“Of course, my lord,” he grinned at me with genuine pleasure, “I’ll get my hat and the keys. We can motor up to Hendon and practice at the aerodrome.”
*****
Driving a motorcar turned out to be terribly easy, and I picked it up in no time at all. What wasn’t easy, however, was resisting Cyprian Coe’s advances.
He became quite familiar as soon as I asked him to dispense with the lordships and call me Sebastian, his suave professional voice reverting to the camp tone one would use in private, graced with an adorable Surrey accent. He flirted outrageously all the way to Hendon, sneaking in suggestive comments while explaining the various rules of the road, pointing out the car’s features, and telling me what all the mysterious dials and gauges meant. And when we arrived at the aerodrome and switched places, he had his paws all over me as he guided me through the workings of the pedals and the gearshifts, holding my hands as I steered, breathing in my ear as he spoke and generally getting me very hotted up.
Though we hadn’t discussed the future of our relationship, nor any mutual expectations of behaviour, I had a feeling that Twister didn’t want me dallying with other men. But Cyprian was so alluring, and so very sleek and shiny, that I was somewhat at war with myself. Dare I risk Twister’s regard for a roll in the hay with a relative stranger, however entertaining and satisfying it may be?
But then I heard Lady Bea’s voice in my head: Don’t say ‘No’ now, while you’re young and beautiful, and wish you’d said ‘Yes’ when you’re old and ugly. Or was it Oscar Wilde put it that way? Whichever, the sentiment was compelling. I soon discovered that, parked in a close copse of trees with the top up, my lovely new motorcar was a very comfortable little love-nest, and that Cyprian Coe was a very talented young man.
*****
On returning to the Hyacinth, I handed the Rolls over to a delighted Pond, who took it around to the garage off Ryder Street, then got in a nice hot bath. He hadn’t returned by the time I got out, though (had he succeeded so quickly with his garage mechanic?) and so with a whoop of glee I went in and dressed myself for the evening in my smoking jacket — though I must admit, the collar and tie gave me a bit of trouble, I’d quite forgotten how difficult bowties can be.
Whistling a peppy little tune, I practically tapdanced all the way down to the lounge. I was just incredibly happy: I’d had a weekend with Twister, I bought an expensive motorcar, and I dressed myself for the first time in three months. How could life get any better?
I was so happy that I wanted to have someone to share it with, and was a little let-down that there was no one else in the lounge. But I ordered champagne anyway, and a tray of Russian caviar, in hopes of snaring a guest or two before dinner.
“May I join you, Lord Foxbridge?” my first comer was an elderly gentleman, medium-sized and extraordinarily nondescript, with a misty sort of face under round steel-rimmed spectacles, whom I’d seen before but never really noticed.
“Delighted,” I responded, gesturing to the next chair and pouring him a glass of Mumm’s.
“Arthur Silenus,” he introduced himself, taking the glass and toasting me with it, “What are we celebrating?”
“Nothing special,” I replied, spooning up some caviar, “I’m just feeling very happy.”
“Happiness is always cause for celebration,” he said with a merry twinkle in his bland gray eyes, putting up a hand to refuse my offer of caviar, “What has become of your wonderful valet?”
“Become of?” I was startled by the choice of words, “What do you mean, sir?”
“I merely observe that your tie is somewhat... slovenly, if you’ll pardon me.”
“Yes, well, I did my best,” I laughed with relief. Something about the man put me on alert, like he knew something terrible that I didn’t know.
“I particularly wished to talk to you this evening, Lord Foxbridge” the man’s eyes changed with the subject, becoming quite steely, “I’ve heard from Delagardie that you may begin inquiring into my identity, and I must forestall you.”
“Oh! You own Hyacinth House?”
“I am sorry to have stolen the hunt from you,” he smiled, though the steely look didn’t leave his eyes, “But I find your methods a little sloppy. I suspect that you planned to start airing your question of ownership with the other guests, gauging their reactions until you sensed someone who lied to you. That simply won’t do.”
“How in the world...?” I went from alert to alarm in seconds: he’d anticipated my plan exactly.
“You remind me very much of myself at your age, Sebastian. May I call you Sebastian?”
“Of course,” I replied, too shocked to refuse.
“Do call me Silenus,” he smiled again, and this time his eyes smiled, too, “It’s not my real name, of course. But I’m sure you’ve noticed that a title can be as much a burden as a blessing in our line of work. I’m the son of a duke, you see. I’m sure you’ll figure out which duke on your own.”
“Our line of work?” I was so confused that I was falling behind in the conversation.
“Amateur detection,” he replied, “Though I became a professional later in my career, for His Majesty’s Government. I started out much like yourself, beautiful and charming with too much money and time on my hands, an obsessive curiosity and a clever mind — but sadly lacking in finesse and foresight, and absolutely no comprehension of human nature.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” I breathed out when the import of this sunk in.
“I appear to have shocked you, Sebastian,” he went so far as to grin.
“You must tell me everything,” I finally choked out, moving up to the edge of my seat. If there was something I was really missing in my life, it was a mentor. I’d never had an older, experienced man of the world take any interest in me beyond my body, my father had pointedly ignored me most of my life, and I had no uncles or even a godfather growing up. Mr. Silenus could teach me what he knew, could mould me into the great detective I dreamed of being.
“All in good time, dear boy,” he stood up and smoothed the front of his old velvet smoking jacket. I didn’t even notice it until he touched the lapels, it was the same muddy gray as his eyes and hair. He was the colour of a city pigeon, really: if you weren’t speaking to him, it would be very easy to not see him.
“If not everything, at least tell me something?” I stood up with him, unwilling to let him get away from me.
“Of course, but why don’t you come dine with me? Such tales are better accompanied by claret than champagne.”
We went down to the dining room and were shown to a table in the corner; the staff didn’t treat him any differently than anyone else, no special deference was paid to him, so I supposed Delagardie was the only one who knew that Mr. Silenus owned the hotel. Or, conversely, they knew, but treated everyone with the same deference due their employer. After all, the service at Hyacinth House really was as good as, or better than, the Ritz or Claridge’s.
“So tell me,” I opened the conversation when the oysters came on, “What inspired you to buy Hyacinth House?”
“I already owned the house,” he said while sprinkling the lemon juice, “It was built by one of my ancestors, and has since come down through the family as part of the younger sons’ portion. When the club that operated here went belly-up during the War, I decided to not lease it out again, and take it for my own home.”
“Do you have a family?” I wondered. I couldn’t imagine anyone living alone in a mansion of that size.
“No. Barring the occasional guest, I’ve always been a solitary creature. I simply had a fancy for living in august grandeur like my ancestors, waited on hand and foot by a platoon of male servants. This house was built as a bachelor’s residence, if you can believe it. Things were very different under the early Georges.”
“Indeed,” I agreed, “My ancestors lived rather large in those days, too.”
“It was very pleasant, I must say. But I retired from Government after w
e settled all the little messes that attended on the end of the War,” he smiled a secret sort of smile over some private memory, “And then I got very bored very quickly. So I decided to take in lodgers, after a fashion. All of the residents and visitors here are hand-picked, you know.”
“Even me?” I wondered, “I made the reservation myself.”
“Even you,” he smirked a little, “How did you hear about Hyacinth House, do you remember?”
“Chap at the Lionheart outside Oxford told me about it.”
“A big athletic sort of chap? Wavy red-gold hair, green eyes, beautiful in that inimitable Irish way but just about to go to seed? Calls himself Barry?”
“Your agent?” I marveled at the cleverness of it. I had wondered how something as outrageous as a queer luxury hotel in the middle of Clubland could have gone unnoticed by society or the police for so long, and yet enough people knew about the Hyacinth to keep it tenanted.
“One of several. In my days at Whitehall, I found it very useful to gather very personal and private information about people in high life, such as yourself, and many of the other gentlemen who live here. Homosexuality, as the Germans so indelicately call our persuasion, makes a man vulnerable; and it has been my business to know the weaknesses of everyone of any importance. A habit of a lifetime, I’m afraid: I no longer need the information for my work, but I do like having it.”
“Was that why you let the Marquis live here? Despite his abuses of the staff, and the awful things he was doing to innocent kids like Melinda Cumming?” I felt myself becoming angry, “Just because he gave you other people’s secrets?”
“I should be very cross with you, or rather your man Pond, for that police raid. The Marquis was indeed very useful to me.”
“But poor Melinda,” I hadn’t felt a moment’s pity for Claude once I saw how he was enjoying himself, but Melinda Cumming was so horribly shy and timid, the experience must have utterly shattered her. I expected to hear any day that she’d been sent to a nursing home in the country.
“It was certainly unpleasant for her, but I think you’ll find it brings her out of her shell somewhat. Being auctioned naked in front of strangers might make it much less frightening to stand up to her bully of a father. And having Hector Cumming in my pocket will be very useful in the future. Not to mention all the auction guests I got out of chokey before their names hit the presses, they have substantially increased my fund of favors owed.”
“But what’s it all for?” I was starting to wonder if this is where I’d end up if I kept on with my amateur detective ambitions, allowing blackguards like de Mazan to inflict their viciousness on innocent girls and servants so that I could collect blackmail material the way other old men collect stamps or butterflies or Egyptian artifacts.
“As I said, it becomes a habit. I spent a quarter of a century in His Majesty’s Government, serving in a capacity that had no title nor official recognition, gathering secrets and leveraging them against each other, using them for the benefit of the nation. My retirement was not entirely voluntary, but neither was it complete: I keep my hand in, keep my networks in motion, and sometimes find myself in a position to help someone in need. It’s the morally ambiguous habit of accepting collateral damage in the service of a greater good; most of us who work behind the scenes in Government become so habituated.”
“What greater good justifies a creature like de Mazan?” I was trying to see his point of view, but my code of ethics was a schoolboy’s code, where everyone was either good or bad, a chum or a blighter, with no shades of gray in between.
“Louis is a treacherous wart, but he knows things about very important and potentially dangerous people — which is why he’ll be very quietly deported rather than tried for kidnapping. Although he has hurt a number of young people, I have been able to use his information to prevent a great many others being hurt, such as your little friend Gabriel and the other denizens of places like the Green Parrot. Knowing that one of the very-high-ups at Scotland Yard likes to wear nappies and get fed from a bottle, and that another likes to be shaved all over by a uniformed nurse, has allowed me to prevent quite a few raids on queer pubs and molly-houses over the last few years. Ask any of the older gentlemen here, such raids used to be a great deal more common before the War than they are now. Reputations ruined right and left, sweet young boys sent to be destroyed in vile prisons, suicides everywhere you turned. I hope I am making a difference on that front.”
“You’re like a combination Robin Hood and Mycroft Holmes, aren’t you?” I grinned delightedly, making up my mind to overlook his shortcomings in light of what good he did.
“I modeled myself something along the Mycroft Holmes lines,” he grinned back, “Though I hope I’m not quite so stout.”
“But how did you get from Sherlock to Mycroft?” I wanted to know, “How did you get from amateur detective to professional spymaster?”
“Spymaster!” he guffawed, “My dear boy, you read too many bad novels: I was just a boring old civil servant, complete with bowler hat and rolled umbrella. But the story of that transformation will have to be served over another dinner on another night. I am quite tired of talking about it just now. While we wait for our dessert — I hope you like profiteroles — why don’t you tell me about some of your own experiences? I have heard whispers that you entertained a professional assassin in your rooms last month. What must that have been like?”
I started to ask how he knew about Professor Beran being an assassin, but realized that of course he’d know such a thing. So instead, I just enjoyed telling the unexpurgated tale for the first time, heard by the only man I knew who wouldn’t judge me poorly for condoning and consorting with a hired killer.
*****
The next day, I wanted to show off my new motorcar to Twister, so I drove along the Embankment and parked just out of snooping-range from New Scotland Yard; I knew that unless Twister had been given a new case, he was in a period of paperwork doldrums following the resolution of the Cumming kidnapping case, and would be going home at five like any other worker-bee. I only hoped that he didn’t decide to go have tea with me at Hyacinth House, which would have destroyed my plans.
But I needn’t have feared: at exactly five minutes after five, I saw him emerge from Derby Gate and come sauntering up the Embankment, his overcoat under his arm and his hat pushed well back on his head. It was a completely unguarded moment that I never would have seen if I hadn’t been spying on him, and it gave my heart a bit of a wrench. I got out and leaned negligently against the bonnet, waiting for him to come alongside.
“Hey, you,” I hissed at him as he walked past the car, poking an imaginary gun inside my coat-pocket, like a gangster in a pulp, “Get in the car.”
“What’s all this?” he laughed and ambled over to examine my new motor, “Did you buy this thing?”
“Just yesterday. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“How much did you pay for it?” he wondered, running a finger along the wheelguard, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Far too much, according to Pond,” I opened the passenger door and gestured for him to get in, “‘Like a lamb in a lions’ den, you are,’ he said. It was seven thousand guineas.”
“Whew!” he whistled admiringly, “It must be nice to be a millionaire.”
“It’s simply wonderful,” I agreed, getting in on my side and starting the engine, “Would you care to come for a drive? I have a picnic tea in the dickie.”
“Sure, where did you have in mind?”
“I thought Hampstead Heath,” I pulled out into the slow traffic and started flowing along with the other cars, “It’ll be awfully pretty this time of day, and only a twenty-minute drive.”
“They’re always finding men in the bushes on Hampstead Heath,” he said suspiciously.
“Like babies under cabbage leaves?” I laughed at his wording.
“More like satyrs in a heavily censored Roman mural,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if his tone was
of disapproval or of admiration — perhaps it was a bit of both. He had some pretty complicated psychology going on in that handsome head of his.
“I promise not to compromise you under a bush,” I reached across and caressed his hand where it lay on the seat, then grinned at him when he didn’t pull it away.
We chatted a bit about motorcars and traffic and other such topics as arise when driving somewhere; it was really lovely, the easy intimacy that we’d developed after sleeping together, a happy blend of our former camaraderie and our previously unspoken passions. I hoped it would last.
We drove around the outside of the Heath first, enjoying the scenery, then stopping to have our tea under a weeping willow alongside an ornamental stream that someone had built long ago to look like a natural brook; we walked about a bit, then returned to the car and drove around some more. Finally we fetched up at a quaint little inn at the end of a tiny side-road, which had a wonderful view over Leg of Mutton Pond, where we ordered some supper.
I had not found that inn by accident, though: Mr. Silenus had told me about it. It was one of a network of ‘gay safe-houses,’ as he called them; and on his recommendation, I’d phoned ahead to secure a room for the night. When I told Twister about the room and the nature of the inn, about halfway through dinner, he was suddenly no longer hungry, and wanted to go ‘have a lie-down’ right away.
*****
“Can I ask you something?” I was curled up with him some time later, tangled in a sheet on the floor beside the inadequate single bed in our tiny room under the thatch.
“Sure,” he agreed absently, dozing a little with his head tucked under my chin.
“How did Bunny get his nickname?”
“What kind of question is that?” he pulled back to look at me incredulously.
“I’ve often wondered,” I replied, running my hand over his arm, “He looks nothing like a rabbit and never has. And he refuses to tell. But you went to school with him, he was your fag. I’m sure you know how it came about.”
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