‘Whatever you think best, Tom,’ he said, returning the grin.
Thomas retreated to the dressing room where, after a quick wash, Archer joined him.
‘Do you object to playing valet?’ he asked, tucking in his shirt as Thomas helped him dress.
‘Not at all,’ Thomas replied.
‘You won’t have to do it when we’re up at the Hall.’
Archer’s country house, Larkspur Hall, was miles north of the city and another world entirely. His widowed mother entertained in the Hall when Archer was away but lived in the dower house in the grounds. Whereas the city home required only a small staff, Larkspur had an army of them, most of them unnecessary, he thought.
‘When we’re next there…’ Archer said, ‘…and I hope we will be for Christmas if not before, you will have a heap of staff to see to. I doubt we’ll get much time alone.’
‘It will be a challenge,’ Thomas said, handing him the black smoking jacket with the jade dragons and silver flames. ‘The late viscount’s valet needs replacing. Robert is keen on the job, but I’m more than happy to be doing this.’
‘We’ll see,’ Archer said, putting on the jacket. ‘I’ve written to Larkspur, so everyone knows the situation with Tripp, but…’ He turned to Thomas tying the belt. ‘Is everything alright, Tom?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘There’s something changed about you and not just the butler role. I sense you’ve something on your mind. Am I right?’
Thomas blinked his long, blond lashes and the half-smile returned. ‘You can tell?’
‘I can, and so can you. By which I mean, you can tell me what the problem is if you want to. You know you can, don’t you?’
‘I do, Archer.’ Thomas used his first name to show he was sincere. ‘And I will, if I need to, but please, don’t worry.’
‘I must if it is to do with the house. Are you managing? When do you interview?’
Thomas attended to the jacket with a soft brush. ‘It’s not exactly to do with the house, and I am managing, yes. You’ll let me know if I’m not,’ he said. ‘I am expecting replies to the advertisement today.’
‘As you wish,’ Archer said. ‘You know where I am.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’ Thomas nodded formally, ending the intimacy. ‘Will there be anything else?’
‘No, thank you, Payne.’ It was odd to call Thomas by his surname, but Archer did as he must. ‘Let me know when you have the applications, I should be interested to look through them. Oh!’ A thought struck him. ‘I don’t mean to imply that I don’t trust you…’
Thomas held up a hand. ‘I would be delighted.’
With that arranged, Thomas left to see to his business leaving Archer free to visit Silas.
‘Who is it?’ Silas called when Archer knocked.
‘Archer.’
‘Oh, come in.’
When he stepped into the room, Archer understood why Silas had questioned. He stood surrounded by piles of clothes wearing only his underwear; not a state in which to be discovered by a maid. The sight reminded Archer that he had yet to settle the clothing bill, and not only for what her Ladyship had arranged for Silas, but also the new uniforms, and clothes Mrs Baker had acquired for Fecker.
‘Your godmother’s order arrived,’ Silas said. ‘I hope there ain’t no more. I don’t know where to start.’ He held up a shirt.
Archer closed the door and walked over to him, took the shirt from his hand and flung it onto the bed. ‘You can start here,’ he said, wrapping Silas in his arms.
They kissed passionately, and the feel of Silas’ slim body nearly naked and pressed to his own, soon had Archer’s cock raging. His hands slipped to Silas’ buttocks. He loved the feel of one in each hand, and in return, Silas’ hand dived straight to his erection.
Archer groaned with pleasure when Silas sank to his knees, undid his trousers and took his cock between his lips. He had just drunk coffee, and his mouth was hot, intensifying the pleasure.
‘My God,’ Archer whispered. ‘You’re beautiful.’
Silas, holding Archer’s dripping length in one hand, looked up, his impish smile growing. ‘Fuck my mouth,’ he leered, panting.
Archer took his head in his hands. He adored the man’s ears and the feel of his dense hair, but more, he worshipped the touch of his tongue.
He began slowly, almost gracefully, watching his sturdy cock vanish between Silas’ lips, but soon — too soon — he was driving harder, his legs buckling, and he came deep in his lover’s throat. Silas gagged and swallowed, refusing to let Archer go until he had licked every sensitive part, and Archer was begging him to stop.
As soon as he was allowed, Archer lay Silas down among his new clothes. There, he returned the pleasure, bringing Silas to distraction gradually in a series of gasps and jerks until he thrashed at the clothes, bucked and fired a series of hot bursts into Archer’s mouth.
Archer let Silas’ cock slip from his lips and marvelled at its dark skin, stretched to its full six-inch capacity, the stocky balls tight and darker beneath. He kissed them before working his way back up Silas’ body where they shared the taste of each other’s cum in a long, lingering exchange.
They caught these moments of intimacy whenever they could, but restricted them to their rooms and at times when they would not be disturbed. Sometimes snatched in fleeting moments of opportunity, sometimes a whole night, every time was an exploration of new pleasures as they learnt from each other and grew together. The only people in the house they had to hide from were the housekeeper and the maids, but it was good practice to behave with decorum in case their passion should boil over at an inopportune moment. At Clearwater House, there was an above stairs, and a below stairs divide, a private and a public way of life, and, despite Archer’s unconventionality, both had to be seen to be separate.
‘Hey, Boss,’ Silas said, as Archer cradled him in his arms. ‘Think I should finish getting dressed.’
Conventionality returned to his life with the arrival of Lady Marshall dead on one o’clock.
He was in the drawing room scanning the newspapers for any mention of the Ripper or the finding of Quill’s body when Thomas crossed the hall. A few seconds later, the front door opened and closed, and he appeared in the room standing to attention.
‘The Lady Marshall,’ he announced and stepped aside.
Archer’s godmother wafted in on waves of chiffon and silk, cut too provocatively for a lady of her age, and announced, ‘Archer! Behold the descending angel.’ With that, she turned, took Thomas by the elbow and led him back into the hall.
Archer followed, wondering what she was up to, and found her arranging the butler on the turn in the stairs. She came down, leaving him there, and stood back.
‘Isn’t that just fabulous,’ she said, admiring the uniform as much as the man. ‘I knew greens and reds were the way to go. Do you like it, Payne? Honestly.’
‘Very much, Your Ladyship. Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ she replied. ‘He’s paying for it.’
‘Dolly, don’t be vulgar,’ Archer admonished her. ‘Thank you, Payne,’ he said, and behind Lady Marshall’s back, gave his butler a wink.
Back in the drawing room, Her Ladyship made herself at home in her usual place on the grandest settee, and as soon as Archer entered, began questioning him about the house. They had met only briefly since Archer had fired Tripp, and he had not provided her with all the digestible details. He told her only what he wanted her to know, staying with the fiction of Tripp’s family crisis, and was eventually able to turn the conversation to the purpose of their meeting; their charity.
‘Mr Hawkins is in the East End today,’ Archer informed her. ‘He and Mr Andrej have begun investigating suitable properties. There is an agent who has provided a list.’
‘Makes perfect sense,’ Lady Marshall said. ‘As they know the area. Have you been back since the night of the riot?’
There had been much unrest in Greychurch because of the Ripper murders, and Archer had told her he had been caught up in one such disturbance while on one of his research visits. He hadn’t, of course, he had been dispatching the Ripper to a watery grave, but no-one, not even Lady Marshall could know that, or his connection to the murderer.
‘No,’ he replied, honestly. ‘I have seen enough for now, but you and I will have to visit when Silas finds an appropriate building.’
‘I’m looking forward to the opening,’ she said. ‘My niece has discovered an outlet for Français pauvre, as she’s calling it. The starved look, I say. Very rustic. I will fit right in.’
Archer thought it best not to remind her that they were building a hostel for rent boys and not a fashion house.
‘The rents are very cheap,’ he said, immediately regretting using the word. ‘I’ve instructed Marks to draw up the principles for negotiation, and everything else should be signed off at the next meeting of trustees.’
‘How jolly.’
The conversation continued in a similar vein until Thomas reappeared to announce lunch. He seemed flustered.
‘Thank you, Payne,’ Archer said.’ Did the applications arrive?’
‘They did, Sir,’ Thomas replied.
‘Is everything alright?’
‘Er… Yes. I have just finished reading them.’
‘You can always borrow one of mine until you find someone suitable, Payne,’ Lady Marshall offered.
‘I am honoured, Your Ladyship.’ Thomas bowed his head. ‘I think I have seen one who is more than suitable, Sir. Shall I put the letters on your desk?’
‘If you would. We can look through them later.’
They crossed the hall in silence and observed their version of the luncheon formalities. At Clearwater, now that Archer was viscount, this meant he and his godmother could sit opposite each other at the side of the table, not at the ends where they would have to raise their voices across the distance. They were served by Thomas and Lucy, discussed their charity and the deplorable state of the poor in general, and when the meal was over, retired to the drawing room to take a whisky-coffee, a decadence of which they were both fond.
It was while they were discussing how the servants at Larkspur would take the news of Tripp’s departure, that Thomas passed the doors once more. Archer was expecting no other visitors, and his mind was only half on Lady Marshall as he speculated on who it could be.
He received his answer a minute later when Thomas appeared with a silver salver.
‘My apologies, My Lord,’ he said, when Archer acknowledged him.
‘Who is it?’
Thomas advanced and offered the tray. ‘Inspector Adelaide.’
Their eyes met, and Archer instantly knew what his butler was thinking. Adelaide was the man investigating the Ripper murders. Someone had made a connection between the killer and Archer. Quill’s body had been found with some incriminating evidence. Thomas’ face was strained, but Archer knew to keep a cool head. He took the inspector’s calling card.
‘Thank you, Payne,’ he said. ‘Show him in.’ He nodded reassuringly, and Thomas backed away.
‘What could he want?’ Lady Marshall enquired rhetorically.
Archer had little time to gather his thoughts and calm his nerves before Thomas was back to formally announce the visitor.
He stepped aside to reveal a tall, wide-set man with a barrel chest barely contained by a tight-fitting suit. The hair that was missing from the centre of his head appeared to have been rehoused beneath his nose in the form of a moustache with which Lucy could have swept the kitchen floor. His face sagged as if he had known too many tragedies, and his eyes were ringed with dark shadows.
‘Inspector.’ Archer rose and waited for the man to approach. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’
Thomas left, and the policeman advanced.
‘My apologies, My Lord,’ he said, his voice gruff and accented. ‘Rude of me to arrive without an appointment.’
‘That’s alright, Inspector.’ Archer shook his hand. ‘You’ve become something of a celebrity of late. Oh, The Lady Marshall.’
Adelaide bowed to her before addressing the viscount.
‘And some have fame forced upon them,’ the Inspector misquoted. ‘If it’s inconvenient, Sir, I could return later.’
At least the man was not here to arrest him.
‘I can’t imagine what your business might be,’ he said. ‘But if it is of an indelicate nature, I am sure Her Ladyship would excuse us. We could talk in the library.’
‘It might be considered a little indelicate, Sir,’ Adelaide said.
‘In which case, sit down and give me all the details,’ Lady Marshall enthused. ‘Unless Clearwater is against the idea.’
‘Actually, Ma’am…’ Adelaide turned to her. ‘Your presence could be useful if you don’t mind.’
‘I shan’t know if I mind until you tell me what you are about,’ Her Ladyship challenged playfully.
‘Please, Inspector, sit.’ Archer offered a chair and resumed his own place before his legs buckled.
‘I’ll stand, Sir,’ Adelaide said. ‘If it’s all the same. I’ll not keep you.’
‘As you wish. Coffee?’
‘No thank you.’ Adelaide took a notebook from his pocket and flicked to a page.
‘This looks official.’ Archer tried to make light, but it came out as a concern.
‘In a way, Sir, but I hope not. It concerns a missing person known to be of your acquaintance.’
‘Oh?’ That could be anyone, but if Adelaide was on the case, it could only be Ripper related. ‘Who?’
‘A Doctor Benjamin Quill.’
A shattered image of Quill falling beneath him into the death-black waters of the river passed across Archer’s mind, and he shuddered inwardly.
‘Benji?’ he asked, with as much surprise as he could fake. ‘Missing?’
‘Apparently so, Sir. He hasn’t been seen for several days.’
‘Men go missing all the time, Inspector,’ Lady Marshall said. ‘They always reappear in some frightful state, reeking of alcohol and French tarts. Usually in the House of Commons.’
Had they been alone, Archer would have laughed, but with the policeman bearing down on him, he thought it best to let the comment pass, as did Adelaide.
‘He was last seen by his wife on Sunday,’ he said, referring to his book. ‘When she woke on Monday he was no longer at home. Assuming he had left early for his practice, she thought nothing of it. When he had still not appeared by Wednesday morning, she became alarmed and contacted his secretary. It turned out that he hadn’t seen him since the previous Friday when he left for home. Assuming he was unwell or called away, he said nothing, but after two days of absence, contacted Mrs Quill. Their messages crossed, but the disappearance was reported to us on Wednesday morning.’
This made no sense to Archer. The inspector must have the days wrong, but to question him would arouse suspicion.
‘And how can we help?’ he asked, reaching for his cup as calmly as possible. It rattled in the saucer when he lifted it, and he put it down.
‘I hear that he is connected with you through some charitable endeavour.’ There was a blank in the man’s book, because he turned several pages as if he had the answer there somewhere.
‘He is on our board of trustees,’ Lady Marshall confirmed. She had noticed Archer’s shaking hand, but said nothing.
‘When did you last see him, Ma’am?’
Her Ladyship’s eyes stayed on Archer as she thought. ‘For my part, at least two weeks ago,’ she said. ‘When we met with Marks, t
he trust’s solicitor.’
Adelaide made a note before raising his eyebrows to Archer who immediately felt on trial.
‘We had lunch last week,’ he said. ‘I can show you my diary, but it was Thursday. That’s a week last Thursday, not the one just gone.’
Another note in the book and Adelaide asked, ‘Where was this?’
‘The Grape Vine at Five Dials. I have the receipt somewhere if you need it.’
‘Your word is more than acceptable,’ the inspector said. ‘But you have not seen him since?’
It was against Archer’s nature to lie, but there was no other choice. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We are due to lunch again in a fortnight and, unless I have some illness for him to attend, I don’t expect to see him until then.’
‘I see.’
What did he see?
‘Is that it, inspector?’ he asked. ‘Because I have something to ask you.’
Adelaide stared at his pages before flipping the book shut. ‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Our charity will be centred in Greychurch,’ Archer said, and Adelaide’s ears pricked up. ‘And I know you are very active in the area at the moment.’
‘We are doing what we can, Sir.’ The inspector glanced cautiously at Lady Marshall.
‘Have you caught the madman yet?’ she asked. ‘I’ve not read of any more ripping or arrests.’
‘The case is on-going, Ma’am,’ he replied. ‘But there have been no more murders since the double event, as the papers are calling it.’
‘Well, let’s hope that’s an end to it,’ she said.
The double event had been two days before Archer confronted Quill at Limehouse, but that was not what was troubling his mind.
‘Let us hope so indeed,’ he said. ‘But, Inspector, perhaps when you are not so busy, I might speak with you about the policing of the area and how we may work together. You see, the men we are hoping to assist are the very same as the Ripper has been attacking.’
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 5