The Highwayman Came Riding

by Qeturah Edeli

  “Is that really any of your business?”

  Bess seized Elias by the shoulders and shook him. “Tell me, you fucking twat!”

  “He fucked me.”

  “I knew it! You’re the highwayman’s little bitch!”

  “It was just once, and we plan on taking turns.”

  “Taking turns my ass. You’re a little—”

  “My ass. I mean, his ass. It’s mine. Or it will be. He already said so.”

  Bess let him go. “I can’t believe this.” She sighed. “You’re an official sodomite now.”

  Elias grinned. “Want to bake me a cake?”

  “Should I?” Bess asked. “Seems fitting.”

  “Lemon glaze, please.”

  “Even better.”

  Their talk continued as Bess shaved Elias.

  “Why won’t you let Augustus do this?” she asked as she dabbed Elias’s face with the badger brush. Elias had explained how he had needed to flee the well-intentioned Augustus that morning.

  “He’s not my fucking caretaker.”

  “And I am?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Elias had to keep his face still for Bess now applied a straight razor to his chin. “Hmm.”

  Once Elias was shaved and they were both dressed, they went down to the kitchen. Elias hauled a sack of flour up from the cellar for Bess. This was a usual duty for him, as their father did not like anyone taking a flame into the windowless recesses of the cellar and Elias could work in the dark. Flames were too dangerous, their father said, when a layer of flour coated everything.

  “Aren’t you going to get your beau?” Bess asked as she beat the eggs.

  “Not my beau,” Elias said, sinking his hands into a bowl of flour. He loved the feeling.

  “Stop that!” Bess snapped, slapping his hands away. “That’s for your cake. Anyway, what’s the poor sod doing upstairs all alone?”

  “Sleeping, probably. He’s lazy like that.”

  Augustus, who had apparently followed his nose to the kitchen, arrived much later when Bess was icing the cake.

  “What’s this?” Augustus asked.

  “Get your fingers out of there!” Bess howled; Augustus must have nicked some icing.

  “Never heard that from a Burgess before,” Augustus muttered, coming to sit next to Elias at the table in the middle of the room.

  “Cheeky bugger,” Elias said, leaning until his ear connected with Augustus’s shoulder. He rested his head there, even when Augustus reached down and patted Elias’s ass.

  “That’d be you, dear,” Augustus whispered.

  “Bess is making me an official sodomite cake,” Elias explained. “We’re celebrating my deflowering.”

  “What about mine?” Augustus demanded.

  “Yours too,” Elias conceded. “Shall we have another cake when our roles are reversed?”

  “Of course.”

  “You two are disgusting,” Bess said, sounding tired.

  Augustus took the opportunity to kiss the top of Elias’s head. “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said softly.

  “Now it’s just you who’s disgusting,” Elias said, trying not to smile.

  * * * *

  “Do you think you ever want to do it again?” Augustus asked later that day. Elias was drying the dishes as Augustus finished washing them. Lord Nelson, whom Bess never allowed in the kitchen, was pressing into Elias’s trouser leg.

  “What? Fuck, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you stupid?”

  Augustus dropped something that smashed against the floorboards. Lord Nelson hissed. “Shit! Sorry. I’m sorry. I should’ve known you wouldn’t want that. Sorry. And I smashed a plate too. Sorry.”

  “Oh God, you are simple,” Elias muttered. “Of course I want to fuck again, you git.”

  By the sound of it, Augustus had stopped panicking. “What, really?”

  “I’d fuck here and now if the door had a lock and my ass weren’t already minced meat.”

  Augustus fumbled something else that smashed. “Shit!” he yelled. “Fuck!”

  “It’s fine,” Elias, who had not moved from where he stood, said. He put a hand on Lord Nelson’s head to keep him in place too. “What’d you break this time?”

  “Teacup. I was trying to take a sip to calm my nerves.”

  “Not from the lace edge set?”

  “Er.”

  “We just won’t mention it to Bess. You’re going to have to dispose of that carefully.”

  “Right. I’ll buy a replacement next I’m in Town.”

  “With what money?” Elias demanded, ears suddenly ringing. “You said you weren’t thieving.”

  “And I’m not.”

  “And why should I believe you, when you won’t even tell me why you’ve a barrister?” Elias had forgotten this fact, but his irritation returned full force upon recalling it. Why would Augustus keep information from him?

  “I said I’d explain later.”

  “Well, it’s later, and you still haven’t explained!”

  “I meant later, later!”

  “Fuck you,” Elias said, his voice venomous. Was this a real argument? Even when Augustus had first held him up, there was a frivolity to their banter. But this felt like a fight. “If you want anything to do with me, you’re going to have to start telling the truth!”

  “Oh, really? That wasn’t a problem for the past few months!”

  “Well, we weren’t fucking for the past few months, now were we?” Elias yelled. “I don’t even know the man in my bed!”

  There was a long silence. “Is that really how you feel?” Augustus asked, suddenly timid.

  “I don’t know,” Elias muttered. “I have a headache. I need to lie down.” Augustus touched his elbow, but Elias jerked away. Lord Nelson growled. “I’ve been finding my way to my room long before you showed up,” he snapped, and took his leave, Lord Nelson at his side. Augustus said nothing more.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Augustus found Elias in his room later that day. For Augustus’s sake, it was fortunate Lord Nelson had complained to be let out before his arrival.

  “I’m sorry,” Augustus said, sitting on the edge of the bed. It dipped toward him with a creaking of ropes and wood. “I’m sorry I broke the plate and the teacup and I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you don’t know me. That was never my intention.”

  Elias rolled over so Augustus could see his face. “Then why don’t I know anything about you?” he asked. “Why is all I know about your family that your mother died young and your father disowned you? Why can you speak French so well, when that’s something only a toff or a foreigner can do? Why don’t you explain what ‘after a prize’ means? What do you do when you go to Town? You could have a wife and children there for all I know.” What was the purpose of it? he wondered. Why could not Augustus just be honest with him? Had not Elias been honest since day one? He had even talked about kissing Mr. Sweeton with Augustus.

  Augustus snorted.

  “What?” Elias demanded.

  “I’m sorry, the idea of me having a wife.”

  “You’re right. You would’ve lasted longer in bed if that were the case.”

  “Hey!” Augustus did not sound upset. When he spoke next, he was painfully serious. “Eli, I promise, someday I’ll tell you everything. I will. Just not today.”

  Elias turned his back to Augustus once more.

  “Come, now, don’t be like that,” Augustus murmured.

  “I can be however I damn well please.”

  “You’re stubborn as a child,” Augustus said, rubbing circles over Elias’s shoulders. Elias did not try to move away.

  “And you’re maddening,” Elias replied. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  Elias considered this. “No.”

  “Then that’s why I’m still here.”

  “Do you promise it’s nothing bad?” Elias
asked, after a while.

  “What? My secrets?”

  “Yes. Do you promise they won’t make me hate you?”

  “I can’t promise you how you’ll feel in the future. I’m not ashamed of them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “You’re utterly shameless, so that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Says the man who walked ass-naked through town.”

  “Because you made me!”

  “I might’ve stolen your clothes,” Augustus whispered, “but you stole my heart first.”

  “Fuck off,” Elias muttered, his cheeks hot.

  Augustus drew a deep breath. “I promise I’ve done nothing wrong. How’s that?”

  “It’ll do.”

  “Do you still have a headache?” Augustus asked.

  “It’s getting better.”

  “I’m glad. Can I get you anything?”

  “A cup of tea. Please.”

  When Augustus returned, he helped Elias sit up and placed the handle of a teacup in his fingers. Elias took a sip, and found the tea was brewed to perfection and the ideal temperature. He tried to hide his surprise.

  “Thanks.”

  “Is it good?” Augustus prompted.

  “What, the tea?” Elias feigned disinterest. “It’s decent.”

  “I could tell.”

  “Because you tasted it?”

  “No. Your face told me you liked it.”

  Elias sighed and took another sip. “I wish I understood the concept of sight better.”

  Augustus said nothing.

  “I mean, I understand, but I don’t understand. Everyone I’ve ever met has this whole different way of experiencing the world and I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

  Augustus touched Elias’s knee.

  “Anyway,” Elias said, draining the last of his tea in two big gulps, “I suppose it’s not as bad as it could be. I don’t know what I’m missing.”

  When Augustus remained silent, though his hand still rested upon Elias’s knee, Elias grew restless. “Why don’t you say something?” he snapped.

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Why?”

  “I think my silence is more useful right now.”

  “Ugh, fucking Saint Cynthia,” Elias muttered, putting his teacup on the floor. “I need a nap.”

  Augustus took the teacup and shut the door softly on his way out.

  * * * *

  Elias composed for the next week, a steady torrent of sounds crashing through his mind at a breakneck pace. He resumed his normal relationship with Augustus, trusting he would, in due course, come to know more of his history.

  After he played his two newest compositions for Mrs. Brown the following week, she took his hands in hers and insisted she had never heard such beauty in her life. “They’re different from your others,” she said. “They’re darker, more painful, more unique. My contact simply must hear you.”

  When Elias returned home, Augustus was waiting for him in the tavern.

  “How was your lesson?” Augustus asked.

  “Fine,” Elias muttered.

  Augustus touched Elias’s elbow. “Did you learn anything new?”

  “Mostly just played for Mrs. Brown.”

  “Your own pieces?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ever going to play them for me?” Augustus asked, drawing Elias to him and brushing the loose curls from his face.

  “I don’t know.” Elias turned his face away.

  “If you ever want to—”

  “I said I don’t know,” Elias snapped, pulling free.

  “Right. Er, are you still upset I haven’t told you everything about myself?”

  “No. You told me you’d tell me eventually. I believe you.” Elias made for the bar.

  “All right. Ah, did Mrs. Brown like your compositions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she still want—”

  “Did you know your voice gets an annoying nasal quality to it when you’re anxious?” Elias demanded.

  Augustus said nothing.

  “It makes me want to cut my fucking ears off.”

  “If you want a fight, you’re not getting one,” Augustus said, sounding tired.

  “Why? You were always down for a good back-and-forth before. What’s changed? Did Lord Nelson eat your tongue?”

  “Why’ve you been trying to push me away?” Augustus asked as he neared. His voice was no less nasal.

  “Am not,” Elias snapped, feeling for his apron on its usual hook behind the bar.

  “Yes, you are. You’re picking fights, and not in the way you used to. These feel different. As though you’re angry with me. Tell me, what have I done, if you’re really not bothered by me not sharing some things for now?”

  Elias’s stomach knotted as he tied his apron. Augustus came to stand beside him. “Nothing. You haven’t done anything,” Elias said.

  “Then why are you being so hostile?”

  Elias stood still for a long time, head bowed. If he did not say it now, he would explode. His stomach continued to writhe. “Don’t you think you’d be better off with someone else?” he blurted. It had never been a loud thought, but it had always been present. Now that he had said it, his ears caught fire and began to ring.

  The air in the room dropped a few degrees. “What?” Augustus’s voice was no longer reedy. It was low and crisp as ice. He came to stand in front of Elias.

  “I don’t want to drag you down,” Elias muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m slow and sightless and—”

  Augustus grabbed Elias’s jaw and jerked his head up. Elias stiffened. “Stop it.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I don’t want you forfeiting normalcy to court a man who can’t even piss properly.”

  Augustus’s hand, which still gripped Elias’s jaw, began to shake.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Augustus demanded.

  “Well, my eyes, to begin with,” Elias said.

  “And what do I care if your eyes are fucked?”

  “You say that, but—”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The man I held up was not some self-pitying shit, so don’t pretend you are now.”

  “But—”

  “Eli. I knew you were sightless from our first conversation. That has done nothing to deter my interest in you. I realize you’ll never be able to do many things I can do, and yes, you do piss funny, and I don’t care. You’re fast-tongued and witty, you’ve a good heart, you’re interesting—and I mean you you, not just your eyes or how you live without their use, though I’ve a great admiration for that—and, whether you intend to be or not, you’re endearing. I adore you, you idiot.”

  Elias’s face was hot. He tried to turn away, but Augustus held fast.

  “I adore you,” he repeated. “So don’t do this to me,” his voice wavered. “To us. Are you happy with me?”

  “Yes,” Elias admitted. Nothing pleased him more than a good afternoon of banter and kisses with Augustus, even if he did not know why Augustus sometimes disappeared to Town for days on end or got letters from a barrister.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know. I feel guilty, I suppose.”

  “Why?”

  “You could do better.”

  Augustus kissed Elias on the mouth, and the knots in Elias’s stomach began to relax. “No,” Augustus murmured. “I couldn’t. Not in a thousand years.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Augustus disappeared to Town for a few days again in late November. Elias tried not to pine, but it was difficult. Though Augustus still kept his room at the Prissy Peacock—Elias could not figure out how he paid for it—they spent more nights than not sleeping together in the spare bedroom after long sessions of frottage and fellatio, and with Augustus gone, Elias returned to his be
d in the room he shared with Bess.

  “Have you deflowered him yet?” Bess asked late one night after they were tucked under their seasonally thicker blankets.

  “You mean in the same fashion he did me?”

  “Obviously.”

  “No.”

  “When are you going to?”

  “I don’t know. To be honest, we haven’t done that sort of thing since the first time.”

  “Oh, didn’t you like it?”

  “No, I did,” Elias said, reflecting, “and I think I could like it a lot more if we did it more often, but neither Augustus nor I have really mentioned it.”

  “Isn’t that strange?”

  “No. I mean, we do other things.”

  “Ah.”

  “And that’s enough. I think if I said I wanted to do it again, he’d leap at the opportunity, but he hasn’t asked me directly.”

  “Are you waiting for him to ask?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You know how sometimes you’ve a craving for something sweet, and most of the time a slice of cake will do, but sometimes you want the whole damn cake and all the frosting?”

  “Mm.”

  “I just haven’t been very gluttonous lately.”

  “Interesting.”

  * * * *

  Augustus returned bearing gifts, including a teacup and a plate he slipped onto the shelf without ceremony. For Bess, he had a comb, over which Bess exclaimed and for which she apparently delivered a sloppy kiss of thanks.

  “Disgusting!” Augustus wailed. “Eli, your sister just kissed me!”

  Elias smirked. “We’ll see if this is a Burgess trend today.”

  “Dear God, if I so much as see Father, I am fleeing,” Bess said.

  “I brought you a gift too, Eli,” Augustus said, “so I’d welcome a kiss.”

  “A gift?”

  “Here.” Augustus pressed something cylindrical and hard into Elias’s hand.

  “Is that your—” Elias pushed the offending object away. Bess was in the room!

  “It’s a cane,” Augustus clarified.

  “Oh.” Elias accepted the gift, sliding his hands along the length of wood. Augustus had once said he would buy him a cane, but Elias had never expected him to follow through with this. Canes were expensive. “And how would you have me use this?”