‘Sorry, Clearwater,’ he said after he had corrected his stumble. ‘In a dash. Have you eaten?’
‘I have. Sorry, I didn’t wait, Dixon said you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Quite, quite.’
Culver helped himself to breakfast from the sideboard while his butler looked on disapprovingly, hovering to assist but unneeded. Culver brushed him away and asked him to fetch a new pot of tea, and relieved to have something to do, Dixon swept from the room.
‘He’s worried about his position,’ Culver confided as he drew in a chair opposite his guest. ‘Since we had the house electrified, he, the groom and both maids have feared for their future. The cook was beside herself until the wife made it clear she was invaluable.’
‘How so?’
‘Have you tasted her kippers?’
‘I’m not a fan at the best of times,’ Archer grimaced. ‘But I meant, why does she fear for her job because you have electric lighting? Which, I must say, looks superb.’
‘For one thing,’ Culver said, buttering toast, ‘they think that it will kill them, but they are adjusting to that. Mrs Clamborne, the cook, uses a broom handle to flick the switch from a distance. For another thing, the maids have it in their heads that it will somehow replace them as if one could invent a machine to brush the carpets.’ He laughed. ‘Mrs Culver wants one of those American inventions that washes your clothes, electricity-driven of course, but I daren’t allow it. The maids would give up the fight and flee, and I can’t imagine Dixon wearing anything that had not been sent away to be cleaned and returned wrapped in brown paper.’
‘You value your staff’s opinions,’ Archer said.
‘Shouldn’t we all? You do.’
‘Do I?’ Archer was not so sure. He was still debating James’ discovery. What if he was wrong? Midsummer Eve was tomorrow, it would take him a day to reach Long Light and, if James had sent him to the incorrect location and there was no sign of the girls, there would be no time to think again.
‘Your man, for example,’ Culver said. ‘The tall chap you came with. You wanted him to come in, and he would have been more than welcome, but he wanted to stay in his place, below stairs. You allowed it. He, in effect, disobeyed a direct order.’
‘It wasn’t exactly an order.’
‘But still, you allowed him to do what he wanted.’
‘Of course, I didn’t need him.’
Culver smiled. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but there was nothing extraordinary about his features. Greying prematurely at the temples, with an unobtrusive moustache of black, and the beginnings of bags beneath his eyes, what handsomeness he may have had in youth had gradually been drawn from him through years of hard work.
‘From what you told me last night,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have made it here without him.’
Archer bristled, but didn’t show it. ‘I’m sure I would have managed,’ he said. When he thought back to the farmer’s hut and how, as he collapsed from exhaustion, Fecker had kept him from hypothermia, he knew Culver was right. He just didn’t want to admit it.
‘I am sure you would, Sir,’ Culver said, but his tone suggested otherwise. ‘Ah, more tea?’
Dixon entered and placed a silver teapot between the two men. ‘The water was heated on the range,’ he said. ‘It’s quite safe, Sir.’
‘You see?’ Culver laughed again. ‘Dixon, the electric hob will not do off with Mrs Clamborne.’
‘We live in hope, Sir.’
Culver dismissed his man and poured his own tea.
‘Do you know his history?’ he asked.
‘Whose?’
‘Your man, the tall chap.’
‘Andrej? He is from Ukraine.’
‘Did you meet him there during the troubles?’
‘No, nothing like that. I met him…’ Archer paused. Culver was so easy to talk to he nearly gave away something which would have been very difficult to explain. ‘When I was working on the East End charity,’ he said. It was truthful.
‘Seems like a damn fine fellow. The groom tells me they stayed up half the night talking and telling jokes. He has quite a story, apparently.’
‘Does he? I don’t know much about him.’
‘Yes…’ Culver alternated between sips of tea, bites of toast and words. ‘Tragic. Lost his family. Trekked across half of Europe. Stowaway. All sort of things. Used to be Orthodox. No religion now. In love with a girl, apparently. Speaks decent English but prefers not to. Fascinating man. Good find, Clearwater. You must be proud of him.’
Archer was too stunned to be anything but ashamed. ‘I am,’ he stammered.
‘What’s up?’ Culver paused in his hurried feasting, his dainty china cup midway between saucer and mouth. ‘You have that distant look I only see when you’re bored at board meetings.’
Archer had known Culver several years. They were in business together, although Culver was the driving force and Archer’s family simply the financers. The man was trustworthy, and, more importantly, had built the Northern and Western Electricity Company into a thriving concern, not only bringing a fortune to the Clearwater coffers, but light and heat, convenience and safety to more homes each week. Archer had no qualms talking to him, and he suddenly had the need to unburden himself.
‘I’ve been a dolt,’ he said. ‘Your words, George, have shown me that I don’t know Andrej at all, yet his actions of late have shown me that I have found a most remarkable man. I didn’t see it. We spoke on the journey, and he told me of the loss of his family.’ His eyes pricked at the memory. ‘But I failed to offer support and discover more. I am such a blind ass.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just a coachman.’
‘As you have just said, he is much more than that.’ Archer threw down his napkin, no longer hungry. ‘And on top of that, I have doubted my footman.’
‘Now that, you will have to explain.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Archer replied in his usual breezy manner, but he knew he was wrong. His shoulders slumped. ‘Actually, George, it is quite a big thing. But you have to be away.’
‘No, no.’ Culver glanced at the clock and waggled his head. ‘Take as long as you want during the next two minutes.’
His openness caused Archer to smile. ‘Long story short,’ he said. ‘I fear for the two girls you have kindly been keeping an eye on. Don’t ask me to explain, but I think they may be at Long Light.’ He noticed Culver’s incredulity, but to the man’s credit, he didn’t interrupt. ‘My footman, James, is a master of the puzzle, and through a puzzle we also shan’t go into, he has concluded that this is where they are to be found. I have been doubting him even though I know him to be thorough and intelligent. Why should I doubt him? It’s not fair on the man.’
Culver waited to make sure Archer had finished before he said, ‘It is because you were born to captain a ship and yet you find yourself still a lieutenant.’ He responded to Archer’s quizzical look with, ‘One thing I have learned in industry is that to rise to the top, one must let others do much of the work for you. You need to delegate, Clearwater. If you trust your man, run with that trust, and if he is wrong, treat him just as well as if he had been right, because his actions are your responsibility either way. He will respect you more for standing by him than if you ball him out. As for getting to know your other man, Andrej is it? It seems to me you missed the perfect opportunity to do just that. I refer to the arduous journey on our local railways. However…’ He raised a finger when Archer opened his mouth to complain. ‘If you are travelling on to Long Light, you will have another arduous journey in which to come to know him. Another thing in managing a business; use your time wisely. And speaking of time, I really must fly.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Archer rose as Culver did. ‘Thank you, George,’ he said. ‘Your words have settled an internal ar
gument, and I am in your debt.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. What do you need for your onward ride?’
‘All manner of things, including horses.’
‘I would lend you mine, but I only have the one, and she’s as recalcitrant as the butler. My groom knows a decent livery stable with fine animals. I shall ask him to supply your man with the details, and then you can let Andrej decide which are suitable. Yes?’
Culver was clever, reinforcing his speech with a task to prove Archer had taken its meaning.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Fecker is the better horseman.’
‘I’m glad to see you’re learning,’ Culver beamed. ‘But the explanation of that name will have to wait until next time.’ He pushed in his chair. ‘Anything else?’
‘Would you be so kind as to have someone dispatch a telegram to Clearwater House? I can write it now.’
‘I will have Dixon do it.’ Culver rang the bell.
‘I also have a letter to write to the Admiralty before I depart, but I shall post that myself, otherwise… No, thank you, you have done enough. More than enough. Andrej and I will buy supplies as we go. I am not sure if I shall be passing back this way after tomorrow, but if I am…’
‘Stay as long as you want. Your man too. You know Mrs Culver loves to entertain. She was sorry to have missed you, but she will be home this evening.’
‘By which time I shall, with good speed, be on the coast. Thank you again, George.’ Archer shook his hand. ‘If I don’t see you on this trip, I will see you at the board meeting in April, sooner if I am needed.’
‘I’ll wish you adieu for now,’ Culver said, heading for the door.
‘Oh, George?’ Archer stopped him. ‘If any messages arrive for me, would you send them on to Larkspur?’
‘Consider it done.’ With that, Culver left him alone.
If he could trust Culver so easily, why not James or Fecker? Was it because they were from a lower class? The thought made Archer shudder. He was uncomfortable with society’s fascination with the class system and the way it had to be considered. Class divide was an evil truth, but just because it was there, didn’t mean he had to accept it.
With Fecker, he had shown himself to be a snob; he was in danger of treating James in the same way, but after Culver’s words, he was determined to change. Silas would thank him for it.
He lost himself in warm thoughts of his lover, by now safely at Larkspur, and his mind drifted to imagine Silas’ face as he came up the drive and saw the house. Equally, he imagined his horror at seeing the servants lined up outside for his arrival, Thomas at the helm and Mrs Baker ready to chide and care in the same breath. Archer treated Silas as an equal when he could, though it would be more difficult at Larkspur, so why couldn’t he do the same with his other men? Not just now and then when they were forced together in adversity, but always.
‘Telegram?’
Dixon was at his side.
‘What? Oh, yes.’
Archer scribbled a note to James and was fumbling for change when Dixon snatched the message.
‘No need,’ he said. ‘Your company can well afford it, Sir.’ He nodded and made a dignified if weary exit.
Later that morning, Culver’s coachman delivered Archer and Fecker to a stables on Canter Road. He offered to take Lord Clearwater on to the post office, suggesting that the area was not the best, and His Lordship might not want to go there on foot. Archer thanked him, but declined and, after saying farewell to Fecker with belly laughs and firm handshakes, the man went on his way.
‘The terrain will be difficult,’ Archer said rummaging in his pockets for his wallet. ‘Road for a while, then open country, possibly scree, sand…’ He handed Fecker some money. ‘Hire the most suitable, plus anything else they have we might need. I will meet you back here shortly.’
Fecker took the money without a word, collected both saddlebags and the furs and carried them into the yard.
Archer watched him go. He had missed another opportunity to talk to the man as Fecker had ridden up front with the driver, leaving the viscount alone in the carriage to fret about the mission ahead. Alone, he walked the short distance to the post office, and used the time to think. The plan was to arrive at Long Light as soon as possible and keep watch, see if he could detect anyone’s presence, and learn the lie of the land. Once he had established the girls were being held there, and once he knew how many men were holding them, he would be able to assess the best way in and devise a tactic that would require as little aggression as possible.
If they weren’t there, he would wait. The letter made the deadline clear, and it wouldn’t pass until the next day. He was prepared to bide his time; there was nothing else to be done.
Catching himself thinking about what he would do, he stopped and reminded himself that he was working with Fecker. They were a team.
Walking on, he passed run-down shops selling withered vegetables, poorly made straw hats and rolls of faded cotton. A butcher’s display offered only two scraggy chickens, and next door a queue had formed at the apothecary. That and the coffin shop seemed to be the only two businesses doing any trade, and the area reminded him of Cheap Street. People of all races and colours spoke with heavy, drawling accents. They mainly ignored him and, when their approach necessitated either he or they move aside to avoid a collision, it was Archer who had to step from the pavement. It was as if the community knew he was an outsider and refused to acknowledge his presence. This, he concluded, was what Fecker must have felt in Greychurch and it was not a pleasant experience.
His letter posted, he hurried back to the stables to find Fecker with two horses saddled and bagged, fed, groomed and impatient to leave.
Archer examined his mount and concluded it was a fine animal. Congratulating Fecker, he took to his horse to find the stirrups at exactly the right height, and the saddle adjusted for his preferred position.
‘Is yours.’ Fecker offered the remainder of the money.
‘You keep it, Andrej.’
‘Nyet.’
‘Honestly. I have plenty on me. You keep it.’
‘Nyet.’
‘Why ever not? It’s not much.’
Fecker looked at him with impatience and waved the notes. ‘Iona and Karan in trouble and we fight about money?’
‘I am not fighting.’
Fecker regarded him with a stony face. It was nigh on impossible to read the man’s thoughts. The Ukrainian was given to bursting into laughter when Archer thought he was angry, and becoming upset when Archer thought he had made a joke. There was no telling what he was going to do next, but it was always something which he had, behind his grey-blue eyes, thought through and decided was the best course of action.
‘Okay.’ He pocketed the money without even a thank you.
Archer swallowed his annoyance. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We shall move off. A mile to the bridge and after that, we follow the Birkenhead Road to Deeside.’
‘Nyet.’
‘What?’
‘We go through the wharf.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Andrej, why?’
Beyond the yard’s boundary stood a factory, and beyond that, cranes rose over the river, their heads hung as if at a funeral. They were surrounded by tenements and poor housing, sweatshops and workshops in a warren of alleys and yards, buildings and docks. It would add time to their journey that they could ill afford.
‘I have reason,’ Fecker said. ‘We ask who took the girls.’
‘Culver has already made enquiries.’
‘And is Banyak’s birthplace,’ Fecker said. ‘I want to see.’
The clouds were clearing as the morning wore on. The temperature had risen a few degrees, and there was no wind. They would be on manmade roads for the first half of the route, and they
could make up time. Besides, Fecker’s words had caused a pang of sadness in Archer’s chest along with another stirring of annoyance. The Ukrainian’s constancy was his instinct to do the right thing.
‘Of course,’ Archer conceded. ‘Do you know the address?’
‘Da.’
‘Then we shall go.’
They set off at a slow pace while they adjusted to their horses and the animals to them, and Archer let Fecker lead. From the main road, they turned into a side street awash with children playing games to stay warm. Those not joining in huddled at braziers where old men and the lame gathered to share a bottle or roast what looked decidedly like cats. The further into Canter Wharf they rode, the more the desperation became apparent. Rows of small cottages were lined one beside the other, their frontages no wider than Archer’s study. These were empty homes, ransacked and half-boarded, the upstairs windows were glassless and blinded, their wood taken for fuel. The closer they came, the more Archer was swamped by the desolation. It crept into him to become despair as he came to understand the conditions of Silas’ early life. That he had survived beyond childhood was a miracle, how he had managed to educate himself was a mystery James and Thomas between them would struggle to unlock, but how he came to be streetwise and shrewd was obvious. It was the only way to survive in such a place.
Fecker called for directions, throwing pennies at those who helped and Ukrainian swear words at those who turned their backs, and after fifteen minutes, they arrived in a dead end street. Tenements glowered on either side, rising to six stories. Washing was hung between them on sagging ropes, the clothes and sheets frozen stiff like the canvas scenery of the opera house waiting for a fly man to lower them onto the set. The stage, if that was how Archer was to think of it, had a floor of earth with channels of slop, blocked and frozen, and lined with black snow. Characters huddled in doorways, two men tended a fire beside the pump, hammering the handle to free the water, and dogs sniffed at piles of rags before lifting their legs and receiving kicks from the unfortunates shivering beneath. The air was thick with the smell of rot.
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