‘Anytime, Tom,’ James said, opening the envelope. ‘I can pretend to be sick and bunk off.’
‘Excuse me?’ He had only been in the role a few days, but the butler took over. ‘Bunk off?’
James looked up from where he had been reading and the joy on his face morphed immediately into horror.
‘I won’t ever do that with you, Mr Payne,’ he said. ‘I meant it as an expression. My boss will let me have an hour or two for an interview, Mr Hicks is a decent chap.’
‘If,’ Thomas said, ‘you find yourself indisposed for a legitimate reason, then you tell me immediately. If you need time away for something personal, you do the same. If you are genuinely ill, the viscount will probably pay for the best treatment, but only if you are devoted to him. Try anything else, and you’ll be out on your backside.’ He hated himself for sounding like Tripp but understood how effective it was to be grand and supercilious. James blanched.
‘I’m really sorry, mate… Mr Payne,’ he said, flustered. ‘I am faithful when I find the right man… You know, employer. You can ask at the post office. I’ve been promoted twice in eleven years.’
‘Yes, very well, James.’ Thomas believed him, and not just because he found the man compelling and craved his friendship.
‘I’ll have to be called James, will I?’
‘Not necessarily. His Lordship used to call me Thomas and Tom, Tommy occasionally, and when we were young, a few other things which have no bearing on this discussion. He may choose to call you Jim, Jimmy, James or “You blithering idiot” depending on his mood. The thing you have to remember is that if you get the job and if you take it, your life will be completely different. In fact, your life, like mine, will belong to Viscount Clearwater for as long as we are lucky enough to be in his employ. Are you prepared for that?’
‘Hell yes,’ James said. ‘If I get this job, I’ll do anything for him, and you. I’d be so grateful.’
Thomas did wonder why, but only for a second. The meeting had gone better than he had hoped, but it was getting late and he had to report back.
‘Can you come tomorrow?’ he asked before finishing his beer.
‘I can come whenever you want, Sir,’ James said. ‘Do I call you Sir?’
‘Not usually. I can teach you all that and the other etiquette if you are successful. I need to go now,’ Thomas said, rising. ‘Come to Clearwater House at eleven tomorrow morning. Is that possible?’
James nodded enthusiastically, his broad smile had still not faded, and it was contagious. ‘As you wish, Mr Payne.’ He said, standing. He thought quickly and fetched Thomas’ hat and coat, offering them haphazardly with one hand.
‘And I will show you how to present a gentleman with his belongings,’ Thomas said, with comedic outrage. ‘And it’s not like that! You should only be an hour at the house, but if his Lordship requires you for longer, you will, I trust, be able to stay.’
‘You trust right, Mr Payne,’ James said. ‘Like I said, I’m happy to do whatever he or you wants of me.’
Thomas left the Crown and Anchor satisfied that he had achieved what he set out to do. James had given all the right answers, and Archer would be pleased. Thomas, of course, would be even happier if James moved into his life on a more permanent basis. He popped his hat onto his head and let his cloak flap open as he strode homewards, certain that Archer’s troubles would soon be at an end.
He might not have been so confident had he seen James return to the public bar where, ignoring his colleagues, he passed through to the yard.
Outside, he peeked around the gates and found Tripp waiting in the shadows just beyond the spill of lamplight. He was there most nights, waiting in case James discovered anything about Clearwater and his private life.
‘Well?’ he said, impatient and gruff. ‘Have you still not learnt anything yet?’
‘Hold on, mate,’ James replied, turning up his collar. ‘This was only the first time I’ve seen anyone, but I learned plenty, Mr Tripp. I’ve got things set up now and so well, my price just increased.’
Nine
The following morning, James turned into Bucks Avenue, a long thoroughfare lined by trees as tall as the mansions and took a moment to remind himself of the importance of what he was about to do. His mother’s fingers had become so bad she was unable to work, his father’s payments came irregularly, and his sister’s extra lessons had to be paid for. His post office job, although a good one, didn’t bring in enough income, and now he was twenty-five, he was expected to provide in his father’s absence. A position in service would not only provide sufficient income, but it would also mean less expense. His wage wouldn’t have to cover his food or uniforms, leaving him more to give to the family. It would still mean a lifetime of hard work. At least, it would have done were it not for Mr Tripp’s offer of fast cash for firm information. Information he would be able to gather easily if he could get himself appointed to the position he was about to be interviewed for.
The problem was Thomas.
Was he a man James wanted to be closer with? Definitely. Was he the man who could get him into the house so that James could earn Tripp’s money? For sure. Was it right for him to mix the two ambitions? No, but for the next two hours, he had to concentrate on securing his place in the house. That would knock down three skittles with the same ball; stability, Tripp’s payment, and Thomas.
First, though, he needed to impress the viscount. Without Tripp’s advice and inside knowledge, he wouldn’t have stood a chance, but the old butler had told him what to expect, what to say and what to ask. He had explained what Lord Clearwater liked in a servant and thus, forearmed, James had no cause for nervousness.
He crossed the road confidently and took the side alley to the mews, arriving at the tradesman’s entrance with a calm air and a friendly expression. After ringing the bell, he turned to admire the yard. A coach house stood to the side where two horses watched him with disinterest. They were not the only animals stabled there, however. As he admired them, a man appeared from an outhouse carrying a saddle. He was tall and solidly built, and his long hair was tied back in a tail to match those of the horses he cared for. He wore an open waistcoat over a dark shirt, and riding breeches far too tight for any man let alone one so well endowed. James’ eyes were drawn directly to the groom’s groin, a habit he was unable to control, and he gulped at the sight, wondering if this was the viscount.
‘No staring at cock,’ the man said in a heavily accented complaint.
James tore his eyes away and to the man’s face. He appeared more confused than angry, but nodded his head politely enough before taking the saddle into the stable.
The back door opened, and James turned to find a maid.
‘Yes?’ She said, taking in all of him with a quick up and down.
‘James Wright to see Mr Payne,’ he said, removing his hat.
‘Mr Payne’s expecting you.’ The maid stood aside to let him in.
He followed her through to a kitchen and then a large room beyond. Tripp had told him this was the servants’ hall and the butler’s pantry where he would be interviewed was along the passage. He sailed past other staff at work in the kitchen, aware of their looks, but ignoring them, and followed the girl into the gloomier recesses below stairs, finally arriving at an oak door set into a dull, plastered wall.
The maid knocked twice and waited to be called before showing James into the room.
Thomas sat behind a small desk, a ledger open beneath a lamp. A basement window allowed very little light, but the lamps caused silver and glass to glint inside their cabinets. A fire burned in a small grate and the room smelt of woodsmoke and polish.
‘Mr Wright to see you, Mr Payne,’ the maid announced.
Thomas thanked her and stood, putting on his tailcoat which had been hanging on a hook beside him
.
‘Mr Wright,’ he said, setting the formal tone. ‘Sit, please.’
James did as he was asked, his confidence waning at the thought that the handsome man was no longer his acquaintance, but his potential superior. Thomas was a different person; no smile, no nod, no sense of friendship or attraction. He adjusted his lapels, flicked his tails and sat. The lamp bathed his face in a warm shade of orange, and as the light flickered, it washed waves through his copper hair.
Adrenaline pumped, fuelled by physical attraction and anxiety.
‘His Lordship will see you presently,’ Thomas said, completing an entry in his ledger. ‘But first, I have a few things to explain and ask.’
Thomas finally looked up, the professional butler, not a friend. James sat straight and did what his mother had always told him to do; he kept his big ears open and his bigger mouth shut. He listened intently as Thomas told him every aspect of the job, most of which he had already learnt from Mr Tripp. He asked about James’ experience, read the reference he had brought, and asked him to explain why he wanted to come into service.
Again, Tripp had given James fair warning, told him what to say, and prepared him well.
The fact that Thomas knew most of James’ story already didn’t affect the butler. He remained upright and attentive, interested and slightly sceptical all the way through James’ replies.
‘Thank you,’ he said, when he had heard enough. ‘Do you have anything to ask me before we go up?’
James was startled to learn he would be taken upstairs. ‘I’m not really dressed to meet nobility,’ he said.
‘And usually, you wouldn’t, not yet. But His Lordship is his own man, and how can we expect you to dress like a gentleman unless we employ you as one?’
James appreciated the reassuring words.
‘Can I make sure I’m right?’ he asked, before Thomas could open the door. ‘I greet him as His Lordship first and then call him Sir?’
‘Correct, Mr Wright. You wait at the door until called over. You do not offer your hand, but if he offers his, you take it. One quick squeeze is how a gentleman does it these days. You may nod your head if you have any military background.’
James didn’t. ‘Is that it?’
Thomas opened the door. ‘That’s not even the start of it,’ he said. ‘But His Lordship understands your inexperience.’
They climbed the stairs to the next floor where he was made to wait at a green door as the butler entered the main house. He was away for less than a minute, but it gave James time to glance up the stairs, back down and around, trying to find his bearings and taking in the layout. Everything had been brown and white, plain and faded so far, and he wondered what he would see on the other side of the door.
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t what he found. Thomas returned and told him to follow. The door swung open, and James had to squint against the light.
The cold autumn sun glared through the multi-coloured glass surrounding the front door. Above, a crystal chandelier as round as his front parlour was long caught the rays and held them in rainbow colours, while beneath, a highly polished table reflected its splendour. There was little time to take in the paintings and the rugs, the figures on pillars and the mirrors before he was following Thomas through a room, the likes of which he’d never seen. Sofas, plush chairs, fancy tables painted gold and blue, more paintings and a fireplace the width of a workman’s cottage. That was without fully appreciating the glass doorknobs, the panelling, the bookshelves, decanters, flower arrangements and trinkets.
His apprehension increased when Thomas stopped at another pair of doors. He turned to James and inspected him, flicking dust from his collar and straightening his lapels.
‘Remember to be yourself,’ Thomas said. ‘Don’t be intimidated and expect the unexpected.’
James nodded, his palms sweaty. He gave them one last wipe on his jacket while Thomas opened the doors, stepped in and announced him.
The messenger entered a new world; there were no other words for what he saw.
The room was designed for work.
Every wall was a bookcase. A leather-topped desk and two tables were strewn with books and maps, portfolios, pens, inkwells and reading lamps. A globe stood tilted on its own stand. Crossed swords and a collection of firearms adorned the walls above the bookcases along with a collection of framed knots and a barometer in the shape of a ship’s wheel. Everything was dark and lush, the colour of oak, or deep red and vibrant green.
‘It’s a bit much, isn’t it?’ A man’s voice, deep and lilting, rang through the room, and at first, James couldn’t see where it had come from until a smiling, smooth face appeared around the corner of a wing-backed chair. ‘Come and sit down, Mr Wright.’
It was not until Thomas had shown him to the chair opposite that he took his first proper look at the viscount. He had a long face, with a cleft chin and a high forehead. Between, a dimple in his lips creased in perfect symmetry with his regal nose and ears that protruded behind black sideburns. James had been told Viscount Clearwater was nearly thirty, but he didn’t look a day over twenty-one.
‘I’d sit if I were you,’ the viscount said. ‘It could be the last chance you get.’
James had been paying too much attention to the man’s face and corrected himself.
‘Thank you, My… Your Lordship.’
His legs were suddenly weak. Not because of the man’s looks, he was handsome, but nothing compared to Thomas, now pulling up a third chair. It was because the viscount appeared so open, so interested and eager to entertain. James felt as if he had known him for years and it was not what he expected.
‘Did Payne offer you a lemonade?’ the viscount asked.
‘No, Sir,’ James said, perched on the edge of his seat.
‘Good, then we’ll have a Scotch. Just a small one, Payne.’
Thomas glided to a sideboard where glasses tapped and chinked as he poured a measure for the viscount and what could only be described as a spit for James.
‘Right!’ the viscount said, when he had been served, and James thought he was calling his name. ‘Mr Wright, is it James or Jimmy?’
‘Whatever pleases Your Lordship,’ James said. ‘My friends call me both, but maybe James is more formal.’
‘Quite right,’ the viscount agreed. ‘So, James, I know you’ve not worked in service, but Thomas tells me you are a man of character.’
‘That’s very kind of him, Sir.’ Tripp had told him to be polite, but not obsequious. He had looked up the word first thing that morning and was determined not to be it.
‘And what is your character?’
‘Sir?’
‘You, James, who are you? What’s your background?’
‘I’m afraid you would find it dull, Sir.’
‘I hope not,’ the viscount said, taken aback. ‘No-one’s youth should be dull. You’re twenty-five, I understand. What has happened in those years?’
James was off to a good start when he told of his birth coinciding with the arrival of the first underground train. His Lordship found that amusing, and he encouraged James to tell more stories of his childhood. The family was not poor, but they were not rich. His grandfather had been a merchant seaman as was his father, his grandmother and mother had made straw hats, but now his mother’s fingers were bad, she was unable to work, and James was the breadwinner.
He had been raised by a religious mother, he said, and she read from the Bible every Sunday. Unlike other people he knew, she was not banging the book on his head and cramming righteous words down his throat. His mother’s approach to the Good Book had been to highlight the passages about love and kindness, charity and chastity, with perhaps more emphasis on the parts about chastity than should be demanded of a teenage boy. Her readings hadn’t enamoured him towards a pa
rticularly Christian way of life, he never attended church, but they had left him with an ingrained sense of what was right.
His Lordship seemed impressed with that.
James mentioned his sister in passing — she was several years younger than him and more trouble than she was worth — and he said how much he enjoyed working for the post office.
By the time he had brought the viscount up to date and stated his reasons for applying for the job, he was sure he had bored the man to tears.
‘My God,’ the viscount said. ‘You sound like a decent fellow.’
James was embarrassed. ‘Just doing what needs doing for the family,’ he said. His mother had also instilled humility, and although he didn’t always show it, it was a good act to have ready.
‘Admirable, bravo,’ His Lordship mumbled as he read James’ reference. He put it down, still grinning about something, and looked at Thomas. ‘Do you have any qualms, Payne?’ he asked.
‘Only those we have discussed,’ Thomas answered, making James wonder what had been said.
The viscount nodded in thought before returning his gaze to James. ‘May I ask you an impertinent question?’
‘You can ask me what you want,’ James replied without thinking. ‘I mean, of course, Sir.’
His Lordship huffed a laugh, apparently amused at James’ error, but his expression changed in an instant.
‘Have you ever been in trouble with the law?’ he asked. ‘And the truth cannot harm you here.’
James wasn’t sure what that meant, but he answered honestly. ‘No, Sir. I can say with my hand on the Bible that I have not.’
‘The Bible, eh?’ The viscount glanced at Thomas.
‘Like I said, I was brought up on it, Sir,’ James said. ‘But not within it.’
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 9
