I was having my morning cuppa (or two) and reading a paper (or three or four), when who should come a-calling but my dear, worst-friend, enemy-neighbor, Robert Skeffield. The butler let him in when I allowed it, but I didn't leave the breakfast table. I just waved negligently for Robert to take a seat if he wished to talk to me.
Robert, the way he so often did, looked as though he'd swallowed a bit of lemon wrong whenever he had to see me. He had, if not his hat in his hands, then the general air of a man who might be considering removing his headgear and holding onto it awkwardly.
"I'm sure you're welcome to join me," I said languidly, crossing one leg over the other. "Do tell Fontaine what you want, if anything. I never can manage more than tea in the morning."
"Tea?" His lip curled a little.
"Yes, it does help with the hangovers from all my wild parties! But alas, I haven't been up all night trying to seduce your...ah...friend...so if you've come about him—"
Robert Skeffield looked as though he could have ground rocks to bits with his tightening jaws.
I enjoyed the sight.
"No. That is," he managed, "I have come about him, but not...not to accuse you. I want to make amends. When he comes home—back, I mean—I want him to...to feel that his friends are welcome. All of them." He looked me square in the eyes, and though his jaw was working, I saw sincerity in his hard gaze. He meant to offer an olive branch—even if it killed him.
Well, it would do the man no harm to swallow some of that stiff-necked Skeffield pride. I smiled, and tried not to show my shock. "Of course, my dear fellow. Do you mean to invite me to your next party?"
"Er, yes," he said. "Or a meal sometime, or tea, or whatever. I just want..." He reached up to scratch at his perfect hair, disarraying it. "I want to..."
He looked so miserable and uncertain that I had to put him at ease—my cursed good manners, you know. They always do assert themselves at the most inconvenient times.
"My dear fellow, of course I'll drop by. Have a drink, chew the fat, all be excellent chums together. If that will help, I'm only too glad of it. Things must be rough, though, for you to resort to befriending me!"
He cracked a faint smile, amused in spite of himself. "I guess so. I just don't want to lose him over something stupid, like not getting along with you."
"That is stupid," I observed, grinning wickedly. "I'm the easiest fellow in the world with whom to get along!"
Robert rolled his eyes, but he laughed a little, too. "Just don't expect me to fake an interest in your art."
"My good man, nobody in the world has managed convincingly to do so yet!"
He chuckled and reached for a cup. "All right. Give me some of that stupid tea. I can at least try it." He grimaced, pretending to be put upon. But his eyes gleamed with the challenge of trying something new. A soldier to the last.
In a way, he impressed me. He truly did want things to work between himself and Louie. If he was willing to work hard at it, perhaps they even would. I knew Louie was willing to work hard and sacrifice much for Robert. And to cry himself sick, too, the poor lamb.
I hoped he was doing all right with the Lauton Estate job. I had half a mind to toddle over and see him. It was only sixty miles or so, could be quite an enjoyable adventure if I didn't drive myself and stopped several times along the way. Yes, I might just do that.
Or take the train, of course: I could take a sleeper car and spread out in comfort, perhaps sketch or read. I even had half a mind to invite Robert along, but then I'd be forced to endure his company for more than a polite breakfast chat, and I didn't think either of us was ready to attempt that ordeal just yet.
As I was thinking, Fontaine came back into the room and coughed delicately near my ear. "Sir, might I have a word?"
I glanced at Robert, who was making faces over his tea—far too dramatically, I'm quite sure; the man couldn't have lived effectively in the trenches if he was this picky about his rations. He waved me on, and looked about him surreptitiously.
"There are no houseplants for you to poison, so either drink it or leave it," I said.
He colored slightly, but met my gaze boldly. "You admit it's poison, then!"
"I admit nothing of the kind. Do behave yourself. I won't be gone long."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a toddler sitting next to a shelf of knickknacks."
"You may as well be." I wanted to add something about breaking the most delicate treasure I had, but somehow it didn't quite connect for me this early in the morning, and claiming Louie as mine would probably always be a sore point between Robert and me. Louie had been my friend for most of my life, but Robert always seemed to suspect that our ease was (or could be) the beginning of something deeper than affection.
Well, I suppose in a way it was: I did love him. He was the little brother I never had. Inside my giddy exterior there lived a rather protective man. I'd never found an outlet for it—there were very few people in the world who thought I was terribly competent at anything, and I supposed they were right—but Louie's big, trusting eyes, looking up at me soulfully, expecting me to be able to put the world to rights—well, of course I always did my best to make it true. It made me feel very good to know someone believed in me so deeply. It quite brought out the competence in me, I believed.
Why, the messes I'd extricated him from! Sometimes less successfully and more messily than I ought to have, to be frank. But money and determination and a receptive ear for listening to his troubles could make a great deal of difference, and he nearly always felt that I had helped, even when I'd done very little.
I supposed he would be going to Robert for help with his little messes from now on. I didn't know what I would do to keep myself occupied.
Well, I'm sure something will come along. It nearly always does. But I would miss him when he didn't have time for me anymore, or need my dubious expertise.
"The phone, sir," said Fontaine, looking grave. "I'm afraid it's Louie." (Nobody ever can just call him Candless, you know. Not even Fontaine!)
I clicked my tongue. "Oh, no! What has he gotten himself into this time! Lead on, good sir!" I followed Fontaine to the phone, and lifted the receiver.
"D-Deeks?" hiccupped a familiar, wretched little voice, trembling a bit on the other end of the line. "D-Deeks? Are you th-there?"
"I'm here, darling, and you'll never guess who—"
"Don't care. Come and g-get me. It's...it's G-Greene. He's...he's the worst c-cad."
"Did he hurt you, dear?" My hand tightened on the receiver, and my heart missed a beat. Greene was Louie's professional rival, sometimes-copycat, and definite enemy. The two did not like one another. Greene tried to steal his clients and designs, and was quite jealous of Louie's light, effervescent touch with design and his endless creativity. My little friend was really a clever fellow with impressive skills. People tended to underestimate Louie: except for Greene. But whatever could he have done to send Louie into a hiccupping, tearful, stuttering frenzy? If he'd hurt Louie—
"I—I want to go home," said Louie. "B-But I can't. He'll t-tell. He'll t-t-tell the Skeffields, unless I—I give up this client. Oh, but I can't. I can't back out like this, like a d-damned coward. Come and help me, Deeks, do. I need you desperately!"
"Calm down, Louie. First tell me what he's done."
"He—oh, oh, Deeks, he got hold of some old photographs. I was really v-very young. I know it w-wasn't very sensible of me, but if he sent them t-to Mr. Skeffield, he'd probably have a heart attack, and I'd just die. I can't let them think I'm—I'd— I really thought he loved me, you know."
"Who? Greene?" Or did he mean Robert? I was all at sea by this point. If he'd been here beside me I'd have been better able to understand, but the words were almost meaningless, so separated from context. Damn the distance! I would fly down on the next train. "Darling, what are you talking about?"
"It's—the man w-who took the pictures. I thought he l-loved me. He said I was...well, he wanted a few pictures of me, with nothing on, so I p-posed..."
"When was this?" I asked. "And who?"
"Oh, Deeks, you'll be so d-disappointed in me."
"Never that," I promised.
He gave a wretched little sob on the other end of the line. "I c-can't. Just...just come and help me. I'll tell you in person!"
And with that he hung up.
I listened to the empty line for a moment, then hung up and wandered back to the breakfast room. The day was still bright and filled with possibilities, but I felt heavy and miserable.
Robert straightened up at my return, trying not to look guilty. He'd been dumping a great deal of sugar into his tea. He put the empty sugar pot down quickly. It had been full when I left.
I stopped before my seat and just looked at him for a moment. A dull feeling travelled through me, a buzzing in my brain. I was filled with a sad sense of loss. It was true, wasn't it? Louie would always come to me for help in an emergency. And I would always allow him to—unless I started to train Robert in the delicate art of rescuing his lover. Only then would Louie truly know if the man he loved could be trusted.
It was the best, perhaps the only way I could be a true friend to him at this critical point in his life. All the same, my heart was breaking a little as I announced, in as carefree a voice as I could manage, "I'm going down to see Louie on the next train. I suggest you come along. He needs help."
Robert was on his feet in an instant, a cavalryman's alertness on his face. Ready for action. I almost expected him to reach for a sword or gun. "What's happened?"
"Blackmail," I said bluntly. "And what he will need is not that expression of shock, but gentleness and understanding—and a plan of action that doesn't involve anything hasty or rash."
"What's happened?" asked Robert, sitting down again and looking pale. "What could anyone blackmail Louie about? He's innocent as the day is long!"
"He's too trusting," I managed, feeling a little choked. "He said someone took photographs of him when he was younger—in the nude. He wouldn't tell me who, seemed ashamed that he'd trusted the man, who had claimed to love him." I gulped, fighting down the tight feeling in my throat. I felt like such a traitor telling his tale. But this would prove things, either way—if Robert was worthy of my Louie's greatest devotion. And if he wasn't, at least I would be the one to see it. Louie did not need his illusions burst through painfully to his face, if indeed they were illusions.
Robert looked like he was reeling, lost. "And...and he...this man wants something now? Does he...is it sexual?" He gripped the table with whitening knuckles. "Is Louie being forced into...something?" His Adam's apple bobbed painfully.
"No, not that man. Greene's gotten a hold of these images somehow and has threatened to show them to you and your father if Louie doesn't give up his latest client. Louie is barely coherent. The whole thing has upset him terribly." I looked at Robert, my expression stern, nearly a scowl. "And what we are going to do is go down there, comfort him, and get the images back—and not a word of rebuke, mind."
Robert blinked at me. "Oh—good lord. No. I just want to help. But why didn't he call me?"
I heard the hurt in his voice as he asked, an honest bewilderment. I supposed that was why I answered him as honestly as I could.
"No one has ever loved Louie unconditionally, aside from me. I've always gotten him out of his scrapes, and he knows I'll still care for him no matter how badly things have gone for him, or what foolish decisions he's made. He doesn't know that yet about you." I fixed him with a pointed look. "But it's time to prove yourself, sir—if you do indeed mean to be the man he spends the rest of his life and heart on."
"I—I do," said Robert, blinking hard. His hands were fists on his knees, and then he rose to his feet. "Let's go. I don't want to keep him waiting."
Neither did I.
#
The rail journey to Lauton Estate was uneventful but annoying. The man of action simply would not sit still. There was a great deal of pacing back and forth, hands folded behind his back, a scowl plastered on his face.
He drove me to drink; I was not ashamed to admit it. I was pleasantly tipsy from my hip flask by the time we arrived—and perhaps a bit from my pocket-flask, as well. He irritably refused all offers of such sustenance, on the grounds that he would need a clear head to deal with Louie's difficulties. I maintained that Louie's difficulties were almost always faced better when one was just slightly drunk. Those were the sorts of difficulties he usually encountered.
Then we arrived, and Robert rushed about disembarking, elbowing his way through the crowds, manhandling luggage instead of letting those paid for it handle it, as any decently-brought up man would.
Savages, the Skeffields, all of them, I thought sourly, as I was forced to hurry through the crowd to keep up with him. We didn't even stop to eat anything before commandeering a taxi-cab and thumping down the lane to Lauton. I was quite fed up with his rough-and-ready presence by then. There may have been a few cold and cutting words between us on the journey, and by this time we were not speaking.
Then we arrived. Lauton was a bit of an upstart, built only fifty years ago, too big and ostentatious, and owned now by newly wealthy people who had bought it eight years ago.
It was an excellent job for Lou to keep his hand in and his name on people's lips, but it was a better coup for the Lautons, getting him; he would make the place habitable. As it was now, there was nothing but garish ostentation after garish ostentation—not to mention the tawdry, overdone drapes and tapestries. Tapestries, I ask you!
At any rate, Louie met us in the back gardens. Or rather, we were directed there when we asked his whereabouts. He sat slumped on a little bench by some flowering dogwoods—quite out of season, blooming with magic—and I stayed back decently as Robert rushed forward.
Louie's startled surprise and embarrassment quickly turned to shy pleasure and gut-wrenching relief at Robert's sturdy, reassuring presence. Lou looked up at him trustingly, his eyes brimming, one hand twisting in Robert's shirt as he said something earnest and confiding.
I took my time before approaching them, but watched over them from a distance, feeling avuncular, but also rather sad and wistful. I studied my fingernails for a moment, before easing closer. I didn't want to eavesdrop, but I still might be needed. It was hard to give up being needed. I wasn't sure I could do it.
"D-Deeks!" said Lou, and moved elegantly towards me, holding out a hand, his expression shy and hesitant, as if not certain I'd wish to take it. His face was blotched the way it always got if he cried. He looked wretched, but not frantic, and his eyes seemed calmer, his gaze steadier since he'd gotten to hold and be kissed by Robert Skeffield. Who had very well better be worthy of him, or he would answer to me.
"I ought to be very angry with you," he said, and smiled, taking my hands now as I reached out to him. He gave them a squeeze. "Thank you for bringing him."
"You're welcome." I drew him into an embrace and gave him a gentle squeeze before releasing him. At least he wasn't frantic, hiccupping and sobbing the way he sometimes was. That in itself relieved my mind a great deal.
He drew back and straightened his waistcoat—a robin's-egg blue one, bright as springtime and not at all matching his solemn gaze. "I—I suppose I had better tell you both at once?" He looked back and forth between us uncertainly.
"Yes, do," I said.
Robert gave a curt nod. He wore a very intense, man-of-action gaze. Louie seemed to find my bland calmness easier to meet. Or perhaps he simply wasn't as afraid to lose my regard.
"Go ahead," I told him encouragingly. I gave his little hand a squeeze before letting go again. Robert frowned at my hand, then refocused his gaze on Louie.
"I...I was fifteen," said Louie, looking down at his hands, clasped together now. He cast me a guilty look, slightly haunted. "Do you remember my old music teacher?"
I gave a strangled half-gasp. "No! Not horrible old Mr. Terry with those—those whiskers!"
He looked down, blushing hotly. His hands moved nervously in little twitches, fingers twisting and rubbing with one another.
Robert made a sound in his throat and moved to him. "Come on, Lou. It's all right. What happened?"
"Well, he...I didn't want you to know, either of you! He said s-such kind things, and..." His voice broke a little. "He w-wanted me to do some things with him. One of the things was have my p-picture taken. In...in the altogether." He looked up at me from under his lashes, then down again quickly, and gulped. "I...I really was very fond of him. I n-never thought anyone else would have access to those images. I'd just die if...if anyone saw them now. And Greene has copies. Oh, how could he have gotten them?"
"No doubt he employed grubby men to dig into your past," observed Robert coolly. "The bastard."
Louie blanched, no doubt wondering what else they could've found. He was young, but had lived long enough to make some foolish decisions. With no family to guide him, and a great deal of hurt to salve, he'd sometimes done unwise things in an effort to feel better...or to feel loved. For a safety net, he had only my doubtful guidance and protection—when he'd allow them. And I was not old enough or wise enough to be exactly what he needed in every case.
He certainly hadn't told me about that grubby old music teacher. How dare that man have even looked at Louie? The filthy old pervert. I ought to track him down and give him a very sternly worded talking to.
Louie at fifteen had been fragile and sweet, a doe-eyed boy, wistful and anxious to fit in. He never had: too slim and pretty, too delicate, too shy and un-athletic. He wasn't even terribly book-clever, more interested in daydreaming and sketches and clothing and the way colors went together than he was in anything else.
Yes, he'd drawn some attention at our school, but it was usually the wrong kind. I'd bloodied the nose of more than one older boy who wanted to "teach" him things. Since there were no girls at school, there was always some jackass looking for a delicate and vulnerable boy who might be taught to give pleasure—especially if his natural bent went towards men, anyway. But I'd done my best to protect Louie's vulnerable innocence, and I'd thought I'd done fairly well.
And Mr. Terry had gotten to him, anyway. Fifteen was too young—far too young. Some children might be precocious and ready for explorations at that age, but my Louie had been small for his age, young emotionally and not terribly bright about whom to trust. He'd been desperate for a family, for love, for all the things he'd never gotten to have. He'd have been easy pickings for an older man who could flatter and outsmart him, and manipulate him into doing things.
My heart broke a little as I thought about it. I'd tried my damndest, but I hadn't thought to suspect the teachers. And to give him credit, Louie had clearly hidden the relationship—or whatever it was—from me.
But Lou at fifteen had been like many other boys at thirteen—physically as well as emotionally. Voice-cracking, small and hungry for affection, desperately aware of his changing body and terrified of how to deal with it. And he'd been this man's...victim. Yes. Whether it was consensual or not—and Lou had never come to me to ask to be rescued, so he must have felt at the time that it was what he wanted—it had been wrong. The man, who should have known better, had taken advantage of the boy, who hadn't.
I wanted very much to hurt Mr. Terry for that.
Louie caught my gaze and did a double take. "Why, Deeks!" He moved to me and put a hand on my arm. "Don't cry, dear! I'm all right!"
"He hurt you," I managed, and coughed, my eyes smarting. "Why didn't you come to me for help?"
"I—I thought I was grown up. I'm sure you didn't tell me about all the relationships you had."
I cleared my throat. "That's different."
"I didn't think so at the time. I do look back now and wonder what I was thinking—or what he was. But truly, Dee, he didn't hurt me. I...I was too shy to do much, and he never threatened or pushed. He was a sad old man in his own way. I let him take the photographs, because it made him so happy. But I was too shy to do much more, and...and he didn't hurt me. I wish I'd used better judgment, but..." He colored. "He did...so appreciate me, you know."
"He was in the wrong," said Robert. "He took advantage of a kid."
"Well I—I know that now," said Louie, still sounding uncertain. "But I didn't think so back then. I didn't really feel like a child, I suppose."
I wondered if he ever had. And yet every time I saw him, there was something of the child in him, to me: in his trusting eyes and his sweet smiles, and the way he could find something bright in a day even when his heart was breaking and his world ending. A sunset, a bird singing, the perfect shade of yellow—the smallest thing could make him deeply happy, even when he was miserable, clinging to the shipwreck of his life.
I supposed the Mr. Terry situation could've been worse. But as I caught Robert's gaze over Lou's head, I realized for the first time we were in complete agreement. After this was over, we were going to find out what had happened to Mr. Terry—and he would be dealt with, if necessary.
"Well," said Robert after a moment, clearly trying to remain calm and in control. "If he has photos and has been threatening you, that's illegal right there."
Louie looked alarmed. "We w-wouldn't want the police involved!"
"He has a picture—or more than one? More than one picture?—of you as a child, naked. That's illegal."
"I was fifteen," he muttered.
"Still a child. It's not allowed, Lou. It's not. He could go to jail for that, and he should—even not counting threatening you with it."
"But the—the police—and there would be a scandal! Y-your father!"
He scoffed. "We're not such cowards, Lou! My father's a lot tougher than he looks. The old bird would never countenance you bowing to such forces. I'd like to whip this Greene myself, of course, but I think the high road might be the police. My family has a few connections. I can have a quick word, and—"
"No, no!" Louie shook his head, eyes widening, his breath quick. "There m-mustn't be anything like that! His heart and—and you must admit, you don't invite close notice from...from people either!"
"Nonsense," said Robert brusquely.
What was that about? The Skeffields were pretty damned respectable, even Robert. Never mind; he was going about this rescue all wrong. I studied my fingernails, and cleared my throat. They both stopped and looked at me. Something about me seemed to hold their attention, even distracted as they were.
"Perhaps a word in the ear of the fashionable would do it," I said. "Greene is not at all the thing anymore. He even keeps pictures of young people around..."
"There's..." began Robert, looking annoyed.
At the same moment, Louie's face lit with hope. "Oh, yes, do, Dee!"
"I'll speak with a few of my friends. They'll put the word around."
"But...that won't get the pictures back. And it won't see him punished," protested Robert, looking indignant most of all about the latter.
"The police will keep the pictures as evidence if they're involved, and that could be embarrassing," I said.
Louie looked alarmed at the prospect, as if that hadn't occurred to him, and now he was even more leery of their involvement.
"As for punishment," I continued, "he'll suffer more at the hands of popular opinion than he would in a court of law—assuming it ever got that far, which I very much doubt."
"But there's a clear case of— Dammit, man, I'm trying to do the above-the-board, law abiding thing. I'd most like to find this Greene fellow and shoot him in the face—or at least face him in a duel. And then do the same to that music teacher villain. But I'm not doing any of those things. I'm remaining logical and calm. And here you are suggesting—skullduggery and rumors and...sneaking."
"That's always how I solve Lou's problems," I told him calmly. More calmly than I felt.
"He's right, Robert." Lou clung to Robert's arm, leaning against him and rubbing his face there gingerly, clearly feeling calmer and happier already. "Only...don't call it sneaky. It's...it's clever. Not everyone is good at guns and things. Dee is good with words, and cleverness, even when he tries to hide it." He tossed me a look filled with warm affection.
I could see the relief filling him clear full, the ultimate trust in me. I felt both sad and a bit nostalgic, for when I was the only one he had. It was difficult for him—but I had loved being the one he relied on. I wouldn't be for much longer.
"Well, the next part is sneaky," I admitted. "We need to hire a thief to get back the images. I know someone quite suited for the job, so don't worry about that part. Just make certain that I know how many images, if at all possible. We won't have to guess where he's hidden them—the thief will handle all of that. He really is quite expert."
"Do this often, do you?" Robert seemed amazed and a little alarmed by my sudden lawlessness.
"Well, no, but a friend of mine had a bit of trouble with a blackmailer, and I helped her hire a thief to get back the...evidence. She would much rather speak to her husband about it on her own terms, than...those specified by the blackmailer."
Robert looked dubious. "And did she?"
"I'm certain I couldn't tell you any details. I don't like to break a lady's trust."
"Doesn't sound like much of a lady," muttered Robert darkly.
"Some people are so judgmental, don't you find?" I said cattily, addressing my remark ostensibly to Louie.
He blinked, seeming taken aback. It wasn't like me to get him involved in my feuds. He still held onto Robert, and Robert still had an arm around him, but Robert's gaze narrowed as if ready to do battle with me. And we had been going at it, one way or another, since we were boys—mostly skirmishes, a few actual battles, but never (much) bloodshed. Now I felt just beside myself enough to muster real forces against him.
Instead, I studied them a moment—including Louie's look of real alarm—and took a deep breath. I drew myself up and spoke. "Robert, you are a man of action."
He raised a skeptical brow.
I addressed Lou. "And, my dear, you are a man of art. Now, a man of action and a man of art are going to see the world in different ways, and talk about it in different ways, and not always understand one another easily or immediately. You are both going to have to be patient and practice a lot if you want things to run more smoothly between you. And Robert, if you think force is the way to extricate a man from social difficulties, you really might want to rethink that!"
I turned and headed away, my head high, my shoulders back, as if I was going to conquer the world. I felt a bit how a father must feel after giving away his daughter at the altar—choked up, sad, happy, and wondering if he would still be needed at all.
Behind me, I thought I heard Robert say softly, "Go after him."
Then Lou was running after me on his soft feet, and he touched my sleeve. "Oh, Dee," he said softly, a little breathless. "You know I'll always need you, too!" And he hugged me round the middle, hard, before I could do more than blink.
I stood there for a moment, stunned and stiff, hardly breathing. Then I recovered my wits and manners, turned around in his arms, and hugged him carefully back.
Robert strode towards us, smiling a little, looking every inch the strong soldier. But he didn't look as cynical as usual. In fact, his smile was...almost nice.
"You know you're his family," said Robert. "I suppose I'll just have to get used to you." He stuck a hand out.
Still hugging Louie, I reached out and took Robert's hand, and gave it a dazed shake. "I suppose you shall."