grunted.
‘Here…’ Silas rolled him onto his back and leant on one elbow as Archer tried to focus on the ceiling. ‘He said he was married, right?’
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