‘That’s an odd thing to say,’ James replied. ‘Is it one you’ve done at school?’
‘No. I just know it.’
They turned into the servants’ passage, a long thoroughfare that connected the east end of the house to the central hall and the west wing beyond. The walls were painted green, and the gas kept at half-light to save the cost. On busy occasions, Thomas had said when showing James around, the lighting was turned up to avoid accidents, and in the days of the late viscount, the passage was like ‘Dury Lane when the theatre is turning out,’ bustling with maids and footmen going about their masters’ business. Tonight it was dull and uninspiring, but Jerry took it all in, his head swinging from one side to the other, his hand never letting go of James.
‘And here’s the main entrance to the Hall.’ James stopped at a door beneath the east staircase where Jerry looked up at him with eager eyes. ‘We’re only going through there if you answer a very big question,’ the valet warned. ‘And we’re only going down there to eat…’ he pointed to the staircase that descended to the servants’ hall, ‘if you answer another.’
‘You mean that you’ll make me starve if I don’t answer you?’
The boy was not only quick-witted, he was confident. He knew James wouldn’t let him starve, but James was prepared to push the idea if it meant gleaning more information.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t do that, but you will have to go back to your room and eat off a tray in bed like an invalid.’
Jerry regarded the baize door and then the stairs before finally considering the grown-up beside him. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll answer a question, and we’ll go down to eat, but you have to give me a piggyback.’
James rolled his eyes and letting go of the boy’s hand, crouched to his level.
‘You drive a very hard bargain,’ he smiled. ‘Something tells me you’ve transacted this kind of contract before.’
‘My father is in business,’ Jerry said. ‘He taught me.’
‘And where is your father?’
‘Is that your question, Sir?’
James had been about to ask him where he was travelling to when the train crashed, but knowing the whereabouts of the boy’s father would be more useful. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘St Merrynpawth.’
It was a simple reply but meant nothing to James. ‘And where’s that?’ he asked, but Jerry was already scrambling to climb on.
‘I answered, you have to carry me to supper.’
Deciding to ask Barnaby or one of the maids, James gave in and hoisted the lad onto his back.
‘Hold on tight,’ he said, unable to contain a boyish laugh. ‘These stairs are steep and winding. And mind your head.’
Jerry was light and no problem at all to carry down to the lower passage. He ducked at all the right places and gave James random directions as if he knew where he was going. By the time they approached the servants’ hall, James had given in to the childish game and was having as much fun as his young charge, so much so, that as they ducked and trotted into the hall, he only came to his senses when he saw Thomas glaring from the head of the table, and Mrs Baker standing with her mouth open. Chatter ceased, and in the awkward silence that followed, one of the maids sniggered.
‘Ah,’ James said, and lifted Jerry over his head to place him on the ground. ‘Can I introduce Master Jerry O’Sullivan to those who’ve not met him?’ He was looking directly at Thomas in case he was in trouble. A gaggle of maids descended on the lad and, over their heads, James received a surreptitious wink from the butler along with a wry smile.
‘You’re both just in time,’ Thomas said, before scolding the maids for squawking and cooing over the boy and ordering them to lay a place for him beside Mr Wright.
‘You’ll not be needing the tray then.’ Mrs Baker halted Sally who was on her way to collect it.
‘No, thank you,’ James replied, leading Jerry to his chair. ‘Master O’Sullivan has been good and has answered my questions. We’re playing “Payoff”, and he has just passed round one.’
‘I don’t know what that means, Mr Wright,’ Thomas said, his usual demeanour of authority once again apparent. ‘But we were just about to say grace.’
James knew full well that Thomas, like Archer, had no time for grace or anything overtly religious, but it was traditional, and keen to discover more about Jerry, suggested their guest might like the honour. ‘That is if you know one?’ he added, pulling Jerry to his feet. ‘No-one sits before Mr Payne has taken his place,’ he whispered.
‘Oops, sorry, Sir, I didn’t know.’ Jerry aimed his apology at the butler who bowed graciously.
‘Would you care to say grace, young man?’ Thomas asked. ‘I feel it would be appropriate as you have, by the grace of God, Mr Andrej and Mr Wright, escaped a great calamity.’
Jerry looked at James for a translation.
‘Just say what you know,’ James encouraged. ‘I’ll explain the rest later.’
‘Thank you, Sir Payne,’ Jerry said, causing a ripple of laughter from the lowliest hall boy to the housekeeper.
‘Mr Payne,’ Thomas emphasised, throwing James’ a glare as if it was his fault.
‘Just say your grace, Jerry, and we can eat.’ James nudged him, and the room fell silent.
The lad looked from one servant to the next until he was happy that they each had their heads bowed. Another nudge from James, whose stomach was rumbling, and he spoke up with a clear and practised voice.
‘Quae de tua benignitate sumus percepturi, benedicito per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.’
James was a stunned as everyone else, and glad that Silas was not at the table. Had he been, he would have voiced what was on James’ mind; ‘What the fuck was that?’ Instead, he muttered ‘Amen’ along with everyone else and sat.
Supper was taken in a semi-formal manner as was the custom, with the hall boys and kitchen maids serving the higher servants, and Thomas and Mrs Baker discussing domestic matters while the maids chatted about anything not to do with work. Jerry ate politely and only spoke when he was spoken to, but failed to answer any questions. Even when asked about the crash, which Mrs Baker thought not an appropriate subject, he said nothing, but shrugged and looked at his plate.
‘He’s a man of few words, aren’t you, Jerry?’ James cajoled. ‘We’ll start on round two after dinner.’
‘May I see the Hall, Sir?’ Jerry asked, but James directed him to Thomas.
‘Not this evening,’ Thomas decreed. ‘His Lordship has guests.’
The meal was interrupted only once when Mr Saddle was called to attend Mr Smith, and it was finished promptly in time for His Lordship and his company to be served their dinner above stairs.
Before Thomas went up with Barnaby to oversee the meal, James managed to take him to one side, and they agreed that Jerry, if not claimed by the next day, could take up temporary residence in their ground-floor suite. It would be easier for James to keep an eye on him, and promising the move to the men’s quarters would, he reasoned, give Jerry an incentive to answer more questions. Thomas agreed, adding in a whispered snigger, ‘I always knew you were a family man, Jimmy.’
‘Only with you,’ James replied. ‘Tell you what, when the lad moves in with us, we can pretend we’re married.’
‘I shouldn’t like that!’ Thomas feigned horror. ‘We would have to hyphenate. People would call us the Wright-Paynes.’
The laughter that followed was unbecoming of men in their stations, and Mrs Baker said so as she bustled past, but it was said with good humour. The boy’s presence below stairs had raised everyone’s spirits, including Thomas’, and the atmosphere was only dampened by the return of Mr Saddle.
Calling James away from the others, he informed him that Mr Smith was keen to see the other survivor of t
he accident.
‘What for?’
‘He, like myself and us all, I suspect,’ Saddle said, ‘is keen to know more about him. He also thought it might help the boy to know that he was not the only survivor. Alleviate any guilt, perhaps?’
After consideration, James agreed that he would take Jerry to see Mr Smith later when he returned him to Lucy’s room for the night, and that satisfied Saddle.
‘What do we know about him?’ the under-butler asked, one of his narrow eyes on where Jerry was shuffling a deck of cards.
‘He comes from London, his father’s in business, he’s probably run away from school, and his father is in St Merrynporth,’ James said. ‘But I haven’t found out yet where that is.’
‘The village of St Merryn is adjacent to Padstow,’ Saddle said. ‘Not far from here, but I’ve not heard of St Merrynporth. Perhaps Barnaby would know.’
Saddle left James to ponder and wait for Barnaby to return from the dining room, but he also left him with an unfounded sense of unease.
He was about to collect Jerry and take him upstairs when Mrs Baker cornered him.
‘I was interested in the grace,’ she said as Mrs Flintwich spoiled the boy with a leftover slice of lemon cake.
‘It was a bit over the top,’ James agreed. ‘Was it Latin?’
‘It was, Mr Wright,’ the woman replied, watching Jerry over the valet’s shoulder. ‘If, as you suspect, the bairn attends a private school, then a Latin grace makes sense. As you know, I am a Christian, and I take an interest in all aspects of my religion, particularly how it is taught to the young. But, what’s strange is, if I am not mistaken, that particular grace is peculiar to one institution.’
‘Oh? His school, you think?’
‘I doubt it, Mr Wright,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Unless they accept nine-year-olds at University. It is the grace traditionally spoken at Trinity College in Dublin.’
Thirteen
Once His Lordship’s dinner guests had retired to the smoking-room to continue their philanthropic discussions, Saddle left Barnaby to close the dining room. Downstairs, he collected a walking cane from the umbrella stand and a fresh jug of water from the scullery, and made his way up the backstairs to attend to Mr Smith.
The Romanian was at the writing-table beside the fire, elegant in one of the viscount’s smoking jackets and sipping the last of the wine the under-butler had provided with his supper.
‘Robert,’ Smith smiled as the servant entered, closing the door delicately behind him. ‘You are spoiling me with your attentions.’
‘And I intend to spoil you further, Sir,’ Robert replied. ‘I took the liberty of bringing this.’ Placing the jug by the bed, he crossed the room holding the cane before him. ‘I thought it might assist you.’
Smith took it, and replacing his empty glass, pushed himself to his feet with one hand on the desk and the other clutching the silver top of the cane.
‘You are thoughtful,’ he said, testing his weight and grimacing.
‘Not at all, Sir. Does it help?’
Smith took a couple of paces, and finding that the pain in his ankle was lessened by its use, realised his frown had been made in false expectation. ‘It’s perfect,’ he said, taking a few more steps towards the bed. ‘I shall be able to make my own way about.’
‘On which note, His Lordship asks if you would like to dine with him tomorrow,’ Saddle said, attending to the bed and straightening the covers. ‘He asked me to again send his apologies that he won’t be able to visit this evening, but says you are welcome to use his house as yours from the morning onwards.’
‘The doctor did say I should try walking as soon as I could,’ Smith nodded. ‘And I should be very happy if I am not a burden.’
‘You are not, Sir.’
‘Then maybe, if you are not too busy, you can show me the house in the morning.’
‘I will have to clear that with Mr Payne, but I can’t see it being a problem, Sir.’
Smith sat on the edge of the bed and removed the smoking jacket. ‘Then that’s settled,’ he said. ‘Which is more than I can say for myself.’
‘Oh?’
Smith laughed. ‘It’s this gown.’ He threw it onto a chair. ‘Far to gaudy for my taste, but I am grateful.’
‘Indeed, Sir. His Lordship favours the brighter colours of the Chinese patterns over the new style of the French.’ Saddle collected the gown and hung it on a hanger. He was returning from the wardrobe as Smith climbed into bed. ‘Let me help you, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Robert, but the more I do for myself, the better.’
‘As you wish.’
It occurred to Saddle that with the cane affording Mr Smith newfound mobility, and with the way his ankle was healing, he would soon have no need for Saddle. The under-butler would be reduced to his usual menial duties once the man knew the layout of the Hall and where he could go. He would become the viscount’s guest rather than Saddle’s, and the more distant the pair became, the less chance there was of any tip.
‘Did you ask about the unfortunate young man?’ Smith asked, swinging his legs onto the bed and pulling over the covers.
‘I did, Sir.’ Saddle looked at the time. ‘Mr Wright will bring him to you in an hour unless you are too tired?’
‘No, not tired at all, Robert. My race is known for its stamina, and it’s going to take more than a sprained ankle, a few knocks and bruises to keep me from my intentions.’
‘Intentions?’
Smith flustered. ‘I mean, my intention to be away from Larkspur as soon as I am able, and thus, no further imposition on Clearwater’s hospitality.’
‘You are invited for the week, Sir,’ Saddle said with a mild bow. ‘And I am charged to assist you in any way you need. We are quite used to house guests.’
‘Oh? How so? I’m sorry, Robert, but I am unaccustomed to these great houses, and I am not sure of the etiquette. I’ve been in your country for many years, I was educated here but only to a middle-class degree.’
Saddle attended to the fire, stoking the logs and adding two more. He was uncomfortably aware that Smith was watching his every move, and when he stood to place the guard, caught the man studying him, deep in thought.
‘Your idea of your class surprises me, Sir,’ he said.
‘Why? Is my accent still strong? The fellows at my university did all they could to knock it out of me.’
‘No, Sir.’ Saddle wondered if he had insulted the man. If he had, it was by accident. ‘What I was ineptly trying to say was that I am surprised you would call yourself middle-class. You behave as though you are quite used to life in a manor house or a hall such as Larkspur, and your accent has nothing to do with it.’ It was an outright lie, of course. Saddle had an ingrained mistrust of foreigners simply because they were not from his country. Smith’s accent, with its rolling Rs and long vowels pricked him each time he spoke, but Saddle was keen to stay in the man’s good books, his mind fixated on the Romanian’s money.
His path towards it was about to become a lot easier.
‘Ha!’ Smith said. ‘I can easily show you I am not a man of breeding. Tell me, Robert, do you play cards?’
Saddle’s heart missed a beat. He gambled very well, but his good fortune at cards had more to do with sleight of hand than fair play, the gamblers of Padstow could attest to that. During regular games on his nights off, he had amassed a goodly amount of cash which he spent frivolously until his trickery was exposed and he was left under threat of personal injury. A threat that had been hanging over him this past couple of months. The time to repay his debt to the fishermen was fast approaching, and he was nowhere near the total needed to keep his limbs unbroken and his reputation intact.
‘It’s not something I am permitted to do, Sir,’ he said, this time honestly.
‘For a servant to gamble with a guest of His Lordship… It’s not etiquette.’
‘You see? I am not from the upper classes, or I wouldn’t have made such a base suggestion. But, we are friends, I believe, Robert and we have an hour, you said. A quick hand of Septica?’
Saddle glanced at the room. There was nothing more for him to do; his guest was in bed, had eaten and was mobile. ‘It’s time I was downstairs,’ he said.
‘I would only ring for you if you went.’ Smith’s eyes were twinkling. ‘You are at my beck and call, are you not?’
It was true. Until the man was asleep or declared that he had no more use of a servant, Saddle was on duty, and Mr Payne had made it clear that it was Saddle alone who should keep a close watch on the Romanian.
‘What is Septica?’ he asked, approaching the bed with growing interest.
‘You may have heard it called Sedma?’
Saddle was none the wiser.
‘It’s a form of whist, then,’ Smith said. ‘You have a deck?’
‘I can fetch one, but…’
‘Then fetch away, Robert, and bring your coins.’
Whist was Saddle’s game and the one with which he had the most success. Usually, he would play at a table where slipping and changing his cards undetected was difficult, though not impossible, but Smith would be sitting in bed and Robert beside it, lower. This would give him an easy opportunity, when shuffling, to stack the deck, float the ideal cards to the top, and second deal the Romanian. He had success cheating this way with a group of three opponents watching, it would be easy with only one.
‘As you command,’ he said, and with a bow that concealed his wicked smile, slithered from the room.
Forty-five minutes later, Saddle’s fortune had taken a turn for the better. Smith was down several pounds and had no idea that Saddle had been playing him. He had to keep one eye on the clock to be sure they were not caught, and Wright and the boy were expected shortly, but as long as Mr Smith was in the house and calling the shots, Saddle was happy to take his money.
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