‘Oh, yes… Sorry, Mr Payne.’
‘What’s got into you, Saddle?’
Thomas was losing his patience. First Archer in a panic and now his under-butler looking as though he was unable to cope with the simple task of setting the flames. He tutted, and had just lit the last candle when the dinner gong sounded from the hall, its deep, medallic boom reverberating through the ground floor.
‘Right. Saddle, go down and start bringing up the first course.’
Barnaby appeared between the double doors. ‘I rang the gong, Mr Payne.’
‘Yes, Barnaby, I think they heard it in Bodmin. Assist Mr Saddle with the dishes.’
‘Right you are, Sir.’
‘And don’t call me Sir.’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Dear God! I am surrounded by fools,’ Thomas muttered as he left them to it.
He reached the library door just as Archer opened it from the inside. ‘Ah, there you are Payne,’ he said. ‘Are we ready?’
‘We are, My Lord.’
Archer stepped aside, allowing Thomas to enter the room where he caught Lady Marshall’s eye. As she was the hostess in place of Archer’s mother, it was her duty to invite the guests to the table which she did in her usual unorthodox way.
‘The feast is upon us,’ she announced. ‘Overture and beginners, Mr Irving. Half a league onwards, Lord Tennyson.’
Thomas hurried as sedately as possible back across the hall and was at the dining room doors as the party began to arrive. It was an impressive procession. Lady Marshall led Countess Romney at the head, their sparkling full-length gowns rustling, and their Parisian perfumes following obediently in waves. Earl Romney, wearing his military dress uniform, was deep in conversation with Cadwell Roxton, but the opera singer was clearly not impressed with the man.
‘So you’re a singer?’ The earl asked as he passed, ignoring Thomas. ‘Not music hall, I hope?’
‘No, Your Lordship, opera. You heard me at Covent Garden last year at the Foundation’s gala?’ He rolled his eyes at Thomas as he passed, but the butler made no reaction.
Behind them came Henry Irving and his manager, both men tall and strapping, the actor talking to Arthur Sullivan on his other side. Thomas breathed deeply and silently, calming his excitement at being in the presence of a great composer and even greater actor, and quelling a rush of anxiety.
The sight of Archer assisting Lord Tennyson by the elbow as the old man walked with a cane, reassured him that the viscount had recovered from his earlier skittishness and was thinking of his guests. That would take his mind from the absent Silas.
Thomas followed the party into the dining room and closed the doors. Barnaby and Saddle stood behind the ladies’ chairs, ready to seat them, while Thomas took up his place at a discreet distance behind Archer and his two guests of honour, one either side of the viscount with the actor on his right and Stoker on his left.
It was during the dinner that Archer intended to gently persuade Irving to assist with the Foundation, and having his business manager on his other side, would allow him to deal with any questions as to the benefit of such involvement. The conversation would later open up to the other guests, Tennyson and Sullivan in particular as they, along with Mr Roxton, were members of the Garrick Club, Archer’s reasoning being that if he had such illustrious men on his side, others would follow. It was all for the good of the young men of the East End who had no option but to resort to prostitution as a way to survive, and that was not the easiest of subjects to bring up to any man, let alone men acutely aware of their public standing and reputations.
The dinner was being held for the benefit of men like Silas who should have been here to represent the success of Archer’s foundation, and Silas knew that. Something bad must have happened for his place to remain empty, but Thomas hid his concern as he turned his attention to the service. Whatever was taking place beyond Larkspur’s walls, nothing must go wrong within them.
Knowing Silas as he did, Thomas would not have been surprised to learn that he was, at that moment, ankle-deep in coal amid smoke and steam, shovelling fuel to Jake below. Jake, in turn, heaved it into the boiler as the delayed service from Plymouth to Bodmin steamed through Liskeard with its whistle screaming.
Twenty-Five
The first course had passed without a hitch, and the second was coming to a close. Only three more wines remained to be served, the Purcari, the Mediasch and the dessert wine. Barnaby had behaved exactly as Thomas had trained him to, and at times, had outshone Saddle who continued to show signs of tension or illness, it was hard say which. Although the under-butler hadn’t done anything to embarrass the viscount and had been surreptitious when mopping his brow, Thomas kept a close eye as he stood to the side just within Archer’s line of sight.
The conversation had gone exactly as Archer wanted. After some initial pleasantries and general chat about the Hall and its history, something which particularly interested Lord Tennyson, the viscount turned to Mr Irving, asking about his tour and his journey home.
‘Bit of storm during the night,’ the actor informed the party. ‘Blew up south-west of Cork. At first, I thought it would carry us towards the channel with speed, but the swell was too great. I feared we might be washed up on a shore as if Prospero himself had conjured the elements. Am I right, Stoker?’
‘That you are, and that it was, to be sure,’ Mr Stoker agreed in his clipped, Irish brogue. ‘We had some luck, and it passed quickly, but left the women fairly shaken.’
‘Which is why we ended up in Penzance,’ Irving continued. ‘And again, Lord Clearwater my apologies for our early arrival.’
‘Not at all, Sir,’ Archer smiled. ‘I am glad the extra time ashore has rested you.’ Turning to Mr Stoker, he said, ‘I understand you are a keen sportsman, Sir. Tell me, do you fence?’
‘I have done,’ the Irishman replied, nodding. ‘Not for some time now. Why d’you ask?’
‘My assistant gamekeeper is from the Ukraine and served alongside the British before moving here,’ Archer said. ‘He has been teaching my secretary the skill, and I wondered if you might like to take some sport during your stay. I am sure Mr Danylo would be honoured to oblige.’
‘Very fine of you,’ Stoker said, dabbing his red beard with his napkin to ensure it was clear of debris. ‘Perhaps I may think on it.’
‘You should do it, Bram,’ Irving encouraged. ‘You could give me some practice for the stage by parrying with me in the office.’
At the other end of the table, Lady Marshall engaged the Earl and Countess Romney in conversations about fashion for her, and the theatre for him as a way of bringing her nephew, Roxton, into the discussion, while Lord Tennyson, opposite the composer, asked what Sullivan was currently writing.
‘Another as good as The Yeomen, I hope?’ the old man enquired.
‘It will be better,’ Sullivan replied. ‘We are working on a piece set in Italy on the canals, but Gilbert can’t resist knocking on about the divisions in our own class system. I will be having words when I return.’
Thomas listened to the chatter while ensuring the wine glasses were topped to respectable levels and making sure Barnaby didn’t slouch. Noting who had finished and who was dawdling, he also kept eye contact with Archer ready to bow his head gently when the last guest had finished their course. It happened to be Lady Marshall, which didn’t surprise him as she was the most talkative, and having given Archer a nearly invisible nod, the viscount made a more obvious one by reply.
‘Thank you, Payne,’ he said, and the servants stepped forward to clear the plates.
Saddle and Barnaby removed them to the sideboard and from there to the servery behind the servants’ door where, out of sight, the maids took them below stairs. Meanwhile, Thomas supervised, on hand should his master require anything, and ensuring that no guest was
left unattended.
It was as the third course was served and the Purcari poured, that, picking up on what Sullivan had said about class distinctions, Archer made his move on Irving and turned the conversation to the charity. At first, the actor was wary and appeared uninterested, but when Earl Romney heard what was being discussed and joined in with enthusiasm, followed by Lady Marshall, the actor was more convinced.
‘I was hoping that Mr Hawkins would be here to discuss this with us,’ Archer said.
‘Yes, where is he, Clearwater?’ Roxton asked from along the table. ‘I should like to see him again. Remarkable little fellow, if unconventional.’
‘He is away on an important errand,’ Archer said, but when it became obvious his guests were waiting for a further explanation, he dried and looked at Thomas. ‘You know, don’t you, Payne?’ he asked hopefully.
‘The work of the Foundation must continue even at Easter, My Lord,’ Thomas answered. ‘Mr Hawkins did say he would not leave the Foundation until all your matters were seen to. He is, as you know, very conscientious.’
‘Sounds like a decent fellow,’ Stoker said. ‘As decent as this wine, Your Lordship. Do I recognise it?’
‘Mr Hawkins is, as Mr Roxton says, sometimes unorthodox,’ Archer replied, after a grateful nod to his butler. ‘I think you will like him, he is from the Emerald Isle like you.’
‘Is he? Where?’
‘Near Dublin, I believe. Well…’ Archer corrected himself before he misled his guest. ‘That is, his mother was from there, and Mr Hawkins was conceived in Ireland, but was born in the Canter Wharf area of Westerpool.’
‘Fashionably called the slums,’ Lady Marshall threw down the table to add some colour. ‘Though to see the way Clearwater has raised him up from that pit to his current station, you wouldn’t believe it. And that, Mr Irving, is exactly how the Foundation works. It takes unfortunates and gives them a stab at success.’
‘We could all do with some of that,’ Irving said. ‘I’ll get my man here to talk to yours when he arrives. The work sounds interesting, eh, Stoker?’
‘Certainly, Henry. But the wine, Sir?’
‘Ah. Apologies,’ Archer said raising his glass. ‘I have a victualler in Plymouth who imports from Carpathia. My ancestry comes down through the region, in part at least, and my grandfather had a love of Romanian wines. This is a Purcari-Dragasani that Payne found for us. What I have next is a surprise from the cellar.’
‘Well, it’s very fine,’ Stoker enthused. ‘I’m currently researching that area for a novel I have in me which is going to take some years to come out. I want to get the story correct in detail, and there’s a stack load of history to research. Would you be willing to talk further sometime?’
‘Of course,’ Archer said. ‘We could also discuss ways in which the Lyceum could help the Foundation. I have always believed that one good deed deserves another.’
‘Of course, Sir,’ Stoker said, chuckling at Archer’s cheek. ‘If it’s not impertinent, may I ask how you’re descended through Romania?’
‘The Rasnov line. It is centuries old,’ Archer explained. ‘And I am only on the outskirts of it as it dies away. Rasnov is near Brasov, south of Bran where Her Ladyship is currently still holidaying. I must admit, I am no expert on the matter, but here’s a connection which might interest you. There was an accident with the railway line on Monday…’
‘Oh, don’t!’ Lady Marshall complained. ‘We had a most difficult journey to our rest stop in Plymouth last night, didn’t we, Tennyson?’
‘I found it rather entertaining,’ the old man said, cocking his head to hear Her Ladyship more clearly. ‘Difficult, was it?’
‘Only in that we took The Cornishman, and it travels at a horrifying speed. One was quite unable to relax.’
‘Talking of railways,’ Tennyson said. ‘Where’s that handy fellow of yours, Clearwater? James Joseph, the one who charged my home in need of transport?’
‘Mr Wright is my valet,’ Archer explained to the company. ‘His absence is another connection to the train incident I was trying to relate.’ He raised his eyebrows to his godmother at the other end of the table, and suitably abashed, she mouthed, ‘Sorry.’
‘To answer your question, Sir,’ Archer continued, addressing the poet. ‘The unfortunate accident occurred on Monday last when the driver of the locomotive suffered what our doctor diagnosed as an attack of the heart. Apparently, the poor man must have fallen directly onto the regulating lever, thus taking the engine to its maximum speed. We assume the fireman rushed to his aid when he should have applied the brakes. People reported hearing the whistle and the brakes were applied, probably by the guard, but by then, it was too late. The train hurtled through a station, approached a bend, and came free of the tracks. Payne here was aboard.’
The moment flashed through Thomas’ mind faster than the locomotive had sped through Bodmin Road, and he closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, the entire party was looking at him aghast, expecting him to continue the story.
‘It was a tragic event,’ he said. ‘I was one of the lucky survivors.’
‘Indeed,’ Archer continued, seeing Thomas’ controlled distress. ‘Several were not as fortunate. However, two of those who were, wound up here at Larkspur. One was a man Payne saved from the wreckage just before it exploded, a fascinating man called Smith.’
‘Fascinating?’ Countess Romney questioned. ‘In what way?’
‘He bore the mark — and this is what will interest you, Stoker — of what I thought was the Protectorul regalității Râșnov, the protectors of Rasnov royalty. My secretary, the absent Mr Hawkins, undertook some research and discovered that in fact, it was the mark of the Protectori ai Szekely.’
‘The protectors of the Szekely people,’ Stoker said, pointing his fork at Irving. ‘The ones I warned you about. Devilish fellows still bent on upholding the good name of the race no matter what.’
‘No matter what?’ Countess Romney again sought clarification.
‘Anyone who crossed them got murdered,’ was Stoker’s blunt reply.
Thomas’ attention was suddenly drawn to a clattering at the sideboard, and looking across, he saw Saddle gripping its edge, trying unsuccessfully to steady himself. He had knocked over the sugar shakers on the dessert tray. Thomas flashed him a furious stare, and with a twitch of his finger, held Barnaby back from running to assist. Saddle righted himself, but had blanched to the colour of his gloves. Thomas was wondering whether he should fetch Oleg to replace the man when the under-butler indicated he was well and regained his upright posture.
Irving had politely ignored the interruption and pointed a long, perfectly placed finger to his manager. ‘Good job they’re extinct, Bram,’ he said. ‘Considering how your main character for the “Un-Dead” is a blood-sucking nobleman of the Szekely tribe.’
‘They are a race, Henry.’ Stoker was more interested in what the viscount had to say. ‘And this man bore the ink mark of the Protectori, Your Lordship?’
‘He did, or so I was informed. I asked him about it over dinner, and he assured me it was now merely tradition in the way that sailors mark themselves with anchors and names of ports visited. You have nothing to fear, Mr Stoker. The Protectori no longer operate their subversive practices.’
‘Where is this chap now? I should like to speak with him.’
‘Sadly, he had to leave us,’ Archer replied. ‘He was on business when the accident occurred and, despite an injury to his leg, needed to continue his journey.’
‘Ah, shame.’
‘And, to answer your question, My Lord…’ Archer turned his attention to Tennyson. ‘Also aboard the train was a boy of no more than nine years. The only survivor of the third-class wreckage, he was pulled free by Mr Wright and my horse master, Mr Andrej.’
‘You see,
’ Tennyson said, raising his glass. ‘I knew it. The man is Sir Galahad, Clearwater. You seem to have a stable full of ’em.’
Thomas inspected the sideboard to hide his smile, picturing James clunking about in armour and saving distressed damsels.
‘I think Mr Wright would be the first to disagree,’ Archer said. ‘Only because he is modest. We had the boy here for a while but, as young people do, he took himself off in the night for no reason. Mr Wright went in search of him, and that’s why he is absent.’
‘Are you able to control any of your staff, Clearwater?’ Earl Romney said with a laugh.
‘Me? No, not a chance,’ Archer replied in good humour. ‘Luckily I have Payne for that.’
‘Well, they sound like a very chivalrous lot,’ Tennyson said. ‘Bravo, Mr Payne.’
Thomas spun on his heels to receive the compliment and gave a gracious bow.
‘So, Sir,’ Stoker said. ‘You and I have an interest in that region of the world known for its mystery and rather violent history. Can you tell me more of your Rasnov ancestors?’
The conversation returned to Archer’s family and the novel Stoker was planning, but the viscount was able to bring it back to the Foundation by the time they had finished eating.
‘And now I must ambush you, Mr Irving,’ he said, as the third course was cleared. ‘We spoke briefly in the library about the possibility of the Lyceum hosting a gala performance in aid of the Clearwater Foundation. We had a huge success with our first event last year, and we…’ he offered his hand to Lady Marshall and the Earl, ‘would be most honoured to have you patronise the organisation in some way. You too, Mr Sullivan, Mr Stoker.’
‘Trying to get the entire Garrick Club onboard, are we, Clearwater?’ The Earl grinned. ‘Artists and actors much more likely to help the young men of the streets in return for the adoration, eh?’ His grey moustache twitched at what he thought was a joke.
Bitter Bloodline Page 29