The housekeeper nodded, and Tripp sailed from the room a free man and probably rather wealthy. The centrepiece was solid silver and, as far as Thomas knew, the only one of its kind. Whatever had happened, the viscount had set the man up for life.
‘If everyone else could stay behind a short while longer,’ Archer said watching as Tripp closed the doors behind him. ‘I have a few apologies to make.’
To hear the master of the house apologise was not something the maids were used to, and it distracted Lucy from her yawning.
‘First, however,’ Archer went on, ‘I need to clear up a few things. The past week has been an unsettling time as you are aware, and there have been some changes at Clearwater. There will be more. I am not my father, and the house will, from now on, be run according to my rules as much as good housekeeping and etiquette will allow.’ He bowed gracefully to Mrs Baker, who repressed a smile and nodded approvingly.
Archer addressed Fecker who sat nonchalantly picking his nails, his forearms on his knees studying the pattern on the Turkish rug. ‘Mr Feck…’ He stopped himself from using Fecker’s nickname, fully aware that everyone in the room would understand its inappropriateness. Instead, he used the man’s Christian name. ‘Mr Andrej is to be our new coachman. We have been without someone to care for Emma and Shanks in the stables, and much as I enjoy being with the horses, it will be good to have a driver again. Mr Andrej will also assist below stairs as Mrs Baker sees fit.’
The housekeeper considered this and approved, as did Lucy who stole a quick look at the giant Russian.
‘Da.’ Andrej was a man of few words.
‘Mr Hawkins you also know,’ Archer continued, turning to Silas. ‘He will be living with us in the green suite as my private secretary and advisor. As you might be aware, I am involved in the setting up of a charity to assist the less unfortunate men of the East End, and Mr Hawkins has been instrumental in my research, as has Mr Andrej. He is not staff, as such, and so will be treated as a guest.’
This came as less of a surprise to everyone, particularly Thomas who knew the depths and intimacy of the relationship. Silas’ suite was directly opposite the viscount’s, only a few paces from bed to bed. Thomas let a pang of jealousy subside as he reminded himself that the house and what took place there was no longer his concern. Archer was working along the line of chairs, and Thomas wondered what he had in store for him when his turn came.
‘My first apology,’ the viscount said, ‘is to Mrs Baker.’
‘Oh?’ She was surprised.
‘I should have come to you with all of this first,’ Archer explained. ‘I have rather dumped it on you. Andrej will need a livery, suitable clothing and something to wear when not on duty, and I will give an allowance for that. Perhaps you would help him in the morning?’
The housekeeper looked Fecker up and down. At six-foot-two, he was almost as broad as he was tall, and she would have no idea what a nineteen-year-old Russian would wear in his spare time.
‘We will do our best, My Lord,’ she said.
‘Thank you. And please inform Mrs Flintwich of these changes would you?’
‘Of course.’
‘And my second apology is to Thomas.’ He finally looked at him, his face displaying regret. ‘I was unaware that Mr Tripp had dismissed you,’ he said. ‘And it’s a matter we can discuss in the morning if you wish.’ He addressed the other servants again. ‘You won’t be aware, but Mr Hawkins and I had a bit of a scrape in Limedock two nights ago, and things would have been much worse had Thomas not come to our aid, you could even say rescue. He not only braved the East End alone at night, but he also pulled me from the river, was of great assistance to Mr Hawkins, saw to our treatment at Saint Mary’s and paid for it from his own pocket. I have only just discovered he did all that after Mr Tripp terminated his employment.’
His annoyance was easily detectable.
Among the questioning looks and glances from the staff, Archer walked over to Thomas and offered his hand; an unusual approach between a viscount and someone of a lower class. Thomas’ back stiffened. Perhaps he too was to be sent on his way with a silver centrepiece and a cover story. If he was, he would act with decorum. He owed his previous employer that much.
‘Beyond the call of duty, Thomas,’ the viscount said as Thomas shook his hand. The grip was firm, the skin smooth and the appreciation in Archer’s eyes palpable. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all, Sir,’ Thomas said. His throat was so dry his voice cracked.
Archer returned to the fireplace. ‘It will be hard,’ he said. ‘Adjusting to calling you Mr Payne. That is…’ He repressed a smile. If you are willing to stay with me as my butler?’
Where there had been carpet beneath Thomas’ feet, there was suddenly air. Where it had been cold beneath his shirt, his skin now glowed, and where his thoughts had been centred on how he would survive, they were now scattered in disbelief.
‘I am lost for words, Sir,’ he admitted.
‘Well, don’t be. Tripp has trained you well. Mrs Baker will see to your uniforms. Oh, and there will be an increase in salary, Mrs Baker. Thomas knows the role, house, cellar and everything as much as any butler, so pay him whatever Tripp was on.’ He returned his attention to Thomas, who was stunned. ‘And in the morning, you can begin the process of finding me a footman to replace you. He can be your first appointment, if you would.’
All eyes were on Thomas. Of course he would. Apart from the job, the security and the accommodation, he would be back under Archer’s roof, and his first ambition would be fulfilled.
‘I know it’s unusual for a man of twenty-seven to be a butler,’ Archer said, reading Thomas’ surprise as uncertainty. ‘But I can think of no-one better. Don’t you agree, Mrs Baker?’
‘I do indeed, Sir.’ She was happy for Thomas as, he suspected, were the others.
‘So, it’s down to you, Tom.’ Archer was waiting.
‘I would be more than honoured, My Lord,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Then that’s that.’ Archer clapped his hands. ‘One more apology and you can all go to bed, and it’s you again, Thomas. I mean, Payne. I’m sorry, but can I delay you from your free time one minute more? Everyone else, thank you for your indulgence. Clearwater House is fully staffed again until Payne finds us a new footman. Unless you still need a hall boy, Mrs Baker, in which case come and see me. As I said, there will be changes, but in time they will become normality, and everything will find an even keel, so…’ He’d run out of words. ‘Goodnight.’
The servants rose, Fecker and Silas returned the chairs, and Mrs Baker led the maids from the room.
‘You need me?’ Fecker asked.
‘No, thank you, Andrej. You get to your quarters. See Mrs Baker in the morning, and afterwards, Thomas can talk you through your duties. I hope you’ll be happy here.’
‘I don’t need to sell my cock?’ Fecker asked, unused to what was an acceptable conversation in a stately drawing room.
‘No, mate, no more talk like that,’ Silas punched him on the arm.
There was no need for either of them to be back on the streets selling themselves to survive, and now, after a few days of uncertainty, there was no reason for Thomas to worry about his future. He would miss the excuse to stay with James. His promotion would prevent him from forging a closer friendship, let alone anything else, but what was that compared to the stability of a good job in a house like Clearwater?
Fecker left, and Thomas closed the doors behind him. As soon as he turned to face the room, Archer was on him, pulling him close and embracing him hard. Surprised, Thomas gently returned the hug.
‘You’re not my butler until Tripp leaves the house,’ Archer said. ‘And the same rules apply from now onwards as did before. You’ll always be Tom to me, my friend, but we will have to continue the pretence of ma
ster-servant when in public.’
‘I understand.’
Archer released him and stood back. ‘By God, you’re a good man to have around. I am so sorry Tripp took it on himself to dismiss you. Bloody nuisance. The man didn’t know what you had done for us, and I had no idea you did it in your own time, off your own back and with your own money. I will settle up with you immediately. Now, either stay here or wherever you have been, but be here at midday tomorrow, Tripp will be well out of our way by then. Can you do that?’
‘As you wish, Sir.’
‘Come now, Tom,’ Archer chided playfully. ‘The doors are shut, it’s just Silas and us.’
Thomas relaxed. He wanted to burst into tears. His life had been a series of ups and downs, confusion and clarity these past few days, but now, there was an end to it. The Ripper had fallen to his death, Archer had nearly done the same, and Silas had almost been murdered. On top of that, Archer had declared his platonic love for Thomas and shown him that to love another man was not the sin he had been taught. He had been able to accept himself.
Silas was with them now, also shaking Thomas’ hand. ‘Good one, Tommy,’ he said, grinning that overly cute, cheeky grin of his. ‘What do I have to call you now?’
‘Mr Payne in public, whatever you want in private,’ Thomas said.
‘Come, Tom.’ Archer led him to one of the settees. ‘Sit down while you can legitimately use the furniture.’
‘If it’s alright by you, Sir,’ Thomas said. ‘I have a friend waiting for me at the Crown.’
‘Oh.’ Archer said, taken aback. ‘Of course. I was only going to talk about what happened, but we can do that tomorrow.’
‘But I will happily stay if you want me to. You must be exhausted.’
‘I am a bit.’ Archer flopped onto a settee, Silas beside him. ‘Everything aches and my head is full of questions. Have you heard any more news of the Ripper?’
‘No, Sir. The newspapers continue to speculate, but there have been no developments that I have heard of.’
‘I’m guessing the man’s at the bottom of the river,’ Silas said. ‘And good fecking riddance to him.’
‘I am sure Mr Hawkins is correct,’ Thomas said.
‘Oh, Tom,’ Archer sighed. ‘Will you promise me one thing? Please? For my sanity’s sake?’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t start sounding like Tripp. Yes, play your part when you must, but don’t let yourself become supercilious and grand like him. I tell you what…’ Archer rose and entered his study. ‘Why don’t you go and find your friend, finish your beer and do whatever you want,’ he called from the depths of the next room. ‘You can stay here tonight, but I imagine you might feel uncomfortable until Tripp has gone.’ He reappeared with a five-pound note. ‘Here, have a drink, enjoy your night of freedom and either way, we’ll see you tomorrow.’ He handed Thomas the note.
‘I can’t take that.’
‘For the hospital and everything else.’
‘But…’
‘Birthday present,’ Archer said, opening Thomas’ fingers and slapping the money into his palm.
‘That’s not until…’
‘I know. Shut up and get drunk.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘Then buy yourself something. I don’t know, Tom, I’m only trying to say thank you and it’s the only way I know how.’
‘I think reinstating me, promoting me and treating me as a friend is payment enough, Sir.’
‘Archer.’
Thomas gave in to the warmth of friendship that flowed between them. ‘Thank you, Archer,’ he said and put the note in his pocket.
‘Right, well, I don’t know about you two,’ Silas said, getting to his feet. ‘But I’ve got pains in places I didn’t know I had, and I need to sleep for a week. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Archie.’
‘Sleep well,’ Archer said and kissed him.
‘You can keep me awake if you want,’ Silas smirked.
‘If you’re still awake when I come up, I will.’ Archer threatened playfully.
That was something else Thomas would have to adjust to; their openness. He glanced at the mantle clock to avert his eyes and wondered what it would feel like to kiss James.
‘As for you, Tommy.’ Silas patted him on the cheek. ‘Thanks for saving my life and all that stuff,’ he mumbled.
Silas was blushing, and Thomas found it hard to suppress a smile. The youth was bold to the point of insolence at times, as open as a book and as rough as gravel, but it was impossible not to like him. Thomas had tried and failed.
‘Anytime, nipper,’ was all he said before Silas left and he was alone with Archer.
‘Happy, Tom?’ The viscount asked once he had heard the door click shut.
Thomas nodded, allowing his smile to roam free. ‘Are you?’
Archer dropped into an armchair. ‘I am, Tom,’ he sighed. ‘But I fear shock is now presenting itself and I am about to blub.’
‘Go ahead, Archer. It’s what I’ve been doing this past couple of days.’
‘Have you? Why?’
‘Forget I said that. Not your concern.’
‘What possessed the man?’ Archer, his mind elsewhere, was referring to Tripp. ‘How dare he? And Quill!’ He glared at Thomas as if he was responsible for the Ripper’s killing spree. ‘How can I know a man so well and yet not know him at all?’
Thomas had no answers and let the viscount ramble on. If he missed James at the pub, he would find him later at his house. Archer needed someone to listen, and Thomas would stay with him for as long as it took.
The viscount spoke about his friendship with the doctor, the years they served together and the things they’d seen. He spoke of the time when his own brother tortured him and his lover, Lieutenant Harrington. He wept for the dead renters, the poor youths who had lost their lives at the hands of Doctor Quill in his mad attempt to corner Archer and exact revenge.
Thomas reassured him that there would be no more killing and, slowly, Archer calmed himself. Sniffing back tears, he let out a mighty sigh. When he finally admitted his exhaustion, his eyes were droopy, and his mouth more downturned than usual. Thanking Thomas all the way to the front door, Archer saw him out in a manner that, from the next day, Thomas would adopt with him. For now, the role-reversal was entertaining and showed that despite everything, the viscount had not lost his humour.
Thomas walked to the Crown and Anchor through an unusually warm October night. A church clock struck midnight, and he knew James would have left for home. He turned that way and whistled, secure in the knowledge that he was protected and valued.
What he didn’t know was that during Thomas’ absence, James had taken a drink with someone else. A while after Thomas left, Mr Tripp returned to the pub. James’ anger rose when he saw him approaching, and he wished he hadn’t just ordered another pint.
‘Thomas ain’t here,’ he said.
‘You should be careful of his kind.’ The butler helped himself to a chair. ‘I’ve come to see you. I know you messengers have low morals. How do you want to earn some good money?’ He took James’ drink from his hand.
Before James could object, Tripp engaged him in a conversation that was as interesting as it was exciting. The old man with the eyebrows that crested like foaming waves and grey jowls that hung like rotting curtains offered more than intrigue. A large sum of money was available for a covert job discreetly but well done.
James’ Christmases came at once and with several measures of decent whisky paid for by Tripp. He left the pub with the chance to be wealthy enough to pay for his sister’s schooling and the rent on the family house for years to come. His mother could ease off on work and let her hands recover, and he could take time to find a better job.
At twenty-fiv
e, he was old enough to be a postman, and too old to be a messenger, but until something came up he was forced to stay where he was and be the laughing stock of his colleagues. Now, Tripp had made him an offer impossible to refuse. James’ family needed the money, and all he had to do for it was discover information by seducing someone he already desired.
Unfortunately, that man was Thomas, and James was tempted.
Four
James lived in a cramped two-up two-down cottage a mile from Clearwater House towards the river, where Thomas arrived a little after midnight to find no lamps burning. In the yard, he located the hidden backdoor key and let himself silently into the scullery where he groped the windowsill for a candle. With that lit, he removed his shoes and, doing his best to make no noise, crept up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms. Mrs Wright and her daughter shared the front room while her husband was away at sea or when they had guests, and James currently had the back room to himself.
He had left a candle burning on the dresser, so Thomas extinguished his and put it outside the door in case anyone else needed it during the night. He was undressing when he realised James was awake and watching him.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No, I was waiting for you.’
Thomas hung his jacket on a hook and removed his trousers. He kept his underwear on because his long johns were tight fitting. The soft cotton helped confine the erection he had suffered last night when lying beside the messenger.
‘What did that man want?’ James asked as Thomas climbed over him. James liked to sleep at the edge of the bed and Thomas had to squeeze in beside the wall.
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 3