‘Long story,’ he said. ‘But I have a job again.’
‘Yeah? That’s great, mate, well done.’
‘I had no say in it,’ Thomas admitted. ‘But like I said, Lord Clearwater is a good man. He’s promoted me.’
‘Get out! Why?’
‘Because I’m good at what I do. And Tripp had to retire suddenly.’
‘That’s the man who came to the pub?’
‘Aye.’
Thomas wriggled under the covers. They were damp and musty. He would never allow that in Clearwater House. Thinking the name brought on a wave of panic.
‘I hope I’m up to it,’ he said, lying on his back and watching the candle flame flicker on the low ceiling.
‘You got enough room?’ James asked. Their thighs were touching in the narrow bed, causing Thomas all manner of inappropriate thoughts.
‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘I’m fine. You?’
‘Can’t really move much more,’ James said. ‘Or I’d fall out.’
‘I’ll be gone tomorrow. The viscount gave me some money, so I can leave that for your mum.’
‘She’ll appreciate that.’
James shifted to find a more comfortable place. He was also on his back, his hands behind his head where his elbows jabbed Thomas in the shoulder. When Thomas turned to look at him in the semi-light, their faces were only inches apart. James smelt of beer and pipe smoke mixed with a manly smell of a day’s sweat. As he moved, his leg pressed against Thomas who couldn’t help but wonder if that was a sign. Their brief acquaintanceship hinted at nothing other than friendship, despite James’ eagerness to offer him his bed. Thomas didn’t dare read too much into his kindness for fear of giving himself away.
‘So, you’ll have your own room again?’ James asked. Although speaking quietly, his voice cut through the stillness of the night and when he stopped, the silence was more intense.
‘I’ll have several,’ Thomas answered, crossing his arms on his chest and trying not to elbow the other man. ‘A suite on the top floor and a pantry below stairs.’
‘Nice. How big is Clearwater House?’
‘Oh, it’s grand, James,’ Thomas enthused. He took him on an imagined tour of the downstairs listing the various rooms and his duties before mounting the stairs and guiding his friend through the viscount’s floor. ‘It’s divided in half upstairs,’ he said. ‘The Dowager has two suites on one side of the stairs when she’s in town, and the viscount has two on the other. Us servants are also segregated on the top floor, men one side and the maids the other. Mrs Baker has her rooms in the basement…’ He was no longer tired, he was too excited about his prospects, and James had to tell him to slow down.
‘I can see you like it,’ he said. ‘But who’s going to replace you?’
‘That’s another thing…’ Thomas leant up on one elbow, facing James who turned his head to watch. ‘I’ll have to place an advertisement and interview for a footman. We have more at Larkspur, the country house, and I could bring one down, but I think the viscount wants to refresh the staff and put in his own.’
‘Well, Tom,’ James said. ‘I’m happy for you, but it’s getting late.’
‘Sorry. My head’s in a spin.’
James laughed. ‘So I see.’
He ruffled Thomas’ hair, sending warm shivers through his body and causing his cock to tingle.
‘I really appreciate your kindness,’ Thomas said. It was the first time James had done anything like that, and it was hard not to read too much into the contact.
‘I’m a nice bloke,’ James said.
‘I agree.’ Thomas was unable to think about sleep. Recent events, his dismissal and promotion, the challenge of the job ahead, being given what he always wanted and now lying in a bed with another man and James’ close physical contact crowded his mind with uncertainty. He harboured a driving desire to let his hand flop from his chest and land on James’ hip. It was as if Thomas’ cock had a mind of its own; he could feel its heat and wondered if James’ was in the same solid state. He needed to know if what he felt was reciprocated, but to ask would be a huge risk.
‘How come you don’t have a girl?’ He hoped the question wasn’t too obvious. ‘Thought they’d be all over someone as good-looking as you.’
‘Ha!’ James snorted. ‘I ain’t good-looking.’
‘Yes you are.’ Thomas pressed the point further. ‘At least, I think so.’
‘Nah, too chubby.’
‘You’re stocky. Nothing wrong with that.’
‘Some people don’t like it.’
‘Girls, you mean?’
‘Ain’t got time for them, Tom.’ It was a cryptic reply and begged the question, why?
‘No, me neither.’ Thomas’ breathing was shallow, his pulse quickening and he fought against the itching in his fingers which wanted to travel the short distance from his chest to James’.
‘Girls are complicated,’ James said, and yawned.
‘I know.’
‘Never met one I fancied.’
‘Really?’
Anticipation hung heavily in the air, thickening the silence. Thomas had opened a gate and hoped against hope that James would accept the invitation to follow.
‘Have you?’ James asked, breathless. ‘Fancied a girl I mean.’
This was surely some kind of code. ‘No,’ Thomas admitted. ‘Don’t get much time in my job.’
‘Does the viscount have a wife?’
There was no way Thomas was prepared to talk about Archer, not even if James rolled onto him, declared undying love and begged. The viscount’s private life was no-one’s business.
‘He has plenty of friends,’ he replied, keeping it vague.
‘Ah, I see,’ James said. ‘And you don’t?’
‘No.’ It was a sad fact but true. ‘Again, not much time. I know some of the staff next door, but don’t often get to socialise.’ The conversation was drifting from suggestiveness to things more prosaic, and Thomas didn’t want to lose the moment. ‘But now I’ve met you,’ he said, ‘I can say I have at least one good mate.’
James laughed again, once and briefly. ‘You hardly know me,’ he said.
‘But I’d like to know you more.’
Another long pause, another insinuation.
‘Yeah? How’s that?’
Was James fishing for the truth, or just making conversation? It was late, he had to be up early for work, and he’d said he was tired, yet he seemed as unwilling as Thomas to let the conversation end.
‘You know,’ Thomas said, stumbling for words. ‘More about you, what you like. What you do.’
‘Deliver telegrams.’
‘When you’re not at work.’
‘Drink at the pub.’
‘And after that?’
‘Come home and sleep.’
‘Alone?’
‘Some men don’t have a choice.’
Did that mean what Thomas hoped it meant?
‘But do you…?’ Thomas’ pulse drummed in his ears. ‘That is… Do you ever wish you had someone to be with? At night.’
‘Like this you mean?’
Was James flirting? The candle was dying, and Thomas could no longer see his face.
‘Aye, like this.’
Longing filled the pause between their words and offered all manner of fantasies while he waited for James to make the next move.
‘Sometimes,’ James admitted. ‘But you can imagine what my mum would say if I brought a girl to stay the night.’
Sickness knotted Thomas’ stomach. ‘Aye, girls are difficult,’ he said. His throat was constricted as if the muscles there didn’t want him to voice what was in his mind. He swallowed and heard every sound inside his head amplified. It was underscored by
the rush of adrenaline through his veins. ‘But your mum doesn’t mind you sleeping with another man?’
‘As long as we’re only sleeping, Tom,’ James said, and Thomas’ hopes died.
James sighed and shifted, uncomfortable. That might have been because of the cramped space, or it might have been because he knew what Thomas was hinting.
‘I heard some men do more than that.’ Thomas screwed up his eyes, expecting a barrage of insults and outrage.
James said nothing.
‘What do you think about that?’ It would have been an innocent enough question were it not for the situation.
James’ head moved, and his pillow rustled. He looked at Thomas, who kept his own eyes on the ceiling. The yellow dance of the dying flame faded before his eyes, and the room slipped into darkness.
‘What do they do, these men?’ James whispered.
‘I don’t know.’ Thomas trembled. ‘I heard they touch each other.’ It was a ridiculous thing to say as it meant nothing.
‘Like they’d do with a woman?’
‘I suppose.’
‘They wank each other?’
Thomas froze. ‘Must do.’
The chasm of silence returned. His cock was painful now, and he had a choice to make. He could reach over and touch James’ to see what state he was in, but that would be uninvited, and if Thomas had misread the situation, he would give himself away. Or he could stay lying on his back, screaming from the inside out, do nothing and never know if James felt the same way.
Thomas was not a man to live on regrets.
‘Do you fancy it?’ he said and every muscle in his body tensed.
‘With you?’
It was a case of now or never. ‘Aye.’
Thomas expected rejection or worse.
‘It’s illegal, Tom,’ James said. ‘Could lead to all kinds of trouble.’
That wasn’t a no, and it wasn’t a yes. It was as if James was testing him.
‘I’m used to a bit of trouble.’ Thomas’ heart felt like it would shut down at any moment. Too much hope prevented him from thinking straight, and he was sick with anticipation.
‘Is that what you want for me, Tom? Trouble?’
How was he to answer that? Archer always said to be honest, no matter what.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want trouble for you. I was just interested.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I like you.’
‘You fancy me, you mean?’
‘I like you, James.’ Thomas’ head was hurting. ‘I’d like to say thank you for helping me. Happy to do what you want.’
He jolted when James took hold of his hand and lifted it. Saying nothing, he moved it over his body and pressed it to his crotch. He was hard beneath his underwear, and Thomas felt the heat and pulse through the material. He curled his fingers around the solid rod of his erection, his own stiffness pressing urgently against James’ thigh.
James lifted his hand away and put it back on Thomas’ leg.
‘Sorry, Tom,’ he said, rolling onto his side. ‘I need to think about this.’
Again, not a no and not a yes, but the touch had stoked a fire. It was as if Thomas had built up a boiler of steam which had no outlet, and if the safety valve didn’t blow soon, he would explode.
He was still resting on his elbow, now facing James’ back and his arm hurt.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Didn’t mean anything.’
‘Go to sleep, Tom.’ Sighing, James pulled the covers up to his chin. ‘It’s late.’
‘Aye. Sorry.’
Thomas admitted defeat, and knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep so close the man, rolled onto his back, an arm across his face to shield his pain from the darkness.
‘Stop saying sorry, mate,’ James sighed. ‘I ain’t saying no, just saying… Maybe.’
‘I won’t mention it again.’
‘You can,’ James said. ‘But give us a bit of time, yeah? I’ve got to be able to trust you.’
‘You can.’
‘Prove it.’
Was that another offer? ‘How?’
James reached behind and found Thomas’ arm. He dragged it around his chest, forcing Thomas to spoon into him. He was unable to hide his aroused state, and his cock pressed into the soft mounds of James’ buttocks.
‘Just go to sleep,’ James said. ‘Like this is good. We all need to be warm.’ He bumped his arse against Thomas’ length and wiggled it, sniggering. ‘Just keep that monster to yourself.’
If he carried on doing what he was doing, Thomas would blow his load.
Luckily, James stopped. He continued to hold Thomas’ hand, though, and that had to be a sign that more might be possible. Thomas controlled his breathing. He was desperate to kiss the back of James’ neck and do more, but his friend’s message was clear. If he could be trusted to leave him alone, James would be more inclined to take things further in his own time.
It would have to do for now.
Accepting that this was all the affection he was to receive that night, Thomas lay awake until his breathing slowed, his grip loosened, and he fell asleep.
It took James a lot longer, though he pretended to be sleeping as soon as Thomas’ arm was around him. This was exactly what he had hoped would happen when his invitation to stay had been accepted. Thomas wanted what he did, they were both being cautious, but James could turn to him, kiss him and that would be that; the start of a path he was desperate to travel.
But then there was Tripp. ‘Play it calmly,’ he had advised. ‘He will rise to the bait more keenly and give more away.’
Tripp was not homosexual. He hated them and had said so, and had not quizzed James on the subject, merely assumed that because of their city-wide reputation, all messengers were open to bribery and keen to make money from whatever source. James had remained silent, taking the man’s advice as heaven sent guidance as to how he could approach Thomas and win him.
‘Win him first, delve later. I shall tell you everything you need to know.’
Tripp’s voice was in his head. It had made a home there, and as much as James wanted rid of it, the dull, monotonous drone continued, reminding him what was expected, and what he had to do to earn his money.
Five
The following Saturday morning, Archer was woken by a gentle knocking on his bedroom door. Whereas Tripp had knocked four times and each one sounded like the toll of a death bell, Thomas rapped the door as if he was playing a minuet. Light and cheery, it made for a much more pleasant start to the day.
‘Come!’ Archer called, sitting up and stretching as the butler entered.
‘Good morning, My Lord,’ Thomas greeted him. He placed a tray of coffee in Archer’s lap before attending to the curtains.
‘Morning, Tom.’
‘Fair weather but chilly today, Sir,’ Thomas announced.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Lady Marshall is due at one, Sir, and Cook wondered about salmon.’
‘Mrs Flintwich is always wondering about salmon but rarely decides on it,’ Archer smirked. ‘Lady Marshall has an aversion only to bad fashion and trout. Tell Cook that I have relieved her of her stress and asked for her salmon.’
He had been adding sugar to the tarry liquid in his cup and looked up as he replaced the teaspoon.
‘Good Lord, Tom,’ he exclaimed. ‘Her Ladyship was dead right about your colours.’
In need of new uniforms, Archer had asked his godmother to advise on what was modern and daring. He was keen to rid his house of any vestige of his father, and Tripp’s black, grey and white liveries — made, as his godmother said, by Messrs Dour and Duller — had never been to Archer’s taste. They were far too ‘last decade’ Lady Marshall decr
eed, falling on the task like a rabid hound. It had taken all of Archer’s tact to keep her focused on what was suitable in the city rather than the latest flounce and feather from France, and Mrs Baker, whose job it was to keep within a budget, put up an equally rigorous fight on the financial front. The compromise was seen in the new uniforms for the Clearwater butler and footman. Black tailcoats again, but a modern cut and trimmed not with black velvet, but emerald green, dark and rich. The traditional white shirts were still to be worn, but the choice of attachable collars increased. The waistcoats proved more controversial, but to Archer’s mind, were a vast improvement. For Thomas, Her Ladyship had suggested russets, and she had been right. The dark, autumn red was a perfect match for his hair, and his green eyes were reflected in the edging. His clothes had been cut to accentuate his slender figure, a design which worked perfectly, and the overall effect was to emphasise the uniqueness of the man who wore the uniform with pride.
Thomas was a handsome sight, but Archer’s greatest joy came from seeing the pleasure the livery brought his friend.
Archer had been staring as well as reminiscing. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to gawp,’ he said. ‘What time is it now?’
‘A little after eight,’ Thomas said. ‘Mr Hawkins has been up for some while.’ He disappeared into the dressing room. ‘Will you bathe this morning, Sir?’
‘No thanks, Tom.’ Archer sipped his coffee. ‘Tonight perhaps. Something casual for the morning?’
Thomas’ face popped around the door. ‘The Ashton tweed?’
‘Hell no. It smells of straw, and I feel like a bushel.
‘The Derby linen?’
Archer shook his head. ‘It’s only my godmother,’ he said. ‘Yesterday’s trousers, any shirt, no collar, and one of my smoking jackets.’
‘Very good, Sir.’ Thomas nodded his approval. ‘The question, of course, is which? Will it be the Oriental dragons in a choice of gold or jade? Perhaps the bamboo, the lion or the embroidered lily?’
Thomas was half-smiling, and Archer liked his playfulness. Tripp wouldn’t have given him any choice. Knowing exactly what outfit Archer’s father would have worn, he would have laid out the same for him the night before. He was much happier with Thomas’ lighter approach.
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 4