The Valet and the Stable Groom

by Katherine Marlowe

  “Here, Clement, hold this.”

  Hildebert placed a metal tube into Clement’s hand.

  “Sir,” Clement repeated, itching to drag him bodily back to the house.

  He was ignored.

  “Might I suggest that showing the invention wait until some later time,” Clement said. “Perhaps once it is finished.”

  “It is nearly finished,” Hildebert said.

  “It would be an excellent reason to invite your guests back in the future,” Clement said. “You can tell them all about it. I am certain everyone will be very admiring of your prowess, and then you could arrange a formal exhibit of your creation, and give a proper demonstration. An exhibition, after all, is better suited to a gentleman inventor than the briskness of showing garden-party guests into a workshop.”

  Hildebert paused to consider that. Clement prayed that the prospect of an appreciative audience at some future presentation would be enough to sway him into obedience.

  “I suppose,” Hildebert conceded, “it would be nicer if it were neatly displayed. Velvet curtains, like a proper exhibition.”

  “Nothing less,” Clement promised.

  “The workshop is somewhat untidy,” Hildebert said. “Imagine if they might get the impression that I… that I worked! In a ‘work’-shop! Ha ha!”

  “Terribly embarrassing,” Clement said, setting the metal tube down upon the table top and seizing Hildebert’s arm. “Quickly now, we must get you ready for your guests.”

  “Yes, yes,” Hildebert said, setting his tools aside and going along with Clement, much more invested in the idea now. “They must think that I am a gentleman inventor, after all, so I must look the part. I am not some mere workaday engineer.”

  “Quite so,” Clement said, hustling him along.

  As they passed through the workshop door, Clement looked back.

  Hugo’s expression was unreadable, perhaps perplexed.

  Clement set his jaw and steered his employer through the door.

  Several of the guests had already arrived before Hildebert was ready, but the party was still in its early stages. Jane was at the front of the house, greeting guests and sending them through to the back garden. Clement ensconced Hildebert near the doors to the back garden, where he could likewise greet his guests and socialise with his new neighbours. Sharply-dressed servants with trays wove discreetly through the gardens, offering drinks and refreshments.

  Gauzy clouds floated by above them, filtering the sunlight and ameliorating the soft blue of the sky, but the day remained warm and lovely. Clement made his way back and forth through the house and the gardens, making certain that all was in order and that each guest had anything they desired. Mrs. Ledford had done an impeccable job with the execution of the party designs, and all of the additional people she had brought on knew their business and responded swiftly to Clement’s commands.

  It was nothing like a London party.

  The dresses and suits of their guests were simple and plain country garb. A few of the more elegant guests, who could afford London houses in addition to their country residences, were dressed in attire which would at least not be turned away at the door of a fashionable London soiree.

  Quite a few of the guests had come along with their entire family, including children as young as six. Clement strove not to grimace at the sight of a set of children racing along the border of the garden like wild young street urchins. They’d made no accommodation for the younger members of the party, who would typically be steered into a quiet parlour for entertainments where they wouldn’t bother the adults. Jane had preferred that they be allowed to explore and roam through the gardens at their leisure.

  Once the guests had all arrived, they were seated at the long tables in the garden, and served on golden plates on white and pink linens. A breeze picked up, ruffling the hair styles of the women. This was, in Clement’s opinion, no great loss, as there were no awe-inspiring confections of hair dressing to be seen. The destruction of a proper London hair dressing would qualify as a significant tragedy. The group sentiment seemed to concur with this, as no one seemed especially distraught about the ruffling of artful curls and rustic crowns of braids.

  It was only after supper, when the guests had been released to converse and explore through the gardens and a moderately skilled duo of musicians began to play, that Clement realised that Hildebert, once again, was missing.

  “Letty,” Clement said, catching her elbow and giving her a smile to hide the urgency he felt. “Have you seen Hildebert?”

  “What?” Letty had relieved one of the servers of his tray, and was sharing it with some of the other maidservants. “No, not since supper.”

  Clement gave the tray a disapproving look, but decided against making a fuss about it.

  He asked two other servants, neither of whom had seen anything, when he turned to find Mr. Busick near at hand.

  “Mr. Adair,” said the old butler, nodding in greeting to Clement. “I do believe that Mr. Devereux and several of his guests went to his lordship’s workshop, to see some demonstration of his scientific prowess.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Clement. “Do you know if Mr. Ogden is with him?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not certain…”

  “Mr. Adair!” A maidservant waved to him. “There you are, sir. Mrs. Ledford sent me to ask if you know where the doily-napkins for dessert have been placed.”

  “I don’t,” Clement began, and then lifted his hand to his mouth. “Oh! Yes, they’re by the crystal wine goblets, I believe, in the side parlour, for the syllabubs.”

  “But they can’t be used for the syllabubs, they’re needed for the—”

  “Simply,” Clement interrupted, “tell Mrs. Ledford where they are.”

  That was when the workshop exploded.

  A wave of screams went through the guests in the gardens, followed by panicked chatter and cries of fire.

  Clement ran.

  Hildebert was in that workshop. His guests, likely including the nobility of the region, were in that workshop. Hugo was in that workshop.

  Flames were licking up the front side of the building as Clement ran towards it. He vaulted an ornamental hedge and veered around an alarmed duck before he reached the front door. Flames licked up along the wall beside it. “Hildebert! Hugo!”

  There was no reply, and the door would not give. It was locked or jammed. Another explosion rocked the interior. Clement ran around the side of the workshop to try the back door.

  On the lawn behind the workshop, he found the coughing, soot-covered company of his employer and the guests. Hugo was helping one of them from the workshop. Setting the limping guest down upon the lawn, Hugo counted the rest. “That’s nine. We’re all safe. Clement?” He blinked and then smiled as Clement ran up to him.

  “You’re unhurt,” Clement said, gazing at Hugo with worry and relief.

  “I’m unhurt, though I think we might best betake ourselves farther from the burning building.” Hugo reached out, clasping Clement’s elbow, and then he quickly took his hand away. “Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m only glad that you’re safe.”

  Clement helped him as they attended the guests and Hildebert, moving them back toward the safety of the house. The party was largely unhurt, aside from one turned ankle and a wrenched knee, which was Hildebert’s. The workshop was burning in earnest, while the servants had begun to organise a system of carrying buckets of water from the pond to the burning building. Nearly half the assembled guests had engaged themselves in helping, which was something that Clement didn’t think he would ever have seen at a London party.

  “Whatever happened?” Clement asked. He settled Hildebert in a chair where he could watch the ruckus and brought over a cup of wine from a nearby table.

  “Oh, what a catastrophe!” Hildebert exclaimed. “I thought I’d had it all resolved, it was just the last few adjustments to make, you see. I had been telling Mr. Edswith—did you meet him?�
��about my progress, and the Perchilds, they were very interested, and then there was nothing to it but that I should show them, of course, so I did, and I had it all just as it is in the diagram, but when I engaged the motor, the whole thing began to shake alarmingly, and it would not disengage. That was when Hugo, you see, made the timely suggestion that we should all vacate the building, which we did, or nearly, and then! What a report! Oh, Clement, I do think I’m deaf.”

  Clement thought that Hildebert did a very good job of answering spoken questions, for a deaf person. “A physician is being sent for, sir. He’ll see to you right away, not to worry.”

  “Oh, very good, Clement. Very good. Why, I quite think that Hugo saved my life! All our lives! I do think he should be rewarded.”

  “To be sure,” Clement said, scanning the crowd for Hugo. The workshop was still in flames, and the entire household was engaged in either fighting the fire or caring for their frightened guests. Hugo was nowhere to be seen.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Clement said, disengaging himself from Hildebert and heading off in search of Hugo.

  The shriek of a horse drew his attention, and Clement saw that the heavy smoke from the fire was being blown toward the stable, and must be spooking the horses.

  He went in through the side door, coughing at the smell of smoke. “Hugo?”

  “Through here!” Hugo called.

  Hugo was in the main stable, directing one of the footmen to take two of the horses out into the paddock, while he coaxed another horse from its stall. He looked over, showing both worry and relief upon his face. “Clement.”

  “I was worried when I couldn’t see where you’d gone,” Clement said, feeling foolish. He’d already known that Hugo wasn’t hurt, and didn’t know what he intended to do here in the stables.

  “I’m not hurt.”

  He had the horse by its lead rope. It shifted skittishly in place by Hugo’s side, eyes wild, but Hugo’s gaze remained on Clement. They were standing very close, and Hugo’s lips were slightly parted, as though he might say something.

  Clement felt a reckless urge to kiss him.

  And then… what then? What excuse could I offer for such a mad gesture? It might be believed as exuberance when I’d discovered them alive, or when I found he was unharmed, but now I…

  “I,” said Clement. “I ought to be getting back to Hildebert. We’ve sent for the physician.”

  “That’s good,” Hugo said, quickly. “I need to see to the horses.”

  “Yes. To be sure,” Clement said. He took a step back.

  Leaving Hugo to his duties, Clement left the stable. He hesitated upon the threshold.

  Hildebert would be waiting, and he would need to be attended almost constantly until his nerves had settled from the incident.

  Quelling thoughts of Hugo’s lips, Clement hurried back to where he had left his employer.

  The party was variously considered to be a disaster and a great success, but everyone agreed that it was the most interesting event to have happened in Herefordshire in years.

  It took hours before the fire was completely out. All the guests were reassured and plied with syllabubs and tea, the tables were cleared away, and the physician confirmed that there were no injuries more serious than the minor sprains suffered in fleeing the explosion.

  Hildebert had to be carried upstairs in his chair by a pair of footmen, which inspired him to proclaim that he felt like a “very grand poo-bah.” Clement watched this from the lawn with his nose wrinkled in helpless, fond befuddlement, and looked over to find that Mrs. Ledford was standing beside him, also watching.

  Clearing his throat, Clement stood a little straighter and schooled his features into a more decorous state. “Mrs. Ledford.”

  “Well,” she said, looking over at him. “At least the dessert was a success.”

  After that she walked away.

  Clement stared after her, wondering if that had been some sort of scathing criticism that he hadn’t yet sorted or if Mrs. Ledford was in possession of a very dry sense of humour.

  The final tidying up was being done in the gardens under Mrs. Ledford’s competent supervision, so Clement left it and went upstairs. He found Hildebert happily installed in his bed under a mountain of quilts, with a pot of tea and a pile of books within reach.

  “Sir,” said Clement.

  “What a tragedy, Clement!” Hildebert sighed. There was what seemed to be a dish towel wrapped around his head. Clement knew he was not bleeding from any head wounds, and wondered whether Letty might have had anything to do with offering to wrap his head befitting a grand rajah. “My grand career as an inventor, curtailed in its infancy!”

  “To be sure,” Clement agreed. His fingers itched to tuck in a stray fold of the dishtowel which flapped as Hildebert moved his head. “All your research and inventions, lost.”

  “I’ll have to begin again from scratch!” Hildebert said. He lifted his hands, then flopped them disconsolately into the quilts. “All that hard work.”

  Clement did not think that not quite two weeks of a hobby attempt at mechanical engineering was really all that much hard work to lose. “We would have to send for new supplies from London, again. All the same items. I shall explain to the supplier… ah, well, I shall think of something.”

  “And let them think me a failure!” Hildebert said, groaning at the great tragedy of it all. “No, no. No one can know.”

  Half the county of Herefordshire knew.

  “Of course, sir,” Clement said. He refilled Hildebert’s tea cup and put it into his hands. “You’ve been injured. You must rest.”

  “Rest,” said Hildebert. He sighed. His tea cup tilted precariously.

  Clement steadied the hand with the tea cup, encouraged him to drink, and then retired to his room.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed him the moment that he was safely inside his room. Lighting his solitary candle by the side of his little bed, Clement sat down upon the bed as he unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat. He stared out the dark window.

  He remembered Hugo’s face, when he had smiled in reassurance, with a smudge of soot upon his jaw.

  Getting up, Clement took off his coat. He laid it out for use tomorrow, and only then noticed that the elbow of his coat had been soiled.

  Lifting it up again, Clement found that the mark upon the elbow was in the shape of a handprint, dark with soot, from when Hugo had clasped his elbow by the burning workshop.

  Smiling to himself, Clement set the soiled coat aside, and laid out his second-best coat for use the next day.

  Part II

  Chapter 10

  “Clement,” Hildebert said, when Clement brought in his breakfast tray, “I have decided to become a poet.”

  Pausing only slightly at this announcement, Clement poured his master a cup of tea. “That sounds like a very admirable pursuit, sir.”

  “I think so,” Hildebert agreed. He was still abed, even two weeks after the explosion in the workshop. Clement suspected that Hildebert’s knee was working just fine now, and that his employer simply liked the attention and luxury of staying in bed.

  Clement went to open the curtains, letting in light in hopes that the bright, warm sunlight would tempt Hildebert enough to get out of bed and venture outdoors.

  “The rebuilt workshop seems to be coming along nicely,” Clement said, gazing out across the lawns at it. The scorch mark upon the grass had been overgrown already, and the burnt remnants had been cleared away. Under Hugo’s supervision, a few local builders had been brought in to construct a new workshop upon the site, even though Hildebert still declared that he was permanently done with science and invention.

  It would be nice to have the space, Hildebert had said. A retreat of sorts. A sanctum! Where I may pursue… er… I suppose I don’t know. Gentlemanly pursuits. I’ll decide on something.

  Poetry, it seemed. There wouldn’t be any point in trying to convince him that he had a perfectly adequate study just adjacent to his rooms here, with a spacio
us desk and a comfortable chair, where any reasonable gentleman poet would be able to compose. It would have to be the workshop.

  And, after all, that left Clement able to use the study to try and make sense of the old records and accounts. He’d had little enough time for it while Hildebert was convalescing. Hildebert constantly needed someone to fetch him books and refreshments while he was abed, and he rang for Clement every time he was bored.

  “Is it?” Hildebert asked. He sounded disinterested.

  “I’ll mention to Hugo that he ought to install a writing desk for you in your workshop, somewhere with plenty of light.”

  “Oh!” said Hildebert. “Oh, yes. I suppose so. Won’t that be nice? Do tell him to have it overlooking the duck pond. I so love ducks.”

  “I’ll be sure of it,” Clement promised. He bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating. Hugo had been so busy these past two weeks. Two of his horses were near foaling, and he’d had the construction of the workshop to occupy and exhaust him. “Shall I go now and mention it to him?”

  “Now?” There was a plaintive note in Hildebert’s voice that made Clement’s heart sink. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose so. And a nice chair, Clement. Padded. Red leather. No, blue. I am certain that Shakespeare wrote upon a blue leather chair. Don’t you think so?”

  Clement had no idea what the fashion in poet’s chairs had been in Elizabethan England. “It seems entirely likely.”

  “Fetch me the book of Donne’s poetry, will you, Clement? It’s there.”

  It wasn’t in the stack of books Hildebert indicated, and Clement had to search through two more piles before he found it hidden under a discarded magazine. He straightened the magazine pile, brought the book over to Hildebert, and went out to inform Hugo of their employer’s new profession as a gentleman poet.

  The new workshop consisted of a frame and two walls, with expensive large windows but no window-glass yet installed. The construction was wood, which came from the forest on Hildebert’s land. Clement thought that this was the best choice in case of further explosions. It would be more inclined to burn than stone, but less inclined to crushing anyone in the collapse.