The boat was due in half an hour, and he called into the inn as he passed to discover Jerry and Fecker calmly playing cards at the table. It was comforting to see the lad laughing and relaxed, though Fecker looked annoyed, as if he was losing.
‘Just going to see if I can see the boat,’ he said. ‘Get the things ready, Fecks, yeah?’
Without waiting for an answer, he continued on to the customs house where a uniformed man sat smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper. Beside him, two elderly men sat drinking beer from bottles. Another pleasant sight, perhaps but what worried James was the lack of anybody else.
‘Good afternoon,’ he greeted the man affably while scanning the quayside for signs of activity. ‘Are you the harbour master?’
‘That I am, Sir. Be helping you?’
‘Yes, please. I am meeting some people off the St Merrynporth. Can you confirm its arrival time?’
‘I can, Sir.’ The man knocked his pipe to empty it. ‘Landed at ten thirty this morning.’
At first, James thought he had misheard. ‘Ten thirty? I didn’t see it.’ At that time, he had been standing at the window admiring the view while Jerry dressed and Fecker used the bathroom.
‘No, you wouldn’t have done,’ the harbourmaster said. ‘Not unless you got telescopes for eyes.’ He began filling his pipe. ‘The Britannic tender were forced to land at Penzance on account of the storm. Passengers would have got off there. St Merrynporth will be back ’ere in a day or so.’
James’ mind shifted gears, out of shock and into logic. He thanked the man and hurried back to the inn, calculating time and distance and wishing Jerry had kept the railway timetable. The only comforting thoughts were that Smith wouldn’t have known the information either, and Thomas would soon be aware that Stoker was in danger and from whom. There was a chance that Silas had found the answer they needed and was back at the Hall, had convinced Archer and alerted the authorities, but with no way of knowing, he had to assume he was on his own.
For all he knew, Smith might be there now, wheedling his way back in and preparing to murder the man as soon as he arrived.
Forcing himself to calm down and think more clearly, he walked into the inn to find Fecker and Jerry ready with their bags.
‘Well?’ Jerry said, his eyes wide and eager. ‘Is it coming?’
‘No.’
The clock behind the bar struck two.
‘We’ve got thirteen minutes to get to the station,’ James said before calling for the landlady. ‘Your father’s already on his way to the Hall, Jerry. We can catch the train and be there in three hours. You’ll be okay with the horses on your own, Fecks?’
‘Da. I tell you this. Only six hours, I be there for supper.’
‘What’s up, me duck?’ Mary appeared from upstairs.
‘Where’s the railway station?’
‘Up into town, along East Street. About a mile. Why?’
‘Will we make it in thirteen minutes?’
‘You will if you run, love,’ she replied. ‘But there ain’t no point. Be Easter Friday, and there ain’t no more trains leaving Newquay today.’
Jerry took hold of James’ hand. ‘What are we going to do, Uncle Jimmy?’
‘Da,’ Fecker snorted. ‘What we do, Tato?’
‘We’ll have to ride,’ James groaned. ‘And you still haven’t told me what Tato means.’
Fecker laughed as he made for the door. ‘I saddle horses,’ he said, adding pointedly, ‘Daddy.’
Twenty-Four
Larkspur was alive with activity as Thomas met Mrs Baker in the servants’ passage outside his pantry. She bustled towards him trailed by two maids he didn’t recognise, and they were followed by Lady Marshall’s footman, Oleg. Lucy and Sally came from the other direction carrying towels fresh from the laundry. The Larkspur maids veered off to the backstairs as the housekeeper brought her party to a halt.
‘This is Mr Payne,’ she explained to the two women behind her before introducing them to Thomas. ‘Lady Marshall’s lady’s maid, Mrs Sweet you may know, and the Countess’, Mrs Beeton.’
The women, both in their mid-thirties, Thomas guessed, made a small curtsey.
‘Any relation?’ Thomas asked.
‘My aunt,’ Mrs Beeton replied.
‘I am sure Mrs Baker is looking after you. I won’t keep you.’ Turning to Oleg, he greeted him with a handshake which surprised the Russian. ‘Welcome, Oleg. Mr Andrej will be pleased to see you when he gets back.’
‘Any news?’ Mrs Baker asked, her attention on the servants’ hall at the end of the passage.
‘Not yet,’ Thomas replied. ‘We’ve not had word from either Mr Wright or Mr Hawkins.’
‘Her Ladyship brought me to help, Mr Payne,’ Oleg said, his long face drooping from a head held high above his tall frame. ‘Use me in any way you want.’
Thomas thanked him, relief flowing through his veins. ‘Earl Romney has his man, but Lord Tennyson is visiting alone. I will valet Lord Clearwater if his valet doesn’t return soon, but perhaps you could assist Lord Tennyson?’
‘A pleasure.’
‘Good man. The other gentlemen had said they didn’t require a valet, but best be prepared. Is everything alright, Mrs Baker?’
‘It will be in a minute,’ she said. ‘I must get on.’
She led her party towards the servants’ hall barking at gossiping maids and scattering them like geese, and Thomas returned to his pantry, noting the time and running through his mental checklist. The most important task was to finish decanting the wine, currently on his desk. Sitting, he draped a clean muslin over the decanter and carefully lifted the open bottle of Mediasch. Holding it steady, he let it trickle slowly through the muslin until the decanter was full and the bottle nearly empty.
He had just placed the decanted wine on the sideboard with the others when the sounds of activity in the servants’ hall ground to a halt and the scraping of chairs told him that someone from above stairs had come down. A second later, Archer appeared in the doorway in his trousers and a shirt, holding a cravat in one hand.
‘My Lord,’ Thomas stood.
Archer glanced back along the corridor where the sounds of industrious work had resumed, and then looked the other way before stepping in and closing the door. Having made sure they were alone, his shoulders slumped, and he said, ‘Tom, I’m in a mess.’
‘What can I do to help, Sir?’
Archer threw himself into the armchair, and his arms flopped either side as if he was a rag doll.
‘I don’t understand myself,’ he said, staring straight ahead. ‘I can make speeches in the House of Lords, I can fight Quill on the top of a moving train, I have trapped a judge in his own net in open court, and I’ve entertained more than nine people many times. Why then do I feel so out of my depth? My apprehension is starting to show. I just tore a strip off poor Barnaby for no reason other than saying aye instead of yes, and it’s all because of Silas. Please tell me you’ve heard from him? He must be here to give his view on the Foundation and show these people how they can change young men’s lives. Half the Garrick Club are here to meet him, and he’s buggering about somewhere trying to prove the delightful Mr Smith is an assassin. Bloody idiot. Have you had any news?’
Having let the viscount vent with words he didn’t mean, Thomas adopted a calming tone. ‘No, My Lord, we have not had any messages for the last two days.’
‘Damn odd, and it’s not helping my state of mind. Where the hell is he?’
‘Clearwater House.’
‘I know that!’
Archer’s nervousness was manifesting itself as anger. It might have been unfair on Barnaby, but perhaps it was justified towards Silas. Thomas, too, was annoyed with the secretary and concerned about the lack of communication from James.<
br />
‘I’ve not heard from Mr Wright or Mr Andrej either,’ he said. ‘Mr Williams was very helpful collecting guests from the railway station this afternoon, but I have had to ask Lady Marshall’s footman to valet Lord Tennyson. Luckily, Mr Roxton and the other… theatricals are happy to look after themselves.’
‘It’s going to be a shambles, I can feel it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
Thomas did.
‘Stand up, Sir,’ he said as he came around the desk.
Archer obeyed, and Thomas led him to the full-length mirror. Standing behind, he straightened the viscount’s collar and clicked the back stud properly into place before taking his cravat. ‘You are without Silas,’ he said. ‘You’re worried about him, and it’s affecting you. He knows to be here in time for the dinner, and I am sure he will be. Likewise, James will be back before long, and all will be well.’
Thomas laid the cravat over Archer’s shoulders, and working from his reflection, began to fold it into shape.
‘We almost had a row,’ Archer said. His words came more quietly than before, a sign that he was calming. ‘Maybe he’s staying away on purpose.’
‘On purpose?’
‘To get his own back.’
Thomas stopped in his work and raised his eyes to his master’s. ‘Is this a Thomas and Archer moment?’ he asked. ‘Or viscount and butler?’
‘Tom and Archer.’
‘Then, Archie, don’t be so bloody stupid,’ Thomas tutted as he continued to tie the cravat. ‘Of course Silas isn’t staying away on purpose. I expect he is on the train right now, or even in a cab from the station. You know why he went away, don’t you?’
‘Chasing after some notion that the amiable fellow, Smith, was a danger to me.’
‘Quite.’
‘But, Tom…’
Thomas put a finger on Archer’s lips, and their reflected eyes met.
‘Whatever Silas is doing, there’s nothing you can do about it now. The same goes for James. Of course, I’m worried about them both, Jimmy more so for obvious reasons, but I know, as do you, that whatever they are doing, they are doing it for your good. There.’ The cravat was neatly in place. ‘Do you have your pin?’
Archer handed it to him, and coming to stand facing his friend, Thomas carefully pinned the centre of the cravat. ‘You look splendid,’ he said. ‘Or you will when you put on your jacket.’
‘Should I have worn the bow tie?’ Archer was fussing again. ‘I mean, what’s the norm in the city doesn’t have to be the norm here, does it? Will the cravat offend anyone?’
Thomas rolled his eyes. ‘Deep breath,’ he said. ‘Now, would you like to sample the wine? I’ve decanted the Purcari which travelled from Plymouth better than I did, I have to say, and the Mediasch is just settling.’
Thomas stepped away, but Archer took his arm. ‘Thank you, Tom,’ he said, radiating sincerity. ‘Really, thank you.’
For a moment, Thomas thought they were going to kiss, and his heart skipped a beat, but instead, the viscount smiled sadly. Whether they wanted to or not, they both knew it couldn’t happen.
‘Not at all, Sir. Now, will you taste the Mediasch?’
‘Ah, that wine,’ Archer said, a smile trying to break on his lips. ‘They are going to be so impressed.’
‘I should think so. Will one bottle be enough? I can bring up more. For something so rare, there is rather a lot of it in your cellar.’
The smile grew. ‘My grandfather,’ Archer said. ‘Avid collector and connoisseur, and made the wise investment of buying as many crates as he could before the vineyard was blighted.’
‘Which is why it’s so difficult to come by, I assume,’ Thomas said. ‘Unless, of course, one has access to the Larkspur cellar.’
‘Quite.’ The smile was complete, and Archer pointed to the decanter. ‘It will follow well after the Purcari. Do you know, the Mediasch has not been drunk by any members of the Garrick for well over thirty years. Do you think I should sell them some?’
‘I should see how it has aged first. Are you sure you don’t want to taste? It should have breathed by now.’
‘No, Tom. That honour is for our guests.’ Archer saw the time. ‘Hell, I must finish dressing.’
‘I’ll come and help before I inspect the dining room,’ Thomas said.
‘No, it’s fine, Tom, honestly. You have enough to do, and I saw the dining room. It looks superb.’
‘All the same, I will check. Mr Saddle is as nervous as the rest of us. Very unlike him. I doubt he has made any mistakes, but still, I had better be safe.’
‘I’ll get out of your way.’
‘Very good, Sir, and don’t worry about Silas, I am sure all is well.’
It wasn’t.
At that moment, Silas was pacing the platform of Plymouth railway station waiting for news of the connection to Larkspur. The carriage was there and connected to the locomotive, which was ready to leave, but no-one had provided the passengers with an explanation for the delay.
‘What is it?’ he asked as Jake came running back from the engine where he had gone to speak with the driver.
‘They say it’s not going to go,’ Jake reported, out of breath. ‘Something about the fireman walking out on account it’s a holy day, and he doesn’t agree with the line being sold to Great Western, or something.’
‘Shit! We’ve been here half an hour, the other passengers are turning nasty, and the telegraph office is shut. I can’t even let Archer know I’m going to be late, let alone how Stoker is going to be killed.’
‘Can we get a cab?’
‘It’s thirty miles, mate. We’d never get there in time.’
At the front of the train, the guard threw up his hands and raised his voice.
‘Hang on,’ Silas said, a thought landing in his mind as the hands of the station clock clunked into place at seven. ‘It’s the fireman, you say?’
‘Yeah. And there ain’t another one. Everything’s shutting down for the night.’
‘The fireman just shovels coal, right?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose. What you doing?’
Silas was taking off his coat. He handed it to Jake and removed his jacket. ‘Get the bags,’ he said, ‘and meet me down the front.’
‘There’s only one carriage. Front of what?’
‘The train, what else?’
Jake realised Silas’ intention and gasped. ‘Will they let you?’
‘If they don’t want an angry mob on their hands, they will,’ Silas said, rolling his sleeves. ‘And it ain’t going to be just me. From now on, Jake, we’re two workers from the… I don’t know, from the Eastern Railway Company, and we’re anxious to get the service running. Leave the taking to me, and I’ll meet you there in a minute.’ He marched to the locomotive, shouting, ‘Oi! Driver. I heard you need a fireman.’
The dining room was, as Archer had said, splendid, and between them, Saddle and Barnaby had done a good job. Ten places had been laid with settings for five courses, each piece of cutlery was the exact distance from the table edge, and the various wine glasses were perfectly placed.
At seven fifteen, Thomas used his pocket ruler to double-check the settings as he circled the table, Saddle following silently in his wake. In the centre, a row of fresh flowers was interspersed with silver cruet sets at equal distances, and among them, candelabras stood tall and elegant, the candlewicks trimmed and ready for lighting. Thomas would do that just before the dinner gong sounded, but before then, there was the sideboard to inspect.
The mirrors reflected the dazzle of the chandeliers, and the line of decanters, stoppered now and given one final wipe with a soft cloth, reflected the light from the wall sconces where the gas hissed quietly. They would have to be turned down before long, to bring a warme
r atmosphere to the room, but one no less glittering. Beside the wine, the long sideboard was correctly prepared with the serving spoons and mats for the hot dishes, the footmen’s white gloves and towels.
‘You have done well, Mr Saddle,’ Thomas said, viewing the table from a distance. ‘I am very grateful.’
Saddle was distracted and didn’t reply. The man’s face was pale and his brow tight in thought.
‘Is something the matter?’ Thomas asked. ‘You’re not unwell, are you?’
‘No, Mr Payne,’ Saddle replied, his voice hoarse as if his throat was dry. ‘I’m glad you like it. I suppose I should say thank you for giving me the chance to show my abilities.’
That sounded like sarcasm to Thomas, who decided not to honour the statement with a reply. Saddle’s attitude grated; it always had done, and he could make even a thank you sound as if the recipient should be grateful he’d spoken to them at all.
‘It’s nearly time,’ Thomas said. ‘I will light the table candelabras and then attend the library. You can light the sideboard.’
‘Yes, Mr Payne.’
Even that sounded like an insult, and Thomas’ skin prickled. Lighting a taper, he carried it to the table and began setting the flame to each trimmed wick in turn, his back to the sideboard. Starting at Lord Clearwater’s chair at the head of the table, he had just reached Lady Marshall’s place at the other end, when the taper died. Turning back to the sideboard for a match, he was surprised to see Saddle still at the decanters fiddling with his pocket watch.
‘Get a move on,’ Thomas yapped.
‘Yes, sorry,’ Saddle flustered, stepping back and closing the watch.
‘And why have you put your gloves on to light candles?’
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