The city gave way to the countryside where banks of snow lined the tracks, and the further west they travelled, the more the sky darkened. Among the few other passengers, there was talk of more snowfall, even in the west. Archer assured Silas they would reach Larkspur before it came down, and he was almost correct.
They were met at the other end by the groom, Williams, and Silas’ unease increased when he asked why Fecker hadn’t met them. It was a legitimate question as that was his job, but Archer passed it off with an excuse, saying he wouldn’t yet know the team of horses or the route.
The first fall of snow came in darkness as they trundled and shook across the moor. The lanterns caught flakes drifting through the frigid, windless air, and there were no stars. The ride took nearly an hour, and at one point, Silas drifted into sleep and only woke when the carriage jolted to a halt.
Looking from the window, he saw nothing but darkness.
‘We’re here,’ Archer said, shaking his knee.
‘I can’t see a thing.’ Silas yawned.
‘That’s because you’re looking the wrong way.’
Silas reached for the door handle, but Archer stopped him.
‘Silas,’ he said, his face grave. ‘Before we go inside, there’s something you need to know.’
Twenty-Seven
Archer was about to tell him bad news, Silas knew it. He had been hiding something for the last couple of days and had waited until the last minute to admit what. Silas drew a deep breath, certain of what he was about to hear. Steadying himself, he prepared for the worst.
‘The thing is…’ Archer began but was interrupted by the groom opening the door. ‘One minute please, Williams,’ he said, and the door closed. Archer pulled down the blind and took Silas’ hand. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘Larkspur Hall is not Clearwater House. We are not in the city now, there are many more servants, and it won’t be as intimate. We will have to be more aware of those around us. I have, or rather, Thomas has arranged my suite of rooms on the gentlemen’s corridor and yours is beside it. I will show you, but it is only in there where we can be Silas and Archie. I’m sorry, but you do understand, don’t you?’
‘Is this what you were upset about yesterday? That I’ve got to carry on my play acting? I knew that.’
‘That was part of it,’ Archer said. ‘I was also mad at myself for not… It doesn’t matter. Are you sure you don’t mind? I do think of you as my equal, but I can’t show it. Not here, not yet.’
Silas understood completely and said so, but what he didn’t understand was why he still felt uneasy. He kept that to himself.
‘It’s the first rule of Clearwater in reverse,’ Archer said. ‘There, honesty is the policy. Here, it’s dishonesty, if you like. Many of the servants were loyal to my father and are probably distrustful of me. I intend to change their attitude, but it will take time.’
‘We have to be discreet. I get it.’
Archer leant forward to kiss him but stopped. ‘You see? I daren’t even risk that.’
‘I can wait, Your Lordship,’ Silas said. ‘And I can act.’
‘Thank you,’ Archer whispered. ‘I love you.’
He knocked on the door, and Williams opened it, dropped the steps and assisted his master into the freezing night air.
Silas followed and was met with a wall of lanterns. At least, that’s how it appeared. There were too many lights to take in. A long row of them glowed through mullioned windows on the ground floor where he caught sight of chandeliers and gold picture frames. A few windows glowed on the floor above, but the rest of the house disappeared into the darkness and falling snow.
‘I’ll show you around properly in the morning,’ Archer said. ‘We should get inside before we freeze.’
They climbed steps to an arched porch where they were met by Thomas. His uniform was darker and more sombre than the fashionable one he wore in the city, but he was no less stunning for it.
‘Good evening, Payne,’ Archer said.
‘Good evening, My Lord. I hope your journey wasn’t too tiresome.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Mr Hawkins.’
‘Payne.’ It was weird to call him by his surname, but it had to be done.
James and another footman passed by silently without looking at Silas. This was how it was to be, and although he wanted to slap Jimmy on the back and crack a joke, he was equally determined not to let Archer down.
‘The staff are waiting for you in the hall, Sir,’ Thomas said, helping Archer out of his coat.
‘Quite right, can’t have them lined up out there.’
‘I shall continue to valet Your Lordship, but James will be valeting Mr Hawkins as you suggested. He won’t have the correct uniform for a while, but I hope that is acceptable, Sir?’
It took Silas a moment to register that Thomas was talking to him, he was distracted by light glaring through inner, glass doors. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘How’s James settling in?’
‘Remarkably well, My Lord. He has only been lost twice, but was found on both occasions.’
‘And the other things we discussed?’
‘All prepared, Sir. Will you change first?’
They were still in an outer lobby with the front door open and the night chill nipping at Silas’ feet. The lobby was the size of his shared room in Canter Wharf.
‘I won’t.’ Archer said. ‘We’re a little late, and I am sure everyone wants the party to start. Are they all here?’
‘Mostly,’ Thomas said. ‘The others will be present shortly.’
‘Has there been any news?’
‘A letter arrived this afternoon. I’ll bring it to you.’
‘Thank you, Payne. I will say a few words before things begin.’
‘Of course. Ah, Robert…’
Thomas stopped the first footman, a man James’ height and equally as blond, but older and far less attractive. ‘Take the bags to the rooms, unpack His Lordship and then come down. James, the same for Mr Hawkins.’
‘Yes, Mr Payne.’
Silas let James take his overcoat. He wanted to ask him what to expect when he walked through the glass doors, but he held his tongue. Time would reveal all, he remembered.
The footmen left through a door Silas hadn’t noticed, and Archer tidied his suit.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s lay down the law.’
Thomas held the door open for him, but prevented Silas from entering.
‘A couple of paces behind would be respectable,’ he said, and then whispered. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
It was a comfort to have Thomas directing him, and Silas relaxed a little. His nervousness returned, however, when he followed Archer and entered the body of the house.
The hall was the size of the courtroom. At the back, two sweeping staircases led down from a pillared gallery either side of a lavish Christmas tree. It was crowned by a silver star dead centre of the first-floor balustrade, the perfect height, the perfect tree. Between it and Silas stood a line of strangers too numerous to count. Some wore uniforms, some wore rustic, everyday but smart clothes, and others were maids in black and white. In another line waited old men, women, some teenagers, some burly men clutching cloth caps, a few Silas’ age, even some children. They tipped their heads or curtseyed as Archer passed, greeting them by name, asking how Dawson’s mother was, if Long Farm had been repaired, if Mrs White had recovered from the flu. How the man remembered their names let alone details was beyond Silas, and he was grateful, again, for Thomas.
‘You know Mrs Baker,’ the butler said.
It was good to see a friendly face. ‘Of course. Hello.’ Silas greeted her as cheerily as he could.
‘Welcome to Larkspur, Sir,’ Mrs Baker replied. ‘I shall put
some witch hazel on that bruise. Merry Christmas.’
Beside her was Lucy offering a welcoming smile, and then Sally, the other maid from Clearwater. Silas nodded at as many people as he could, aware that most were wondering who he was and how he came by the bruised face.
‘Hello, Mrs Flintwich,’ he said, relieved to see someone else he recognised.
‘Mr Hawkins.’ She curtseyed.
By the time he reached the end of the row, he was at one of the staircases, his head spinning, and his earlier unease replaced by bewilderment. Archer was ascending the stairs, but Thomas said, ‘We should wait here, Sir,’ and Silas obeyed.
Rooted to the spot, he took in the high ceiling, panelled with squares, each one with a gold and red crest in its centre. The hall was lined on two sides by pillars behind which stood arched doorways, some closed, others open to reveal magnificent furniture, deep rugs and pedestals holding busts, vases and flowers. It was too much, and he returned his wide-eyed gaze to Archer halfway up the stairs and looking down over the assembled crowd.
‘Good evening,’ the viscount said, assured and confident. ‘Thank you all for being here to welcome us. I would like to say a few words before the festivities begin.’
Thomas and Mrs Baker herded the servants into a less formal arrangement so they could all see and hear. When the shuffling and whispering had stopped, Archer continued.
‘It is good to be home,’ he said. ‘And it is good to see everyone looking so well. Thank you for taking care of my house.’ He paused as if gathering his thoughts, but Silas knew it was only for effect. ‘My house,’ Archer repeated and let that sink in. ‘It strikes me that this is the first time I am able to say, my house. We have lamented the late viscount’s passing, but the mourning is over. The house has been run in the same fashion for the last three hundred years, but we are living in modern times. There will be changes at Larkspur. There have already been some.’ He bowed his head to Thomas, who squared his shoulders proudly. ‘There will be more. There may not be an entire family in residence, but no one is to be concerned about their position.’
A few people relaxed at hearing that.
Archer looked directly at Thomas. ‘Payne, would you…?’
Thomas must have known what the viscount wanted because he sailed from the hall and disappeared behind one of the pillars.
‘Before we begin on Mrs Flintwich’s excellent buffet…’ Archer swept his hand at a vast spread on trestle tables around the tree. ‘I shall introduce you to Mr Hawkins.’
When beckoned, Silas mounted the stairs, his legs weaker than when he was led to the dock. He stood beside Archer and faced the sea of strangers.
‘Mr Hawkins joined me at Clearwater House as my secretary,’ the viscount explained. ‘We have had some trying business in recent months, and he has been of great assistance, as has James, who you will have all met by now.’
James had miraculously appeared at the bottom of the second staircase.
‘Mr Hawkins will be living with me as my guest and colleague, and will be treated as such.’ His expression changed, and when he spoke, his voice carried a hint of warning. ‘Now, I know you are keen to begin the ball, but before we do, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. With no disrespect to my late father, Larkspur will be run according to my rules from now on. This may not sit easily with some of you who were here before I was even born. For a start…’ He looked over the stone bannister. ‘I see the usual lack of entertainment. I will begin my first Christmas at the helm by rectifying that. Where’s Jonathan?’
A lad of about eighteen raised a hand.
‘Ah, good. Jonathan, would you and your brother be good enough to tune the fiddles? There is a pair in the music room.’
The house had a room just for music? Silas’ wonder increased by the moment.
‘Yes, Sir,’ the lad replied.
‘And perhaps Mr Williams can be tempted to his guitar?’ He directed that at the coachman who had just arrived. The man bowed his head, turned and left. ‘In fact, anyone who has a musical talent may help themselves to the music room and put together a band. As long as you play together and in tune, I don’t think we will disturb the neighbours.’ That raised a laugh, presumably because the house was so remote. ‘But maybe not the harpsichord. Hideous noise.’ Another laugh. ‘My first order to you all is to enjoy the evening.’
The only person not smiling was Silas. He had looked at every face in the hall, but there was one missing.
Thomas appeared, descending the other staircase where he nodded to Archer before taking his place beside Mrs Baker.
‘One last thing,’ Archer said, and excited chatter faded to an expectant hush.
The viscount said no more but faced the gallery above the tree. The chattering began again accompanied by a few gasps, and Silas turned to see why.
They were staring at a man, tall, regal in a frockcoat of the deepest blue, tucked at the waist with beneath it a waistcoat of shimmering gold. His hair was plaited, falling in tight twists behind his ears, and flowing beyond his shoulders. With his head held high, his presence commanded everyone’s attention.
Silas’ breathing came in short, gulped breaths and tears fought for release.
‘This is Mr Andrej Borysko Yakiv Kolisnychenko,’ Archer announced. ‘I call him Mr Andrej because, let’s face it, it’s easier. He is my Master of the Horse. Mr Andrej, I think you know Mr Hawkins?’
Fecker descended the stairs, and Silas’ joy turned to concern when he saw his left arm was in a sling, and his hand was bandaged.
Sniffing back tears, he whispered, ‘What happened?’
‘His khanjali.’ Archer said. ‘It’s a complicated tale which he will tell you later.’ Lowering his voice, he said, ‘For now, try and hold it together.’
The temptation to throw himself into Fecker’s arms was overwhelming, but when Archer faced the servants, Silas was forced to do the same. Holding his breath, he was determined not to let Archer down by crying in front of the staff. Fecker arrived on the stair behind, and Silas received a rough nudge in greeting. It was enough for now.
‘Mrs Baker,’ Archer called. ‘We will have the first dance as soon as I return.’
The servants applauded, and their conversations started again, this time louder and more excited.
‘Hello, Andrej,’ Archer said. ‘Good to see you.’
‘My Lord.’
‘Silas, I want to show you your rooms. Andrej, we won’t be long.’
‘Sir.’ Fecker looked at Silas, half-grinning, and flicked an eyebrow. ‘Jimmy and Bolshoydick told me everything, Banyak. You are hurt?’
‘Andrej,’ Archer hissed. ‘Please don’t refer to my butler as monster-cock, or whatever it means. You can have Banyak to yourself later, I need him just now.’
‘My Lord.’ Winking at Lucy below, Fecker carried on down the stairs.
Lost for words and in a daze, Silas followed Archer to the gallery where he turned left and entered a wide passage lined with paintings. Cabinets, pedestals and chairs stood between the doors, each one with a glass knob and a brass finger plate.
‘We’re along here,’ Archer said. He passed three panelled doors before putting his hand on one. ‘This is my bedroom. Yours is the last door before the arch.’
‘It’s miles away,’ Silas gasped. ‘How big is this place? How old is it?’
‘It’s a bit of a patchwork,’ Archer replied. ‘It was an abbey before the Reformation. There’s still a ruined church in the grounds, and it’s had bits added to it over the years, but you’ll adapt.’
Reaching the end of the passage, he turned to face the way they had come.
‘This is your bedroom,’ he said. ‘It is a long way, but the doors in between are for sitting rooms and others belonging to the two suites. One suite is yours, one is mine,
and they are joined, inside, by a connecting door. We will have relative privacy at certain times, but servants come and go as they need to. I suggest we keep the outer doors locked when we want to be alone so that we have privacy.’
Silas was unable to take it in. ‘Okay,’ he said, breathless.
‘In fact,’ Archer added as he put his hand on the door handle. ‘The suites have traditionally had their own maids, so you will get used to the same girls, and James is to be your valet, much like he is in the city.’
He opened the door and Silas followed him in.
A four-poster bed, armchairs, tables holding vases of winter flowers, plush carpets, oil paintings, there was too much to take in, including, at the end of the room, a stone fireplace where two maids were on their knees attending to the grate. On hearing the door, they leapt to their feet and turned to curtsy.
‘Ah, hello,’ Archer said, looking at one. ‘I am Lord Clearwater. You must be Iona.’
‘I’m Iona, My Lord,’ the other girl said. ‘She’s Karan.’
Silas crumpled to his knees, covering his face. Unable to hold back his emotions, they flowed from him in a loud sob as he gasped for air. When he dared look through his fingers, his sisters were running to him. He opened his arms to them, unable to speak.
Archer patted him on the shoulder. No words were needed, Silas’ joy was enough.
He closed the door quietly to find Thomas gliding towards him. They met halfway.
‘Your letter, Sir.’
‘Thanks, Tom.’ Archer pulled a face. ‘Sorry, Payne, won’t do it again.’
Archer took the letter. ‘How is Andrej doing?’ he asked as they walked towards the stairs.
‘You know Mr Kolisnychenko, Sir. Nothing fazes him. Not even cutting off his own fingers, apparently.’
Fallen Splendour Page 32
