‘Have you told Archer all this?’ Silas asked, but he received a negative reply. ‘Probably for the best.’
When Thomas and James asked him to explain, Silas told them about Smith’s strange sleep-talking and how he had, that afternoon, tried to persuade Archer of his suspicions. He also related Archer’s throw-away response, and Thomas reminded them all how important the guests and party were to Archer, adding that the viscount was also concerned for the fate of the accident victims and the effect of the crash on his village. Silas knew all this and was fed up with hearing it, but he listened politely.
‘Whatever we do to prove ourselves right and prevent an assassination,’ James said, when Thomas had finished, ‘we have to do it without Archer knowing.’
‘Same as the opera house thing,’ Silas groaned. Keeping secrets from his lover was painful, but his friends were right. The less Archer knew, the less he would worry, and that could only be for the good.
‘So what am I doing?’ Silas’ eyes were narrow as he looked from one man to the other. ‘While you’re watching Smith, what am I doing?’
‘That’s the thing we have to discover,’ Thomas said. ‘One thing the books don’t tell us is how these Protectori dispatch their victims. If we knew that, we could be better prepared.’
‘Or we could just tell the police,’ Silas countered.
‘And bring on Archer the embarrassment and shame Mr Smith talked of in his sleep, by drawing conclusions before we are certain?’
‘Good point, Tommy. Okay, so we pass him on to the hospital and don’t let him into the house.’
‘And lose sight of him? Let him escape to Newquay and kill Mr Irving as he intended? At least if he’s here, we have some control.’
Silas hated it when Thomas was right. It happened often, but he had still not numbed to it. ‘Or we could cancel the dinner, so Irving isn’t here at all,’ he suggested.
‘I refer to my first point about social embarrassment,’ Thomas said. ‘And anyway, Archer would never stand for it. The gathering is too important to him and his work.’
‘Yes,’ James said. ‘And Lord Tennyson said he was looking forward to seeing me again.’
‘Despite barging into his home, insulting his butler and borrowing two hundred pounds so you could hire Her Majesty’s locomotive?’ Thomas grinned in admiration. ‘Show off.’
‘Can’t help being popular, Tom.’
‘Yeah, alright.’ Silas didn’t see the same cause for amusement; he had been in a prison cell at the time. ‘I get it. The dinner goes ahead, and you two keep watch on Smith. So, you want me to find out how he is likely to kill Irving?’ The nodding heads told him he was correct. ‘How do I do that if there’s nothing in your books?’
‘Ah-ha!’ Thomas reached to a shelf and pulled down a large ledger from among many. He placed it on the table and opened it to a page marked by a red ribbon.
‘What’s that?’
‘This, Mr Hawkins,’ Thomas said, speaking with his butler’s voice. ‘Is my record of guests, their associations, families, relationship to the family, favoured rooms or suites, wines and meals, whether they hunt or shoot…’
‘Yeah, okay,’ James interrupted. ‘Time’s moving on.’
Thomas coughed pointedly, but accepted the interruption. ‘It’s also where I keep my research,’ he said. ‘Example, Lord Tennyson is likely to want peace and quiet, and these days prefers to write in his rooms and only comes out to dine. Here, Mr Roxton is likely to ask Lord Clearwater to accompany him in the music room and thus, I need to make sure the correct music is in place so his Lordship can practice in advance and not be caught off guard. Mr Irving’s manager, Mr Stoker, prefers to be called Bram rather than Abraham and likes to exercise, thus, I shall introduce him to Danylo and Andrej. Lady Marshall always travels with her lady’s maid, and so on. I do my research so that the viscount doesn’t have to.’
‘Which is how he found out about the Lyceum Theatre,’ James said, with more than a little pride.
Silas told them they might as well have been speaking in Romanian for all the sense they were making, and James pointed to a newspaper article glued into Thomas’ book.
‘The Lyceum is Mr Irving’s theatre where he produced and acted in that play,’ he said. ‘According to the critic, Shaw, Irving amassed research about the Szekelys which contains the information we are looking for. How Smith is likely to assassinate. Where is it…?’ Thomas pointed it out, and James quoted, ‘“From their folklore to their modus operandi for murder, The Lyceum stripped the skeletons from the Szekely cupboards to debase their heritage, and is considering the publication of the research currently held at the theatre.” Couldn’t get much plainer, and it seems to me as good a place to start as any.’
‘We thought you could blag your way in saying you’re after background for His Lordship,’ Thomas said. ‘To brief him before the dinner. You’re his secretary, they should believe you. If you can’t find anything there, perhaps there will be something or someone to tell you where to find the information, possibly the British Museum Library. You can then telegraph back, and we’ll present the evidence to His Lordship and let him decide what to do.’
‘We need all the proof we can dig up,’ James said, reinforcing the plan. ‘Mainly because we are working on my gut feeling and your instincts. We have until Friday, enough time for you to get a train to London, spend two days to find out what Smith is likely to do to Irving and how we can stop it, and get back before the guests arrive. For Archer’s sake.’
‘You’ve got this all thought out, ain’t you?’ Silas said. ‘Except one thing. How am I going to get out of the village with a fecking locomotive blocking the tracks?’
He thought he’d won a point in the ingenuity stakes, but he should have known better.
‘Fecker’s going to drive you to the mainline at Liskeard,’ Thomas grinned. ‘The night train leaves at eleven. Plenty of time for James to help you pack.’
For a moment, Silas was jealous that he hadn’t thought of the plan, and was worried that Thomas and James might care more about Archer than he did. Knowing that to be untrue, he let the anger go. Jealousy would not help Archer. All three men around the table cared for the viscount as much as their master cared about them. They had sworn an oath to look after each other and to do what it took to keep their secrets and their reputations intact. They were, he realised with a proud smile, their own band of Protectori.
Twelve
Standing at Silas’ bedroom window, James watched the trap leave as he folded away the clothes his friend had chosen not to take. The sun was about to set, and a mist was rising on the moors. Catching the dying rays, it glowed a dusty shade of pink and covered the rolling landscape like a layer of silk. It swirled against the wheels of the trap as Fecker guided the horse towards the far gatehouse with Silas beside him wrapped in a travelling cloak.
The viscount was downstairs with Mr Harrow, the estate manager, and the vicar discussing what could be done to raise funds for the unfortunate families who had lost loved ones in the railway accident. He had told James that although the men would be staying to eat, the viscount was not changing as their dinner would be informal. James had been present when Silas told Lord Clearwater that he was travelling to London and the viscount had taken the news surprisingly well. Apparently, he had already discussed Silas’ thoughts on the enigmatic Mr Smith and was prepared to let him go despite the arrival of house guests in three days. As Silas had mentioned at the meeting in the butler’s pantry, Archer was disinclined to take an interest in Smith being a possible threat, and that was something that worried the valet. Archer had shown the same lack of concern when Silas had feared for the opera house gala the previous year, but strangely, James didn’t find his attitude disturbing. Convinced that Smith posed no personal danger to his master, he judged it would be easier if
Archer was kept in the dark about their plan. As Thomas had said, it would only cause him unnecessary worry, and it was in the viscount’s nature to think the best of people, not the worst. It also meant that he wouldn’t interfere and, should his servants turn out to be wrong in their suspicions, he would be able to convincingly deny he knew much, if anything, about their plot.
His own mind settled, he gave the bedroom a final once-over, and finding everything in order, headed upstairs to see Jerry. Smith and his possible intentions towards Mr Irving were one mystery, the unclaimed boy was another.
James found him sitting up in bed, turning the last pages of his reading book. The fire was aglow, and someone, probably Mrs Baker, had left the lad with a jug of lemonade, now half-finished.
Jerry looked up suddenly as the door opened, and James caught a fleeting look of panic before he was recognised. The lad’s concerned face soon morphed into a beaming smile, and he set the book aside.
‘Hello, Sir,’ he said, tidying his covers. ‘I was hoping you would come up.’
‘I said I would,’ James smiled back. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Bored,’ was the simple reply.
‘Not enjoying the book?’
‘Oh, no, Sir,’ Jerry replied. ‘I enjoyed it very much, but I finished it a while ago and was just rereading the last chapter for something to do. Can I get up now?’
James sat on the end of the bed, aware that the air in the room was stale. ‘The doctor said not until tomorrow.’
‘But I am not unwell, Sir.’
‘I know, but we have to do as we’re told, don’t we?’
Jerry’s shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose so.’
The boy’s enthusiasm to be free of the room gave James an idea. He needed information and thought of a way to extract it. ‘I tell you what,’ he said, wriggling his way out of his jacket to appear more human and put the boy at his ease. ‘How about a game?’
‘Snap? Do you have cards?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ James laughed. ‘You are an intelligent chap, so a grownups’ game would suit you better.’
‘Bridge? I’m not very good.’
‘No, Jerry, not bridge. Let’s call it “Payoff”.’
Jerry looked sceptical as if he knew what James had in mind. ‘Go on, Sir,’ he said. ‘What’s that?’
‘Well…’ James hoisted a leg onto the bed and tucked it under himself before leaning back on the footboard, moves designed to make him appear relaxed and informal. ‘Mrs Baker will be bringing supper before long, and you’re keen to be out of bed. I bet you’d rather eat downstairs in the hall with us, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, please, Mr Wright.’ The boy’s eagerness was apparent, and again his eyes lit up.
‘The thing is, Jerry,’ James continued more cautiously. ‘Before I can defy the doctor and let you get out of bed, and before I can show you more of Larkspur Hall, I need some information. So, I ask a question, and if you answer me honestly, then you get to see more of His Lordship’s house. Of course, we have to start by getting you dressed, so answer me a question, and you can get up. That’s the payoff, and that’s round one. What do you say?’
Jerry said nothing but stared at James blankly.
‘Not a good idea?’ James prompted, when it was obvious he wasn’t to have an answer.
‘You’re bribing me,’ Jerry said and folded his arms petulantly.
‘You are far too clever for your age,’ James laughed.
‘That’s what the masters say at…’
It wasn’t how James had intended to extract information, but somehow, he had caught the lad off guard.
‘Your schoolmasters?’ he probed. ‘At what school?’
Silence.
‘Very well.’ James stood and collected his jacket. ‘Maybe we’ll play tomorrow.’
Silence.
The threat hadn’t worked, but James was determined to see it through. It wasn’t until he had the door open that he heard a sniffle, and turning back, realised Jerry was crying. Where the viscount found it hard to see the bad in anyone, so did James, and although Jerry could easily have been calling his bluff, he preferred to think he was dealing with a scared and lonely nine-year-old, rather than a calculating and educated gambler. All the same, he wasn’t prepared to be too soft on the lad.
‘That won’t work with me,’ he said, his hand on the door handle. ‘If you want to be up and about, you have to play fair, Jerry. Have you run away from school?’
A pair of cautious eyes sent their signal across the room as Jerry made up his mind.
‘You can trust me, mate,’ James said, and the use of the word surprised the lad. ‘And the sooner you do it, the sooner we can get you downstairs having fun rather than sleeping in a maid’s room watched over…’ He crept closer and made a dumb show of glancing behind as if about to impart a horrific secret. Pulling an exaggerated grimace, he said, ‘Watched over by a girl.’
Jerry giggled at the clowning.
‘Although Lucy is a very pretty girl,’ James added, instantly feeling guilty because he had been derogatory to the maid. Another idea apparently fell into his head, and he gasped. ‘Say! How about, after dinner in the hall, we see if we can’t find you a room meant for boys.’
The lad’s eyes widened.
‘Perhaps next to mine.’ There was a daybed in the sitting room he shared with Thomas. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Yes please, Sir.’
‘So, have you run away from school?’
Silence.
James growled. ‘I do have better thing to do, Master I N T S.’
The boy’s head shot back, and this time, he was the one to gasp.
‘I assume the initials sewn into your jacket are yours?’ James said, standing over the bed, his face stern. ‘I do hope you are not a thief.’
‘Certainly not, Sir!’
‘Then the jacket belongs to you.’
Jerry’s cheeks, until then pallid, flushed pink. It was answer enough for James, and deciding that to gain the boy’s trust he needed to show a little on his own part, he said, ‘Up you get then.’
‘May I?’
‘You might not have said anything, but you have answered a question.’
The lad was out of the bed before James had time to collect his dressing gown.
‘What’s for supper?’
‘Wait!’ James made himself as grand and grown-up as he could, and his tone halted Jerry in his race for the door. James cleared his throat. ‘I am the personal valet to His Lordship,’ he said, doing his best impersonation of Thomas in an imperious mood. ‘I would be failing in my duties if the young master roamed the Hall in his pyjamas.’ He held the gown open, allowing Jerry to back into it. ‘And it would not do for you to be seen in this a state in the corridors of such a fine house.’ With Jerry doing up his belt, James collected a set of clothes Mrs Williams had donated. ‘Follow me, young Sir,’ he said and left the room.
Along the passage, he opened the door to the male servants’ quarters and ushered the lad through, stopping him when he reached the bathroom.
‘In you go,’ he said. ‘Wash quickly and dress yourself. I’ll wait here.’
‘Are you going to lock me in?’
‘No. Why? Is that what they do at your school?’
‘No, they stand and watch.’
‘Which tells me you attend a boarding school,’ James said and grinned when Jerry stamped his foot. ‘I may not have been taught in a place like yours, Jerry, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I don’t expect you’ll tell me the name of your school, not yet, but so far, you have only reached the bathroom. There’s a long way to go before we reach the supper table. In you go, wash and change but don’t lock the door. You still might have concussion, and
I don’t want to have to break it down if you pass out.’
Jerry scowled. Beaten, temporarily at least, he let himself into the bathroom.
He was back a couple of minutes later, and James doubted he had washed sufficiently, but an examination of his hands showed them to be clean enough. Leaving the boy’s nightclothes on the chair, he nodded to the far end of the corridor.
‘It’s that way,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to run off, are you?’
‘Does that count as a question?’
‘Blimey, mate, you’re a tricky one ain’t you?’
Jerry looked up at him, his mouth twisted in an expression of confused disbelief. ‘Why do you speak like that?’
‘I’m from London,’ James said. ‘It’s how I speak with me mates, it ain’t how I speak with His Lordship, of course.’ Not exactly true. James was able to be himself when appropriate. ‘Is that where you’re from? The city?’
Jerry regarded the door at the end of the corridor behind which lay his chance of a decent supper at a table and all the wonders a great house might offer, considered his options and slowly nodded.
‘Then we shall proceed.’
They were nearing the end of the passage when James felt a small, warm hand slip into his own.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ Jerry said, his voice a whisper.
James was touched, but unnerved to realise he was suddenly a surrogate parent and squeezed that lad’s hand gently.
‘These stairs lead down to the gentlemen’s corridor where his Lordship has his rooms,’ he said as they descended the plain backstairs. ‘There’s the door.’
‘Can I see?’
‘Not yet. Keep going down, and we will come to the servants’ passage that leads to the main backstairs and the green baize door.’
‘There is a play by that name,’ Jerry said.
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