‘Thanks, Mr Grey,’ he said, but the man didn’t hear.
He nudged his shoulder to draw his attention and offered money. Mr Grey shook his head towards the door, a friendly order for James to get out that came with a smile.
Clearwater House was forlorn from the outside, and not much better on the inside when James let himself in through the back door. He had never known it busy, but Mrs Flintwich had a knack of filling the kitchen with her presence, and without Lucy fussing at some task and Thomas floating between his pantry and the baize door, it was empty. No life, no echoing bustle and everything apart from the essentials packed away. Up in his room, he changed his trousers and shoes before finding Silas as lonely as the house standing at Archer’s bedroom window watching the street like a hound waiting for its master’s return.
The sight and silence brought James’ heart to a low ebb, and he felt for the younger man.
‘That job’s done,’ he said as breezily as he could. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘No, I’m alright,’ Silas replied. He seemed to realise that his joylessness was contagious and forced a smile. ‘I better go and do the library.’
‘I can do it if you’d rather.’
‘No. I need something to take my mind off… whatever.’ He dropped the net curtain. ‘No news?’
‘I know as much as you.’ Another falsehood James would rather not have invented. ‘But I do know that the roads are being cleared. We should be fine to get a cab to the station.’
‘It’s started snowing again,’ Silas mumbled as he left the room.
The sooner they could be on the move, the sooner Silas would have something else to occupy his mind. For now, covering the furniture with dust sheets would keep him busy. It might only be for a short while, but hopefully long enough for James to work out Archer’s clue uninterrupted.
Wishing there was something more he could do, he followed Silas at a distance and ensured he had entered the library before making his way to the study.
‘The Queen’s poet, ninety-two,’ he muttered as he passed through the drawing room. Its furniture had already been covered, and the sofas and tables, cabinets and columns stood like a random collection of ghosts in the late morning light.
In the study, he went straight to the fireside bookcase and the space left by the borrowed book. His Lordship had an eclectic taste in reading matter. To one side of the empty space stood a copy of “Debrett’s Peerage, Baronetage and Knightage”, a hard-bound, red book with gold lettering and a crest. Thinking there may be a reference to the Queen’s poet, he opened the book to page ninety-two but found only references to bishops and clergy. It was a new edition, heavy to hold, solid and smelt of printer’s ink. In a way, it was reassuring to know that those who ruled the country were open to the scrutiny of anyone who could afford such books. He’d never seen a copy before and was tempted to look at Archer’s entry to read what it said about his family, but time was of the essence, and he was reminded of the fact by the mantle clock as it struck half-eleven. There was no mention of a poet under the paragraphs concerning the Queen.
Replacing Debrett’s, he took down the one on the other side of the space and knew he was onto something. “The Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson” was also stamped in gold but on a black cover, the edges of the pages were gilded, but this book, smaller than the previous one, had a soft leather binding and flopped in his hand.
He now understood the reference at the end of Archer’s note: My apologies for being abstruse. ALT will explain all. He wasn’t sure what abstruse meant, but it was obvious ALT were the poet’s initials and, on checking the first few lines of the introduction, learned that he had been Poet Laurette for some years.
Buoyed by his success so far, he found page ninety-two. It began a lengthy poem, ‘The Princess: A Medley’, and he hoped Archer didn’t intended him to read it all.
He didn’t. There was a note beneath the title, and the ink was fresh and unfaded, penned by the same nib as had been used on the envelope.
Forward, quickly, J, until the splendour falls.
Beside this was a pencilled arrow directing him to turn the page and another at the top of the next. They were easy to miss, and James only noticed because he was looking for clues. Had anyone come across this page at random, they would have thought the penned words were research notes or mindless jottings.
There were no more arrows after the next page, but not only were the directions clear, so was a pencilled line beneath the opening sentence of each stanza. James understood and, resting the book in his left hand, licked his finger and flicked through, his eyes scanning each first line. There were many, and his mind began to wander. He absentmindedly turned and began pacing the study, his head down, and had reached the reading table when a thin sheet of paper fell from between the leaves, and like a leaf, floated to the floor.
‘What you doing?’
He spun, his heart leaping, and without thinking, covered the dropped paper with his foot.
‘Sorry,’ he said to Silas approaching the study. ‘I didn’t know you were there.’
‘I’m not. I’m in the kitchen. Just wanted to tell you Mr Norwood and his wife are here.’
‘I will be right with you.’
‘What are you doing? Reading?’
‘Er… Looking for something for the journey.’ James glanced at the open book and read the line, The splendour falls on castle walls. Knowing the loose leaf was for him, but unable to collect it until Silas left, he offered the book. ‘Want to see?’
Silas sneered and walked away.
James waited until he had left the drawing room before retrieving the paper.
It was another letter, and what he read turned his stomach.
Four
Shocked by its contents, James folded the letter away and made his way to the servants’ hall. One thing he could say for Lord Clearwater, since coming to work for him there hadn’t been a dull moment. He would return to the second communication from his master as soon as he could, and despite his confusion and growing anxiety, it occurred to him that he had been awarded a great honour. The viscount trusted him enough to leave him instructions of vital importance. The man had known James less than two months, and although a lot had happened, the trust His Lordship put in him was ten times what the General Post Office had shown James in his eleven years with them. If he needed an excuse to silently promise Archer that he would do his best, the letter was it, but he didn’t need an excuse. Before now, he had promised the man his service and his life and meant every word of an oath he had silently sworn that night on the Yorkshire Moors.
The sight of Silas slouched at the servants’ dining table reinforced James’ determination to get to the bottom of Archer’s mystery. He would do anything to help his friends.
Silas looked up as he walked into the room and tipped his head towards the kitchen door.
‘He’s here,’ he called in a dull, non-committal way before returning to the food he was reorganising with a fork.
A man appeared from the next room. Mr Norwood was not what James was expecting. Where he had imagined a retired, elderly gentleman, perhaps with a large and greying beard and a weary look of years in service, he found a man no older than James’ own father. In his late forties, moderately built and with only his neatly barbered temples displaying a hint of age, Mr Norwood was clean shaven, smartly dressed and brought with him an intense stare, as if he had been keenly anticipating the meeting for weeks.
‘Mr Wright?’ he asked, beaming and advancing towards James with an outstretched hand. ‘His Lordship told me all about you. Isaac Norwood.’
James’ hand was in his before he had finished the introduction and was being pumped as if he was congratulating James on a major achievement.
‘Do you play cricket?’
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��What?’ James was thrown. ‘I’m sorry, Sir. Do I play…?’
‘We could do with a good faster bowler on the Riverside team, and you look like you have the arm for it.’
He released James’ hand, leaving an impression of his own along with the impression of an affable man of confidence.
‘I’ve never played,’ James admitted. ‘Would you like tea?’ It was the first thing that came to mind.
‘No, no. Just luncheoned, but Mrs Norwood will ready some if you wish,’ Norwood replied. ‘As soon as she… Ah, here she is.’
The second stranger swept into the room, and for a reason he couldn’t place, James was relieved. Mrs Norwood, only slightly younger than her husband, bustled in the manner of Mrs Baker, and, like her husband, exuded confidence, not only with how she greeted James but how she took to her surroundings.
‘We have met before,’ she announced with a smile, studying his face as she gave a curtsy.
James confusion deepened, but he half-bowed to her before saying, ‘We have?’
‘I thought it must be you when His Lordship said you were South Riverside,’ she continued, passing by and heading towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll pop on a pan and warm a pot.’
‘Steady your delivery, Sarah,’ her husband laughed. ‘They’ve time a while yet.’ To James, he said, ‘She’s keen to get started.’
‘I can see. No tea for me,’ James said. ‘But Mr Hawkins?’
Silas shook his head, his eyes focused somewhere inside his thoughts.
Mrs Norwood returned. ‘Then I will organise our rooms while you gentlemen run through the orders.’
She hurried away before James could ask how they might know each other, reminding him of a train passing through a station, and he stepped back so as not to be caught in the slipstream. Unlike a locomotive, there was no noise and no puffing, just a pleasant eagerness.
Norwood saw his bewilderment. ‘She’s always excited to be at Clearwater,’ he explained. ‘She’ll settle soon enough, but she’ll be wanting to have you safely on your way first. On which note…’
‘Sorry,’ James held up his hand. These people were agreeable enough, but he couldn’t help feeling they were taking over, and in the absence of Thomas, he was the man running the house. ‘Please, sit down,’ he said, leaving no room for debate. There were too many questions on his mind, and unless he had some answers soon, there would be no room for his main concern; Archer’s communication.
He reminded himself to refer to His Lordship by his correct title as Mr Norwood, duly abashed, moved to a chair. James slipped into Thomas’ place at the head of the table before Norwood sat, to remind the retainer that servants remained standing until the butler was seated. He may have been only an inexperienced footman, but he had been trusted with the proper running of the house, and Thomas would expect him to maintain an authority he had yet to establish.
‘Now then,’ he began once Norwood had sat. ‘First of all, Sir, my apologies for not greeting you in my uniform. We are packed and ready to leave, and in His Lordship’s absence, we are to travel casually.’
‘Understood and not a problem, Sir,’ Norwood replied with a grin.
‘Secondly, can you furnish me with your letter of authority from His Lordship?’ Thomas had told him to insist on seeing it, and the request made perfect sense.
Mr Norwood had no problem with the demand as he whipped it from his pocket and handed it over. James only needed to give it a skim to see it was genuine. He passed it back.
‘Thank you. Thirdly…’ Tom had also given him a procedure to follow, and his words came as Thomas would have said them. ‘I will inform you of Mr Payne’s particular requests when we tour the property, meanwhile, do you have any concerns I should know about? Are you, for example, still unencumbered for the next few months? Will you be at the property permanently as requested? Or have any unforeseen circumstance arisen since you were called?’
His professional tone took some of the wind from Norwood’s sails, or the man’s enthusiasm had been a front for his nervousness, because he finally relaxed.
‘No, Mr Wright,’ he said. ‘Either my wife or I will be on the grounds at all times. The house will not be left unattended. We have our duties, and we look forward to serving His Lordship again. May I ask, is he here?’
The scrape of Silas’ chair jolted them both. Leaving his meal unfinished, he left the hall in silence. Norwood rose as he did so, and that reminded James that he should do the same.
‘Mr Hawkins has matters on his mind,’ he explained as they retook their seats. ‘To answer your question, Norwood, no, His Lordship is not at home, nor, as I believe you are aware, is Mr Payne. Until Mr Hawkins and I leave for the station, there is just us.’ He was not prepared to explain why the viscount was absent and to give Norwood his credit, he didn’t ask.
‘Understood, Mr Wright,’ he said. ‘I also understand that you are new to the house and, meaning no disrespect, for I can see you are an upright gentleman who knows his duties, and I mean no offence, but you may not be aware of the history of myself and my good lady wife.’
James was not offended in the least. He was about to ask for that very information and said so.
‘My wife used to be a schoolmistress, Sir,’ Norwood began. ‘At South Riverside, starting when she was just eighteen. I expect if you attended the local school, that is how she recognises you. She has a memory like a photograph machine. She continues to teach, but now in a new establishment, and she works only some mornings. I have the pleasure of being able to work from our home where I edit manuscripts. I read the proofs mainly, but it pays well, and Mrs Norwood collects the work and returns it for me when we are here, so I’ve less reason to leave the property unattended. That is, after all, the contract. It’s only a small publishing firm, a subsidiary in Abbot’s Street, you may have heard of us, Chapman’s we’re called.’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Now you’ll be wondering how we came to be His Lordship’s city retainers,’ the man went on barely drawing breath. ‘My father worked for the late Lord Clearwater as a technician. It was he who converted those bells from the original speaking tubes. He was in service here for a while as the caretaker, and when he became unwell, His current Lordship, before his elevation, suggested us for when the house was unoccupied. I like to think of us as guardians of the city home, but don’t want you to think I am above my station.’
‘Not at all, now…’
‘Just to put your mind at rest, Sir.’ Norwood left no room for manoeuvre. ‘Which is to say, so you have no concerns, Mr Payne has left me a list of duties, one of which was to assist with the horses at the house next door, and that is where I encounter my first question.’
‘What?’ James’ head was spinning, and he was aware he was showing his annoyance.
‘We called on Mr Petrov, Her Ladyship’s groom, only to be told the horses were not stabled there as expected.’
This was news to James.
‘As they are not here either, I assumed His Lordship was riding, though in this weather…’
‘Stop, Mr Norwood,’ James interrupted. ‘Shanks and Emma are not next door?’
‘No, Sir. Petrov told me His Lordship’s groom had called for them last night, rather, very early this morning. I assumed you knew.’
‘Did he say what time?’
‘Approximately two o’clock.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘That, he didn’t tell me, and it’s not my place to ask. I wondered if they were returning soon, only Mrs Norwood is fond of animals, and His Lordship said she could bring her class to visit them if Lady Marshall was in agreement. Though we’ve hardly the weather for it. Mrs Norwood teaches the Sunday school, you see, and towards Christmas, she likes to show the children a working stable.’
This was all very interest
ing, and the man’s experience put James’ mind at rest about the house, but the mystery deepened. Wherever Archer and Fecker had gone, they had ridden out in last night’s blizzard. The mission must be a desperate one.
‘I’m sure Lady Marshall would be happy,’ James said, blustering his way through his confusion. ‘But of course, it’s not for me to say.’ He stood, bringing the discussion to a close before his head exploded. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do before we set off and I would like us to tour the house. I expect you will find it the same as the last time you saw it which was, I believe, before the late viscount passed away.’
‘It was, Sir,’ Norwood said, also rising. ‘A great shame. A great man.’
From what Archer had said about his father, James doubted he would agree. ‘I never met him,’ he said. ‘But as I say, I expect little has changed.’
It took James half an hour to walk the property with the man, and all the time, the letters in his pocket nagged at him. By the time they returned to below stairs, where Mrs Norwood had already set about cleaning the copper pans, James had learned that the couple were childless, their own house was in the care of her mother, Norwood was proofreading a manuscript by an up-coming poet called Oscar Wilde (and didn’t care for the verses), was a first batsman, had been educated at Kings College, didn’t care for academia, but was grateful for the education because it secured him his current job which came with flexibility. He had also broken his arm during the Great Exhibition when, aged twelve, he tripped over a step while admiring a palm tree.
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