Thomas stared at him in surprise and then a wry smile grew on his soft lips. ‘Yes, James, it’s inside, and there’s running water, hot and cold. That was only put in last year. Before then we had to bring up hot water in buckets. Now then…’ He led James back into the corridor. ‘You need to bring your own clothes for when you are not on duty, but dress appropriately as it will become known you are His Lordship’s footman. Can’t have you going about publicly in tat, but from what I’ve seen, you like to dress well.’
‘I dress as well as I can afford, Sir, yes.’
‘Not Sir, James. Mr Payne. Unlike in other houses where you must provide your own, you will be supplied the appropriate uniforms, outdoor and carriage coat, cloak, hat, gloves and so on, and shirts, collars and studs. You will not abuse His Lordship’s generosity. It’s up to you to keep them clean, and us men are responsible for keeping our quarters tidy and swept. I shall keep a close eye as will Mrs Baker, the housekeeper.’
He rattled off several more details that James knew he wouldn’t remember, and finally, showed James his own bedroom.
Except it wasn’t just a bedroom. Thomas also had a sitting room and a lot more furniture, bookshelves, two armchairs and his fireplace was bigger. This room, smelling of fresh paint, was at the front of the house facing south towards the river. Its garret window overlooked the rooftops and chimneys of Riverside. The top floor of Clearwater was twice the size of James’ whole house, and he couldn’t wait to see his mother’s face when he told her the news.
‘Now then…’
He returned his attention to Thomas standing beside the double bed.
‘We need to speak as James and Tom,’ the butler said. ‘Come here.’
He patted the bed and sat, sending James’ stomach turning over as he approached.
‘I don’t want this to be awkward,’ Thomas said, as James sat beside him, ‘but I would like to speak about that night when I stayed with you.’
‘Fair enough.’ James had thoughts on the subject too, but kept them to himself.
‘This is all very new to me and rather strange,’ Thomas began. ‘But, I think our brief conversation and what happened after it was enough for us both to realise that there was something… going on. At least, that is, if I have read the situation correctly. If not, tell me, and we’ll say no more.’
It occurred to James that he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with a man for whom he had what others called unnatural feelings, and they were alone in his bedroom. The feelings were not unnatural to him, and apparently not to Thomas either, and yes, he had read the situation correctly. The attraction was stronger now Thomas had gone out of his way to help him, and the pull was irresistible. What compounded his affection was the way Thomas’ actions were not a bribe in the same way that his new job was not dependent on him searching the postal records. Everything was unconditional, and that was not something James was used to.
‘You got to understand,’ he said, his eyes falling on the unlit gas heater. ‘This is new. I don’t just mean the job, or even sitting here with you, Tom, but the whole thing.’
‘I’m not sure I do understand,’ Thomas said. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well…’ James took a moment to think how best to explain himself. ‘Alright, yes, you did read things right. I want to tell you stuff, but it’s not stuff we’re meant to talk about. Unnatural things, and I ain’t never said them to no-one before.’ He glanced at Thomas who was also studying the grate. ‘You know what I mean?’
‘Affection towards another man?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘Aye,’ Thomas nodded, and James heard a hint of a country accent. ‘I thought the same way,’ he said. ‘Least I did until recently. Now, here, under this roof, I am safe enough to think about them. And, after the other night, I think I am safe to talk about them with you.’ They faced each other. ‘I am safe, aren’t I?’
‘Yeah.’ James’ mouth was dry, and his pulse had quickened. ‘You and I are the same, Tom,’ he said. ‘The other night… I was nervous. Not had another man in my bed like that, not one I… you know...’
‘Fancied?’
James nodded.
‘Same for me,’ Thomas said. ‘And it’s now become so much more complicated.’
He had no idea how complicated this was for James. He had Tripp on one shoulder like a tempting devil offering instant wealth for information, and on the other, the kind hearts of the viscount and Thomas offering stability in return for loyalty.
‘Complicated, because what we want to do shouldn’t go on anywhere?’ James queried. ‘Not out there, not here in private?’
‘And certainly not between butler and footman.’
‘I bet it happens all the time.’
‘You may be right.’
‘So, others must find a way around it.’ James wanted reassurance, but it involved asking a personal question about his employer. Just the kind of question Tripp sought an answer to for his own unexplained reasons. The problem was, it didn’t feel loyal to ask it.
‘What are you thinking?’ Thomas slouched, so their shoulders touched.
The only way for James to move forward was to ask the damn question. ‘I was wondering about Mr Hawkins and the viscount,’ he admitted feeling rotten.
Thomas moved away. ‘That’s one of the things you and I will not discuss,’ he said.
James was relieved. Thomas’ refusal gave him the excuse to ignore Tripp’s directive. He was, however, worried because the viscount’s private life was what Tripp was paying him to evidence.
‘What it comes down to is this,’ Thomas said. He walked to the window and stood looking out. ‘How do you feel about me? Not as your butler, but as a friend. Could you work with me, be told off by me when necessary, be taught your job by me and behave as a footman without that getting in the way of friendship? If you were not here in the viscount’s employ and remained as a messenger, would we still meet in the pub? Could I still stay at your house some nights, and would we… be ourselves?’
James joined him. The view was spectacular, particularly as the high-up breeze had cleared the smog, and the sun, though faint, lit damp rooves through a layer of silver cloud.
‘I would have liked that,’ he said. ‘I ain’t talked like this before, but I reckon we’re whistling the same tune.’
Thomas nodded. ‘Once again, I agree.’
‘Then, we’ll work it out. If that’s what you want.’
‘Is it what you want, James? Can you tell me that you want the same thing as I do?’
James wasn’t sure that he could voice the words. Instead, he took the bold step of putting his arm around Thomas’ waist, expecting him to move away. He didn’t. Silently, he returned the gesture, and they stood holding each other gazing over the city.
‘We should have a rule,’ Thomas said at length. ‘That we only do this up here and when off duty. Outside our rooms, I am Mr Payne, and you are James, the footman, and we must behave as such. But in our privacy, it’s Jimmy and Tom, and neither of us speak a word about anything beyond our doors. Agreed?’
‘Definitely.’ James leant his head on Thomas’ shoulder, and the man’s grip tightened.
He wanted Thomas so much it was painful. His guts were churning with anticipation, his heart fluttering and God knows what was going on at crotch level, but up top, his mind was a jumble. A battle was taking place between what he wanted and what he had agreed to do. If only this had happened without Tripp’s involvement, he would be home and dry with a good job, a man he could share his desires with and security on all fronts.
‘You can trust me, Tom,’ he said. ‘But you’ve got to understand I don’t know what to do next.’
Thomas let go and faced him. ‘I’m going to say this while I can.’ His jade eyes glittered in the sunlight. ‘
I’ve fallen for you, James, and I want to fall further, but it’s going to take me a while to trust you. Not because I am uncertain of you, but… well… in these times, a man such as me — men such as us — must be protective of our secret. We need to keep our friends close, but in matters such as this, you can never be sure who your enemies are. Your discretion means everything… and not just to me, to His Lordship as well. Don’t be offended if I need time to get to know you.’
James swallowed at the sight of Thomas’ kind face. ‘I ain’t offended,’ he said, raising a trembling hand to touch the man’s cheek. ‘I wanted you as soon as I saw you. It was physical, yeah, but then when we got talking… It’s more than just that, you know?’
As an answer, Thomas took his hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘Like the backstairs,’ he said. ‘One step at a time.’
Thomas’ fingers were long and his skin soft, but his grip was powerful. James grinned and returned the gentle kiss.
‘And I for one can’t wait for the next one,’ he said. ‘Can I kiss you?’
‘I wish you would,’ Thomas smiled. ‘But, I’m worried that if you do, I won’t be able to let you go, and we’ll be in trouble for not getting on with our work. Maybe, tomorrow, when you’ve moved in…’
James couldn’t wait that long. He pulled Thomas to him and locked their lips together. Thomas gasped, but the sound soon became a murmur as they held each other, kissing deeply but inexpertly, until the rage in James’ groin forced him to break apart.
‘Sorry,’ he said, panting. ‘Couldn’t help myself, but any more of that and… well…’
‘I know.’ Thomas coughed to clear his throat. ‘Tomorrow, Jimmy, I promise. But for now, duty first.’
This was how it was going to be, and it would continue in this double-life way until James either sided with Tripp, discovered the information he wanted by deceit, or gave into his true feelings for Thomas and told Tripp to go boil his head.
‘Yeah, we should get on,’ he said, unable to keep the grin from his lips.
‘We should,’ Thomas agreed. ‘In a moment.’ He rearranged the front of his trousers, and James did the same.
They left the room suppressing laughter and bumping each other like schoolboys plotting mischief, trying to catch the other’s hand until they reached the backstairs.
‘Follow me, Mr Wright,’ Thomas said, straightening his uniform and his behaviour. ‘And I shall introduce you to the other servants. Mrs Baker will arrange your livery and your room ahead of tomorrow.’
They took the stairs as butler and footman, and James had the uneasy feeling that whichever way he decided to go, Tripp or Clearwater, he was coming down from the clouds and about to hit the ground with a thump.
Eleven
Maps, timetables, plans, questions, notes… Archer stood bent over the reading table between the windows staring at sheets of paper, newspaper cuttings and headlines. He was getting nowhere. Quill was out there somewhere, and, contrary to what Silas might think, he was not ‘doing a runner’. If he wanted to flee to the continent, he wouldn’t have gone to the northern moors. He could have stowed away on a boat at Limedock, gone to the eastern ports or to Westerpool and taken a ship to Ireland. The north made no sense, as did allowing himself to be seen boarding a train. The only explanation he could come up with was what Thomas had suggested; he wanted Archer to know he was still in the country.
Why?
Archer, Silas and Thomas were probably the only men who knew Quill was the Ripper. Why send such a message? What did he want?
‘Horses are like a whore with the clap,’ Silas proclaimed as he entered the study. ‘Looks like a good ride but you don’t want to get in the saddle.’
He walked stiffly with his legs apart, possibly because his breeches were tight, but more likely because he was in pain. His face was red and his hair in disarray. He checked there was no-one behind him before kissing Archer, resting his head on his chest and groaning.
‘You actually like doing all that, do you?’ he said. ‘Fecking torture.’
‘Did you fall off?’
‘Ha!’ Silas, grinning, kissed him again before crossing to an armchair. ‘More like, did I get to sit on the bloody thing for longer than ten seconds? I thought Fecks was a mate. He’s trying to kill me.’
He lowered himself gingerly into the chair keeping his weight on his arms and emitting grunts of various degrees of discomfort until a final, ‘Ahh,’ accompanied a look of relief. ‘I know where I am with a chair.’
‘Did Andrej take James in the trap?’
‘Is that his name?’ Silas asked as he wrestled with a boot. ‘Yeah. Who’s he?’
‘Thomas’ replacement footman,’ Archer said. ‘He’s gone to see if he can track down any communication from Quill during the time he was allegedly missing.’
He left the table and sat at his desk, rocking back in his captain’s chair and cracking his knuckles.
‘Just his replacement?’ Silas asked.
‘Why do you say that?’
Silas winked and touched the side of his nose. ‘Takes one to known one,’ he said. ‘The man’s as queer as I am.’
‘How can you tell? He doesn’t act it.’
‘You saying I do?’ Silas laughed. ‘Yeah, you’re right. He looks as straight as anyone, but the look on his face when he said goodbye to Tommy, you’d a thought he was off to war leaving his sweetheart weeping like a widow.’
‘Maybe he is as we are,’ Archer mused.
‘He’s one of us to be sure,’ Silas said. He freed one foot from a boot and sighed with joy before starting on the other. ‘Which is why you’ve trusted him to get involved in this, I take it.’
‘But, that’s not our business.’ Archer smiled. Silas was always right. ‘Our business,’ he said, glancing at the writing table, ‘is spread out over there and up on the wall.’ He pointed to the map. ‘What the hell is Quill playing at?’
‘I’d like to say I was thinking about that while Fecks led me around the park like a dog on a lead,’ Silas moaned. ‘But all I could think about was how my bollocks were being crushed.’
‘You’re doing it wrong.’
‘Never done anything wrong with my balls, mate,’ Silas said with a leer. ‘Want to nip upstairs and rub them better?’
Archer laughed. ‘Every minute of the day,’ he said. ‘But we can’t just now. I’ve got Quill on my mind.’
‘There’s a nasty thought.’
‘Indeed.’ He screwed up a piece of paper and threw it at the map. ‘Why has he gone to the north?’
‘You know him better than anyone,’ Silas said, grappling with his other boot. ‘Any more news?’
‘None.’
‘Well…’ His foot came free. ‘Thank fuck for that. Last time I get on a horse, I swear. Well…’ he continued once he’d wiggled his toes. ‘I reckon there’s nothing to be done until we get some message from him, or until the new boy turns up something.’
‘And I think you’re wrong.’
Silas was surprised. ‘How?’
‘There is much we can do,’ Archer said. ‘For a start, I’ve been looking at the route he took. It’s five hours to the depo on the moors, so he would have arrived there around three in the morning.’
‘I think we knew that.’
‘Correct, but I also looked at where the train goes first. Agreed, it doesn’t stop as it does on other nights, but does it slow down enough to allow him to alight anywhere else?’
‘And?’
Archer shrugged. ‘I’m not a railways expert,’ he said. ‘But we should be able to find someone at the station who is. Bradshaw’s…’ he indicated one of his guide books, ‘doesn’t mention the depot. There’s no reason; it’s not a local attraction. It does, however, mention towns along the rout
e of the Highland Express, none of which the Wednesday train stops at. However, it might slow down enough to allow someone to alight safely, and if we can confirm that it doesn’t, we can concentrate on the depot.’
‘And if we discover it does?’
‘Then it’s all about needles in haystacks, and as you say, there’s nothing we can do until he makes another move. But, in the meantime. How do you fancy a trip to North Cross railway terminus?’
‘As long as I don’t have to sit in a fecking saddle.’
Archer walked to the bell-pull and tugged. ‘Hungry?’
‘I could eat a horse,’ Silas said. ‘Preferably the bastard one that’s squashed my nuts.’
The afternoon was cool, November was approaching, and with it the breeze which wafted the city fumes away to the south, but brought temperatures from the north. Archer and Silas sat in the relative warmth of a Hansom, the viscount in his travel-cloak and Silas beside him wearing a coat over a new brown suit. He also wore a bowler hat which Archer said made him look like a businessman.
Holding Silas’ hand on the seat between them beneath the cover of his coat gave Archer more than its usual thrill. He was infatuated with the man, and could never imagine himself being anything else, but to touch him intimately and semi-publicly added to the frisson. The warmth of his skin, the way he moved a finger, absentmindedly rubbing Archer’s palm as a coded message that he was still there, and the way his grip tightened when he saw a new and, to him, thrilling sight intensified the delight.
The cut on Silas’ chin had healed, and the stitches would come out soon.
The thought reminded Archer to contact Doctor Markland. He had agreed to oversee the East End mission when it opened, and Archer had promised to invite him for dinner. If he managed that in the next few days, the doctor could also see to the stitches. Perhaps, he thought, he would also agree to be his personal physician. Archer liked the man for his plain speaking and professional attitude towards the sick no matter what class they were from, but he had yet to sound him out on his thoughts on homosexuality; he already trusted him enough to broach the subject. It didn’t have anything to do with his work, of course, but Archer was keen to support any man who was ‘on the same crew.’
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 11
