Nineteen

Night fell two hours before Archer returned to Clearwater. The west of the city settled into genteel peace as the lamplighters attended to the wicks and the messengers went about their deliveries. Drawing rooms glowed behind delicate lace curtains which twitched when a carriage passed, and footmen received callers at elegant front doors.

It was a far cry from where Archer had just been, and he had no thought for it. His mind was alive with news and plans as he stabled the horse, gave it a quick rub down and cursed himself for giving in to Mrs Baker and not hiring a new groom.

‘I’ll get you seen to properly,’ he whispered in the animal’s ear.

It shook its mane and snorted approval, not at its owner’s words, but at the fast-paced trot it had enjoyed. Archer left it to nuzzle at whatever feed it had and crossed the yard to the back door. He glanced to the windows of the green bedroom and was pleased to see a light behind the curtains before he hurried through and into the passage. It wasn’t his usual point of entry, but he was wet and his boots muddy. He shook off his overcoat as he walked through the kitchen and removed his hat when he entered the servant’s hall.

The scrape of chairs and clatter of cutlery was followed by silence as the servants stood.

‘No, please,’ Archer said. ‘Don’t get up.’

They stayed as they were until Archer insisted they sit, and Mr Tripp told them it was acceptable to do so. He, however, remained standing.

‘May I assist you, My Lord?’ he asked.

‘No, Tripp, thank you. I am sorry to disturb your dinner,’ Archer said, ‘but as you’re paused, I would like a quick word.’ He leant on the dresser and bent a leg to remove a boot. Tripp advanced, but was repelled by a shake of his master’s head. ‘Eat your dinner,’ he said. ‘All of you, carry on. I’ve disturbed you enough, but Mrs Baker if you could…’ He wrestled with the boot. ‘Can you send one of the girls to Saunders as soon as convenient and ask him to spare his stable lad? Emma needs a decent groom and feed, and I’ve not put the trap away in any kind of order.’

‘Of course, My Lord,’ Mrs Baker replied. ‘Lucy?’

‘When you’ve finished,’ Archer told the girl as she leapt to her feet. ‘It’s not an emergency.’ He turned his attention to Thomas as the boot came free. ‘How is my guest?’

‘The gentleman has been moved to the green bedroom,’ Mrs Baker put in before Thomas could answer.

‘Excellent.’ Archer kept his eyes on Thomas. ‘And?’

‘As per your instructions, My Lord,’ Thomas said. ‘I am pleased to tell you that he is recovered and, although weak, is well enough to be waiting for you in the drawing room.’

Tripp curled his fingers into fists and relaxed them, a sure sign that he was about to complain. Arched didn’t give him the chance.

‘I expect you are wondering what’s going on,’ he said, starting work on the second boot. ‘These past couple of days have not been what we are used to. Thank you all for putting up with my eccentricities, all will become clear in due course.’ The boot came free unexpectedly, and he slipped on the flagstones. Tripp hovered nervously. ‘In the meantime, Mr Hawkins is staying with us as my guest. He has fallen on difficult times, and it is our duty to look after him. Our Christian duty,’ he emphasised directly to Mrs Baker to wipe the look of disapproval from her face. It was replaced by irritation thinly veiled behind a smile.

‘I shall have one of the girls change your bed, Sir,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Sally? You can see to that.’

‘What on earth for?’ Archer said. ‘It was only done yesterday.’

‘You can’t want to sleep in those sheets after today.’

‘Mrs Baker,’ Archer said patiently. ‘My guest is a man, not a dog. Right, that’s it. Carry on.’

He walked gingerly to the door trying his hardest not to slip.

‘Oh, Thomas,’ he said, holding the doorjamb for balance. ‘Could you tell Mr Hawkins I will be with him shortly? I’m going to wash and change.’

‘Allow me to assist you, Sir,’ Tripp said gliding forwards.

‘Honestly, Tripp, I am fine. I will be ten minutes.’ Archer didn’t want him asking questions, but he also didn’t want to alienate him. ‘On seconds thought, yes, please. That would be most helpful.’ He knew it wouldn’t. ‘But finish your supper first.’

He suggested it to give himself enough time to change before Tripp arrived, but his butler put his master before his stomach and followed him to the baize door. There, Tripp turned left to continue up the servant’s stairs and expected his master to enter the house, but Archer followed him, saying he didn’t want to drag his muddy self over the carpets.

‘You have been in the country, Sir?’ Trip asked, as they took the first turn.

‘No, Tripp. I had some business towards the east.’

‘Not, I hope, to do with our unsavoury matter there the other night?’

‘In a way,’ he said. ‘To do with the charity.’

It was partly true. The charity was to operate in the area, and it was to help young men like Silas. He had told Tripp enough and changed the subject to flatter the man about how well he had trained Thomas and to thank him personally for putting up with Archer’s behaviour.

Tripp was grateful for both compliments and commented that Thomas would, in years to come, make a conscientious butler.

‘But he will never replace you, Tripp,’ Archer said, as they took the last bend and entered the first floor. Sometimes he sickened himself.

After that, their talk was of shirts and shaving foam, cufflinks and claret as Archer requested a couple of bottles from the cellar be brought at seven. It was nearing a quarter to, and he was keen to see Silas.

‘I shall be in the study,’ he told Tripp in the mirror as his man brushed the yoke of his jacket. ‘Ask Thomas to bring supper for myself and Mr Hawkins. A tray, anything. After that, I shan’t disturb you or the servants further tonight. I only need Thomas.’

Tripp stiffened as Archer suspected he might.

‘Once again, Tripp, nothing can replace you. I ask for Thomas to save you the indignities I ask of him, all of which, I must add, is for the benefit of the likes of Mr Hawkins and the rest. Besides, I would rather eat into his time than yours, else who would run the house?’

Flattery always worked with Tripp. He was a shallow man.

‘Whatever you say, Sir.’ Tripp nodded once and stepped back.

Archer grimaced at his reflection. ‘Is the high collar and cravat too much?’ he asked

‘Not at all, Sir.’

He tugged his waistcoat and raised his chin. He had shaved closely and trimmed his sideburns, a new style from Paris that Lady Marshall had suggested. His father insisted he wore a moustache, thus he had shaved it off the day after he died and was glad to be free of both. As soon as Tripp left him alone, he would take off the jacket he had so carefully groomed and go about in his shirtsleeves. Had he not already been dead, his father would have died at the outrage.

He dismissed Tripp and, a moment later, the jacket. He had returned from the East End with news, and it was to that which he turned his attention. Not all of what he had to tell Silas that night was pleasant, some of it, he might not believe, but whatever happened next, Archer was bound to the man, and there was much to be explained.

He left his room and looked at the opposite door as he closed his own. It had been his nursery and was still his favourite bedroom. Like the others on this floor, it had its own bathroom, dressing room and sitting room, and its only drawback was being at the back of the house. It was quieter, being away from the road, but there was less light in the mornings. For all its faults and memories, he hoped Silas liked it. The suite was to be his for as long as he wanted it, but how that was going to work, Archer wasn’t sure.

He approached the stairs with trepidation, anxiety about what he had to say growing steadily within. His ancestors looked down on him from their oil-painted eternity as he descended beneath their thunderous glares. Forgetting that he had ordered Silas’ clothes burned, he prepared himself to find a street-rat in his drawing room. An undernourished young man in ill-fitting, second-hand trousers and a jacket too big, wearing boots with string laces. He crossed the hall, relieved to see the drawing room doors closed. He paused there, gathering his thoughts and told himself not to overreact when he saw what state Silas was in, but to stay calm, keep his wits, offer support, yet not let his love for the man cloud his judgement. What he had to tell Silas was not going to make for a comfortable evening, and once he knew the truth, he may well be lost to Archer forever.

The glass doorknobs were cold in his hands as he turned them, taking a deep breath before entering.

‘Oh!’ he said, halting in his tracks. ‘Can I help you?’

His train of thought was derailed by the sight of a man in a blue suit, facing the opposite wall. He had his back to Archer and was looking up at one of the landscapes. His hair was smoothed over to one side and its cut, along with the dark suit, suggested he was a messenger.

Archer’s heart leapt. Had it arrived?

Any notion that this stranger had brought his long-awaited telegram evaporated when the gentleman turned. His head dropped and a long fringe, until then brushed back, slid gracefully like a curtain to shield part of his forehead. He adjusted his jacket which, Archer noticed, was slightly too long in the arms, and a pair of deep blue eyes looked up from beneath dark brows.

As if he needed further proof that he was hopelessly in love with this man, Silas’ joy at seeing him brought Archer to the edge of tears. Short of breath, he swallowed an involuntarily sob and growled the emotion from his throat.

‘Thomas and Lucy did it,’ Silas said, as if blaming them. ‘It’s his old suit from about ten years ago, he said. Bit long, but the woman in black stitched up the trousers. Lucy cut my hair.’

‘I never knew she had such talents.’ Archer had been right to thank his staff and made a mental note to do it again in a less hurried fashion.

They stared at each other in silence until Silas said, ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t say anything. You are perfect.’

‘Ain’t so bad…’ Silas checked himself. ‘You look well, My Lord,’ he said.

Hearing his title spoken snapped Archer back to the task ahead, and he reminded himself not to let his admiration for Silas dominate his thoughts. It was a futile hope.

‘Silas,’ he said. ‘I have news for you.’ Archer walked further into the room and met Silas halfway. ‘Andrej is safe,’ he said. ‘I have seen him.’

He thought Silas would crumple. He turned pale enough, and Archer was ready to help him to a chair. Instead, however, Silas threw his arms around Archer and buried his head in his chest. He hugged him and, not caring if anyone walked in, Archer hugged him back. Silas held him so tightly he had to beg him to let go, and when Silas did, he was crying tears of joy.

He wiped them away. ‘I got to stop doing that,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Come in here.’

‘How do you know?’

Archer led him into the study where the fire roared and poured them both a glass of Scotch. His hangover was long forgotten, but he didn’t need another one and added plenty of soda. Silas drank his neat, banging the glass on a table before downing it in one in a tribute to Fecker.

‘How do you know?’ he repeated when he had stopped coughing.

‘Quite straightforward actually.’ Archer sat on the couch where eight hours earlier he had laid Silas, and invited him to sit beside him. Once Silas was comfortable, and they faced each other, he continued his story.

‘I asked Quill where a body would be taken in such circumstances, and he put me in touch with the medical examiner working with the Greychurch coroner. I took the trap…’

‘Were you alright? Who went with you?’

‘Calmly, Silas.’ Archer patted his leg, but the gesture felt effeminate, and he rested his arm across the back of the couch instead. ‘I went in daylight and semi-disguise. Actually, I was surprised to see how many gentry were in the area.’

‘Yeah,’ Silas complained. ‘They come in for a gawp during the day. We call them tourists.’

‘That’s somewhat common,’ Archer said. ‘I mean them, not you. How hypocritical. Anyway… The coroner, on seeing my letter from Quill and recognising my title if not my person, allowed me to see photographs of the unfortunate victims. Neither was Andrej. The first body had been claimed by the family and the second had been identified as an Arab.’ He tried to think. ‘I don’t remember the name, but it certainly wasn’t Andrej Borysko Yakiv Kolisnychenko.’

‘You remembered all that?’ Silas’ mouth was agape. ‘Bugger me.’

‘Of course,’ Archer said. ‘I know how important he is to you.’ He moved on, fearful of becoming oversentimental. ‘Distressing though it was to be in the presence of two lives so brutally and pointlessly lost, I was relieved at the news. The coroner had no idea where I might find Andrej, of course, there was no reason he should, so I asked Quill’s friend. He had been working like a dog all morning, he told me. There was quite some disturbance last night, and several men were injured. I described Andrej and where I had last seen him, and this chap sent out a couple of messages. When they finally returned, one boy arrived with news that a man fitting Andrej’s description had been found outside the church abutting Bishop’s Square…’

He held up his palm to prevent Silas from interrupting.

‘He is alive,’ he said. ‘But he did suffer an attack and needs medical care for a few days.’

Silas became animated. ‘How’s he going to get that? I could take that five pounds! Where is he?’

‘Calmly, Silas.’ Archer had to laugh, the man’s affection was not only worn on his sleeve but on his face where it displayed as juvenile concern. ‘I took the trap to Lane End and the hospital for the poor where, after some outrage from the administrator and some name dropping from me, we negotiated his release. Not into my care, that is not possible yet, but I had him taken to the hospital of Saint Mary. My mother, Lady Clearwater, is a trustee.

‘I stopped by the medical examiner on my way home to thank him with a bottle of malt and engaged him to tend Andrej. He assured me he would go directly he was free of his practice. So, Andrej is being cared for and will be brought here in time.’

‘I still don’t know what to say.’

‘And I don’t know what else to tell you.’ Archer let his arm drop to rest half on the cushion and half on Silas’ shoulder. ‘Except to apologise for my outburst last night. I didn’t mean to frighten you, or make you hate me, or whatever it was that set you running like a hound.’

‘It was a lot of things,’ Silas admitted and turned further towards Archer. He reached over his shoulder and took Archer’s extended arm, pulling it closer and holding his hand. ‘Lots to think of, See? But... Am I allowed to do this in a posh room?’

‘Only if you want to.’

Silas nodded. ‘I’m the one who needs to say sorry,’ he said. ‘What was I thinking? You could have ended up in a lot worse state than Fecks.’

‘Apparently, he fought off seven out of ten men before the police broke it up. They were so impressed, they didn’t run him in. At least, that was the doctor’s view.’

‘He’s a tough fecker is Fecker.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Wish I was.’ Silas pouted. ‘If I was, I’d have been able to tell you last night what I have to tell you now.’

The warmth suddenly left the room leaving rejection waiting icily in the wings.

‘Go on.’ Archer savoured the clutch of Silas’ hand while he could.

‘I was… It was like being slogged in the teeth by an Irish navvy,’ Silas said. ‘And that hurts, believe me. What you said didn’t hurt, I don’t mean that, but it was a shock.’ Silas rested his free hand on Archer’s thigh causing the blood to rush to his ears as his pulse quickened. ‘Can I do this?’ Silas asked.

‘You may.’

‘The thing is, Archie… Oh, can I…?

‘Silas, just say it and worry about the etiquette later.’

‘Sorry. It’s all new to me.’ He took a breath. ‘Thing is, no-one’s ever said what you said. I’ve never heard it before, and, ’cos I have to be honest, I don’t see how you can. So, I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘You mean, you are unable to return my affection?’

‘I only know one way.’

Silas’ hand slid towards Archer’s crotch, but the viscount prevented its journey.

‘That’s not why you are here.’

‘Why am I here?’ Silas whispered. He looked up at Archer with hopeful eyes.

‘You know,’ Archer said. ‘I told you last night.’

‘And I showed you how I lived, and you know what I’ve done. I’m not some gentleman, educated and untouched. I don’t know about the world you live in, but you’ve seen mine. How…?’

‘I don’t know how it happened.’ Archer’s voice was hoarse. ‘But it did. I don’t care what’s gone before except when it causes you pain. I don’t give a damn about where you come from except to understand you more. What I do care about is you, and if you aren’t comfortable here in any way, if this is not for you, then you say so, and you leave. I won’t have you playact and suffer on my account. You know how I feel, and if it’s not for you, then I would rather see you leave free than stay here trapped.’

‘You think enough of me to let me go?’

‘You are your own man, Silas Hawkins, but for my part, I would like us to be together, as much as that is possible in this world, and I have said why. I am in love…’

His words were smothered by Silas’ lips. Soft but driven, they met Archer’s with a passion he had never experienced, and he responded in a way he never thought possible.

He pulled Silas to him, freeing his hand which, instead of moving to his crotch, flew to Archer’s face. Silas held him, pulled away beaming, searching Archer in amazement for a second before their lips locked again. Archer slid back, dragging the youth on top of him and their legs battled as their arms fumbled until they were wrapped together as closely as breathing would allow, Silas bearing down with unstoppable, wonderful kisses.

Their cocks rubbed together, but were left untouched, their hands were too busily employed in each other’s hair, gripping shoulders, exploring.

Gradually, their tongues slowed, their breathing calmed, and their fingers released. Silas, resting weightlessly on Archer’s chest, bit his bottom lip as if he had been caught doing something naughty.

‘Yes, you are allowed to do that too,’ Archer smiled. ‘If you really mean it.’

Silas nodded silently.

‘You can’t say it, can you?’ Archer teased.

It was as if in that brief moment of passion, he had come to understand Silas completely.

Silas shook his head.

As much as Archer longed to hear the words, he was not going to force Silas to say them.

‘But you would if you could?’

Silas nodded. ‘I will when I can, but for now, will you just believe me?’

‘I will.’

They were so engrossed in each other’s arms and kisses, Thomas had to cough loudly three times before they realised he was waiting at the door.