‘I was over-excited…’
‘To see Roxton. Yes, that was obvious.’
He changed the subject and asked about Archer’s day. He was to be busy with patrons and would be out for most of the time, leaving Silas free to pursue his own business.
‘I need to go out too,’ he said, as they sat opposite each other to eat. ‘I’ll take James with me if that’s alright.’
‘Of course. Let Thomas know, would you, James?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
The conversation continued as it did most days with general talk of the morning news. Archer liked to read the paper as he ate, but Silas preferred to watch him in silence. He loved the way Archer read, concentrating on each line, making faces when he read something he didn’t approve of and occasionally laughing. The shifting of his smooth features was entertaining. He was lost in his reading, engrossed in the activities of the outside world, but he looked up to smile from time to time or to impart some piece of news.
‘No more murders,’ he said, turning a page. ‘The Ripper is down to sheet seven.’
‘Nothing about Quill?’
Archer shook his head. ‘Still not been seen since he boarded that train,’ he said. ‘Definitely gone to Davey Jones.’
The train wreck had been mentioned in the City paper only once. Quill’s name had not been attached to it, the only bodies found at the scene being the engine driver and the fireman. There had been a sighting of “Men on horseback riding the moors under darkness, as mysterious as smugglers”, and the idea that the wreck had been sabotage or retribution by known criminals had taken hold. The northern papers ran the story for a week, and the last Silas heard, the police were still investigating, but there had been no repercussions. Quill had not shown up at the sanitorium in Holland and had not returned to the city. Archer might be right, and Quill had been killed in the crash, or he might have escaped justice again. Either way, there had been no more Ripper murders, and that was what mattered.
That and the hypocrite Cadwell Roxton and his sordid past. Possibly sordid, he reminded himself. Nothing yet was proved.
Thomas arrived to announce the morning post which Archer took with interest.
‘Morning, Tommy,’ Silas greeted him like a friend as he always did. It was naughty, but he enjoyed seeing Thomas’ face twitch uncomfortably when he used his Christian name above stairs.
‘Good morning, Mr Hawkins,’ the butler replied. ‘You have a letter.’
‘Excellent!’ Silas grabbed it from the silver tray. He had written one personal letter since moving to Clearwater, and this could only be the long-awaited reply.
He used his knife to slit the envelope and removed the thin paper contained within. Turning it towards the weak sunlight filtering through the lace curtains, he squinted to decipher the scrawled writing.
‘It is what you were hoping for?’ Archer asked.
‘Yeah.’ Silas was unable to keep the smile from his face. ‘They’re not dead, and she’s given me the exact place to send to.’
‘You might have trouble with that,’ Archer advised. He had flicked through his correspondence, but found nothing that couldn’t wait until later and was paying more attention to his devilled kidneys.
‘How?’
‘Sending money. I assume they don’t have a bank account.’
‘Leave it out, Archie,’ Silas laughed. ‘’Course they don’t. They’ve only just got an address.’
‘Are they well?’
‘They’re so-so. Bad chests.’
‘Canter Wharf?’
‘Yeah, but Mam’s cousin says there’s no work. I’ll send them cash.’
‘What, by post?’
‘How else?’
Since moving to the city, Silas sent his twin sisters money when he could, but until now, had only managed a few coins and they rarely arrived.
‘Leave it with me,’ Archer said. ‘I have someone who does business in Westerpool. I’ll arrange for them to deal with it. Just let me know how much you want to send.’
‘Would you? That’d be great. I’ll pay you back.’
‘If you must.’
Archer had set Silas up with a bank account not long after he moved to Clearwater and paid him the standard amount for the time he put in as an assistant. After hours was, of course, unpaid, and the wages were for his secretarial duties. Although they were few and far between, he was well paid, as were all of Archer’s staff.
‘I’ll have Culver deliver it to the girls by hand,’ Archer added. ‘To make sure they alone receive it and it doesn’t get commandeered by anyone else.’
That was the man Silas had fallen in love with. Not the childish drunk of last night, but the warm-hearted man who did favours without being asked and thought nothing of it.
Archer returned to the newspaper, sipping coffee, and Silas reread the letter.
His sisters were suffering from breathing problems, a common complaint in the wharf-side tenements, caused and spread by the cramped and overcrowded conditions. They were unable to work and needed medicines. The last time Silas had seen them they were twelve, standing hand in hand and waving through tears as he climbed onto the roof of the stagecoach; big brother leaving to establish a better life for the family. His eyes pricked with tears now as they had done then, and he sniffed back more when he saw they had added their names to the letter within a love heart.
He put it away for later and called Thomas to the table.
‘Tommy,’ he said. ‘I’m borrowing James for an hour this morning.’
‘Of course, Sir,’ Thomas replied. ‘May I ask for what?’
‘I’m going out in the trap when Archer’s done with it.’
‘I’m not going far, I’ll walk,’ Archer said, without looking up.
‘You will need your carriage livery,’ Thomas informed the footman and James nodded.
‘It’s only me, Tommy,’ Silas said. ‘No need to posh up.’
‘None would disagree, Mr Hawkins,’ Thomas said as if he’d won a point. ‘But you are His Lordship’s secretary and James, his footman. You are both his representatives.’
‘We can represent without wearing all the garb,’ Silas tutted, and leant over for the coffee pot.
‘James?’ Thomas reached the pot first and poured, forcing Silas to sit back and wait. ‘It may need pressing.’
‘Alright, Tommy,’ Silas sighed. ‘Whatever keeps you happy.’
‘Just doing what’s necessary, Sir.’
‘You wouldn’t know necessary if it sat on your face.’
‘Boys,’ Archer warned, smirking behind his newspaper. ‘Be nice.’
James, trying hard not to laugh, pursed his lips at Silas and turned to attend to the serving dishes before Thomas noticed.
Luckily, Archer didn’t ask the purpose of Silas’ trip, and with the arrangements in place, Silas was able to put his mind to the questions he had for Eddie Lovemount.
Eleven
Despite the cold weather, James enjoyed riding in the trap sitting on the driving seat with Fecker, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Beneath it, his tails gave some protection against the biting breeze, but his nose soon began to hurt and his eyes watered. They trotted the half-mile to the postal depot in South Riverside and the closer they came, the more his excitement mounted. He didn’t relish meeting Lovemount again, but he was friendly with several other messengers and hoped they were there so he could show off his new position.
He directed Fecker, who replied to instructions with shrugs, and they arrived at the back yard after an easy and pleasant ride. The air was unusually clear, the sky one shade of pale blue. It was good to be away from silver polish, washing up and the hall broom for a while, even though James was still unsure of Mr Hawkins’ purpose.
&nb
sp; Fecker drew the horse to a halt and jumped down from the bench, the trap rocking under the shift in weight. He opened the door for Silas while leaving James to fend for himself, and they stood beside the yard gate sheltering from the breeze.
‘Right, Jimmy,’ Silas said, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. ‘Can you go in and see if he’s there?’
‘As you wish, Sir. You want me to bring him outside?’
‘Yeah, it would be easier. And try not to call me Sir would you?’
‘I’ll try not to, but it’s becoming a habit.’
‘Fecks and I’ll wait here.’
James crossed the empty yard, and when he entered the back office, there was no sign of any messengers, just the dispatcher.
‘Bloody hell,’ the man said, looking up from his desk. The sound of rhythmic clicking came from the wire room where telegrams were being received and sent. ‘What’s happened to you, Wright?’
‘Hello, Langton.’ James pulled off his gloves. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Same as,’ the old man said. He wore a full beard that although skilfully kept, was long enough to cover his tie. His yellowing eyes were made comic by the thick glass of his round spectacles, and hunched behind his pile of envelopes and papers, he resembled a furry, burrowing creature.
There was no-one to see apart from Langton, but James parted his cloak to show off his livery.
‘My new job,’ he said, enjoying what he could see of the old man’s surprise. ‘Is Lovemount here?’
‘No,’ Langton said, admiring the uniform. ‘Sent him out…’ He glanced to the wall clock. ‘…half an hour ago. Should, be back soon, why?’
‘Just wanted a word.’ James was not prepared to tell him the exact nature of Mr Hawkins’ business. He couldn’t. All he knew was that Silas wanted to speak with Eddie, and that was all he needed to know. ‘I’ll wait outside,’ he said.
When he returned to the trap, he found Silas and Fecker huddled beside it, and they climbed aboard, preferring to wait in the back beneath the hood. Fecker sat up front, buried in his greatcoat. As far as James knew, he was the only coachman to dress in that fashion. Most he had seen wore top hats and trimly-fitting, three-quarter coats. Fecker had all that, but preferred a military-style peaked cap, and always looked like he was driving into battle.
‘I should tell you what we’re doing,’ Silas said, when they were pressed together on the seat.
‘Only if you want to.’
‘Yeah, I do. It’s nothing bad, I hope, but I reckon I’ve met Lovemount before. He took me to a house back in August, and I want to ask him about someone I saw there.’
James was not uneducated, and he was observant. Apart from having to rescue one of His Lordship’s crystal glasses from Silas’ clutch at dinner last night, the man’s behaviour through the rest of the evening had been strained, and their later conversation unorthodox, suggesting there was more on his mind than just the forthcoming gala.
‘You told me to be wary of him,’ Silas said. ‘Why did you say that?’
There was a long history between James and Lovemount that he was not prepared to talk about. Instead, James related the story in one simple sentence. ‘He tried to recruit me to work as a molly boy.’
Silas wasn’t surprised. ‘But you didn’t?’
‘Hell, no.’
‘But a lot of post-boys get into that.’
Silas, if anyone, should know how the underworld of male prostitution worked. James knew his history, and when he had been told, thought no less highly of him for it. If anything, the horror stories Silas had related during the past weeks only endeared him further. How anyone could survive in the conditions he described, was a mystery to a man brought up in the semi-respectable cottages of South Riverside where the only poverty experienced was that of the ordinary working-class man. The hardships of living on the breadline were nothing compared to men like Silas who had lived below it.
‘Many must,’ James said. ‘Delivering telegrams doesn’t pay that well, and around here commissions are few and far between.’
‘But you’ve never done it?’ Silas asked again.
The idea of having sex for money made James’ feel ill, but he remembered who he was sat next to and didn’t make his disgust obvious.
‘No, Sir. Thankfully I have never had to.’
‘Ever wanted to?’
‘No.’
‘Good for you, mate.’ Silas nudged him. ‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’ He laughed, but James didn’t understand why.
They sat in silence watching messengers returning from their deliveries, but Lovemount was not among them.
‘How’s things with Tommy after our chat?’ Silas asked. ‘Did you talk to him?’
James felt his cheeks redden. ‘I did,’ he said quietly, although there was no-one to hear.
Admitting his homosexuality inside Clearwater House had taken time to get used to, despite the way such things were discussed openly and without judgement, at least by the men of Archer’s close circle, but talking about it in the open, he felt unprotected. With the hefty Ukrainian guarding them like a stone lion, and with Silas, street-clever beside him, there was no necessity to to worry. He was protected and any unease was of his own making.
‘And?’ Silas encouraged.
‘One step at a time,’ he said, repeating Thomas’ words when he had broached the subject of more intimate sex.
‘You mean one finger at a time?’
‘Oh, please!’ James protested the vulgarity, but couldn’t help sniggering. ‘Something like that.’
‘That’s a start, mate,’ Silas said. ‘There’s plenty else you can get up to, and it’s not the be all and end all.’
‘It?’ James knew perfectly well what he meant, but Silas was the only person he could discuss the subject with, and as he couldn’t bring up the conversation himself, he took his chance to learn more whenever he could.
Silas was describing some eye-opening experiences of his own when a movement at the gates caught James’ eye.
‘There he is,’ he said, only half-glad to end the discussion of man-with-man sex. ‘Wait here.’
He climbed from the trap, put his fingers in his mouth and whistled to catch Lovemount’s attention. When the messenger noticed him, his scraggy face broke into a taunting smile.
‘Blimey!’ he exclaimed. ‘Look who it ain’t.’
‘Yeah, well look who it is and all.’ James approached. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Got a shilling?’
‘Get over here.’
Lovemount saw the trap, and his head jolted in shock at the sight of Fecker towering above. He leant his bicycle against the wall.
‘What you up to?’ he asked nervously as he joined James by the horse.
‘Got a new job, ain’t I?’ James flicked one fall of his cloak over his shoulder to show the livery beneath. ‘But that ain’t why I’m here.’ He had slipped into his natural voice without realising. Lovemount’s presence angered him. There was a history between them, incidents which James preferred to forget.
Lovemount was surprised to see his old colleague elevated in station, but he was confused when Silas stepped down from the trap.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘Mr Hawkins requires a word,’ James said. ‘Shall I leave you alone, Sir?’
‘No, James,’ Silas replied. ‘We’ll all talk right here.’ He stood directly beneath Fecker as if he needed his bodyguard close.
‘Mr Lovemount.’ Silas offered his hand, and Lovemount took it, his face set in a quizzical twist. ‘You remember me?’
‘Your face rings a bell.’
‘A bell, Sir,’ James corrected.
‘Ah, Jimmy, if me memory’s right, this ain’t n
o Sir. What you doing all togged up, Irish?’
James bristled and was impressed that Silas kept a calm head.
‘I want to ask you something delicate.’ Silas ignored the jibe. ‘Mr Wright tells me you are a man who can be trusted.’ That wasn’t true, but Silas knew what he was doing. ‘He also tells me you are a man with knowledge of a certain house and its customers.’
‘We calls them occupiers in residence,’ Lovemount said grandly.
‘I don’t mean where you deliver telegrams,’ Silas clarified. ‘A house you took me to one night last August.’
‘I don’t remember that.’ Lovemount was immediately defensive, proving to James that he knew exactly what was being discussed.
‘I’m not here to judge you.’ Silas sounded like the viscount. ‘I am here for information of a delicate nature, and I will reward you for your honesty. I shan’t keep you long.’
His well-spoken accent and flowing words didn’t impress the messenger. He became suspicious.
‘Depends on what information you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you nothing about me deliveries.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Silas countered. ‘I was one such delivery.’
‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘Surely your memory is not that short?’
‘Nothing short about him,’ James put in. Lovemount was never going to open up if Silas treated him like an idiot, and his tone implied that he thought of him as one. ‘That’s how he makes his bit on the side. Ain’t it, Eddie?’
Silas understood, and changed his tone.
‘Yeah, Eddie,’ he said. ‘We’re pretty much the same you and me. Now, for the sake of old times back in Greychurch, what d’you remember about that night.’
‘Nothing.’
Silas took a wallet from his pocket and thumbed through banknotes. Lovemount’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his attitude changed immediately.
Unspeakable Acts Page 10