Thirty-One

Even dressed in Thomas’ clothes, Archer felt better off than those around him as he waited for Silas. The sights he had seen reinforced his belief that he was right to do something for the East End. His mother had the hospital as her pet project, and Archer would advance his work with the street boys, though they were no pets. The entrance hall echoed with voices, foreign accents and languages, men shouting, women complaining, babies screaming, it was a hell on earth, but it was a hell that at least offered something. The city was a mess, with the privileged on one side of a gaping chasm, their backs to the destitute on the other. There was not much in the middle apart from hard-working people who had no choice but to struggle.

He had been fortunate, and when he saw three young men approaching him along the dimly lit green corridor lined with the sick and dying, he understood how far his fortune extended beyond wealth and privilege. A tall Russian with a flapping greatcoat strode purposefully, daring anyone to cross his path. Beside him, Thomas, his hair the colour of sunrise and his face as serious as a storm, and Silas, hands in pockets, head down, eyes up, his grin broadening with every step. Archer would find a way to repay their loyalty and friendship.

Silas ran to him and, not caring who saw, embraced him hard and long, muttering through sniffles. ‘You’re a bloody eejit, you know that? A fecking eejit.’

Archer nuzzled into his ear and kissed his neck. ‘I am so sorry I got you involved in this.’

It had never felt so good to hold someone. He had never been so relieved or wanted, and he was determined to show Silas how much he meant, how much he was needed.

He took Fecker’s large hand in his and pumped it. ‘Good to see you, Andrej,’ he said. ‘I hope they treated you well.’

Fecker laughed. ‘Da, they like me,’ he said, but his meaning was clear. ‘They didn’t kill me.’

‘And Tom.’ Archer put his hand to Thomas’ face. His freckled nose wrinkled, and he blushed with mild embarrassment. There was no need to say more.

‘The trap is in the yard,’ Thomas said. ‘If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll bring it around.’

Silas stood beside Archer, with Fecker on his other side as if they were his bodyguards, and they waited for Thomas on the steps as dusk began to gather overhead. Boys wheeled barrows, singing as they went while respectable looking men in suits discussed the day’s business as they passed. Across the road, a group of children sat in a line, hands out, heads down, women carried baskets of laundry from one door to another, and a lamplighter attended his duties. There was no sign of the nightly fog, but it would come. The days had warmed, and the cold snap of the previous week had passed. Autumn would become winter before long. Hopefully, it would bring no more senseless murders, but, with no news of Quill, only time would tell.

It was on the ride home, with Fecker driving and Thomas next to him that, in the back, Archer finally asked Silas to explain what had happened.

‘We found you by the river,’ he said, leaning in, the two of them holding hands beneath a rug. ‘Tommy wanted me to go and fetch his horse, but I don’t know how to handle one of those things, so I stayed with you while he ran for the trap. I thought you were dead, and I can’t tell you how that felt, but you were breathing. You came round for a while… I reckon you’d hit your head when you fell…’

‘I did. On Quill.’ Archer had a lump on his forehead. ‘I was lucky he broke water first.’

‘Yeah, well, you came round, and I was able to get you up from the shore and onto the road, but you collapsed again…’

‘You must have been terrified. He cut your chin.’ Archer tried to touch the stitches, but Silas pulled away.

‘Wasn’t my neck, though. He wasn’t after me.’

‘I used you.’ Archer mumbled, wretched at the thought.

‘Yeah, well, you get used to that in my line of work.’

‘Silas!’

‘I’m making a joke of it, Archie, ’cos it’s the only way I know how to stop myself going out of my head.’

‘He was sane one day and mad the next…’

‘Yeah, alright. Who’s telling this?’

‘Sorry.’

Silas nudged him gently in the ribs. ‘I hope I have a scar like yours,’ he said.

‘What an eccentric ambition.’

‘Whole bloody thing’s mad, ask me. Anyhow… Thomas took his time ’cos the trap was a way off, and there was all kinds of hell going on. I’ve never burned down a storehouse before.’

‘I think we’ll keep that to ourselves.’

‘Right. We got you to the hospital, such as it is, and no offence to your mam, and after that, I don’t remember much. When I woke up, I was in bed with you… No, don’t look like that. You were under the covers, and I was on top. Thomas said that I refused to leave and caused a scene, but, well, that’s me ain’t it? I don’t remember that bit either, it was nearly dawn though. Next thing was last night, and I woke up in the same room as Fecks. They must have knocked me out to get me there.’

Thomas, who was listening, turned. ‘Markland said they had to pull him off you. He was embarrassing the nurses.’

Archer imagined the scene and found it more than comforting. He squeezed Silas’ hand.

‘Alright, Tommy,’ Silas complained. ‘I was in no state…’

‘Go on,’ Archer said, and Thomas faced the road.

‘That was it, really,’ Silas said. ‘I woke up this morning and was just like you see me now, except dirtier. I slipped into the yard and helped myself to their tap to wash my face. Tommy brought us some clothes and paid the doctor…’

‘Thomas did?’

‘Yeah. Had to. Otherwise, we’d get no attention.’

‘That’s not how it should work.’ He tapped Thomas on the back. ‘They shouldn’t have charged you, Tom. I’ll repay you. Was it reported?’

‘That’s a bit steep, they were only doing their job, and doctors have to be paid.’

‘No, about Quill.’

‘Not that I’ve seen,’ Thomas said, speaking over his shoulder. ‘The newspapers were full of the fire. There was nothing about the Ripper for a change.’

‘How come it was your mate?’ Silas asked. ‘Or was it?’

‘It was,’ Archer confirmed. ‘Took me right off my feet. Benji? It didn’t add up at first, but if I think about it, it makes sense.’

‘Sense?’ Silas said. ‘What sense?’

Although his head was thumping, Archer was able to put some of the broken images together to form a picture.

‘Quill and I went through Dartmouth together,’ he said. ‘He was a midshipman with Harrington under the command of my brother. He said something in his madness up there on the gantry about him never being the one to have the… What was it?’ The more he thought, the more nausea troubled him, and the harder it was to remember. ‘Something about him… I had the impression that he was jealous. It’s a blur.’

‘You mean, you got the man he wanted.’ Silas was more alert than the viscount. ‘A jealous rage?’ He said, incredulously. ‘Is that a reason to gut six boys? Sick fucker.’

‘Da?’

‘Fucker, not Fecker, you fecker.’ Silas shoved him in the back. He was his usual self, apparently unaffected by what he had been through. ‘Begging Your Lordship’s pardon,’ he added with more than a hint of cheek.

Archer put his arm around his shoulder and drew him closer. They had left Greychurch and were following the river beneath the embankment lights.

‘Why he did it is complete lunacy,’ Archer said. ‘But those clues, the street names? They meant the same to me as they would have to my brother and, of course, the third man, Quill, also enraptured by the boy. Harrington, Simon, Lucky… I should have seen it earlier. And then the “lessening” of time between each one…? Quill has far more rationality about him than my brother. I had lunch with the man.’ The thought increased his queasiness. ‘Almost told him my suspicions. I even let him treat you in my bedroom.’

‘Oi.’ Silas gripped Archer’s knee hard, but his voice was soft. ‘Shush, Archie. Don’t think about it now. It’s happened. You’ve solved it, you did what you could. I doubt we’ll be hearing more from him. People will be arguing for years over who he is. Was.’

‘There’s been no news at all?’

‘No. But there ain’t been no more deaths either.’

‘Yet.’

‘Stop it, Archie. You’re upsetting yourself.’

‘But, I need to rationalise.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Silas was firm. ‘Not now. You need to rest.’

‘I need to take care of you.’

‘With all due respect,’ Silas said. ‘Thirteen years in the navy ain’t nothing compared to four years on the streets. I can look after both of us.’

‘You don’t understand.’ Archer twisted on the seat, facing Silas as best as his aching back would allow. ‘I need to take care of you, Silas. Otherwise, what else have I got in my life?’

It was a touching but sad statement. ‘Is that your way of saying you love me?’

‘One of them, I suppose.’

Silas rested his head on the viscount’s arm, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. Archer longed to hear the words Silas seemed unable to say, but after all else he had asked of the man, he was prepared to wait.

They arrived at Clearwater House to find themselves in a procession of carriages, their lanterns barely needed in the spill of the lights blazing from Lady Marshall’s house.

‘Her Ladyship is throwing a party,’ Archer observed. ‘At least that will distract attention from our arrival.’

He climbed from the trap aware that he was dressed in a manner not at all suitable to enter his own house, but after everything he had experienced in the past few days, he didn’t give a damn. Nor was he concerned that he might be seen entering with Silas. He was conscious, however, that should Lady Marshall see the costume her own pet project Silas now wore, she would want to know why his ‘secretary’ was not suitably attired. That would lead to more questions and, in a way, he was looking forward to relating the events to her, but that, along with many other things, was for a much later day. Right at that moment, he needed a bath to cleanse his body and time alone with Silas to wash away the pain.

‘Tom?’ he said. ‘Would you stable Emma and show Mr Kolisnychencko to the coach house?’

‘Just how do you remember his name?’ Silas gawped.

Archer took no notice. It was a skill he had learned at prep school where most of his other manners had been whipped into him. ‘And tell Mrs Flintwich we will dine at eight. Informally, but in the dining room. And…’ he glanced sideways at Silas, ‘ Fecker will join us if he would like.’

‘Of course, My Lord.’ The master and servant roles were back in place.

‘I would like you to join us, Tom, but… You understand.’

‘I do.’

‘Spasibo,’ Fecker grunted, and the trap moved off.

Archer and Silas entered the hall to find Tripp bearing down on them from the turn of the stairs. He reminded Archer of an eagle on a church lectern. It was his expression and his nose rather than any regal bearing and, on seeing him, a cold shock of realisation ran through his veins. He was, once again, Lord Clearwater.

‘We have been concerned, My Lord,’ Tripp announced, descending. ‘Good evening, Mr Hawkins.’ The eagle screwed up its beak.

‘Evening Tripp.’ Archer headed directly for the staircase, and Silas followed. ‘Most unexpected delay. Dinner at eight. We shall be three.’

‘Perhaps I should lay out some suitable attire…’

‘No, thank you, Tripp. I can manage. The house looks fine, by the way, well done.’

It never hurt to compliment the butler, even if the house looked exactly as it always did and that was thanks to the maids.

‘There is a matter which requires Your Lordship’s most urgent attention,’ Tripp said, automatically following the viscount.

‘There always is, Tripp,’ Archer replied. ‘But we are not to be disturbed.’

‘But, if I may…’

‘You mayn’t.’ Archer stopped on the turn, ensuring he was at least two steps higher than his servant, so he could look down on him for a change. ‘Not yet, at least. Apologies, Tripp, but we have had a trying time, as you might see. Nothing for you to worry about. Dinner at eight. Mr Hawkins’ Ukrainian friend will be joining us. He is staying in the coach house. I will dress myself. Oh, and give Thomas the night off.’

‘Sir, it is on that matter…’

‘Later, Mr Tripp. Later.’

Archer only used the Mr to indicate when he was not interested, and the butler understood. He said no more as Archer and Silas headed towards their rooms. There, Archer waited for the sound of the servants’ door to close before whispering to Silas.

‘This is totally inappropriate,’ he said. ‘But I just want to get you in my bed and do everything we did the other night.’

‘And as many times?’

‘If I have the strength.’

He opened his door behind his back.

‘I really need to wash properly,’ Silas said, opening his arms and showing Archer the full extent of his second-hand, pauper clothes.

Archer did the same. ‘Me and you both. I have an idea.’

With that, he pulled Silas into his room and slammed the door.

The bath was deep and long. Made of enamelled iron and standing on its own four feet, it had shells for soap rests and a large brass contraption that, when lifted, allowed the water to escape. The taps were connected to copper pipes which ran to the wall and disappeared into the ceiling above. The water was hot, and tingled Silas’ skin as he sank as low as he dared. He was safe, though. Archer sat behind him with his arms around his waist, and Silas rested on the viscount’s chest.

‘Never done this before,’ he said. ‘It’s a bigger bath than the one in my room.’ He held Archer’s legs and massaged his calf muscles. ‘But then, everything about you is bigger.’

‘Will you be happy living here?’ Archer asked.

He splashed water onto Silas’ chest and ran his palms across his skin.

‘Are you touched?’ Silas laughed. ‘Of course I bloody will.’

‘You won’t feel like a kept man? A servant? Even though I will have to speak to you as one from time to time?’

‘No. I get how it is, Archie. How it must be. And no. I won’t feel kept. Even if I do, time to time, it won’t take much to remind myself what I got and tell myself not to be so ungrateful. I mean, look! Taps have hot water and are inside. When I was growing up, we had nothing.’ He laughed and put Archer’s hands over his cock. ‘Luckily, I was a boy, so I had something to play with.’

‘You are incorrigible,’ Archer snickered. ‘But, seriously, if you change your mind. If something happens between us to turn you against me…’

‘That ain’t never going to happen.’

‘But if it does, you will tell me? It’s all I ask. Honesty.’

‘Yeah, I will.’

Archer’s hand held Silas’ stiff cock. ‘I love you for more than this,’ he said. ‘You do understand?’

Silas knew what Archer wanted to hear and he felt the same way, but the time was still not right to admit it aloud. He had fallen for the viscount the moment he saw him. He understood that and how he had no control over the passion he ignited. He had meant it when he said he would do anything for Archer, in the same way as he would do anything for Fecks, and now, probably Thomas. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to say, ‘I love you,’ it was because if he said it aloud, he would become someone else. He would belong to another man. He would have what he always wanted. So what was wrong?

He didn’t understand his reticence until Archer left his cock alone.

‘You’re not a street-rat any longer,’ he said. ‘You are the respectable Silas Hawkins, secretary to The Viscount Clearwater and lover of Archer Riddington. Does that suit you?’

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Everything he had desired and hoped for, those impossible dreams he had lived while hanging his body from a rope in Molly’s dosshouse, or leading a trick to a back alley for a sixpence, they had come true. But what came next?

‘It will,’ he answered, and heeding Archer’s insistence on honesty, explained himself. ‘I just ain’t sure if I can be what you want me to be. I’m used to different things, another way of life. I don’t even have the training your maids have got. I called the Lady next door a whore’s Madam and a schoolhouse Miss. I groped your footman and led him on. It’s how I am, and you’re going to think that’s what I’m here for. I’m going to be taking money off you for being around your house doing… I don’t even know what a secretary does. I only know what a renter does. I can’t ride a horse, I can only ride a cock.’

He was gathering momentum as if the pain and trauma of the last couple of days was suddenly finding its release. ‘I can’t drive a carriage,’ he babbled, and his eyes began to water. ‘I don’t know how to dress in anything other than what I find in the street, and I don’t know how to behave in front of your fancy friends. Not even your staff. I speak my mind before I think, I’ve hardly been to school.’ He was crying, and he let it happen. ‘I’m going to let you down, or get you in trouble, say the wrong thing. They’ll find out what I am, and it’ll come down on your head…’

‘Shush, it’s alright.’

Archer’s arms were strong, protecting him, and he knew they always would, but the bath water was turning cold, and they were surrounded by the scum of his life. His former life, if he could only accept that someone as kind and gentle, as passionate and intelligent as Archer could love him for what he was.

‘But it ain’t,’ he sobbed. ‘I ain’t worthy of a man like you.’

Water splashed and he slipped on the enamel as Archer turned him until Silas was lying on him, their chests pressed together and their faces inches apart. Archer held his head, lifting it and looking at him with mahogany eyes as sweet as melted chocolate.

‘I don’t care about any of those things,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t…’ He stopped and thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he corrected himself. ‘I do. I do care about where you come from, what you’ve done, what I am asking of you and everything you have said. I care about every part of you, everything you have endured and everything you say. How could I not? You know so much more of the world and our parts in it than I ever will. What I don’t care about is what the world thinks about me. I’m strong enough to not let it matter, and so are you. But what I care about most is that you are happy, and if you being with me is not bringing you happiness, then I care enough about you to let you go.’

Silas was unable to stop the tears. He rested his head on Archer’s chest, his own heaving, and forced his arms around the man’s broad back. He wasn’t crying because he felt trapped or used and could see no way out of it; Archer had given him that escape. He was crying because the happiness was overwhelming.

Archer kissed the top of his head and held it to his chest. Silas felt his heart beat a calm, steady rhythm as the viscount waited for the tears to subside, and when they had, he lifted Silas’ head again and kissed him.

‘I shan’t ask you to say it,’ the viscount said. ‘I don’t expect you to, and I cannot demand it as I can demand most other things in my life. I have no right to your love and if mine is not reciprocated, then I understand, but please, may I ask one thing?’

Silas nodded silently.

‘That I will always have your friendship?’

Swallowing more tears, Silas struggled to his knees. Steadying himself on the edge of the bath, he got to his feet with water cascading over his body. He stood before Archer naked, a man too thin, a street boy too experienced in sex, but an innocent in love.

He stepped from the bath under Archer’s concerned gaze, but didn’t explain himself as he offered his hand. Archer took it, rose and, dripping, allowed himself to be led to the bedroom.

There, they made love. It was more than sex and, unlike the time before, Silas let Archer make the decisions and lead the way. He had nothing to offer but himself, and Archer was welcome to all of it.

When they finished, gasping and sweat-soaked, Silas on his back, and Archer kneeling between his legs, the viscount ran a finger over Silas’ stomach, collecting a drop of the man’s cum. He put it on his tongue, closed his lips around his finger and licked it clean. Silas, red-faced and panting, collecting the same from the tip of Archer’s cock and copied his action.

‘You see?’ Archer whispered, breathless. ‘It doesn’t matter who we are, we taste the same.’

A gong rang out a floor below.

‘What the…?’

‘Dinner is served, Mr Hawkins,’ Archer grinned.

‘Don’t know if I can,’ Silas leered. ‘I’m full up.’

‘You better get used to it.’ Archer pulled him to sit in his lap in one deft movement that wiped the cheeky smirk from Silas’ face. ‘That was just hors-d’oeuvres.’