James was exhausted, and satisfied that the man knew what he was doing, left him to get on with it. He said no more about Archer’s whereabouts, and Norwood didn’t press him on the matter. James was more than happy to let them have the run of Clearwater, despite the understanding that he was not to enter the study, use the billiard table or entertain above stairs, facts which were written into his contract. If Archer had seen fit to leave his possessions and home in the care of the couple, that was good enough for James.
Later that afternoon, he sought out Silas and found him in Archer’s sitting room at the window still brooding
He watched him silently from the doorway, his knuckles poised to knock. Silas rested his head on the glass, unmoving, his shoulders slumped, his usual mischievous enthusiasm for life drained from him by concern. James had re-read Archer’s second letter and was desperate to reassure his friend that all was well. In one respect it was, the word ‘Loved’ in the past tense had been a mistake, but if Silas knew James’ instructions, he would be inconsolable with worry. All he could think of to do was rap gently, and when he received no response, approached and stood beside him. Pulling the nets aside, his forehead joined Silas’ in resting on the cold glass. The street below was clear, the pavements slightly improved, and the snow had stopped falling. Dusk had, however, everything was packed, and a Hansom ordered for nine that night. There was nothing more to do, but wait and endure the next few hours until the night train to Larkspur might, he hoped, lift Silas’ mood.
‘You’re worrying unnecessarily,’ James said tentatively, unsure of how Silas would react.
He merely sighed.
‘Archer must have a good reason to leave so suddenly, and he has Fecker with him. It’s only going to be a day or so, I’m sure of it.’ He wasn’t sure of anything.
‘I hope so, Jimmy.’
James had never heard Silas so sad, so pathetic. It didn’t suit him.
‘Say,’ he said, giving a gentle nudge. ‘What do you reckon Larkspur’s like?’
Silas shrugged.
‘I bet it’s massive with loads of fireplaces and more rooms than we can imagine.’
‘There’s a feckin’ painting of the thing on the stairs. Look at that why don’t you?’
James let Silas’ annoyance wash over him. He remembered how he felt when Thomas, having offered him a dream of love come true, withdrew it on thinking James was insincere.
‘D’you want to play cards?’
‘No.’
‘Billiards?’
Silas sighed more loudly, and sniffed.
‘What can I do for you, mate?’ James asked, his eyes still on the white and grey below.
Thinking that being among Archer’s more personal possessions would lift Silas’ spirits, he was about to suggest they light the fire in the study, when Silas felt for his back. At first, James thought he was only patting it, but then Silas clawed at him, gripping his jacket and tugging. James realised too late what he wanted.
Silas pulled him, turned him and threw both his arms around his back. Burying his head in James’ chest, he bawled. The tears were plentiful and so loud that James clung tight to muffle the noise. The younger man shook in his arms, his chest heaving, his shoulders shaking, and each time he gasped for air, he did so with a growled in-breath and a mighty sniff, neither of which lessened the outpouring.
James held him and closed his eyes against his friend’s grief, trying to understand it, desperate to think of a way to end it, but knowing that if he told him the truth, the pain would intensify. He gripped Silas’ head with one hand and stroked his hair, whispering useless phrases, ‘I know,’ and ‘Don’t worry.’ Only Archer’s safe return or an explanation would reassure Silas that the viscount’s love was still strong, stronger than ever if he knew the truth, and only time would calm his tears.
It did, and slowly, they subsided.
Silas only let go to wipe his nose and then with just one hand, the other stayed clinging to James, and when he looked up, his eyes were puffy and purple at the rims. Still sad and wilted, they hid another emotion, but James was unable to see what it was until Silas raised a hand to his head, drew him down and kissed him firmly on the mouth.
James gasped in shock, accidentally giving Silas a way in, and before he could object, the man’s tongue was pressing against his. James’ eyes were open, Silas’ closed. Perhaps he was imaging this was Archer, perhaps he only needed reassurance, and this was his way of finding it, but whatever drove Silas, the act appalled James, and he pushed him away.
‘No,’ he said. ‘We can’t.’
‘You want to.’
James did. He had since the night at the opera. ‘No.’ The lies were pouring from him that day. ‘We can’t.’
‘I need you,’ Silas moaned fighting his way back.
‘You have me,’ James urged, gripping his lapels. ‘But not like this.’
Again, he was tugged, and again, he was helpless to resist. This time the kiss was less urgent and more controlled, but it was still wrong.
‘I’m sorry,’ James said, turning his head and feeling Silas’ tongue wash across his cheek. ‘No, mate.’ He didn’t let him go, but he avoided his mouth, speaking to the side. ‘You don’t mean this.’
‘I do Jimmy. Fuck me?’
It was too much. He pushed Silas away with force and Silas, lighter and smaller, tripped over a chair, spinning sideways and stumbling. James was on him in a second, helping him to his feet and apologising, but Silas took it the wrong way and began grappling for him again, this time at the front of his trousers.
‘Silas, stop!’ James barked, and held him at arm’s length.
Their faces wore masks of confusion covering genuine desire, and their hearts pounded the same rhythm, but it could not be.
‘No,’ James insisted. ‘This is wrong.’ He let him go and walked away.
‘Jimmy?’
James was too confused to speak. He left the sitting-room and headed for the main stairs with Silas running after him.
‘Jimmy, I’m sorry.’
James knew why Archer had left without a word, and he knew what the man was doing. How could he be so untrustworthy as to take advantage of that? Furious with himself, he would never be able to look Thomas in the eye and be sincere. Their love had been tainted, he’d besmirched Archer’s trust, he was not up to the task he had been set, he simply could not be trusted.
‘Jimmy!’
He ignored the third plea as Silas swung on onto the top step and James took the turn.
The hall came into view and with it an unexpected blast of cold air. The front door slammed, and through his anger and self-loathing, James was aware of strangers in the hall.
The clock struck five.
Mr Norwood was there and had admitted three men. One, a burly man with a moustache, was in the process of removing his hat. The other two were in uniform.
Silas piled into James who instinctively reached to prevent him stumbling.
‘Ah,’ Mr Norwood said when he saw them. ‘There he is.’
‘Can I help you?’ James’ lips were still damp from Silas’ mouth, and he was trembling, but the sight of visitors catapulted him into reality.
‘These gentlemen are here to see Mr Hawkins,’ Norwood announced.
‘Actually, Sir,’ the moustached man said, straightening his overcoat and squaring his shoulders. ‘We are here to arrest him.’
Five
The words made no sense until the uniforms came into focus. If there was any doubt to the men’s authenticity, the striped bands on their left cuffs and the custodian helmets tucked under their arms made their profession obvious. Even so, James couldn’t understand what they were doing there and why they were asking for Silas.
‘I beg your pardo
n?’ he said.
‘Silas Hawkins?’ The larger of the men addressed James.
‘No. Who are you?’
‘Inspector Adelaide,’ the man replied, turning his attention to Silas. ‘Are you Hawkins?’
Silas had turned white. James clutched his arm to show support, but Silas took a step backwards. He was going to run. Whether the police were here as a mistake or not, instinct told James the worst thing for his friend to do was to bolt.
‘No,’ he said, looking Silas in the eye. ‘Don’t.’
Silas’ eyes flashed from him to the inspector to the front door, and James tightened his grip.
‘May I see your identification?’ he said, squaring his shoulders in the manner the inspector had used to assert his authority.
‘Who are you?’ Adelaide returned his scrutiny to the footman.
‘This is Mr Wright, His Lordship’s under-butler.’
James was grateful for Norwood’s words, he was about to say he was just a footman, but at that moment, he was suddenly Silas’ protector and Archer’s representative. Being elevated in status gave him more standing, and he’d never have assumed to call himself by the title.
‘Is His Lordship at home?’ the inspector enquired.
‘No,’ Norwood said. ‘I’m not too sure where…’
‘Thank you, Mr Norwood,’ James interrupted. The man was trying to be helpful, but he knew nothing of what was taking place. ‘No, inspector,’ he said, gripping Silas more tightly, aware that he was inching to the staircase. ‘His Lordship is away on business. Perhaps you would be better coming back another day.’
Adelaide laughed sarcastically. ‘That’s not how it’s done.’ He nodded to his men.
The policemen took a step towards the stairs. Silas wrenched his arm free and had turned before James realised. He had one foot on the bottom step when James lurched for his shoulder, found it and yanked him back. In one deft move, he pulled Silas to his side.
‘No!’ He hissed the word in his ear. ‘You’ll make this worse. Trust me.’
Silas understood, or he was too shocked to think for himself, but he allowed James to hold him and stand in front for protection.
‘One moment,’ James said, halting the policeman’s advance. ‘Before I can let you take him, I need to know on what charge.’
‘I can’t tell you that,’ Adelaide said.
‘And what am I to tell His Lordship when he returns? That I allowed his private secretary to be taken in by a man with no identification and two others in uniforms that could, for all I know, have come from D’Oyly Carte?’ Thomas was speaking through him with a hint of Archer beneath. He surprised himself and wondered if he wasn’t being too bold. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the police.
Adelaide’s face grew wide with anger, and his men hesitated.
James held his ground.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ he said. ‘But I would be failing in my duties were I not to be thorough.’
The inspector’s stare reduced James’ insides to mush, but he maintained an aloof exterior. Adelaide produced his warrant, flicking it in front of Norwood’s inquisitive eyes. The retainer nodded to James.
The men were on Silas before James had a chance to react. Silas was wrenched from him and, at the sight of heavy handcuffs, began struggling.
‘Silas, don’t resist.’
His face was as white as snow, his legs kicking in panic, but he was unable to speak, the confident, cocky backchat had been sucked from him by the men’s commanding presence. The house no longer belonged to Archer, the hall was no longer James’ domain. Adelaide brought with him higher authority, a power that filled the building, owning it and all within simply because of his position. No one was above the law.
James had tears behind his eyes and wasn’t sure if they were coming from anger or shock. He was losing control, and it would be easier if he did, but that would not help Silas. Doing what Thomas would have done, he stopped, thought quickly and, in a flash, started again.
‘Inspector,’ he said one eye on Silas being cuffed. ‘As you can see, this is unexpected. I am sure whatever it is, it is a mistake, and His Lordship will clear it up as soon as he returns. However, as you are unable or unwilling to tell me, and thus Lord Clearwater, the nature of your business, please at least inform me where Mr Hawkins is to be taken that I may call him assistance. His Lordship would appreciate the courtesy.’
It was a long and convoluted speech designed to give him time to think what to do next, but it was also a perfectly understandable request, and even Adelaide thought so.
‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘He is to be taken to the central station at Bow Street where he will be held overnight pending questioning in the morning. You can relay that to His Lordship with my apologies for the inconvenience. Sergeant?’
Silas was pulled roughly towards the door. He had given up his struggle and tears were flowing too hard to allow him to speak. It wouldn’t have done him any good, and James was strangely grateful. If he gave no resistance, he might not suffer a beating.
‘Wait,’ he said, again surprised at how readily the policemen obeyed him. ‘Inspector, it doesn’t take a…’ He was about to be sarcastic but thought better of it. ‘Anyone can see it’s near freezing outside. Allow me to find Mr Hawkins an overcoat.’ He nodded to Norwood, hoping he would understand. ‘Mine is on the rack by the servants’ hall.’
Norwood took the hint and hurried away.
Silas hung between the two officers, his head down and his wrists manacled. Archer had abandoned him, James had rejected him, and now he was to spend a night in a gaol without knowing why. The body James had recently held was an empty shell, his spirit gone. Silas had given up.
James longed to go to him, hold him and tell him everything would be alright, but he knew that was not how it worked. He had read the Illustrated News and seen the images. Silas was in for a rough stone slab, no food and a freezing cell among older, hardened criminals and drunks. The pretty-boy looks that had earnt him a living in the past would work against him, and he would be lucky to emerge unscathed.
The inspector was becoming impatient. ‘Take him to the waggon,’ he said. ‘The butler can bring his coat.’
Silas’ fists were still balled, and one was turned inwards. He was gazing pitifully on the ring Archer had given him as if it might somehow make the man appear.
‘One moment.’ James couldn’t let him go wearing that ring; men would kill for it. He had pushed his luck this far, he might as well try further. ‘Before you do, Sir, may I be permitted to say goodbye to my master? In the absence of His Lordship, Mr Hawkins is the gentleman of the house, and I would be failing in my duties if…’
‘Oh, just get on with it, man,’ the inspector sighed and waved his men to stand back. They guarded Silas from behind as James approached.
‘Mr Hawkins,’ he said as quietly as he could. His back was to Adelaide, but he could still be overheard. ‘I will locate Lord Clearwater and tell him this news. It’s a mistake, for sure.’ Silas wasn’t looking at him. All James could see was the top of his head, and he longed to run his fingers through his hair and comfort him. He felt helpless against the wall of officialdom, and his heart ached, but if he wanted to help Silas, he had to play by the rules of the bullies; he’d done it before.
‘Stay strong, Sir,’ he said. ‘And all will come well in the morning. I will…’ Not knowing what he would do, he spoke over his shoulder to Adelaide. ‘Can I go with him?’
‘No.’
Back to Silas, he said, ‘Then I must shake your hand, Sir.’ As he took Silas’ cold and unresponsive hand, one of the policemen stepped forward. ‘I am not a criminal, Sir,’ James growled. ‘And neither is Mr Hawkins.’
He wrapped his other hand over the first to cover what he was doing, and his
fingers worked quickly to remove Silas’ ring. Silas resisted and looked up with hollow eyes. Whether it was the business at the opera house, his years as a renter, or breaking into the Cleaver Street brothel, Silas had one too many secrets, and they had found him.
‘Leave this with me, Sir,’ James said, pulling the ring from his finger. ‘I will have someone with you in the morning. My coat will keep you warm as will this news…’ He held Silas’ hollow stare. ‘The additional letter D was definitely a mistake. I know this to be true.’
Silas blinked, and his brow furrowed.
‘You are not alone,’ James said, and slipped the ring onto his own finger. ‘Amore Salvat will be safe, and so will you.’
‘Here you are, Mr Wright.’ Norwood was back with the coat.
James took it and put it around Silas’ shoulders. ‘We’ll have you home in a few hours.’ He was too choked to say anymore and stood back to allow the men to lead Silas to the door.
‘I would appreciate it if you would inform His Lordship that his man has been taken into custody,’ Adelaide said, fixing his hat to his balding head. ‘Goodnight.’
Numbed, James watched from the porch, Mr Norwood beside him. The windows and shutters of Bucks Avenue were closed against the cold. At least Silas was spared the indignity of being seen thrown into the back of a waggon. The policemen climbed in after him and slammed the door. For a moment, his face was at the barred window staring at James, pleading in silent horror, and then he was pulled away.
‘Most unusual,’ Norwood said, stamping his feet and hugging himself.
James could quite easily have thumped him in the face, but he controlled himself and watched the waggon until it turned at the end of the avenue. The street was suddenly empty as if there was never to be life in it again.
He ushered Norwood back inside and slammed the door, straining against his anger.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ he said. Somehow, he managed to speak evenly and politely, telling Norwood he was no longer required upstairs and ordering him to stay below unless called for. The retainer offered to bring James tea, but when he saw that the under-butler needed to be alone, he made his retreat.
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