Fourteen

Archer leant on the mantlepiece and studied Silas with admiration as he ate. It was a way of distracting himself from what was going on inside his head — a tangle of puzzles which he could only unpick by not thinking about them. He found that if he left questions alone, they answered themselves, usually by chance, as they had done at lunch when Quill, without realising it, suggested he employ Silas and not worry about what his household thought.

He was still recovering from his intimate moment with the Irishman, but, as it had taken place three hours before, recovering wasn’t quite the right word. Relishing was closer.

Silas was eating one of Mrs Flintwich’s sugary desserts, rolling his eyes in pleasure on every taste and throwing looks of approval the viscount’s way. It was not only a delight to share the young man’s enjoyment of the treat — they were one of Archer’s favourites — Silas’ expression personified the rush of joy Archer felt when the man admitted his feelings. His fancy, to be more precise. Apparently, Silas felt the same about Archer as he did about the renter, and he hoped it wasn’t an act.

‘Do you think our plan will work?’ he asked the incongruous young men at his breakfast table. His mother would have screamed, but he enjoyed the spectacle.

‘You’re mad,’ Fecker said. ‘But I look after you.’

‘Andrej,’ Archer said, leaving the fireplace and taking his seat. ‘You were listening when I told you about my time in the military, weren’t you?’

Fecker nodded. ‘Da. But ships have rules. None in Greychurch.’

‘Like I told you, Sir,’ Silas said. ‘We can take a walk, stay on the main streets and be ready to call for a bobby, but we can’t stay long. Not after dark. And it ain’t just for fear of the Ripper.’

‘I understand.’ Archer was growing warm beneath his change of clothing even though the breakfast room, not usually in use at that time of night, was unheated.

After Thomas’ appearance in the study and a discussion about disguise, Archer had sent the footman on an errand to the West City Mission to collect more suitable, working men’s clothing for them both. He gave Thomas a letter of explanation, a donation and money for a cab, and he had returned with garments Silas considered suitable. Since then, the youth had taken over the arrangements. By the time they came to take supper, he had changed Archer’s plan and forced him to agree on a few terms.

Archer knew the game Silas was playing, and he knew when he was being manipulated. Aware of it, he deployed his own subtle pressures until he achieved what he wanted. He had. Silas had taken on the role of leader, and who better? He knew the area, he had the required mix of intelligence and wariness, and as his earlier outburst had proved, was protective of Archer.

Immediately following Silas’ admission of attraction, the viscount had been rattled, but now he was pleased with himself. He had chosen well in Silas and found a shrewd soldier, loyal to his commander and willing to show that loyalty, it would seem, in an East End street or Archer’s bed. There was nothing stopping Archer taking him upstairs right now, except the unspoken rules of society and the fact that, if that were to happen, Archer wanted it to be because of desire and affection, not supply and demand. Could Silas stop being a renter and become a lover? Would there be any difference in the sex? What if…?

‘This is intolerable.’ He thumped the table.

Whatever he tried to think of, thoughts of Silas put themselves in the way. Where they had started as sympathetic and respectful, they had become lewd. Deliciously lewd, and they drew him even closer to falling in love with the man. A man, he reminded himself, he had not chosen, but who by chance happened to look similar to a drawing.

He had to concentrate on the matter in hand.

‘Everything alright, My Lord?’ Thomas had sailed in from somewhere with Lucy in tow and was waiting to clear the table.

‘I do apologise,’ Archer said, flapping his jacket. ‘This wool is all very well, but the material doesn’t breathe.’

He rose from the table scrutinised by the black-haired youth who stirred his groin as much as his heart every time his cobalt eyes twinkled his way. ‘I need some air.’

Turning at his chair, he found Thomas standing behind him. At least, the face and its concern belonged to Thomas, as for the rest…

‘Good heavens!’ he said in alarm.

His footman wore shabby boots, filthy trousers, a leather jerkin over a grey shirt that had once owned a collar, while his glorious copper hair was barely visible beneath a Newsboy cap.

‘Apparently I am a tosher, My Lord,’ Thomas said with the faintest hint of a smile.

‘You told him he was a tosser?’ Fecker asked, grinning at Silas.

‘No, mate. A tosher.’

‘I have no idea what one is,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’m glad it’s not my vocation.’

Archer didn’t know whether he should slap Silas on the back gently for his prank, or hard for his rudeness. ‘A tosher, Thomas,’ he explained, trying to glare sternly at Silas but failing, ‘is someone who sifts the sewers in search of lost valuables.’

Silas winked and said, ‘Very dangerous work, mate. Only real men do shit-shifting.’

Thomas shot Silas a furious look. It wasn’t exactly daggers, more like a canteen of cutlery and Archer wondered if he wasn’t being over-ambitious. Did they need Thomas? He had thought there was safety in numbers, but was it right to put his man in danger?

Seeing his concern, Thomas said, ‘I have a knife in the pocket of the jacket, but I didn’t want to bring that into the breakfast room.’

‘Would you know how to use it?’

He fixed Silas with a threatening stare. ‘I slaughter cattle for my fader when I’m home for holidays, Mr Hawkins,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I will go and fetch it.’

‘No need, Thomas.’ Archer smiled, for which Thomas seemed grateful, and addressed the others. ‘Gentlemen, I think we are nearly ready. Silas, the money I gave you last night. Have you spent it?’

‘No, Sir,’ Silas replied, trying to fold his used napkin back into its ring without success. ‘No need. We spent the day waiting in your coach house. Bit of an imposition, but no-one noticed, and it were a lot safer than carting around five quid.’

Archer was about to ask why he had not taken the money home when the obvious answer prevented him. They didn’t have a home, and he concluded Silas had acted sensibly rather than rudely. He would let them live in his coach house permanently if he could.

Now there was an idea.

‘Sorry. Didn’t ask.’

‘No, Andrej, don’t worry,’ Archer reassured the man who was, somehow, still eating. ‘I suggest you leave your money here.’

‘Why?’ Fecker grunted. ‘You change your mind?’

‘No, not at all. It will be here when you return.’

‘We’re coming back?’ Silas had that look again, a practised blend of boyish enthusiasm and mischievousness.

‘Yes, why not?’ Archer was aware that Lucy was in the room. ‘You may have another night in the stables for your troubles. Lucy, clear the table would you? Gentlemen, follow me to the study.’

He turned to the doors and waited, but no-one moved.

‘Andrej, you may bring whatever you’ve not yet eaten.’

Chairs immediately brushed the carpet. Silas and Fecker accompanied him to the door, but Thomas remained static.

‘I include you as a gentleman, Thomas,’ Archer said. ‘Later, I will treat you as a tosher. For now, we are all on the same crew. If Lucy needs help, I shall ring for Tripp.’

Thomas leapt into action and joined the others, leaving Lucy to insist there was no need to bother Mr Tripp. Archer was relieved. The old man was already snooping about his business, and he didn’t want to further inflame the butler’s curiosity.

Archer paused in the hall and removed his jacket, allowing the others to go ahead. It gave him time to cool down and temper a sudden rush of nerves.

He had fought in battle and commanded men aboard ship and on land, but he had always had prior knowledge of the waters and fields. He had no experience of the East End and had only read about what to expect, but he was not to be dissuaded. His greater cause demanded he go; there were things he needed to see for himself before he decided on his next course of action.

Besides, he had the strapping Ukrainian on his side, his growing affection for Silas to warm him, and Thomas knew how to disembowel a heifer.

What could possibly go wrong?

He thought of a hundred things that could go wrong the moment the cab dropped them at a junction just after ten that night. On one side of the road, where they grouped wrapping coats and pulling on fingerless gloves, they were backed by the sturdy offices of banks and merchants. Opposite, the entrance to the East End was marked by the deceptive beginning of City Street. Deceptive, because after a hundred yards, the semi-respectable establishments of hat shops and tailors, began to crumble into slaughterhouses and tanners. Within a quarter of a mile, what was a two-lane road became a single fleet of the city’s worst leading to a labyrinth of slit-throat alleys and iniquity. Despite the late hour, the road teamed with life, denser the further in one walked, and, although Archer strained to see, there was no end to it. Mist hung wearily overhead, diffusing the light until moving figures became one with dark buildings and there was nothing but a black vanishing point.

‘Remember,’ Silas said, unbuttoning Archer’s jacket and doing it up on the wrong holes. ‘You ain’t no lord and master, ‘ere, Guv? Alright?’

‘No excuse for rudeness, Mr Hawkins.’

‘I ain’t being rude, Guv. I’m breaking you in. First thing someone’s going a-call you is a fart-sniffing nancy, or a shit-poking Jew, no offence to you, Sir, nor us queers, nor the Jews I suppose, but you ain’t going a-be called My Lord. And people are going whistle and stuff, ’cos you might be dressed like an out of work coffin-knocker, but you hold yourself like the fucking Queen. Can’t you limp or something?’

Silas’ approach was more brutal than public school, but once Archer accepted the reasons behind it, he found it amusing. Anything to take his mind off what lay ahead.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he promised.

‘You and all, Tommy.’ Silas turned his attention to the footman. ‘You still got a bit of ginger showing, mate, watch out for that. Some of the fancy men go mad for ginger. Red hair means a big cock, so be ready. I’d pull your scarf up. You got just the lips men want around their dick, and whether you fancy that or not, ’ere and now ain’t the place a-go looking for it.’

‘I can take care of myself, renter,’ Thomas scowled. He covered his mouth and bit on the scarf, presumably to stop himself saying something he would regret.

‘Silas,’ Archer stepped in. ‘Where’s the nearest murder site to here?’

‘Nearest? Britannia Street,’ Silas replied. ‘After that, Lucky Row then Simon’s Yard. From where we are, they kind of spiral out.’ He tapped dots in the air. ‘Four, three, two and one’s further over there. It’s a fair walk even using cut-throughs.’

‘Not many people,’ Fecker said, tipping his head towards City Street. ‘Something’s wrong.’

Silas watched the street a moment before turning to Archer. ‘Right, Jack,’ he said. ‘If you get lost…’

‘Hold on.’ Archer stopped him. ‘Jack?’

‘Yeah, well, I ain’t going a-shout out, “This way, My Lord”, am I? More likely, “Jack? Where the fuck are you?” You’ve been a sailor, ain’t you? So I reckoned Jack would do.’

‘A good idea,’ Archer winked. ‘But I am likely to think you are calling someone else. Use Archie.’

‘That your name? Archie?’

‘No, it’s Archer. My father lived and breathed the Battle of Agincourt, but my friends call me Archie.’

‘Right, well, pleased to meet you, Archie.’ Silas offered his hand, and Archer accepted.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said. ‘I mean, right pleased to meet you… and all.’ They were both smiling.

‘Tommy?’ Silas returned to him. ‘You’re Tommy, obviously, but same goes for you. You can’t call him even Sir. So, Tommy? Meet your old mate from your shit-shovelling days, Archie.’

Thomas was embarrassed, and Archer felt for him. The other two were entirely at home, and if Archer was a fish out of water, Thomas was the entire shoal.

‘Tom,’ Archer said, putting out his hand and beaming because he hadn’t been allowed to call him that for fifteen years. ‘How’ve you been since we last got together in the pantry?’ Thomas wasn’t reacting, so Archer threw his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close for a brief hug. ‘Good to see you, mate.’

The scarf fell from Thomas’ lips, and for a moment Archer thought he was going to run away, but the hug had knocked Thomas into shape.

‘’Ow be, Archie?’ he said in his native accent. ‘Aye, you be right an’ all. I missed our meets ’mong the flour. Been keeping well?’

‘Yeah, alright.’ Silas shushed him. ‘Stop pissing about and keep your mouths shut. Both of you.’

Suitably chastised, Archer let Thomas go and instantly missed the embrace.

It was at that moment that the reality of what he was about to do stabbed Archer in the chest. He was knowingly putting these men in danger without telling them the real reason. He hoped he would never have to, but, as they crossed the road, he had the uneasy feeling that the truth would come out sooner than he intended.