by L. V. Lloyd
“Is it?” Jonathan was disbelieving. “But what about—”
D’Anvers cut him off before he could finish. “That’s all. Whatever else you may have imagined.” D’Anvers dropped his eyes for a moment, looking down to brush a speck of mud off his coat.
So, thought Jonathan, D’Anvers wanted to pretend nothing happened between them, that he hadn’t forced a kiss on him in this very room. He wanted more than a vague promise. “You’ll give me your word on it? Nothing else?”
D’Anvers frowned, a haughty expression on his face. “I said so, didn’t I?”
“Your word, my lord!” Jonathan was adamant. “Your word as a gentleman.”
D’Anvers’ eyes narrowed and Jonathan swallowed, wondering if he had pushed him too far.
Then, “Very well, you have my word on it.” At least, while Harry is still alive, D’Anvers added, silently.
Jonathan was just about to give a relieved sigh, when his lordship continued smoothly, “On the condition that you give me your word not to try and leave here again, without my permission.”
Chapter Eight
The two men stared at each other for a long time, trying to take each other’s measure, wondering if they could trust each other’s word, even if it was given.
Jonathan’s eyes were the bright blue of the sky at midday and his black locks framed his forehead, emphasising the blue white pallor of his skin. His curved lips were pinched together in a tight line as he stared back, his gaze wide and challenging.
Lord D’Anvers dropped his eyes first, trying to hide the hot flush of desire he felt rising through his body as he looked at Jonathan, standing there defying him. He took a couple of slow breaths. Much as a wild part of him longed to make Jonathan his prisoner here, to be totally at his mercy, he knew it was just a foolish dream. They weren’t living in the middle ages! Jonathan would have friends, family who would enquire about him if he disappeared for too long.
No, much more sensible to stick to his plan and keep him at arm’s length. For as long as he could.
Jonathan felt as if he were frozen to the spot. Something about that look in D’Anvers eyes before he had dropped them, had his pulse fluttering. He knew he wasn’t safe there, he knew he should leave again, at the first opportunity. Why was he hesitating?
“Who is the man in the west wing?” he asked suddenly, unwittingly bringing D’Anvers back to earth with a crash. Jonathan wanted an answer to that, before he made any sort of promise.
At first, he thought D’Anvers wasn’t going to tell him. A flash of pain crossed his face and his lips tightened, before his expression took on its habitual closed, shuttered look.
Jonathan didn’t know why that should tug at his heart strings, after all, he had never met a man less in need of sympathy than D’Anvers, but it did.
D’Anvers cleared his throat. “His name is Harry Benton. He was Evelyn’s tutor, until he got ill. I promised to look after him, and I have, but when the madness started, he had to be kept away from Evelyn, from everyone.”
“Everyone except you, and the maid, Florrie. She’s his nurse, isn’t she?” guessed Jonathan. That would explain the servant’s visits to the west wing.
“Yes.”
It was evident to Jonathan that Harry had been more to D’Anvers than his son’s tutor, but he held his tongue. D’Anvers was working hard to pretend nothing had happened between them, it wouldn’t help either of them to put his suspicions into words.
“I agree then. I give you my word not to leave here without asking your permission.” Jonathan could only hope he wasn’t making a dreadful mistake.
The next morning, it was as if nothing had happened. Jonathan came down to breakfast and was soon joined by Evelyn, who enquired politely if his headache was feeling better now. It was obvious that the boy knew nothing of what had transpired.
Jonathan murmured some appropriate response, grateful that Lord D’Anvers had apparently eaten already and left the house early. The next few days passed smoothly enough as they slipped back into their old routine; Jonathan and Evelyn spending their days studying, and only seeing Lord D’Anvers at the evening meal. After a brief hesitation, Jonathan resumed his practice of introducing a topic of conversation at dinner and his lordship joined in, quite in his old manner.
After a couple of weeks, Jonathan began to believe that perhaps it was possible to pretend nothing had happened.
Chapter Nine
The days lengthened into summer, heat lying over the grounds in a golden haze, turning the lawns into a meadow and ripening the wheat in the fields. On one particularly hot afternoon, Evelyn pleaded with Jonathan to swim with him in the river which wound its way along the bottom of the property.
“There’s a swimming hole, I used to go there with Harry,” Evelyn told him.
Jonathan was feeling hot and sweaty. It sounded an excellent idea. He could see no harm in it, as long as he was careful not to let Evelyn over-exert himself or take a chill. The pool was a deeper part of the river, with a meadow on one side and a small stand of trees on the other. They stripped off in the shade and plunged into the clear cold water which swirled over brown stones on the river bottom. The water came halfway up to Jonathan’s chest and he made sure to keep a watchful eye on Evelyn who was paddling around, rather like a dog, with a joyful grin on his face.
“What are you doing?” A harsh voice broke into their idyll.
Jonathan had been concentrating on Evelyn, and had completely failed to hear the sound of his lordship approaching. D’Anvers stood there now on the bank, dressed in black; his only concession to the heat, the fact that his coat was unbuttoned, revealing the white shirt he wore beneath.
“Swimming, my lord,” returned Jonathan, trying hard not to sound defensive. “We are being most careful. Evelyn won’t come to any harm.”
Lord D’Anvers frowned for a moment, and then smiled. “It does look nice and cool,” he said, pulling off his coat. “I’ll join you.”
What? It was absolutely the last thing he had expected.
Jonathan swallowed and spluttered as Evelyn chose that moment to splash a large armful of water in his face. Thank God! It gave him an excuse for his scarlet cheeks. Trying to look anywhere except at his lordship stripping off on the bank, Jonathan found his wayward eyes kept sneaking back for a quick peek.
D’Anvers had skin as white as his own, except for his forearms which were tanned brown. Long muscles rippled along his shoulders as he took off his shirt, revealing a matt of black curly hair which covered his chest and tapered down toward his trousers. The next time Jonathan looked back, D’Anvers was standing tall and naked. Evidently he had no use for the new custom of wearing cotton drawers while swimming.
He caught Jonathan staring. His nostrils flared for a second before he plunged head first into the pool, splashing all of them with water. He came up laughing, aware that much as he could have wished him a thousand miles away at that particular moment, Evelyn was present.
To Jonathan’s chagrin, D’Anvers appeared totally unfazed by the whole episode. He swam and splashed just as any man would, horse playing with his son, betraying by neither look nor touch that he had any inappropriate designs on the tutor. It seemed Jonathan was the only one who felt uncomfortable, who was dreading the moment that he would have to get out of the pool in front of the other man, cotton drawers or no cotton drawers.
Eventually he saw that Evelyn was looking a trifle blue around the lips. “Time to get out now,” he told him. Smiling, he over-rode the boy’s half-hearted protests and followed him to the river bank. He gave him a heave up, then climbed out himself, pretending that he wasn’t feeling a scalding hot gaze, staring right through the thin wet cotton at his buttocks.
He was very careful not to let his eyes stray back to the pool as he and Evelyn dressed hurriedly, cold now that they were out of the water.
Only when he was fully dressed, did he glance back at D’Anvers in the pool, to find him, eyes closed, coming up from a div
e. Fool, he chastised himself, you probably imagined the whole thing.
“I’ll take Evelyn into the house for a hot drink,” he told his lordship. “Will we see you tonight, at dinner, my lord?”
“I expect so.”
D’Anvers waited until they were both out of sight before getting out of the pool. Jonathan had rather a delicious bottom; he could hardly wait to get his hands on it.
Chapter Ten
That night, thunder woke Jonathan from a restless sleep. He lay awake, listening for a while then gradually his eyes closed. He was just drifting off when he heard the sound of a floorboard creaking. Someone was in his room. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes and saw a dark shadow coming toward him.
“Jonathan! Are you awake?” he recognised D’Anvers’ voice instantly, despite the harsh tones.
“What’s the matter?” He knew instinctively that this was no amorous visit. There was something wrong.
“Fire! There’s a fire on the top floor. Can you get Evelyn out? I’m going up to get Harry.” Waiting only to be certain Jonathan had understood, his lordship disappeared again.
Now Jonathan could smell the smoke himself. A flash of lightning lit his room for a second. From somewhere in the house, someone started screaming.
Fire!
Evelyn! Jonathan threw back the covers and pulled on his breeches, cramming his feet straight into his boots. He pulled a blanket off the bed and flung the pitcher of water over it, then, holding it tightly bundled in his arms, he went out. Smoke filled the corridor, swirling into the room he had just left. Hastily he shut the door and strode toward Evelyn’s chamber, his eyes squinting against the smoke. He couldn’t see any flames but he knew smoke could be just as dangerous. He had to find Evelyn and get him out to safety.
Jonathan fumbled for the door handle, it was hard to see anything at all now, but his groping hand found it and pushed the door open. “Evelyn!” he tried to shout but the smoke caught in his lungs and he coughed. Once again, he pulled the door shut behind him, trying to prevent the fire from spreading, and felt his way toward the single bed. Evelyn was sitting up, coughing.
“It’s me, Jonathan,” he said, as he wrapped the damp blanket around the boy and picked him up in his arms. “We’re getting out. Put your arms around my neck and don’t let go!” He opened the door again and pushed through the heat and smoke, making for the stairs as fast as he could, gripping Evelyn tightly, his left arm deliberately brushing along the wall to guide their way. He scarcely had time to wonder how Lord D’Anvers thought he could possibly get up to Harry, before all his effort was concentrated on getting himself and Evelyn outside. He closed his eyes to slits, he could see nothing in the smoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to shut them completely; a primitive part of his brain insisted he had to face the enemy with open eyes. Red embers floated in the air, the top floor must be ablaze. He could only hope it wouldn’t collapse on them.
At last! His left arm felt the wall fall away to be replaced by a banister. Jonathan only just stopped himself from stumbling over the top stair as he felt his way downwards as fast as he could. The air was a little clearer by the time they reached the first floor, and he was able to move faster to get down the last staircase.
He dashed out the front door, and carried Evelyn over to where the maids stood, huddled together. Florrie was staring anxiously upward, wringing her hands. The male servants were already strung out in a line, carrying buckets of water from the well to throw on the house. He put Evelyn on his feet.
“Are you all right?”
Evelyn tried to speak and coughed. “C-cold.” he stuttered. He was dressed in a thin nightshirt, the blanket still around his shoulders.
The wet blanket which had been so helpful during the fire was now the worst thing he could be wearing. Jonathan took off his own jacket, the black one he had snatched up to protect his back from the flames, and wrapped it round Evelyn instead.
He gripped the housekeeper, Mrs Maitland, by the arm to get her attention. “Is everyone out?” he asked urgently. “His lordship?” He stared at the men fighting the fire but he couldn’t see him.
“He’s still inside, Mr Winter.” The woman looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
Jonathan stared up at the building. Flames flickered inside the windows of the top floor, but it seemed to Jonathan that there was still time, the fire hadn’t spread as far as he had feared. It appeared as if it was presently confined to the west wing.
Perhaps he could still get up there and help D’Anvers to bring Harry out.
He took a deep breath, picked up the damp blanket to cover his upper body and turned to Mrs Maitland. “Look after Master Evelyn, will you? I’m going back in for his lordship.”
Chapter Eleven
“Look!”
“Up there! On the roof!”
Jonathan was just about to enter the house when he heard the shouts.
He ran back and looked up to see a figure etched against the skyline, poised on the edge of the roof. That must be Harry, he thought, surely it was too short to be Lord D’Anvers. Where was Sebastian? Anxious about his lord’s safety, Jonathan didn’t even realise that he had thought of him by his given name. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed in the air. As he watched, a second figure climbed out of the window below and began to climb upwards over the ivy.
Thank God! thought Jonathan. Heart in his mouth, he watched as, hand over hand, D’Anvers climbed up and up until he reached the top and was able to haul himself onto the roof.
Jonathan smiled in relief, before he realised the danger. The roof was too high. If they jumped from there, they would be killed.
“It’s too high! Can you climb down?” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Lord D’Anvers looked down and saw Jonathan, wrapped in a blanket, staring up at him. He saw Evelyn, next to Mrs Maitland. The fear around his heart loosened a fraction. They were safe! Thank God! He could feel the heat already building beneath his boots. He looked across at Harry. His eyes were wild, his mouth open, panting from the exertion to get up there.
“Harry, it’s not safe up here. We have to climb down, all the way down to the ground. Do you understand?” D’Anvers searched his eyes desperately for a sign of sanity but all he could see was avid excitement, madness. Harry’s hands were red and inflamed. Burnt.
Until that moment, Lord D’Anvers had assumed the fire was an accident. Now he wondered, had Harry set the fire deliberately?
The heat from the roof beneath his feet was getting fiercer. He could see tendrils of smoke escaping upwards through hidden gaps in the slate, hear the crackle of flames in the room below.
Why were they hesitating? Jonathan bit his lip. It seemed Harry was being uncooperative. Did he even understand they were in danger? He knew D’Anvers wouldn’t want to leave him, but surely he would realise that he might have to, to save his own life? No, he thought despairingly, he wouldn’t, it seemed D’Anvers would save Harry or die trying.
Jonathan’s brain began working overtime, trying to come up with another solution. A ladder? He knew there were ladders in the barn, but he didn’t think they would reach anywhere near high enough. The barn!
“Get the hay wagon!” he shouted to the nearest manservant. The footman stared at him in confusion. “We’ll fill it with hay,” he explained excitedly. “If they can’t climb down, they’ll have to jump!”
Luckily, Jenkins the head groom, understood what he was getting at and hurried toward the barn, followed more slowly by James, who still wasn’t convinced the young tutor knew what he was talking about.
D’Anvers wasn’t sure if he could wait for help. Harry was standing too near the edge, waving his arms in agitation, showing no sign that his reason was returning. It seemed clear that the only way he was going to get Harry off the roof, was if he knocked him unconscious and carried him down. He looked again at the ivy. If he tied Harry’s arms around his neck, could he manage to climb down it? Would it bear their weight
?
He could see the men bringing the wagon out of the barn, but the old horse was fighting them every step of the way, terrified by the smoke and flames.
Whoosh! D’Anvers spun around to see a sheet of flame burst through part of the roof, sending the slate tiles crashing down into the room below. They couldn’t wait any longer, they had to go now!
“Harry! Come to me! I’ll help you down.” He reached out a hand, but Harry ignored it.
Harry had turned as well to face the fire. He was staring at the orange tongues leaping out of the hole in front of him, as if fascinated. The next moment, he stepped forward, without a sound, straight into the flames. And disappeared into the inferno below.
D’Anvers could do nothing except stare in horror. Harry! No!
A shout from below, broke the spell that had him fixed to the spot. “My lord! Come down, now!”
Ruthlessly, D’Anvers made himself push the image of Harry to the back of his mind. There would be time and enough to grieve later. Harry was beyond help, it wouldn’t do anyone any good if he were to die here too.
On the ground, Jenkins had taken hold of James’ neckcloth and made a bandage for the horse’s eyes. Once the terrified animal could no longer see the flames, they were able to lead the horse and wagon to the castle wall. The wagon, piled high with hay, was now in place against the wall. The horse was safely back in the barn—the last thing they needed was a panicking animal in the middle of everything else.
Very carefully, D’Anvers crouched down as near to the edge of the roof as he could get, dangled his legs over the side and grabbed a handful of ivy in each hand. Keeping his body as close to the wall as possible, he climbed ever so slowly down the ivy, hand by hand, inch by inch, his boots scrabbling for toeholds. Twigs and leaves scratched his face as his hands scrambled to find the thickest branches, but he scarcely noticed.
