Manservant

by Harwood, Michael

  Feeling really rather pleased with myself I left the dining room and made my way down to the kitchen, hoping there was enough time for a bit of a sit down and something to eat before being summoned by His Lordship.

  Vera must have read my mind because when I walked in the kitchen she was just finishing off making a huge plate of sandwiches.

  “There we are, love,” she said, handing me the plate. “You must be starving. If I had to guess I’d say that’s the first thing you’ve had all day.”

  I nodded my agreement and began to devour them. And then, just minutes later as I swallowed the last mouthful, the servants’ bell marked LONG LIBRARY rang on the old wooden panel on the wall.

  “Right, young man. Quick sticks—time to meet your new boss,” Vera said, grabbing the mug out of my hand and all but hoisting me to my feet.

  “Wish me luck!” I said as I hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall to the door I hoped would lead me back into the Marble Hall.

  My sense of direction was, for once, spot on, and, finding myself outside the door of the Long Library, I took a deep breath before knocking and entering.

  The lights had been dimmed, but I could see Lord Shanderson reading a broadsheet newspaper by the light of a desk lamp at the far end of the room. I approached the desk and stopped a few feet in front of it, waiting for him to speak. He stayed silent for a while as I watched a cloud of sweet cigar smoke waft above the rim of the newspaper.

  “Welcome to Castle Beadale, Anthony,” he finally said before slowly lowering the paper. As he did so I felt the whole room slide out of focus, except for Lord Shanderson’s face. And then the terrible realization dawned on me that the old guy in the stable yard, the one who had witnessed Frank’s and my messy good-bye, was in fact Lord Shanderson. I suddenly felt sick. Very sick indeed.

  “How have you settled in?” he asked.

  My mouth was so dry I was afraid no words would form, so I summoned every available drop of saliva before I opened it to speak.

  “Very well, sir, thank you.”

  “I will need you to drive me after dinner; I have some business to attend to in Brighton, and it’s my chauffeur’s night off. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”

  As he spoke I studied his face. He no longer bore any resemblance to the old man in the stable yard, though it was clear they were one and the same person. His hair was gray but sharply parted and greased into place. Expensive tweeds had replaced his shabby work clothes. An expensive cologne mingled with the cigar smoke in the air between us, but what surprised me most of all was how handsome he was.

  “. . . don’t you think?” he said, snapping me out of my daydream.

  “Indeed, sir,” I said, despite having missed the question.

  “Good; in that case once I have had my after-dinner brandy I’d like you to bring the Land Rover round to the front of the house and wait for me there.”

  “Not the Bentley, sir?” I asked. I’d seen a sleek black Bentley parked in one of the old stables with the number plate “DS 1.” I wondered why on earth he would want to be driven in a Land Rover when such a beautiful car was there for the driving.

  “No, the Landy will do just fine. Sometimes I find the Bentley a little, I don’t know . . . conspicuous?” he said, before turning his attention back to the Financial Times. “That will be all, Gowers.”

  Back in the kitchen I found Vera and Wendy laying the table for the staff evening meal. The most delicious smell was wafting from something tented with foil that sat on the warming plate of the Aga. I couldn’t resist having a sneaky peek.

  “Oooh! Cottage pie, my favorite,” I said, licking my lips.

  “Show me a man who doesn’t like cottage pie, and I’ll show you a man who doesn’t like to eat,” Vera said as she fussed over the table. Having thought I was going to be staying in my own cottage, I hadn’t really given much thought to what the eating arrangements for the staff would be, but I was impressed at how civilized this was all looking. I watched Vera carefully as she placed a linen napkin and a wine glass at each setting, adjusting a wayward knife or a skewed fork with utter concentration.

  “Would you like a small glass of wine with your dinner, Anthony ?” Wendy asked, holding out a bottle of half decent-looking red.

  “Better not, thanks; His Lordship has asked me to drive him to Brighton after dinner.”

  “Has he now?” said Gloria from somewhere behind me. “And why would he go and do that?”

  “I don’t see why that would be any of your business, Gloria,” Vera replied, banging the cottage pie down in the center of the table with a thud.

  “He said it was Tom’s night off,” I volunteered.

  “Do you know anything about this?” Gloria asked a sheepish Tom, who looked as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

  “I’m going with Kylie to the pictures in Horsham—His Lordship said he didn’t need me tonight,” Tom said, keeping his eyes fixed on his dinner.

  “And now poor Anthony has to stay up till God knows what time waiting for His Lordship to finish doing God knows what in Brighton.” She spat out “Brighton” like it was a dirty word.

  “I honestly don’t mind, Gloria. It’s not a problem.”

  “Not for you maybe,” she said as she spooned peas and carrots rather exuberantly onto each person’s plate.

  The pudding was apple crumble and custard, and before I knew it I’d scoffed down not one but two helpings. I made a promise to myself to go for a long run in the morning before breakfast to make sure all these country-sized portions didn’t instantly glue themselves to my arse.

  I glanced up at the old clock above the Aga, and seeing that it was just before eight, I brushed myself down and headed to the dining room to light the candles and wait for His Lordship to come in for dinner. But to my horror he was already sitting at the table talking on the phone. I hovered uncomfortably in the doorway for a few seconds, unsure whether or not to enter as the conversation sounded like one I probably shouldn’t be party to. He hadn’t yet spotted me, so I retreated back into the hallway and began to watch and listen through the crack in the door.

  “Elizabeth, we’ve been here before—are you absolutely sure this time?”

  I assumed the Elizabeth on the other end of the phone was Lady Shanderson, so I began to eavesdrop in earnest.

  “Good, good. And are you certain you have taken every precaution to cover your tracks? We can’t afford for there to be any skeletons rattling around. And there definitely can’t be anyone else in the frame.”

  Whatever his wife’s response was to the last question, it certainly made him jump, and even from behind the dining room door I could hear her tiny voice squawking from the receiver he was holding at arm’s length. And she didn’t sound happy.

  “For Christ’s sake, Elizabeth, calm down. Given your track record, you can’t blame me for asking! And yes, my own affairs are very much in order, thank you for asking. Anyway, I shouldn’t have to remind you exactly what’s at stake for both of us now. Still, it looks like this little bird is finally coming home to roost.” His tone was firm, but his voice was low. “And speaking of coming home it’s time for you to do the same. I realize that Beadale isn’t exactly The Plaza, but a deal is a deal. I want you to get on the next plane to England. But please, please, do not go and hide at your mother’s the minute you arrive; we have a lot to discuss—come straight to the castle.”

  From my vantage point I had a clear view of his face, and I stifled a laugh when he rolled his eyes dramatically.

  “Elizabeth, please don’t be so melodramatic. I’d hardly describe Beadale as a prison. This is by far the safest place for you to be over the next few months. You haven’t got time to waste, and we both know it’s for the best.... Hello? Hello?” He looked at the receiver in disbelief before slamming it down on the cradle. “Bloody woman will be the death of me,” he muttered just seconds before noticing me standing in the doorway.

  “Apologies, sir
. I was told 8 p.m. for dinner,” I said, quickly lighting the candles and pouring him a glass of claret.

  “Take this phone away, and if anyone calls I’m not here.”

  I took the phone from the table and placed it on the sideboard.

  “I’m keen to eat and get going, so please tell Vera I don’t require a first course or dessert—I’ll just have the grouse.”

  I couldn’t get Lord and Lady Shanderson’s phone call out of my head, so I stopped en route to the kitchen to try to make sense of it. Why did she need to be kept safe? And what kind of deal was he referring to? None of it added up, and I found myself wishing more than anything that I could have heard her side of the conversation too. Maybe that would have shed some light on whatever it was they were up to, but as it stood, it sounded like she was about to frame someone for something to settle a debt with her own husband. I started to wonder what the hell I’d let myself in for.

  I passed Lord Shanderson’s message to Vera, but she didn’t look too impressed that two-thirds of her menu was being overlooked when she handed me a heavy silver salver bearing a single bird garnished with all the trimmings. I placed a large domed cloche over it and hurried back into the dining room to serve. I held the heavy platter out at arm’s length so that His Lordship could help himself in the traditional way. As he did so I comforted myself with the thought that after a few months of serving his dinner in this way I would have great triceps.

  I topped up his wine and watched with interest as he tore into the tiny bird with relish. It was bloody and rare, and I could smell its gamey aroma from the other side of the table. I’ve never really seen the appeal of game birds; it all looks like too much effort for not a lot of returns, but by the way Lord Shanderson was stripping every last bit of flesh from the bones I could tell that he disagreed. When he had almost cleared his plate I fetched the platter from the sideboard and offered him seconds of all the trimmings.

  “No, thank you, Gowers. Wouldn’t want to get fat now, would I?” he said, patting his stomach.

  In the flickering candlelight I saw a faint smile cross his face. As I leaned in to pour some wine into his glass, I said, returning the smile, “I don’t think there is much danger of that, sir.”

  With dinner cleared I brought him a large glass of Courvoisier that he barely touched before rising from the table.

  “Right, meet me out front in ten minutes,” he said, throwing his napkin onto the table and marching out of the room. I quickly cleared away the last few things and blew out the candle.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Lord Shanderson came out of the castle I was waiting for him with the engine running and the heater blowing warm air into the drafty interior of the Land Rover. As he climbed into the passenger seat I noticed he had changed his clothes and was now wearing jeans and a Barbour jacket. It was strange seeing him in “civilian” clothes; he could have got away with looking like any other average Joe were it not for the very obviously expensive handmade brogues he was wearing.

  “Do you know the way to Brighton?” he asked as we bumped our way through the estate, the total darkness pierced only by the beam of the headlights.

  “I have a fairly good idea, sir,” I replied.

  Sure enough, half an hour later, with the dark, winding country roads behind us, we turned onto the floodlit dual carriageway. Nearing the city, the rolling hills of the South Downs morphed into the gray blur of suburbia, and I realized exactly how close Brighton was to Castle Beadale. I’d always loved Brighton and had enjoyed many a dirty weekend there. In fact, when we passed a sign on the very edge of the city that read WELCOME TO THE CITY OF BRIGHTON AND HOVE, I felt a little flutter of excitement at what possibilities lay ahead so close to my new home.

  “Would you like me to drop you anywhere in particular, sir?” I asked.

  “Just head for the seafront,” Lord Shanderson replied. “You can find a parking space and wait in the car. I shouldn’t think I’ll be more than an hour.”

  As instructed, I drove toward the bustling seafront, and in the distance I could see the gaudy lights of the pier picked out against an inky black sea. The traffic was heavy, so at one point we slowed to no more than a crawl until we stopped completely right opposite the Royal Pavilion, probably one of the most staggeringly beautiful but frankly bizarre buildings in Europe. With its extravagant onion domes, exotic towers, and faux Indian façade, it dominates the city center like the architectural love child of Gandhi and Liberace.

  “Marvelous, isn’t it?” Lord Shanderson said when he noticed me staring at it.

  “It really is quite remarkable, sir, yes.”

  “It was built as a temple to excess, you know. No better than a great big whorehouse in its day.” He laughed. “Queen Victoria couldn’t bear it, you know. In the end she was so offended by the stories of what her uncle had got up to there, she sold it to the council for peanuts.”

  “What a terrible party pooper she was,” I said, instantly thinking I might have overstepped the mark.

  “And nobody likes one of those, now do they?” he replied with a deep and throaty laugh.

  Eventually I found a parking space, but before I even had a chance to apply the hand brake His Lordship was out of his seat and halfway up the road. I watched as he disappeared down a side street and eventually out of view altogether.

  As soon as he was out of sight I began fiddling with the radio, hoping to find some decent music to help pass the time. However, the crappy old thing was picking up more static than music, so after a few minutes I abandoned my efforts and took out my iPhone to call Chris. I knew he’d be dying to know how my first day on the job was, and who was I to deny him?

  I dialed his number and drummed my fingers on the dashboard as I waited for him to pick up. Just as Chris’s voice mail kicked in, the headlights from a passing car filled the interior with light, and I noticed a small black leather wallet on the seat. I hung up without leaving a message. When I picked up the wallet a shiny black plastic card fell out of it. At first I assumed it was one of the “no credit limit” black American Express cards I had seen flashed around so many times at the Landseer, but on closer inspection it was nothing of the sort. It looked like some kind of membership card, and it bore only the words BLACK ORCHID CLUB in gold along with a ten-digit number beneath. I put the card back in the wallet and placed it on the passenger seat, figuring Lord Shanderson would come back for it as soon as he realized he’d left it behind.

  The air in the car was so stale and warm that I began to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, a gust of cold wind woke me up when Lord Shanderson opened the passenger-side door and began wordlessly searching for something in the darkness.

  “Ah, hello, sir, are you looking for this?” I asked, passing him the wallet and trying my upmost to hide the fact that I had just woken up.

  “Oh! Thank goodness,” he said, instantly removing the black card and shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry about that, for a moment I thought I’d lost something quite important,” he said, smiling at me. The relief on his face could not have been more obvious.

  “Not a problem, sir.”

  “Thank you, Anthony, I won’t keep you long,” he said, before slamming the door shut and marching back into the darkness of a side street.

  The Black Orchid? I thought. Doesn’t sound like your run of the mill gentleman’s club to me.

  True to his word His Lordship was back in the car in less than an hour. This time I was wide-awake, and as soon as he fastened his seatbelt I had the engine fired up and was turning the car around to head back out of town. With a slight sense of sadness I watched the bright lights of Brighton Pier and the bizarre silhouette of the Royal Pavilion each disappear behind us as I headed north in silence. When Lord Shanderson eventually spoke, he sounded noticeably more relaxed than before.

  “I do hope this hasn’t been too long a day for you, Anthony. I don’t usually have to engage the services of my butler for driving duties. This was something of a last-m
inute thing.”

  “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

  “A pleasure? Excellent. I’m all for a bit of pleasure.” He laughed, looking out of the window and shifting a little in his seat.

  Few words were exchanged between us for the remainder of the journey, and by the time we arrived back at the castle it was in total darkness except for the lamp in the portico over the front door. I brought the car to a halt, and in the gloom of the interior I could feel Lord Shanderson’s eyes on me.

  “Good night, Anthony, and thank you.”

  I waited for him to disappear behind the heavy studded oak door before I turned around to park in the stable yard. I let myself into the house through the back door that to my relief was unlocked. The servants’ corridor was also in complete darkness, but I could just about pick out my way by a faint light coming from the kitchen. I pushed open the door expecting to find Vera, but the room was as empty and silent as the rest of the castle. Before I turned off the lights and braced myself for the long climb up to the top floor, I spotted a note in the middle of the table with a glass of something on top of it. The note read:

  Dear Anthony,

  I thought you might need a wee dram to fortify

  you ahead of all those stairs!

  Breakfast at 7:30 a.m. for His Lordship.—Vera x

  I sniffed the contents of the glass, and my nose was instantly flooded with the peaty aroma of a fine single malt whisky. I flopped into a chair and swirled the amber liquid around the glass. I sipped it at first, but as the heady liquor wormed its way into my system I started to feel utterly exhausted. I thought it best to skull what remained for fear I would never make it up the stairs if I waited any longer. By the time I got to my room I could barely summon the energy to hang my uniform on the back of the door before flopping down onto the bed.