Ten

The man was quick to be humble, fussed over his guests and allowed them the freedom to speak as themselves. Was that his nature, or was it an act? Silas hoped it was his nature. The more he looked at the viscount and the more he heard him speak, the more he was in tune with his ideas and believed him to be genuine. The more time he spent in the viscount’s company, the more he admired him, and it wasn’t only his good works that attracted Silas. There was also his physique, his face, the way his breeches bunched at the front when he sat and unashamedly outlined what lay beneath when he stood. He was sexier than the fascinating footman with attitude. Everything about him made its home under Silas’ skin leaving him wanting more.

Of what?

They were never going to be friends despite the way the man treated him. They were probably never to meet again, and there was no way they could be social equals. That only left sex. If His Lordship wanted it, Silas was happy to give it, and for a man offering warmth and food, companionship and kindness, he would give it willingly, even for free.

Everything about the viscount suggested charm and perfection, and Silas’ concerns quickly faded once he realised the man was keen to cross their social barriers and treat him as an equal as far as he could. Even Fecker had shed his distrust.

That was, until the viscount mentioned the Ripper.

Fecker tensed, and for a split second, Silas wondered if everything that had gone before had been a cover for a darker purpose; entrapment.

Why would someone in His Lordship’s position be interested in the killing of street boys? If it was morbid fascination, he could read the newspapers. If he knew something about them, he could tell the police. How else could he be involved, and why would he want to be?

The moment of doubt passed with a silently exchanged agreement between Silas and Fecker. Viscount Clearwater was no threat. How could a man who treated street-rats as if they were gentlemen be anything but genuine?

‘Have you both had enough to eat?’ the viscount asked picking crumbs from the empty tart tray with his fingertips.

If Silas ate anything else, he would be sick and said so, but Thomas was asked to bring another loaf for Fecker who ate half and put the rest in his pocket for later. The viscount, of course, didn’t object and instead, told him to also take the remaining cheese.

It was things like that Silas found so… He was unable to think of the word. It fell between attractive and perfection, and all he could come up with was lovable, but Silas would not allow himself to think of that subject, and concentrated on the man’s business rather than his effect.

‘What can we tell you that you’ve not already heard about?’ Silas asked.

He was sweating beneath his jacket and wondered if he could take it off. The viscount had discarded his own, leaving it hanging from the chair, and was now in the process of unbuttoning his waistcoat. Although his shirt was filthy, Silas followed suit and took off his jacket enjoying the rare sensation of being warm without it.

‘Firstly,’ His Lordship said. ‘Tell me a little about each murder.’ He turned to a page in his book and read an address. ‘Starting with the first at Harrington Street. What do you know of it?’

Silas told him what he could, that it was an ordinary row of bland, brick buildings, a dead-end behind a tenement block and mainly known as a place where female prostitutes took their clients.

‘And did you know the unfortunate Edward Sellinge?’ the viscount asked, checking the name.

Silas admitted he hadn’t, and Fecker shook his head.

The viscount seemed disappointed. ‘So, it was an ordinary street, but not one you would expect a renter to take a man?’

‘As ordinary as any street in Limedock,’ Silas said. ‘The main road leads down to the wharves, but you could pass it without seeing it. It’s a narrow opening that goes nowhere, used as the back way into the lodging houses, but most people use the front. That right, Fecks?’

Fecker agreed. ‘Da. I only saw it after the boy was killed. Went to look, like many people. Not been back. Not our patch.’

‘What made you take an interest in this murder?’ His Lordship asked. ‘I was under the impression that, horrific though it is to admit, death is commonplace in the East End.’

‘And you’d be right, Sir,’ Silas said. ‘But it was what the Ripper did to the boy that got people heated up.’ He hoped that His Lordship would not ask him to give details of the mutilations and was thankful when he already knew them.

‘And the second?’ he asked, turning another page. ‘Simon’s Yard. Martin Tucker was the lad’s name.’

‘Didn’t know Martin well, Sir,’ Silas told him. ‘He was new, down from Westerpool like me and only off the boat a month. Someone told me he came straight to the city to find work, same as all of us, saw there was none and did what he had to do.’

‘And you knew him?’

‘In passing.’

‘Did he know Edward Sellinge?’

‘No idea, Sir. I doubt it. Not been in the East End long enough. Simon’s Yard is about a mile from Harrington Street, and the only similar thing is that it’s also a no-through. Draymen use it for their horses in the day, no-one uses it at night ’cos there’s no lights.’

‘When you say no-one, you mean no-one other than renters?’

‘Nyet,’ Fecker said. ‘I don’t think so. There’s no lights, but there’s windows of a whorehouse.’

‘So it’s not that private?’

‘It’s a brothel, Fecks,’ Silas said. ‘So the windows is mostly closed and curtains drawn. It’s as private as anywhere, Sir, but ’cos it’s right by the knocking shop, the lads tend to stay away. Again, not our territory, see? Of course, that lad, being new, might not have known that.’

The viscount was scribbling in his book. ‘So, these first two murders committed… one month apart had, as far as you know, no connection other than the way the boys were butchered.’

‘None of them do, My Lord,’ Thomas said. ‘The newspapers have said so.’

‘The role of newspapers is to sell newspapers,’ the viscount said. ‘They can’t be relied on for actual news, not from those who know what they are talking about.’ He smiled at Silas. ‘I would rather trust someone who understands the area than a hack with a brief to sell copy.’

Silas had a rough idea what he was getting at, and the man had managed to convey his meaning in a compliment which, along with the smile, quickened Silas’ pulse.

‘But your point is pertinent, Thomas,’ His Lordship continued. ‘As we will see from site number three. Two weeks later and we find a third horrific crime, worse than the others but with the same hallmark, and the body found in the rather mistitled Lucky Row. The victim, an even less fortunate youth by the name of Michael.’

‘Micky-Nick.’ Silas had known this boy and liked him. The mention of his name, which he knew was coming, brought sadness. ‘Yeah, I knew Micky,’ he sighed. ‘Nice lad, only just seventeen. Experienced too. Micky and I used to drink at the Lamb and Compass and nick from Cheap Street market where we had a scam going. Only for a few weeks, Sir, I don’t steal unless I have to. It was a bad time for us, ’cos the talk was still of Martin’s murder, the butchery fresh in the mind if you like. Punters were wary.’

‘Da,’ Fecker agreed. ‘I got work at the docks, so Banyak and I was alright. He only scammed with Micky-Nick to help him.’

‘But it’s interesting that you knew him. Oh, I’m not questioning you, Silas,’ the viscount calmed Silas’ confusion. ‘I understand how a man might have to steal to live, and I am not judging you. But you actually knew this renter?’

‘Well enough to like him.’

‘I imagine you fall to liking people quite easily,’ His Lordship said in a way that suggested Silas was required to answer.

‘I usually make up my mind about someone within the first minute. Doesn’t take me long to get the measure of a man,’ he said and looked at Thomas. The footman, who had been watching him, suddenly found his cup of chocolate more interesting.

‘And the boy’s injuries, as reported by the papers, were accurate as far as you know?’

Silas didn’t even want to think about what the killer did to his victims, but it was the reason he was here. ‘Yes, Sir. Micky’s throat was cut one side to the other, deep enough to show bone, and he’d been sliced from his throat to his dick.’

‘And his insides messed up,’ Fecker added, seemingly unaffected by the detail. ‘He had things missing.’

Thomas groaned.

‘I’m sorry, Thomas,’ Archer said. ‘If you’d rather not hear this?’

‘My place is with you, Sir.’ Thomas sounded even more like the old butler. ‘I was brought up on a farm. I’ve known slaughter, although of a different kind.’

The viscount returned to his notes, satisfied that Thomas had the mettle to cope with the discussion.

‘And the most recent murder,’ he said opening a fourth page. ‘Alexander Chiltern, aged eighteen by all accounts, no permanent address, known to be a heavy drinker, from an Irish immigrant family, found in Britannia Street in a worse condition than the others.’

‘Can you be in a worse position than dead?’ Silas asked. It was not meant to be an insult, but it came out that way.

‘Quite,’ His Lordship said. ‘Was he a friend?’

‘Of sorts,’ Silas admitted. ‘But by accident. People thought we looked similar and some got us mixed up.’

‘Very the same,’ Fecker slurred, tipsy.

‘You looked similar?’ The viscount sought clarification intently.

‘We all look the same from behind in a back alley,’ Silas said.

The viscount was briefly disturbed by his honesty. He grimaced and asked, ‘What is Britannia Street?’

‘A street like many others,’ Silas explained. ‘Narrow. Leads to Tanner’s Yard from Merry Lane. Often used it for business on account of the alcoves between buildings. It’s the sort of alley I’d expect a renter to use if he was working.’

‘Expect to? Why? Because it’s dark and out of the way?’

‘Opposite, Sir. Because there are people about if you get in trouble, and there’s a maze of even narrower runners… that’s lanes, leading off it so you can get lost quick.’

‘But no-one saw or heard anything? The same as in the other cases.’

‘No-one said they heard or saw nothing,’ Fecker pointed out. ‘Don’t mean that people don’t know things.’

‘But you don’t know any more about any of these killings than you have told me?’

‘No, Sir,’ Silas said, mildly affronted. ‘If we did, we’d say.’

‘I believe him, Sir,’ Thomas added. ‘This young man is nothing if not direct.’

He flashed Silas a white-toothed smile, false and childish, which immediately twisted into a scowl. Whatever he was trying to convey it sailed over Silas’ head to splat against the tiles.

‘Cheers.’ Silas replied as if he had been paid a compliment. ‘Having said that, Sir. I expect we do know more, it’s just that we try not to think about it. If you ask more questions, other stuff might come to mind, but I don’t want you to think we’re holding information back on purpose.’

‘I don’t. You are most helpful and, I believe as Thomas does, honest.’

‘Then can I ask you something, Sir?’

‘Certainly.’

‘What’s your interest? Are you something to do with the law?’

The viscount laughed. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he said and shared out the last of the wine. ‘No, Silas, I have nothing to do with the law except I live within it as all men should. Perhaps we can recap.’ He returned to his notes. ‘Let’s go back to Harrington Street…’

It was obvious from the change of subject that the viscount didn’t want to talk about why he was interested. There was something the viscount wasn’t telling them, but His Lordship’s curiosity was a puzzle Silas didn’t need to worry about. As he kept telling himself with sadness, he wouldn’t see the man again after this visit, so there was no point wondering about the aristocrat’s fascination. Silas was part of a wider picture, the state of the East End, and that was His Lordship’s concern. He had, through the evening, asked more about the living conditions and the plight of the poor than he had so far asked about the Ripper.

The viscount ran through the known details of the murders once more, but they sparked no more memories for Silas. At one point, Fecker added some gory details that had not been released to the newspapers, facts that he had learned from eyewitnesses, and the viscount was amazed to hear that these had not been given to the police. He was outraged when Silas explained why.

‘They don’t talk to us,’ he said. ‘And we don’t talk to them. No trust in either direction, so we ain’t going to help uniforms what do no favours.’

‘Well, that’s a matter for the government, the Commissioner and another day.’ The viscount closed his book. ‘I fear I have kept you gentlemen from your business too long. What time is it, Thomas?’

‘Approaching eleven, Sir,’ Thomas said. He began gathering plates.

‘I’ll do that.’

‘You most certainly will not.’

Silas laughed at the way he spoke. ‘That told you,’ he said, sharing a joke with his host.

The viscount was mildly taken aback and might have been annoyed, it was hard to tell as the moment was so fleeting. He did raise a smile, however, and it was followed by a wink that suggested he and Silas were co-conspirators in a plot against the footman. The wink was a surprise, but a greater shock came from what His Lordship said next.

‘Where are we going to house you for the night?’ He stood and buttoned his waistcoat considering Silas and Fecker in turn, while Thomas froze, plates in hand.

‘House us?’ Surely the man wasn’t going to let them stay?

Thomas had the same thought, but where Silas was amazed at the prospect and wouldn’t have put it past the man to offer them a room, Thomas was horrified and probably for the same reason.

‘I shall drive them to the edge of Greychurch,’ he said. ‘That would be best for all concerned, Sir.’

The viscount sighed and rolled his eyes at Silas. This time, the familiarity was awkward. The aristocrat was poking fun at his footman, and Silas thought that was rude.

‘Thomas,’ he said. ‘I do wish you’d get a grasp of things. I am not my late father, and you are not my butler. Please, try not to think like Tripp. Yes, the man is excellent in his capacity and has been good to us both. I mean no disrespect, but we here are all younger men than they. The world outside these walls needs to change, and it is my belief we should play a part in changing it.’

‘But, My Lord…’

‘I am not inciting anarchy,’ the viscount interrupted with good humour. ‘I am not suggesting that I invite you to my club, but I am hoping that, as I have repeatedly said, we could co-exist on less formal terms at times. That being said…’

He paced the table with his hands behind his back, and Silas was able to feast his eyes on the man’s fine figure, particularly where his breeches buttoned. He looked at Thomas, also standing to attention, whose casual trousers gave little away of the bulk Silas knew to be inside. Fecker caught him looking and knew what he was imagining.

‘That being said,’ the viscount continued, standing behind Silas. ‘We must behave like gentlemen, and I am not sending our guests back to the streets after they have been so generous with their insight.’

The viscount gripped Silas’ shoulders, jolting him.

‘These young men are staying here tonight.’

A kaleidoscope of images tumbled through Silas’ mind. A grand staircase, a curtained bed, roaring fire, a bath, His Lordship inviting him into it, naked, his life changing…

‘They can sleep in the mews.’

The vision shattered. A mews was better than nothing, and the man’s hands were still on his shoulders. The touch, even through his coarse shirt, meant everything. He was prepared to touch Silas with no sexual intent. He treated them as guests.

‘They could bed down with the horses, Sir.’

Whereas Thomas didn’t.

‘Certainly not. But the coachman’s quarters are unoccupied.’

If not guests of equal status, then at least the level of servants. But would an aristocrat rest his hands a servant for so long?

‘You’ve blanched somewhat, Thomas,’ the viscount said, amused. ‘Don’t. You’re not a snob. Of course they can use the coach house, it is equipped.’

‘Would that be wise, Sir?’

The Viscount’s hands, from being on the crest of Silas’ shoulders, slid to hold them at the sides as if he meant to lift the street boy from his chair.

‘If you’re worried about what Tripp will say, don’t be. Mrs Flintwich is the first to arrive in the morning, I will leave her a note, so she is not taken by surprise.’ He leant to Silas, cheek to cheek and his grip tightened. ‘You two sleep as long as you want. And be sure to use the bathtub if you would like.’ He patted Silas’ arms and finally let him go. ‘You can’t drive through this fog again, Thomas, you wouldn’t be safe, and neither would they. No, this is what will happen.’

He continued his pacing as he spoke until he stood behind Fecker, looking directly at Silas.

‘I shall put Mrs Flintwich’s kitchen to rights while you show the gentlemen to their quarters and ensure they have a fire to warm water with, and plenty of bedding. That done, I will leave you to lock up, because I can see that our security is your main concern.’ He did the same to Fecker as he had done to Silas, taking his shoulders and holding them while he spoke. ‘When Silas and Andrej wake, they can knock at the tradesmen’s door for breakfast before being sent on their way. I shall tell the staff the truth, not that it’s their business. These men have been of assistance, and the peasouper is too thick for them to leave. You and Tripp will not elaborate, of course.’

He released Fecker and completed his circle to stand opposite Thomas. He looked at the footman challengingly, but spoke to the street-rats.

‘You will accept this for your troubles, I hope,’ he said, fingering coins onto the table. ‘And I shall add a shilling, so you can take a cab in the morning. Is it a shilling to the East End, Thomas?’

‘How would I know?’ Thomas exclaimed, momentarily forgetting his position. He added a subservient, ‘Sir.’

‘I had better give you five, then every eventuality is covered.’

Silas couldn’t believe it. ‘Five shillings?’ It was enough to keep him and Fecker in decent board and lodgings for a fortnight.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Silas,’ His Lordship chided. ‘Five pounds.’

‘Pounds?’ Thomas was aghast.

‘Yes.’

‘My Lord, in a situation like this, Tripp would give the boys sixpence, perhaps, and they would be grateful. But five pounds?’

For the first time, Silas saw the viscount angry. Whatever odd relationship he had with Thomas it didn’t allow for the servant to criticise.

The shock of being given five pounds hadn’t even begun to sink in when the viscount stunned Silas further in reaction to having his decision questioned.

‘Five pounds,’ he insisted, containing his anger within the gravity of his voice. ‘Each.’

Thomas was silenced, and Fecker, his mouth open wide showing his uneven teeth, was too amazed to swear even in Russian.

‘Don’t worry, Thomas,’ the viscount continued. ‘I have the same in my pocket for you as I have for these two.’

He meant money, but of course, Silas couldn’t help thinking of something else. Something he craved as much as the notes being drawn from the man’s trousers.

‘I will give you coins,’ he explained, ‘because I assume a note would arouse suspicion.’

Silas nodded his reply in astonished silence. A note would also be impossible to change, assuming he wasn’t robbed of it the moment he stepped inside Greychurch.

‘Then we are settled.’ The viscount collected the glasses. ‘Thank you for your time, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Thomas will show you to your room. There’s only the one bed, I’m afraid, but I can’t let you sleep inside the house. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I hate to say it, but even allowing you to stay above the stables would be thought inconsiderate by many. Those who don’t know you as I now do would accuse me of placing my staff and house in danger. It’s ridiculous, but that’s how it is. I am sorry, but the coach house is quiet enough.’

He indicated to Thomas that the evening was over and handed a collection of coins to Fecker who counted them into various pockets. With the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows, Thomas bowed and rolled down his sleeves.

Silas rose to put on his jacket.

‘A quick word with you alone, before you retire,’ the viscount stopped him, approaching with a similar collection of coins.

An older man coming towards him with money and wanting a “quick word” was something Silas faced most nights. He would need a wash first, but he was happy to let the viscount suck his dick in the kitchen, or, better, take him bent over the table. There was no end to what he would do and how much time he would give for five pounds.

‘Silas,’ the viscount said once Thomas had led Fecker from the room. ‘I am worried about you, and I am certain you are the man I need to be worried about. Here, take this.’

Confused, Silas accepted the money and, like Fecker, hid it in secret places about his clothing.

‘That was for tonight, but if you could, I would very much appreciate it if you would save enough for a return cab and come again tomorrow.’

There was to be no sex tonight. It made sense. The man had not been expecting Fecker.

‘You don’t need to ask twice, Sir. Anything you desire.’ Silas replied, falling into his street urchin character. The viscount obviously had a thing for them.

‘Good, but I think, from your tone, you have grabbed at the wrong end of the riding crop, as it were.’

Kinky sex? Not impossible, not for another five pounds.

‘I want you to return tomorrow. Bring Andrej if you like. Come at five, because I have to go to the House in the morning and am seeing an old chum in the afternoon. Tripp will be expecting you — back door, sorry — and will have something for you to do before he brings you to me.’

This was getting weirder by the second, but Silas was fascinated. The viscount was an inch away, within touching distance.

‘I don’t mean to be clandestine, but that’s all you need to know for now. Oh, and keep the evening free.’

As if Silas had a social diary to consider.

‘As you want, Sir,’ he stammered. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘Yes, of course.’ The man held his shoulders again, and Silas swallowed, his throat dry. ‘I want to show you something in my study.’

Riding crops, the study, an aristocrat and a street-rat? It was worthy of The Penny Magazine, but to take all evening and to involve Fecker?

‘Shame I have to wait until tomorrow,’ Silas winked flirtatiously. ‘My arse could do with a proper thrashing.’

It would have worked on any other punter except Lord Clearwater. ‘Don’t be disgusting, man,’ he said, his face reddening. ‘I don’t mean to have sex with you. I mean to save your life.’