Bitter Bloodline

by Jackson Marsh

  ‘Nothing strange about that,’ Archer said. He finished his kidneys and dabbed his mouth before attending to a pile of correspondence Barnaby had left beside his place.

  ‘Maybe not,’ the butler conceded. ‘But on the journey, he stayed away from the window and only went to it when we pulled into a station, as if…’

  The other two waited until, prompted by Silas to voice his concerns, Thomas described in detail, how their journey had been spent.

  He told them how Smith looked away from other passengers and only engaged with Thomas when pressed. How he looked from the window only when stationary, and how he constantly checked the time. He also told them what Smith had said about being late to his destination and not being exactly sure which train he was on. The man had been vague and nervous, and he wore clothes that didn’t fit his style of speech, to which Archer said, ‘You’re being snobbish,’ and Thomas disagreed.

  ‘There was something wrong about him,’ he said.

  ‘Which is what I got as well,’ Silas agreed. ‘Hey, me and Tommy see eye to eye on something at last.’

  ‘I think you’re both being unnecessarily distrustful,’ Archer chided. ‘To me, he seems like a very pleasant man in an unfortunate circumstance. When the doctor has seen him and decided what’s best to do, I will invite him to spend a few days with us until fully recovered.’

  ‘You’re not being too trusting?’

  ‘Certainly not, Silas. What’s wrong with helping someone in need?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Silas said. ‘It’s your hobby, after all.’

  ‘No need for sarcasm,’ Archer said with humour. ‘And no need for suspicion.’

  ‘Maybe there isn’t,’ Thomas put in. ‘But I did gain the impression that Mr Smith was hiding something. He was…’ The word escaped him, even when the viscount prompted him. ‘He just didn’t feel right,’ was the only way Thomas could explain it.

  ‘And now talking in his sleep,’ Silas added. ‘On top of what Tommy’s told us, that makes me trust him even less. I’ll look into it.’

  ‘Look into what?’ Archer threw down his napkin. ‘You are both overreacting.’ Pushing back his chair, he stood. Thomas was not fast enough to be there for him, and by the time he reached his master’s place, Archer was halfway to the door with the post. ‘But you do what you want, Silas,’ he said, anger in his voice. ‘I have more important things to attend to than misgivings. Just don’t embarrass our guest. That’s not my way of doing things.’

  Archer left and, unusually, slammed the door.

  Silas and Thomas looked at each other, concerned, until Thomas said, ‘He is very worried about the Easter dinner. It’s vital it goes without a hitch.’

  ‘And it will with you in charge, Tommy.’ It didn’t hurt to pay the man a compliment from time to time, and Thomas appreciated it. ‘Now, before that creep Saddle comes and starts fussing around, was there anything else odd about Mr so-called-Smith that you remember?’

  Thomas held the back of a chair and closed his eyes. Silas asked if he needed to sit, but he said he was just thinking. All the same, he was worryingly pale, and Silas was worried.

  ‘He wasn’t interested in the scenery,’ Thomas remembered. ‘So I assumed he wasn’t on a holiday. Besides, no luggage. He shared my whisky after persuasion and seemed grateful for it as though it settled his nerves. He also knew that Purcari and Mediasch are reds.’

  ‘Which is more than I do,’ Silas snorted. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Wines from Transylvania. The Mediasch is extremely rare, and apparently, Mr Irving is partial to both.’

  ‘And he’s the guest of honour, right?’

  ‘You, I believe, sent out the invitations for His Lordship, Mr Hawkins,’ Thomas teased. ‘Yes, he is, but I didn’t tell Smith that.’

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Only that this was his first visit to Cornwall, he hadn’t heard of Larkspur or the viscount, didn’t travel much, and suffers from motion sickness.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Silas said. ‘For someone who’s been thrown about in a train wreck, you’ve got a good memory.’

  Thomas put his other hand on the chair.

  ‘Why don’t you sit, Tommy?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘I am fine, honestly, but if you don’t need me, I’ll ring for Mr Saddle and maybe sit quietly downstairs and attend to my ledger.’

  ‘You go ahead, mate. You look like you need it. Want me to come down with you?’

  Thomas appreciated Silas’ concern. It wasn’t that the two didn’t get on, but they were not as close as Silas and James, and the butler was not as easy to talk to as Barnaby. Thinking the name reminded Silas that the footman knew about the library.

  ‘Actually,’ he said. ‘Could I borrow Barnaby for a while this morning?’

  ‘Yes, as long as he has finished his duties. Can I ask why?’

  ‘You can ask me anything, Tommy.’ Silas rose and came to take his arm. ‘Here, at least let me go with you to the stairs. You look like a hangover in a suit.’

  Surprisingly, Thomas allowed it, and Silas helped him from the breakfast room to the servants’ door behind the west staircase.

  ‘I’ll be fine from here,’ Thomas said. ‘Thank you, Mr Hawkins.’

  ‘Ach, Tommy,’ Silas tutted. He wished the man would loosen up, but said no more as he watched him go.

  Still not convinced that Smith was an innocent traveller, Silas pondered the tattoo. After what Thomas had told him, his suspicions had increased, but was there really a reason for mistrust?

  ‘Why have a dragon painted on his back?’ he asked himself as he crossed the hall to the library. ‘Who wants to be marked with a symbol of an ancient order of assassins apart from an assassin?’

  Perhaps Archer was right. Perhaps Smith was distantly descended from an old family who had, at one time hundreds of years ago, protected the nobility of Romania. If so, what was he doing in Cornwall? It was hardly a place anyone came for a day, and if he had come down on the London train, he must have left the city early in the morning, if not the night before.

  ‘Who travels overnight with no bags?’

  The questions stacked up alongside the meaning of the verse and foreign words, but even they paled into insignificance when he heaved open the library door.

  ‘And who the feck collects nearly five thousand books?’ he muttered, before returning to the baize door in search of a footman who would know.

  Nine

  Under the direction of Thomas and Mrs Baker, the morning routine at Larkspur ran like a well-rehearsed theatrical production. The day started early for the maids whose first task it was to clean grates, empty ash buckets, set fires, dust furniture and see to the general tidying. Other work was expertly overseen by Mrs Baker, who was responsible for everything above the ground floor and a lot more besides.

  In the kitchens, Mrs Flintwich was also an early riser, especially at times when large dinners were planned. Assisted by two kitchen maids, she lit the ovens, made the bread and planned the day’s meals while her assistants fetched milk and eggs, took deliveries from the farms and kitchen garden, and saw to minor cooking tasks. They were, in turn, assisted by the two hall boys. Mark was fifteen and had been at the Hall for two years and was recently joined by a second lad who Mrs Flintwich had trained. He was there to replace Barnaby who, at twenty, had been a servants’ servant far too long. Barnaby had turned down the chance to work in other houses because his ambition was to work as a footman at the Hall, and he was given his chance by Mr Payne just after Christmas when Thomas reorganised the staff.

  Barnaby’s day started early with sweeping the main hall and rooms, brushing the furniture, opening curtains and generally seeing that any rooms used the day before were up to a standard set by the butler. Meanwhile, Robert, or Mr Saddle as
he was now called because he had been promoted from the first footman to under-butler, ensured that his senior had everything he needed for the day ahead.

  Outside in the stable block, Mr Williams and his two stable boys were responsible for mucking out, feeding and tending to the viscount’s horses, while Mr Andrej oversaw the animals’ well-being, inspected the tack and feed, and ensured the stables and carriages were always in perfect working order. Since Fecker’s arrival, Mr Williams had been able to take on more diverse work, something he had always wanted to do, and was now responsible for the machine room that ran the gas lighting and water system. He still tended to the horses because he liked that work, but was happy to be a Jack of all trades, and acted as the coachman when Mr Andrej was busy.

  Days started early and often finished late, but with accommodation and, in most cases, uniforms provided by Lord Clearwater, no-one complained.

  No-one apart from Mr Saddle, and it was he who on the morning of April the eighteenth, was tasked with attending to the injured visitor, Mr Smith.

  Muttering as he took the backstairs to the gentlemen’s corridor, he was annoyed that His Lordship had allowed his valet, of all people, to bring the morning tray to the guest. Such tasks were meant for footmen, and as the house was one short, Saddle minded taking on a task that was now beneath his station. Approaching forty years of age, he also minded that Mr Wright and the viscount had so childishly enjoyed playing a prank on Mr Payne by delivering a breakfast tray to the butler and the guest. The butler should not have been sleeping in a guest suite in the first place, let alone one so grand and near to His Lordship.

  Saddle kept his thoughts to himself, but since Christmas, and despite his promotion, he was growing increasingly aggravated by the way he had been treated. Some would have said he should be grateful for the increase in salary and responsibility, because he, like the viscount, had recently been elevated, and considering there were so few members of the family living at Larkspur, an under-butler was not particularly needed. Lord Clearwater and Mr Payne had told him it was to reward him for years of loyal service as a footman under Mr Tripp, but Saddle thought it was their way of keeping him quiet.

  A Lancastrian by birth, he had found his way to the Hall via a circuitous path that included menial hall-boy service in the city, second footman tedium for a baron in Devon, and at the age of thirty-two, the first footman position at Larkspur. Far from home for most of his life, he had lost touch with his family, and being a man of a gloomy and unwaveringly unhappy disposition, had few friends either outside or in the house. His manner was naturally grumpy, and the act of covering it with politeness and professionalism, instead of helping him through each repetitive day, only served to heighten his dissatisfaction with life.

  Entering the gentlemen’s corridor, he sneered at Mr Hawkins’ bedroom door because that was another thing that angered him. The way this uneducated and untitled Irishman had wheedled his way into the Hall and somehow become part of the Riddington family home. For a nobleman such as Viscount Clearwater to have a private secretary was nothing surprising, the man had many fingers in many pies both philanthropic and commercial, but for such a post to be taken by a snip of a lad, and one from no discernible background, did the respectability of the Hall no favours. Then there was the question of how His Lordship had acquired such an annoying young upstart, and why he had decided to house him in the main suite. Until the death of the previous viscount, whom Saddle held in great esteem, the rooms had been for Lady Clearwater, now dispatched to the dower house even though the viscount showed no signs of marrying. For an immigrant to be using her Ladyship’s rooms as though he deserved them, simply added fuel to Saddle’s already smouldering fire of discontent, a mood which others might have thought was caused by jealousy, but which he insisted was caused only out of concern for the family.

  Growling, and trying to put the negative thoughts from his mind, he came to rest outside the Bosworth second bedroom and adjusted his tails along with his demeanour. The man on the other side of the door was a guest, and it was Saddle’s responsibility to make him welcome and see to his needs.

  This is what the under-butler was born for, but he would rather the gentleman he was about to serve was a nobleman, a baron at least, if not a viscount, but he was still a guest of Lord Clearwater and thus, must be treated with respect. Saddle didn’t live to serve Archer Riddington, as was, he lived to serve His Lordship, no matter who held the title, and he reminded of himself of that as he finally buried his disgruntled thoughts and knocked purposefully on the door.

  ‘Hello?’ was the unorthodox reply, and told Saddle that the guest was no nobleman.

  He entered, placing a forced semi-smile of greeting on his otherwise withering features, and closed the door.

  ‘Good morning, Sir,’ he said, bowing his head to the man sitting up in the bed. ‘His Lordship asked me to inform you that the doctor will be here presently, and to ask how you are feeling, and if there is anything I can do for you.’

  It was a standard sentence for Saddle, but the guest had trouble putting all the questions together. ‘Doctor?’ he said, and Saddle immediately noticed his foreign accent.

  Bristling, because he was serving a foreigner who didn’t know how to say, ‘Come in’, he said, ‘Yes, Sir. His Lordship returned from the village bringing news that Doctor Penhale will be visiting yourself and the other injured we have here at the Hall.’

  ‘Oh,’ the man said, pushing himself further upright. ‘There are others?’

  ‘One and one staff, Sir. May I ask how you are feeling?’

  Saddle was still at the door, but his eyes searched the room for anything out of place. Whoever had attended the man last had not tied back the curtains, nor tidied his clothes. Mr Wright (another upstart who shouldn’t have been in the position he was in) might be the viscount’s valet by some shortcut route, but he didn’t know a footman’s duties. Saddle attended to the curtains and cushions, chairs and dressing table.

  ‘I must admit to having the devil of a pain in my leg,’ Mr Smith said. ‘But Clearwater told me it wasn’t broken as I first thought.’

  Saddle drew in a sharp breath. ‘Lord Clearwater,’ he emphasised, ‘is most concerned that you have everything you require.’ He wanted to add, ‘Including manners,’ but it was not seemly.

  ‘I do, I think,’ Smith replied. ‘Except for information. Clearwater…’ (Saddle cleared his throat pointedly.) ‘His Lordship told me little about what happened and nothing about what will happen next. Can you tell me?’

  ‘If you wish, Sir.’

  One of the things Saddle would miss in his new role were the tips traditionally left by guests for the footmen and valets who had attended them. On his mildly increased salary, he was not expected to receive such gratuities, and Saddle had some habits which needed constant financial fuelling. He doubted this man, with his foreign accent and being unaccustomed to etiquette, would know how things worked, and if Saddle played his cards right, he might be able to squeeze a few pounds from Mr Smith when he left.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Mr Smith asked.

  Seeing it as a chance to break a little ice, Saddle told him. ‘Saddle, Sir. I am under-butler but new in this post, so I am more than happy if you care to call me Robert, as that is the name I am more accustomed to hearing.’

  Smith shrugged in a continental manner as if he didn’t care how a servant was addressed. ‘If you want,’ he said. ‘So, Robert, can you tell me what happened? I’m very glad to be alive, of course, and very grateful to Lord Clearwater for taking me in, but the man who brought that tray didn’t tell me much, and Clearwater only asked how I was and told me to stay in bed.’

  Wright had not thought to return for the tray, and Saddle wondered why Barnaby hadn’t been up to fetch it. Under the young viscount, standards were slipping.

  ‘The train derailed,’ he explained,
standing at the end of the bed and rearranging the eiderdown. ‘You suffered a concussion, I believe, and there was some injury to your leg, but the doctor saw to that, and there is no lasting damage. You were brought here unconscious with Mr Payne and the boy, and given a sleeping draught for the night. Oh, this is the Bosworth suite. The late and noble viscount named the guest rooms after his favourite historical battles.’

  ‘Hang on…’

  Hang on? Saddle resisted the temptation to ask what to.

  ‘Mr Payne, the butler, yes?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Decent fellow. If it wasn’t for him, I would surely have perished. Is he alright?’

  ‘He is, Sir, I am pleased to say, but like yourself, was knocked about, and although he is back at work, he has taken lighter duties for the day.’

  Another thing which wrangled Saddle. If a man was fit to work, he was fit to work his proper duties. Payne had chosen to direct the preparations for the Easter dinner from his pantry as if he, and not the viscount, was lord of the manor.

  ‘That’s good to hear. I will thank him when I see him. And this boy you mentioned. Who is he? Family?’

  ‘Not at all, Sir. In fact, we are still not sure. He is being cared for by the housekeeper and his Lordship’s valet.’ He wanted to add, ‘For a reason no-one has bothered to explain to me,’ but held his tongue. ‘The child has not yet been claimed, and we wondered if perhaps he wasn’t meant to be travelling alone. Either that or those with him were not as fortunate as yourself.’

  ‘Traveling alone?’ Smith was interested to know more. ‘I saw no lone child. Was he in third class?’

  ‘He was, Sir. He wasn’t anything to do with you, I take it?’