by James Lear
“What is it that you want to tell me?”
“It’s about this business.”
“Of course.”
“There’s something wrong about it all.”
“You can say that again.”
“Oh!” he said, with great relief, his eyes shining. “So it’s not just me! I began to think that solitude was turning me into one of those delusional types who see conspiracies all around them.”
“What do you suspect?”
“It’s to do with Rex.”
“Rex? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“Ah. Well, that’s a long story. It all goes back to Cambridge.”
“All roads around here seem to lead to Cambridge.”
“Of course, you’re a Cambridge man, aren’t you Mitch? And your friend Mr. Morgan. We like Mr. Morgan very much here at Drekeham Hall. He’s considered quite a catch for Miss Belinda.” He mimicked the mincing intonations of Lady Caroline.
“When did you graduate, Vince?”
“Mmmm...” He took another swig of beer. “Sore point. I didn’t graduate. I was...you know.”
“Sent down?”
“Yes. There was a scandal. I shared rooms with Rex Eagle when he first came up, and I was in my second year. Our families have some distant connection, so it seemed natural—you know how cliquey Cambridge is. I had been running around with what they called a rather fast set. Would-be poets, would-be musicians, would-be communists, you know the sort.”
“I certainly do.” And I’d fucked a lot of them—though I didn’t feel the need to add this at the time.
“Well, you know how young men can be. There were parties. Rex didn’t approve when I brought that crowd to my rooms—he was more interested in rowing and studying. But after a while he got a taste for it, for jazz records and cocktails and...conversation.”
“So you and Rex became good friends.”
“We did.”
“Harry Morgan and I are good friends.”
“I imagined you were.”
“Very good friends.”
“Precisely. As were Rex Eagle and I.” He stressed the past tense.
“And then there was a blowup?”
“The college authorities had their eye on our staircase for some time. I don’t know who had blown the whistle. The parties were nothing out of the ordinary, far less riotous than the hearties were having. We never smashed anything. But somebody knew what was going on after the parties were over. Someone objected to my friendship with Rex Eagle. And so I was hauled up on some ridiculous charge, and sent down before I could defend myself.”
“What did Rex do?”
“Oh, Rex was thoroughly decent. Rex said all the right things, expressed his sympathy, said he could get me a job with his father, which he did, of course. He didn’t know it was going to be worse than a prison sentence. At least in prison one might get... Well, no, that’s an unworthy thought. He was doing his best. And I was grateful for the position; there aren’t many openings for a young man who’s blotted his copybook like that. You know what the college dons are like; they smile, and wish you luck, and then they make sure that everyone in the world knows that you’re a thoroughly bad egg. I hoped to practice law, or become an academic, but those doors were suddenly closed to me. And so here I am.”
“But surely you and Rex...”
“Rex is kind and friendly, and nothing more. Whatever was between us is in the past, he’s made that quite clear. The indiscretions of youth. Anyway, he has his lady love.”
“Diana Hunt.”
“Precisely. Whopper Hunt. Who brings a whopping great fortune into the Eagle coffers just when they need it most.”
“So I gather.”
“And Rex, you know, is terribly in love with her.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
“So much in love,” I added, “that he ran up to town on business when he knew that she was coming over from France to see him.”
“Ah, you know that! Well, that’s pretty much par for the course. Rex loves Diana, Diana loves Rex, that’s all we’re told, and we don’t ask questions. But I know Rex, I know him better than he knows himself. I remember those months in Cambridge even if he pretends he doesn’t. He could never be happy with Diana Hunt.”
“Or with any woman?”
“That’s my belief.”
“There are some young men who could be happy with both.” I was thinking of Morgan, of course.
“We know the sort, don’t we? But I don’t believe that’s true of Rex. He said things to me in our time together—things from the heart. Oh, not about me. I don’t flatter myself that he was in love with me. In love with what we could do together, with what I could teach him. But not with me. And I wasn’t in love with him, really. He was beautiful, the perfect young blond Apollo, a warrior on the playing fields, a bright student, the most popular young man of his year. Rich, well brought up, with a famous father. Everyone adored him, and it was me who got him. So of course I fancied myself head over heels. But I wasn’t. Rex is beautiful, but he is not trustworthy. He is a coward. He denied me, he denied himself. No; any romantic illusions are long gone.”
“And how does all of this relate to what happened yesterday?”
“I don’t know for certain, but it does. Something has been brewing for a long time. This is the crisis.”
“You must be more specific than that, Vince, if I’m going to be of any assistance.”
“If anyone knew I was talking to you, they’d fire me. They’d probably put me in prison. Sir James has great influence.”
“So I’ve seen. The local police seem very eager to do his bidding.”
“Precisely.”
“And now an innocent man will hang.”
“Mr. Meeks.”
“Yes. He’s in Drekeham Police Station, and they’re not exactly treating him with kid gloves.”
West stared gloomily at the bottom of his empty pint glass.
“Look, damn it all, I can’t let this happen, not if I know something that will set things to rights. It’s too late to help myself, and I don’t really care what happens to me now. But this is all wrong.”
“Tell me everything.”
He took a deep breath; this was costing him a lot. “Last year Sir James was implicated in a financial scandal. It was suggested that he had taken bribes from some of his business associates to ask questions in the House, in an attempt to discredit a piece of legislation that would have restricted their ability to trade outside the Empire. Sir James insists this was not true, but the mud stuck—and he had to pay a hell of a lot of people a hell of a lot of money for the whole dirty business to be hushed up and forgotten.”
“How much money?”
“I don’t know the figures, but it was enough to put a serious drain on Sir James’s personal fortune. Putting it bluntly, the family is broke.”
“But his business friends...”
“Oh, no. Rats desert the sinking ship. They had to distance themselves from him, obviously. So now he’s in queer street. No funds. Flat as a pancake.”
“Which is why Rex’s marriage is so important.”
“Lady Diana will bring not only a massive dowry, but also connections. The Hunts are big news in British manufacturing. If Sir James is allied with them, he can laugh in the face of his detractors. He’s a made man—again. So nothing must stand in the way of Rex’s marriage.”
“But what does this have to do with the death of Reg Walworth?”
“That’s just what I can’t understand. None of it makes sense. Mr. Walworth—well, he was on the payroll for a while, I believe he worked for a firm of builders who made improvements to Sir James’s London flat, the one he uses when parliament is sitting. He retained him for a while to complete the work. I understand he had brought him to Drekeham in order to discuss the restoration of the library wing.”
“And what does he have to do with Meeks?”
“With Meeks? Nothing whatsoever.”
�
��I understood Meeks invited him.”
“No. Absolute rot. Who told you that?”
“Leonard, of course.”
“Fucking Leonard!” West’s face went red with anger. “That snake!”
“I see he’s no friend of yours.”
“He’s made my life a misery ever since I got here, with his taunts and snide remarks, the little shit. If I could get my hands round that scrawny neck...”
“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” I was concerned that one or two other lunchtime drinkers were beginning to glance over at West’s outburst. I returned the glasses to the bar and we strolled back to the house.
“But why would they want to get Meeks out of the way?” I asked, trying to fit together the pieces of an insane jigsaw puzzle. “And how did Reg Walworth meet his death? The two things seem completely unconnected.”
“Search me,” West said, rapidly returning to his gloomy, “official” persona as we neared the house. “But there is a connection. There must be. Sir James’s financial difficulties, Rex’s marriage to Diana, the death of Mr. Walworth, and the arrest of Meeks.”
“And Rex’s business trip to London? What’s that all about?”
“I have no idea. Rex’s ‘business’ is a mystery to me. He often goes up for a few days, running errands for his father, I suppose. But it’s the timing that bothers me. As if he were clearing out for a reason.”
We had reached the gates of Drekeham Hall; West was gloomy and silent. I knew that I might not get another chance to speak to him.
“Vince—I want to help you.”
“Very decent of you, Mr. Mitchell, but I’m beyond help.”
“Crap. I want to get you out of here. Out of Drekeham. Out of England.”
“To be honest, Mitch, I’d be happy if you’d just get me out of my pants.” He smiled sadly; it was the first time he’d acknowledged his own sexual needs. My cock instantly stiffened, and I began looking around for a shady nook.
“It’s too late for that,” he said. “Sir James is in his office. Look.” I could see the magisterial silhouette against the window. “But thanks.”
“I won’t let you down,” I said, wondering how on earth I could help this troubled soul.
“Don’t worry about me, Mitch. But try and save Meeks.”
“One more thing, Vince. What do you know about Simon?”
“The hall boy? Nothing. Why?”
“Have you ever spoken to him?”
“No. Not much point, is there? Nice looking, but you know...not all there.”
“Is that true?”
“Sometimes he comes up to me and starts grunting away. Can’t make out a word. Poor chap’s simple.”
“How often has he done that?”
“Often enough, particularly recently.”
“As if he wanted to tell you something?”
“I suppose. Oh, crikey, have I been a fool?”
“I think we’ve all been fooled, Vince. Now get upstairs before Sir James sees you. I’ll come and see you later. I know where your room is.”
I watched West bounding up the stairs two at a time, and no sooner had I turned to go in search of Morgan than I came face to face with Leonard Eagle, who had crept up noiselessly behind me. I remembered what West had called him—a snake—and for a moment I imagined I saw something reptilian in his slender, sinuous form, his dead eyes, his smiling mouth.
“Misssster Mitchell.” Was it my imagination, or did he hiss?
“Mister Eagle.”
“I see you’ve been fraternizing with the lower orders.”
“Is there a law against it?”
“Not at all! We’re very democratic here at Drekeham Hall.”
“Not what I would call democracy, Mr. Eagle.”
“Ah, those New World ideas again, Mr. Mitchell. We do our best, we do our best. Yours is such a young country...”
“Did you want something?”
“I did, as a matter of fact.” I knew what he wanted, and it was staying firmly inside my trousers. If anyone was going to get it, it would be Morgan, or West, or my friend Bill at the police station, or Simon, the hall boy, or even the fat kitchen maid with the wonderful tits—but Leonard Eagle was never getting it again.
“Perhaps you’d like to take a postprandial stroll in the gardens.”
“Not today, thank you.”
“Don’t worry, Edwina,” he whispered, grasping my upper arm in his clawlike hand. “Your lily-white ass is quite safe with me. We need to talk.”
Everyone in this house needed to talk, it seemed. And everyone was contradicting everyone else.
“Come to my room. Don’t worry, I shan’t pounce. Not directly after lunch. So bad for my digestion. Besides, I have a friend in the stables who fucked me ragged all morning. And he’s twice the man you are.”
“Thank you so much.”
“A simple question of dimension, Mr. Mitchell. Here we are.” He led me up the stairs and opened a door off the first landing—a door close to the cupboard where our story began. Inside was a large, bright room that looked out onto the garden through two huge full-length windows. The furniture was draped with Indian shawls, the surfaces cluttered with bibelots; it was exactly the sort of “aesthetic” decor I had seen (and loathed) a hundred times in Cambridge. The focal point of the room was a large divan, stacked with cushions, upon which, I felt sure, Leonard had disported himself many times.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said. “My kingdom within a kingdom. I can relax here.”
“It’s very nice.”
“And so private.”
“I’m sure.”
“You see, I have this lovely sitting room, and my bedroom, and my bathroom, all tucked away from the family.”
“That must suit you very well.”
“Oh, it does, Mr. Mitchell. Marvelous for entertaining.”
“Of which you do a great deal, I’m sure.”
“Well, one does one’s utmost to spread a little happiness.” That’s not all he’d spread, of that I was certain.
“Yesterday, for instance, while the rest of you were playing that silly game of Sardines...”
“Oh, yes.”
“You wouldn’t have known, would you, that we were having quite a private party in here.”
“Were you, indeed.”
He threw himself onto the divan and reclined like a movie star, drawing a cigarette from his case.
“Got a light, sailor?”
I obliged. I could feel myself once again being drawn into Leonard’s web of seduction, and remembered the extraordinary sensations of his rectum on my cock, not to mention the spitting serpent that lay coiled inside his pants. I fought the image down, and thought instead of Meeks’s neck in a noose.
“Well, it was a marvelous party.”
“Good for you.”
“You’d be surprised how democratic we can be.”
“Meaning?”
“I draw my guests from all ranks, you see. A couple of pals from London who motored down...actors...no, you didn’t meet them, I don’t present them to the family. And they brought some friends. A stevedore I believe one of them was, though I have no idea what one of those is, and a stagehand from Collins Music Hall. Do you know Collins? Marvelous place...”
“No.”
“What a shame. And then, of course, Mr. Meeks.”
“Here? Yesterday afternoon?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? How would you know where he was?”
I could not betray Burroughs, and had to think fast. “The indoor staff had the afternoon off, didn’t they?”
Leonard laughed. “Precisely. You don’t imagine he was working, do you? Serving tea and sandwiches while the rest of us fucked each other’s brains out? Is that how you think it works? Dear me, no. Mr. Meeks was invited as a guest.”
“I see.”
“If you don’t believe me...”
“Go on. Who else?�
��
“And of course he brought his friend.”
“Reg Walworth.”
“Poor Mr. Walworth.”
“So it was here that...”
“Not precisely here. In the bathroom, I’m afraid. Something unfortunate happened with a leather belt that became tightened round Mr. Walworth’s neck. I believe that some people enjoy the sensations it produces...and others enjoy inflicting them.”
“You mean Meeks strangled him?”
“Not deliberately, I’m sure. Mr. Walworth was far too handsome to murder deliberately. But that, alas, is what happened.”
I felt it politic to believe him. “And while that was going on in the bathroom, what were you up to?”
“Well, the rest of us—me, Rodney, Neville, and their two rough friends, were amusing ourselves in the bedroom with another young guest. A very accommodating young guest...”
Light dawned.
“You mean Simon, don’t you?”
For once, I’d got the better of Leonard Eagle. It was a hunch, but something about Morgan’s tale of Simon’s wounded wrists, and West’s suggestion that the hall boy had sought his confidence before, suggested that the boy was being taken advantage of. For a second, Leonard dropped the mask and looked astonished; then he rapidly regained his composure.
“Ah, you took my tip, did you, and gave him a go? Isn’t he lovely? So obliging. You have me to thank for that. I’ve trained him well.”
I went along with it, licking my lips. “You sure have.”
Leonard thought he’d won, and became indiscreet. “Well, yesterday we had him tied hand and foot to the four-poster bed next door. Face up, face down. We all had a go at him. He loved it. Moaning away like a little whore.”
“Show me the bed.”
He opened a door, and there was the bedroom, a clashing horror of chinoiserie and theatrical rags, with a massive old four-poster dominating the floor. Ropes were still attached at each corner; rough, hempen ropes that would easily burn skin.
“Pity you weren’t here, Mitch. You’d have enjoyed it.”
“Hmmmm.”
“If you like, you can tie me up and have a go.”
“Not directly after lunch, thanks. Gives me a pain.”
“Maybe later, then?” He had that strange, golden sparkle in his eyes again; I guessed that the rough fucking administered by his friend in the stables had started to wear off. I disliked Leonard Eagle intensely, but I could not help recognizing that here was a man with a libido as strong as mine, and even fewer scruples about how he satisfied it.
