Fecker’s car bucked, throwing him, and he was lost to the river.
There was nothing Archer could do but save himself. He ran towards the rear of the train, jumping the gaps and searching for safety. The jetty sped past beneath him, but he was running on the spot with the last car coming up fast.
The rest happened in individual flashes like a spinning zoetrope. The trucks rose and tipped, each one dragging the next into the water. They collided, piling up in an explosion of burning coal as the boiler blew apart.
Silhouetted by a ball of fire, Quill was tossed into the air and tumbled backwards into the chaos as the car disappeared from beneath his feet.
Archer was out of options. He dived.
He fell through the sound of screeching metal and the flare of flame and hit the water. It slammed against his head with a muffled thump, cold and hard, and the sounds distorted.
Around him, the murk flashed red and yellow. Coal and debris rained from above, and waves swamped his mouth as the final cars derailed. Shockwaves hampered his race for the surface, his arms working instinctively, his feet kicking. He broke water, sucked in filthy air and swam, not daring to look back. Spitting, gasping and thrashing, he heaved himself towards the riverbank.
His neck wound throbbed angrily, his legs were weak, and his lungs burned, but the waves created by the plunging train washed him shoreward. Clawing at the muddy bank, he dragged himself to safety in time to see the caboose pulled from the jetty and sink. The surface bubbled and calmed beneath a dissipating cloud of steam, and the noise faded to shocking silence. There was no sign of his men or Quill.
He struggled to his feet, coughing up a combination of river water and soot and heard his name.
Thomas rode towards him, a lantern swinging from his saddle and James clinging to him behind.
‘Thank heavens,’ Archer gasped, collapsing onto his back.
Thomas was at his side in a second, wrapping him in his arms and cradling his head. Calm and reassuring, he knew exactly what Archer wanted to hear.
‘Silas is safe,’ he said. ‘You’re hurt.’
‘It’s nothing. Where’s Andrej?’
‘Over here!’
James was at the river’s edge throwing off his coat and wading in, and when Thomas released Archer, he saw Fecker thrashing helplessly in the river beneath the jetty. He was trying to make it to shore, foundering between the pylons. James reached him just as Fecker disappeared beneath the surface. He dived, his legs kicking the air and, a moment later, Fecker reappeared. Impervious to the Ukrainian’s struggles, James flipped him onto his back, held up his chin and heaved him towards safety.
‘Go, Tom,’ Archer panted.
Thomas ran, and he and James dragged Fecker to dry land.
Archer crawled from the mud until he found grass where he fell shaking, cold and shocked. Fecker had lost his greatcoat but showed no signs of cold. All the same, James rubbed his arms and his back until the big man, realising what had happened, stopped him and did something Archer had never seen him do. He wrapped James in his arms, smothering him, and kissed the top of his head.
‘I lost your gun,’ Fecker said when James had struggled free. ‘Man dead?’
‘He followed the wreck into the river,’ Thomas told him, crouching to inspect Archer’s injury. ‘I didn’t see him surface.’
‘Silas is coming, Archer,’ Thomas reassured him. ‘Stay still while I tie something around this cut.’
He had just bound it with his scarf when Silas rode up leading two of the horses. He slipped from the saddle, landing in an ungainly heap, righted himself and was at Archer’s side in a second, kissing him and fighting Thomas to be the one to attend to his wound. Thomas allowed it and saw to the horses. He and James tethered and calmed them, and gradually, peace blanketed the scene.
‘We must go,’ Archer said when he had recovered sufficiently to stand, shivering and wrapping Silas in his arms for warmth.
‘I see no Quill.’ Fecker had been scanning the river. It sparkled beneath the moon, now low on the horizon.
‘He couldn’t have survived,’ James reasoned.
‘We did.’ Archer winced at his own words. After tonight, who knew what Quill was capable of?
‘We need to get you two warm and dry.’ Ever practical, never ruffled, Thomas took Archer’s hand and pulled him to his feet.
Twenty-Five
They paired up to ride the available horses, Archer cradling Silas on his mount, and James clinging to Thomas more tightly than was necessary on another. Fecker ambled behind, saddleless. The moon was fading, but with lamps lit, there was enough light to see their way. They found Archer’s horse grazing not far from where he had left it, and James’ still tethered to the bushes at the halt, but they remained in their pairs for warmth and led the spare animals with Fecker taking the front of the line.
‘We go this way,’ he announced as they set off. ‘Follow.’
‘The castle?’ Archer queried. ‘No, we must go back to the inn before we all catch cold.’
‘Nyet, Geroy.’ Fecker was insistent. ‘First castle.’
Archer was too exhausted to argue. There would be a reason, and he owed the Ukrainian his obedience. He owed all of them, and when his head cleared and he was able to assess his position in the hopefully warmer light of day, he would think of some way to repay his team. He could lavish money on them, but that was too easy, and if he kept doing it, the gesture would mean nothing. He had given Thomas the chance to be with the man he desired, but the pair also worked for him, and both had proven their worth in more ways than one. They deserved more, but with his head thumping and his neck wound throbbing, he was unable to conceive what else he could do. It was too late at night and too cold to think about it now. He turned his attention to another question.
‘What does Geroy mean?’ he asked, resting his chin on Silas’ shoulder and holding him tighter.
‘No fecking idea.’ Silas kissed his cheek. ‘When we get back, I’m going to learn to ride properly, so I can do more next time.’
‘Next time?’ That was a hideous thought. ‘You’re here,’ Archer said. ‘That’s enough.’
They followed Fecker uphill and across the top of the moor until the castle appeared, darker and more brooding than before. The troubled sea pounded and boomed on the cliffs away to the east, but the bats darted undisturbed from the ruins to the tower through peaceful starlight.
Archer shivered. He imagined the devastation back at the shunting yard and wondered what the authorities would make of it in the morning. They might find his cloak, or Quill’s body, Fecker’s coat, or any other pieces of evidence that could, with detailed research, lead them back to him, but that was the least of his concerns. If necessary, he would admit the truth to Inspector Adelaide and leave his fate in the man’s hands. He was prepared to stand up and be counted, but would not let anything untoward to happen to his men.
His men? His staff? No, they were his friends and no harm would come to any of them.
‘What are we doing here, Fecks?’ Silas asked, when they reached the graveyard wall and dismounted.
Fecker swamped him beneath one arm, and whispered in his ear. Silas reacted in surprise, considered for a moment, and shrugged.
‘Come,’ Fecker said and led them to the open grave.
Archer followed, watching Thomas and James who walked ahead saying nothing to each other. They approached the pile of earth where the lantern still burned, and Silas looked into the open pit. He nodded to Fecker, but prevented Archer from coming closer.
‘Don’t look in there, Archie,’ he said. ‘Please? Don’t say anything.’
Shivering, Archer agreed. He had no desire to see the remains of Simon Harrington, simply being at his resting place was difficult enough. Flanked by Thomas and James, he w
aited, confused when Fecker lowered Silas into the ground. He disappeared for a few seconds before being lifted out. Brushing dirt from his knees, he returned to Archer.
‘Fecks says he saw this earlier,’ he explained, holding out a fist. ‘I don’t know if this is the right thing to do, but he thinks you should have it, and so do I.’
He unrolled his fingers to reveal a signet ring, identical to his own, and engraved with the initials A.S.
Tears welled behind Archer’s eyes brought by the memories of Simon’s death . ‘I gave that to Simon in the weeks before he died,’ he said.
‘Yeah, I guessed as much.’ Silas offered it. ‘He took it to his grave. Shows how much he loved you. You should wear it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘It’ll remind you of how much you were loved.’ Silas showed Archer his own. ‘Like this one tells me how much I’m loved. Same initials, see? Archer and Silas. When I see you wearing it, it’ll remind me of the scars you bear, both here…’ He touched Archer’s side. ‘And here,’ and put his hand over his heart. ‘Carry him with you, Archie. Carry us both.’
Thomas stepped forward. ‘Carry all of us.’
Silas slipped the ring on his finger, and Archer kissed his hand. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘My heart was broken, but this will mend it.’ He kissed Silas on the forehead and held him. ‘You know, the initials don’t just stand for Archer and Simon or Archer and Silas. There’s another meaning.’
‘Yeah, well nothing’s simple with you, is it?’ Silas grumbled playfully. ‘What?’
‘Amore Salvet,’ Archer said, holding Silas’ face in his hands and blinking in adoration. ‘It’s Latin for Love Saves.’
‘Take.’ Feck was at his side offering the spade.
The tears pressed harder as Archer lifted the first earth from the pile. Silently, he said his goodbye to Simon Harrington as he let it fall. His friends stood solemnly at the side of the grave with their heads bowed, each lost in private thoughts, until one by one, they took their turn. Using the spade and their hands, they worked in silence and without being asked until the grave was filled. Archer stood the lantern before the headstone and wiped the tears from his eyes. He placed his damp hand on Simon’s name, leaving behind some of the sorrow he had suffered then along with some of the joy he had now found.
He turned to the others waiting patiently in a row.
‘“This happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone…”’ He quoted as he regarded their lamp-shadowed faces and turned the ring on his finger. He pulled himself together. ‘Men,’ he said. ‘We have been through much these past days, but we have been through it together. Whatever happens in our lives from this moment, remember this: You are my friends. You men have changed my life, and I will never be able to repay the debt of gratitude I owe. I shall try. Every moment of my life will be dedicated to you, your happiness and wellbeing. You have my esteem, my respect and my admiration, but above all, you have my love. Yes, even Jimmy whom I hardly know. Men like us face a far greater challenge than the madness of Quill.’ His words flowed as he regarded each one in turn. ‘We live in a world that chooses not to understand. It is not forgiving, and we must tread carefully the path our fates have mapped. Where Andrej faces discrimination and mistrust as an immigrant, the rest of us face the same hatred because of who we love. I thought my life would be lived alone and unloved as the world would have it be, but none of us need be alone now. I can say no more.’ His voice was cracking. ‘But, inadequate though it is, you have my thanks.’
‘Ah, you old softie.’ Silas took Archer’s hand.
Fecker approached and threw his arms around the viscount, tugging him to his muscular chest for a second before kissing each cheek.
‘You are Geroy,’ he said.
Archer warmed at the unexpected embrace. ‘I don’t know what that means,’ he said.
‘Is old word from my homeland,’ Fecker explained. ‘It means honourable.’
The moon sank behind the hills as they rode, battered, bruised, but safe. The darkest hour waned, and before long, the first grey strip of dawn appeared on the horizon. Thomas had lost track of time, but it was of no concern.
The landlord was none too pleased at being woken early for a second morning in a row, but when Archer ordered hot water for five men and enough breakfast for ten, adding a substantial sum for the man’s trouble, the inconvenience was forgotten. He did, however, look at their filthy clothes and soot-blackened faces with suspicion.
‘We had a run-in with a rather common grouse,’ Thomas explained with a wry smile. He handed the innkeeper a pound note. ‘Would you have your wife bring me some gauze and, if you have it, antiseptic? As I am sure you know, the common grouse has quite a snap to its beak.’
The landlord took the money and set about heating the water under instruction from Thomas to ensure there was enough for every guest.
Back beneath the eaves, they took turns to bathe, and changed into whatever dry clothing they had. A substantial breakfast arrived, and the room soon warmed. Tiredness pricked at Thomas’ eyes. They were exhausted, but they were not home and safe yet.
At nine o’clock, Archer gathered the party together.
‘Fecker has gone to attend to the horses and return them,’ he explained. ‘I am told there is an omnibus to Haverpool at eleven. We should reach there by two and from there can take the night train home. I must dispatch a telegram to the sanitorium in case Quill has once again eluded us. I will instruct them that if he arrives, he is not allowed access to Crispin and they should immediately inform myself and the authorities.’
‘I’ll send it, Sir,’ James offered.
‘No, Jimmy, but thank you. Silas and I will go. You and Thomas stay here and pack our things. We will return in one hour.’
It was the first time James and Thomas had been alone since they had left Clearwater, and they stood facing each other saying nothing long after the door had closed.
‘I think this is what you call a setup.’ James broke the ice.
‘I need to apologise,’ Thomas said.
‘No, you don’t.’
Thomas took a step closer. ‘I do. I have mistreated you.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘James, please. Let me explain.’
‘I lied to you.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘Tom…’ James took his hand. ‘We ain’t going to get anywhere if you stand on ceremony all the time. It’s a simple argument to settle. Can you love me?’
‘I don’t know what that is,’ Thomas said.
‘It’s this.’
James lifted his head and pressed his lips against Thomas’ mouth, tentatively and once before stepping back.
A rush hit Thomas instantly. His body filled with warmth as if his heart had opened releasing a flush of joy which tingled every pore of his skin. It was not the same rush he enjoyed when Archer called him Tom or hugged him. It was deeper and more difficult to understand.
James led him to the bed. ‘We have an hour,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to spend it lying next to you. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to feel you beside me and know you want to be there.’ He lay down. ‘But it’s up to you.’
Thomas sat beside him, admiring his smooth face. Washed and cleaned of soot, it glowed warmly in the cold morning light.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he whispered.
James opened his arms, and Thomas fell into them, turning to face him.
‘Neither do I,’ James replied. ‘So that makes us even. We can find out together.’ He ran his fingers through Thomas’ thick hair. ‘I love this colour.’
‘You understand that things will have to be different when we get home,’ Thomas warned.
‘Yeah, I get all that.’ James flashed a devilish smile.
<
br /> ‘I may even have to tell you off.’
‘Will you have to spank me, Mr Payne?’
‘Don’t be filthy.’ Thomas’ cheeks flushed as he kissed James’ nose.
They looked at each other in silence. James pecked his lips cautiously, but even the light touch stirred passion. Thomas shifted closer.
‘Have you ever worked for the Central Post Office?’ James asked out of nowhere.
‘What? No. Why?’
‘Because it feels like you’re sending me a message.’ He pressed a leg between Thomas’ so their hardening cocks touched. ‘Can I help you deliver it?’
Thomas nodded. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was hard to control. It became more difficult when James fumbled at the front of his trousers.
‘Here,’ Thomas said, seeing to the buttons himself.
James fumbled inside for his cock. ‘Fucking hell!’ he exclaimed wrapping it in his fingers.
His own was hot and rigid. It offered Thomas an unfamiliar feel of soft skin covering an iron hardness.
Slowly, their hands began to stroke as their lips met.
Thomas was lost in pleasure as James’ hand massaged and his tongue explored. Their teeth clashed, and their bodies rubbed. It was inexpert, but it felt so right. James clutched Thomas as if he couldn’t hold him tight enough and wanted the two of them to meld together. He drew himself free of Thomas’ lips, and they shared a look of amazement before James was on his neck, exploring it with kisses that caused Thomas to gasp with new pleasures. He returned every one of them, learning what gave James joy while all the time their hands maintained a steady rhythm.
‘I wanted to do this from the moment I saw you,’ James whispered.
‘Me too.’
‘I wasn’t pretending, Tom. I didn’t lead you on that night, I just wasn’t sure back then.’
Twisted Tracks (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 2) Page 29
