‘His play, his notes, anything about the Szekely people, so when they meet on Friday, he’s got something to talk about. Between you and me, I think he’s a bit in awe of Mr Irving. He wants him to back the mission we have in Cheap Street, and put on another gala night to raise money.’
‘Oh, Mr Stoker’s the one you want for that,’ Jake said. ‘He’s good at publicity. But he needs this stuff bad?’
Silas nodded.
‘And Mr Thomas thinks it’s in his office?’
‘Just Thomas, and yes.’
‘And the stage doorman won’t let you in to look?’
‘Not even in the name of Viscount Clearwater.’
‘Oh, well then…’ Jake put down his glass, sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. As he thought, his eyes remained on Silas, but he blew out his cheeks one after the other, made a tutting noise and cracked his knuckles. Leaning forward, he scratched his recently shaved chin and said, ‘I suppose we could break in.’
The idea had occurred to Silas at the stage door, but he hadn’t seen an obvious way to do it. The windows were too high and opened directly onto a busy street, and the building abutted others with no back alley.
‘Break into the Lyceum?’ he queried, a smile growing.
‘No,’ Jake said. ‘Not the Lyceum. The Opera House.’
Sixteen
At about the time Silas had been drifting into troubled sleep on the night train to London, James was lying in bed watching Thomas dress. That morning, he moved slowly as his body was still stiff, but he was more mobile than the day before.
‘Don’t put them on,’ James said, leering as Tom stood naked, turning his underclothes the right way around. ‘I love it just as you are.’
‘Go back to sleep,’ Thomas replied, smiling. ‘You’ve got an hour yet.’
It was six-thirty, the maids would already be at the fireplaces and sweeping the floors. Barnaby would be opening the main hall, and Saddle would be setting the breakfast room before collecting the post and bringing the newspapers to Thomas or Barnaby for ironing.
‘I’m awake now,’ James said. ‘I think I’ll have a bath. How are you feeling?’
‘A bit stiff, but otherwise fine.’
‘I know what you mean.’ James threw back the cover to reveal his naked erection. ‘Want to give me a hand?’
‘You’re incorrigible, Mr Wright,’ Thomas said, stepping into his trousers. ‘And there’ll be none of that with your young friend staying down here.’
‘No, of course not.’
They had arranged that Saddle would bring down some of the viscount’s old games to keep Jerry occupied, and once James had finished his morning duties, he was to show the lad around the Hall and move him into the butler’s suite. James was keen to discover more about the boy, and Lucy was more than keen to have her room back to herself.
Thomas had just finished dressing, and James was considering how he might coerce him back to bed when a knock on the sitting room door took them by surprise.
‘Who’s that?’ Thomas complained, hurriedly buttoning his shirt.
No-one disturbed the butler unless it was an emergency, and James’ first thought was that Mr Smith had done something dreadful to the viscount.
‘Wait!’ he hissed as Thomas headed for the next room.
James scurried from the bed, grabbed his dressing gown and hurtled through into his own bedroom where he stood behind the door as he dressed.
‘Who is it?’ Thomas called.
The reply was muffled, but the mild Scottish accent told James it was the housekeeper. Listening, he made out two words, ‘Jerry’ and ‘missing’, and two minutes later was dressed and on his way to the servants’ hall.
He was met by an unusual amount of chatter, with Lucy in nightclothes, Iona and Karan without their aprons, and Barnaby looking as though he’d just crawled in from a night on the town with his dressing gown badly tied. Mrs Baker was also in her nightclothes, a sight that suggested everyone had been called immediately the disappearance was discovered. The only two people properly turned out were Thomas and James.
‘Young Jerry’s gone, Sir,’ Lucy said, her eyes red-ringed and her cheeks wet. ‘He was fast asleep when I turned in at eleven and gone when I woke at six.’
‘We’ve searched the top corridors. He’s not there,’ Saddle announced hurrying into the room and fixing his wing collar. ‘Sally’s looked in the women’s half, I’ve covered the men’s. No sign.’
‘Maybe he’s gone exploring,’ Barnaby suggested, scratching his chest and yawning. ‘You want me to look on the main floor, Mr Payne?’
‘Was the back door open?’ Mrs Baker asked the dairymaid, but she reported that it was closed and locked when she came in.
Others made suggestions, and the chatter became a clamour.
‘Enough!’ Thomas’s voice echoed around the vaulted ceiling and brought everyone to a standstill. ‘The boy is Mr Wright’s concern, he can decide what to do and where to look. Lucy, you’ve done nothing wrong, so calm down. All of you, go and dress properly and be about your duties. He’s a nine-year-old boy. They take themselves on adventures. I expect we will find him in the library, reading Shakespeare out of sheer boredom.’
‘Well said, Mr Payne,’ Mrs Baker agreed. ‘Off you go.’ She directed her words at her maids who left, picking up their chatter as they did so.
‘Can I go back to bed?’
‘No, Barnaby, you’re up now.’
‘But I’ve still got half an hour, Mr Payne,’ the footman complained.
‘Then you will have more than the usual time to prepare His Lordship’s tray. Mr Wright is properly turned out a whole hour before he is needed. You should take a lesson from him.’
‘I will be back directly,’ Mrs Baker said, and hurried after her girls.
‘Which leaves us men to search for the lad,’ Thomas decided. ‘And that will be done quietly and discreetly. We don’t want to wake His Lordship nor his other guest. Mr Saddle, did Mr Smith ask for a wake up at any particular time?’
‘No, Mr Payne. Though he has told me he is not generally an early riser.’
James wanted to suggest Saddle go and check the man’s rooms now, but it wasn’t up to him to order the under-butler around, much as he would have enjoyed doing so. The only time he had authority over him was in matters concerning the Viscount’s clothes and footwear.
Thomas, however, was thinking the same thing and told Saddle to check on the house guest. ‘I suggest you enter quietly through the adjoining suite so as not to disturb him. If Jerry got in there for any reason, Mr Smith would probably have rung, so it’s unlikely, but please go and look.’
Saddle obeyed readily, something he rarely did when ordered by his superior, he usually made at least one counter suggestion, and, James thought, only for the sake of it. He was impressed by the way Thomas let the annoyance drift over his head and never took the bait.
‘Barnaby?’ James said. ‘When you’re dressed, come back via the ladies’ corridor.’
‘Good idea,’ Thomas agreed. ‘All the doors are locked, but check the alcoves and call into the backstairs when you pass.
‘What do you want me to do?’ James asked, once they were alone.
‘I don’t know,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I have no experience with children. What would you do if it was your sister?’
‘Be grateful I didn’t have to listen to her whining,’ James joked, but Tom was not in a joking mood. ‘Sorry. I’d assume the lad’s wandering the corridors somewhere,’ he said. ‘Probably lost like I was those three times when I first got here. Shall I wake His Lordship?’
‘No, I’ll do that if we haven’t found the boy half an hour after everyone’s dressed. You and I can search the ground floor, and when the oth
ers are back, they can get on with their work. If that’s alright with you?’
‘Of course,’ James said, keeping his tone formal.
Mark was in the scullery, and when James called for him, the cheerful and obedient fifteen-year-old popped his head around the door.
‘Yes, Mr Wright?’
‘Will you listen out for the bells? As soon as one of the maids or Barnaby gets back, tell them to carry on as normal.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘And if His Lordship rings down,’ Thomas added, ‘send someone to find me. I will be the one to tell him if Mr O’Sullivan has run away.’
Forty minutes later, the servants were back in the hall, giving their reports. No-one had found Jerry, and every room had been searched apart from the cellar, which was locked and had been all night, Thomas being the only one with a key.
‘Well done everyone,’ Thomas said. ‘But now we must get on with our day. I will speak with His Lordship, and we will leave Mr Wright to deal with this, he is, after all, the one who has the boy’s confidence.’
He and James had decided this while searching the ground floor. There hadn’t been time for a thorough search, and James suggested he return and continue once they knew for sure the boy wasn’t simply lost in the house. Thomas was expecting his wine order delivery and had other important matters to see to concerning the dinner party, and like the viscount, had things on his mind.
James kept an eye on him from a distance, keen that he didn’t overwork himself. It wasn’t that Tom was delicate or highly strung — though he could be both on occasions — but James couldn’t help but be protective.
Household order was restored just as the master bedroom bell rang. Barnaby had the viscount’s tray prepared, but Thomas insisted he and Mr Wright take it up.
‘You can help Mr Saddle this morning.’
‘I can manage quite well on my own, Mr Payne,’ Saddle complained.
‘I would like Barnaby to attend Mr Smith today,’ the butler insisted. ‘You can observe and correct if necessary. Barnaby is still learning, and I trust you to ensure he does everything correctly.’
Flattery never worked on Saddle even if it was meant, and in this case, it wasn’t. Thomas didn’t care for the man at all, but the under-butler agreed as if he had a choice, and James couldn’t help but feel he was jealous that someone else should attend to the Romanian.
Putting that thought from his mind, he followed Thomas upstairs to the master bedroom, where they found Archer in bed reading a book.
The situation was explained, and Archer was concerned but thankful that Thomas had done the right thing. ‘Do you think he’s run off?’ he asked as James poured his coffee.
‘Hard to say,’ James replied. ‘I can’t see any reason unless I was asking him too many questions and he got the jitters.’
‘Why should he?’
‘He took a strange reaction to meeting Mr Smith. I assumed he was shy, but when they were introduced to each other, he looked horrified more than embarrassed.’
‘Perhaps the man reminded him of the accident,’ Thomas reasoned. ‘Maybe it came back to him in a flash, and he went to pieces.’
‘How was he afterwards?’ Archer asked.
‘It took me a while to settle him into bed.’ James replaced the coffee pot on the tray and moved it to the table. ‘He wouldn’t say why he had run away from the man. I told him I thought he was being rude, but he said nothing, so I tried asking him gently if he was still upset about the accident.’
‘And?’
‘Just shook his head. I read to him for a while, and he fell straight to sleep.’
‘You’re a natural-born father, Jimmy,’ Archer said through a smile, and Thomas laughed.
It was a good-natured jibe and made James flush with pride, but only for an instant. ‘I’d like to go looking for him,’ he said. ‘If that’s alright with you, Sir? Once you’re up and running, that is.’
‘Of course,’ Archer agreed. ‘Can’t have a house guest, particularly a young one, lost in the grounds. You go and search, I can see you’re worried. Tom can dress me, it will be like old times and give us a chance to catch up. We never get enough time alone, Tom.’
‘As you wish,’ Tom said. ‘I have the wine arriving and a few other things to make ready, but that’s later this morning.’
‘Excellent. Have you heard from Silas?’
‘Not yet.’ Thomas noticed the time. ‘He will still be on the train.’
‘Ah, yes. So, that’s that then, I had best get up.’
With a growing feeling of anxiety, James left to go in search of the enigmatic Jerry O’Sullivan.
It was not until an hour later that he made the discovery.
After looking in every room on the ground floor, calling the boy’s name and receiving no reply, he made his way to the first floor, trying every door and looking in every unlocked room. The maids were busy preparing the guest bedrooms, airing them and dusting everything from the picture frames to the curtains, and no-one reported seeing the lad. His concern grew as he trudged to the top floor to take one more sweep of the servant’s quarters. He had no qualms about entering the viscount’s suite and Silas’ rooms, it was part of his job to be in there at various times of the day, but when he approached Barnaby’s room, he was worried that he was being too intrusive. He knocked, called and reluctantly entered telling himself that he had to be thorough, and Barnaby would understand.
The room was like the others on the top floor with its sloping ceiling, small gas fire, a sink and basic but sturdy furniture, and, as expected, there was no sign of Jerry. Considering Barnaby’s appearance earlier, the room was surprisingly tidy.
Mr Saddle’s room displayed the same level of fastidiousness, and there was nothing out of place, but as he was leaving, something on the dressing table caught James’ eye. Among Saddle’s collars and studs, one item of jewellery stood out, a gold pocket watch that James had never seen the under-butler wear. Thomas carried a watch, and it was reasonable to assume that his deputy did the same, but if that was the case, why wasn’t Saddle wearing it? Hearing no sound from the corridor, he inspected the timepiece more closely, uncertain why he found it so intriguing. It was a simple fob watch with a chain and carried no inscription. It was also lighter than he expected when he lifted it to press the winder and release the catch on the cover. Inside was where the watch became curious. The face was white with black, Roman numerals, but there was no maker’s mark. He could find none on the outer casing either, or inside the lid. What it did tell him, however, was the reason Saddle wasn’t wearing it.
The watch wasn’t working. There was no ticking, the second hand was static, and the mechanism had stopped with all three hands pointing directly to twelve.
Resisting the temptation to wind it, because that would alert Saddle to his nosiness, he put it back as he had found it and moved onto the maid’s quarters, knocking on doors and calling.
Lucy’s room was as he expected to find it, the bed made and a faint scent of femininity hanging in the air. Jerry’s bed had been made, and his pyjamas were neatly folded on the end. The copy of ‘Kidnapped’ was on the locker, and James sat as he picked it up. It was the only connection he had with the boy, and as he touched it, his concern for Jerry grew. It was hard to explain how he knew, but something was wrong. Something bad was happening and the feeling transferred to him from the book.
‘Why would he run away?’ he asked as if the novel would reply. ‘Where would he go?’
Jerry was not in the house, but he might be in the grounds, perhaps even helping Fecker with the horses. There were still plenty of places he could be, it was a calm day and not cold, perhaps he was playing in the abbey ruins, or chatting to Danylo at the smallholding. James pictured the lad playing with the Ukrainian’s practice foils, learning to fence, b
ut no matter how much he tried to imagine a happy outcome, he simply could not.
‘You’ve got to think logically, Jimmy,’ he muttered, flicking the pages. ‘The lad’s run from his boarding school, he’s probably still running.’
The question was, where? It was one among many.
Who was I N T S? Was the jacket borrowed, stolen or Jerry’s? Was his name really Jerry? Who was his father? Where was St Merrynporth? The most difficult question came last. Why was James concerned about a child he didn’t know?
Assuming it was a natural, fatherly instinct even men like him were born with, he slapped his thighs and stood. Instead of befuddling his mind with questions he couldn’t answer, he should have been looking for the boy and was about to replace the book when he found himself compelled to open it. The novel wouldn’t let him go without demanding more attention.
Opening the cover, he understood why.
Five minutes later, he found Archer in the drawing-room with Mr Smith. They were being attended by Saddle and had just come in from breakfast. Leaning on a cane, Smith was in the process of sitting, aided by the under-butler, and Archer was sipping coffee at the window.
‘My apologies, My Lord,’ James said at the doorway. ‘May I have a word?’
‘Come in, Wright,’ Archer said, distracted by the view. ‘What is it?’
James waited for Archer to realise he wanted to talk alone, but the viscount didn’t pick up on the hint.
‘In private, My Lord?’
Saddle’s ears pricked up and he threw James an inquisitive look as he collected coffee for Mr Smith. James ignored him and stepped out into the hall.
‘What is it?’ Archer asked when he joined him.
James showed him the novel and opened the cover in silence, hoping not to attract Smith’s attention.
‘Who’s done that?’ Archer said. ‘That’s a first edition!’
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