“The Baroness, Lady Barlow,” Arthur said.
“Nim!” James cried. “I should have known. Come, we must go tell her what’s happened.” He took Arthur by his metal-clad hand, and they raced toward the mansion. As they clattered through the door into the classroom, Arthur swept James to the side just in time to miss Mrs. Balin, who stood there, arms laden with books, a look of stupid wonderment smashed across her pinched face.
“What in God’s name?” She started. Then, as they neared the doors to the marble hall, “Get back here!”
They flashed past Miss Pelles near the stairs. “Is that a sword?” she squeaked. “Oh my.”
Miss Ivaine met them in the hallway outside of the Baroness’s bedchamber door. Her cheeks were wet, but in their haste, the boys did not notice as she ran in the opposite direction, back toward the stairwell.
“Nim!” James cried as they burst through the door. “Nim, did you see it? Arthur’s become a warrior, and his voice! He showed those cowardly blighters.”
Nim sat in her chair by the window, the curtains parted, looking down on the very tree where Arthur had drawn Excalibur. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she leaned back on the cushions. Her head lolled to the side facing the sunlight.
“My lady?” Arthur tried. “My lady, did you see...”
Nim’s eyes were closed, and her tired mouth affixed in a gentle smile. “Nim. Nim?”
James knelt at her side and patted her hand, and then lifted it to the arm of the chair; he squeezed her fingers. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his knuckle. “Wake up, Nim. Don’t tell me you’ve napped through...”
The door opened behind them, and in came Mr. Marlin with Miss Ivaine at his side, sniffling into a handkerchief. Mr. Marlin carried a black case at his side—an army medic’s kit. He set it on the bed and opened it to remove a stethoscope.
It was a dream, James thought. None of this was real. Perhaps Nim played a prank, pretended not to hear them.
“Let me help you,” Miss Ivaine whispered as Mr. Marlin put the stethoscope in his ears. Her fast fingers unbuckled Arthur from his armor, which she returned to the dress dummy that stood watch over the vanity and the jewelry box.
Mr. Marlin knelt in front of Nim and placed the end of the stethoscope on her chest, listening. He tried several places on her emaciated body, drawing aside her soft white blanket to reveal her dressing gown. The brooch sparkled in the sunlight, dancing pinpricks of shimmer over Mr. Marlin’s face.
James watched, immobilized, as Mr. Marlin removed the stethoscope from his ears and placed it around his neck. He picked up Nim’s other hand, and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, and then touched her neck in several places.
He stood, and put the stethoscope back in the bag, and shut it with a final, fatal snap.
“No,” James said. Hot bile singed the back of his throat and molten tears erupted.
“Yes, James.” Mr. Marlin clasped his hands behind his back and stared out the window at the children playing below.
James put his face on Nim’s hand and wept. Arthur knelt and wrapped his strong arms around him and pressed his face against James' shoulder. After a time, Mr. Marlin brushed them gently aside and lifted Nim like she was no more than a bundle of sticks, setting her on the bed with tender care. Miss Ivaine was there with a white sheet, and they shrouded her.
Arthur held James while he cried, smoothed his hair, his touch gentle despite his powerful hands. The adults melted away.
Time passed. The light in the window changed. James raised his head and accepted the handkerchief from Arthur’s back pocket. “Sorry, it’s not so clean,” he said.
“That’s all right.” James dabbed his nose and face. All of his tears had come out. All of them. For Nim, for the war, for his absent father, for his mother’s disappointment, for Morgan’s tortures, everything. He was empty. A calm stole over him, and his heart was comfortably languid.
Arthur bent down and kissed his cheek. “Are you going to be all right?” he rumbled.
James considered a moment before taking his knight’s hand. “Yes,” he said.
***
When James awakened Arthur a few nights later, he groaned and tossed his broad forearm up over his face.
“Ssh!” James warned. “You’ll wake the others.”
Arthur pulled on his jacket and trousers over his pajamas, as James had done, and together, they tiptoed into the delicious smell of the kitchen,
Mr. Marlin was at the door to greet them. “Welcome, Sir Arthur. Welcome, fair James. Your feast awaits.”
“Have I got a treat for you boys,” Mrs. Galhad grinned, stepping away from the stove to reveal the prize. “Wild turkey, shot just yesterday by Mr. Marlin!”
James could not help but let a lusty, “Ooh,” slip from his lips. There were scones and jam, and all the turkey and potatoes they could eat, saved up from the rations and gifts sent for the Baroness by friends and family. There was even a small box of chocolates.
Mrs. Galhad, Mr. Marlin, Miss Ivaine, and the boys sat at the round servant’s table and ate with relish. There was wine, and lively conversation.
“Has there been any more trouble with those rascals, James?” Mr. Marlin asked around a forkful of turkey.
“None,” James grinned, wiping his lips. “They’re terrified of Arthur now. Even without the sword and armor.”
The chocolates were consumed with great relish. The adults laughed as the boys tried to lick the tiny crumbs from the inside of the box with eager tongues.
Mrs. Galhad and Miss Ivaine cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen. James and Arthur were warm and sleepy; they held hands under the table. Mr. Marlin appeared from upstairs with a box-like object covered in a cloth. He set this in front of the boys, and lay a cream-colored envelope atop it. Their names were printed on the outside.
“Go ahead,” he prompted.
Arthur looked at James, who plucked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a small piece of cream stationery. The writing was jagged, trembling, and barely legible. “For... when... I’ve gone to Avalon,” James read.
Mr. Marlin whipped the cloth away, revealing Nim’s mother-of-pearl and opal-studded jewelry box. James gasped, and gently slid open the first drawer. Arthur lifted the insect pin and held it to the light. It was all there, all but her wedding ring, which would rest on her finger until Judgement Day.
“She’s left this...” James gulped. He glanced up at Mr. Marlin.
“To you, James,” Mr. Marlin said. “And the antique armor and sword shall go to Arthur, along with a modest sum of money.”
Miss Ivaine dabbed her eye with the corner of her apron. “She’d have left you boys the whole house if her family would have allowed it,” she revealed. “Oh, you have no idea what joy you brought her in these last days, loves.”
“Ah, I almost forgot. There is one more thing.” Mr. Marlin reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small leather-bound book. “This is a first edition,” he said, “signed by Lord Tennyson himself.”
The gilded letters on the cover read Idylls of the King.
“I shall lock everything up safely for you until you are able to return home,” Mr. Marlin promised. “My lady has a lawyer in London who will contact your families upon your return to see about what you’d like to do with the pieces, whether to keep or sell, whatever serves you best.”
“I’ll never sell Excalibur,” Arthur vowed.
Mr. Marlin smiled, a tired, knowing curve. “We shall see what the war brings,” he said.
James hugged each of the adults in turn, as did Arthur. They yawned and stumbled with exhaustion as they were sent back to bed. In the dark, Arthur lifted his cot and moved it a few paces to the left. Now, in the night, should thoughts of his father trouble him, James' hand was well within reach.
They joined fingers in the midnight country quiet, broken only by the occasional snore as the other boys dreamed.
“I miss Nim.”
“So do
I,” said Arthur.
A few moments of quiet. Then, “I love you, Arthur,” James whispered.
Arthur said, his mighty voice now soft, “The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and God fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter 15
Lance and James paused and listened at the room door a moment before Lance eased down the handle so they could slip inside. They shared a silent chuckle — it was funny, James supposed, trading one symphony of snores for another. Only this time, Arthur and Mrs. Wylit were able to make a layered harmony; his deep sawing breaths perfectly accompanied her nasal wheeze. Lance went first, and they tiptoed through the minefield of baggage to step carefully over Mrs. Wylit’s skewed legs and her rough-bottomed bare feet. Lance settled down on his cushions on the floor, and James gingerly lowered himself onto his side of the bed. He moved to slide in next to Arthur when Lance caught his arm. Silently, he beckoned James with his hand, and patted the cushion on the floor next to him. James slid off the bed again and sat with his back against it. Lance leaned close, and James was again perfumed with his scent.
“I understand now.” Lance’s breath stirred the little curls next to James' ear in gentle puffs.
“What do you understand?”
“I know why Granddad told me about you and Arthur, and what happened at Willowind House.” Lance inched nearer, and pressed his shoulder into James'. His closeness was suddenly overwhelming — James felt the same buzzing paralysis as when he’d stuck his finger onto the worn place on a lamp cord as a child. “I’d always thought it was because the whole thing was like a legend, a grand adventure. You know, a good old war story. I never understood why he told me about... well, why he didn’t change it. Why he told me the truth, that Arthur was a boy and you were a boy. In his retelling, he could have changed one of you to a girl easily.”
“Why?” James asked.
They both froze for a long moment as Arthur muttered something in his sleep and rolled over with a little moan.
When his rhythmic snores resumed, Lance took a breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in the dim light of the street lamps outside. At last he turned, and put his hand over James', which rested on his knee. “He told me all of it because he knew. He knew that I’m like you. I’m like you and Arthur.”
“Really?” James gasped, then put his free hand over his mouth. After a moment, he removed it and whispered, “You are?”
“I don’t know how he knew. Nobody knows about me. No one ever threw rocks at me or called me a poof. I really didn’t know myself until... well, until now. I always thought I was too busy for girls, that they were boring, that I had too much else to do, but... the truth is I never really fancied them at all.” He pressed his face into the crook of his elbow for a moment, subduing laughter that threatened to break free. “I’ve never said it out loud before. But it’s true. And somehow Granddad knew.”
“He needed you to know that there were others like you in the world.” Tears crept into James' eyes, and he dabbed them with the sleeve of his pajamas. If only Lance had chosen to make this confession while they were outside the room and didn’t have to keep quiet. Lance looked as though he were about to burst, his cheeks flushed and his brow damp. “He needed you to see that it’s possible to find someone to love.”
Lance threw his arm around James' shoulders and pressed him close. “I want to shout it in the streets.”
James hushed him gently. Mrs. Wylit snorted in her sleep, but did not move.
“I didn’t know it would feel this... wonderful. To really know myself, to know who I am.”
“Lance, I’m dreadfully happy for you,” James said, “but as for yelling it in the streets... listen, take it from me. You do have to be careful, mate. Please be careful. Because they can do to us what they did to Alan Turing. We can go to jail, have our names blackened, all of it. A gang of those Teddy Boys could murder us in cold blood and nobody would care. Do you understand?”
“It’s awful.”
James hushed him again, but Lance went on. “Well, it is. There’s nothing wrong with us. We were just born this way, weren’t we? There shouldn’t be any laws against love.”
James patted his knee sagely. “It’s not a fair world, Lance. More often than not, it’s a cruel one. I... I would be devastated if anything happened to you. I know Arthur would, too,” he added quickly. “So let’s all agree to watch out for one another.”
“Of course. I promise.” Lance pulled away and grinned at him. “I’ll never get to sleep,” he muttered.
“Well, we have to try.” James took Lance’s hand again. “I am honored.”
Lance cocked his head, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“I’m honored to be the one you told first. That I was here when you realized it.”
Lance smiled, and his dimples emerged to greet the rest of his face. “My pleasure, mate.”
The next day, as they walked to the bus station, Lance distracted Mrs. Wylit with a few sensational headlines in the newspaper. That gave James a quick chance to tell Arthur in hushed whispers about the night before. Arthur’s broad face lit up and his eyes sparkled at the news about Lance’s realization. “Never thought we’d have a friend who was like us.” Arthur watched Lance dance the newspaper in front of Mrs. Wylit, pointing to photos of American movie stars. “Suppose that’s why he’s so...”
“Understanding,” James finished for him.
“What were you doing up having a chinwag so late?” Arthur asked as they waited for the light to cross a busy intersection.
“I saw him again.” James told Arthur about the man under the streetlamp. “And what’s this I hear about you chasing a man in a long coat in the village? And you never told me about it?”
“Sorry, luv.” Arthur clammed up as a man in a business suit fell into step next to them. He and James unconsciously moved apart as they crossed the street to catch up with Lance and Mrs. Wylit. “Mrs. Wylit was being such a pain. And then we were off on the train, and...”
“You forgot?” James raised a sardonic eyebrow as they neared the station. Lance and Mrs. Wylit tasked themselves with finding the correct bus stand as Arthur and James trailed behind and bickered under their breath. “Really, Arthur?’
“Couldn’t see him properly.” Arthur hefted his suitcase. “I’m not sure it was him. It could have been anyone.”
James set down his suitcase on the curb and crossed his arms.
“Don’t be cross,” Arthur whispered as travellers walked past them, unaware of the lovers’ spat that unfolded inches away. “There’s been a lot going on. You said you weren’t sure yourself if it was anything at all.”
“I would have liked to have been told is all.” The flushed deepened under James’ freckles. “And I know what I saw last night. I saw that same man in that same coat lingering around our neighborhood back in London. For pity’s sake, he’s probably here right now watching us.”
“Why?” Arthur demanded out of the corner of his mouth. A young woman strolled past with a fine summer hat pinned over her carefully curled hair. She turned and gave him an inviting smile. He smiled and winked back before seamlessly returning to his quarrel with James. All part of the charade. “Why would someone be following us?”
“What if it’s the police? On some kind of... fairy witch hunt? It’s far from impossible, Arthur, and you know it.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. But I think... well, you’re a writer. You have a wonderful imagination.”
James bristled at him a moment, and then picked up his suitcase and joined Lance and Mrs. Wylit on a bench to wait for the bus.
They drove through gentle hills dotted with sheep, toward a darkening sky that eventually opened up in a downpour. After a half-hour ride, the rain had decreased in ferocity but was still intent on soaking Welby through and through. They exited the conveyance and opened their umbrellas. Arthur, being taller, h
eld his umbrella up for James, who, if he wanted to stay dry, was forced to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Simply touching Arthur’s arm leached away James' previous frustration, and he offered an “I’m sorry” smile that Arthur returned.
They trudged along the wet street, past charming cottages and low stone walls, the lush green lawns and brilliant flowers all glistening with rain. The address in Mr. Marlin’s book led them to a small white house up the road from St. Bartholomew’s church and graveyard.
Lance glanced at Arthur, who in turn nodded to James. James squared his shoulders and trotted up the small stone stairs to the door to knock. Within a few moments, a round, kindly-looking man with graying sandy hair answered. “Yes?” His eyes, small and brown, darted behind his perfectly circular wire-rimmed glasses from face to face.
“Good morning—” James began. As he did, a loud whistle trumpeted from within the house. It was a teakettle.
“I’ll get it,” called a voice, barely audible over Mrs. Wylit, who had dropped her bag and pressed her hands over her ears with a piteous moan.
“Make it stop,” Vi begged as her face went crimson and her legs buckled. Lance dropped to his knees on the wet flagstones and took her around the waist. He hoisted her to her feet as the kettle in the house went silent.
“It’s over, Mrs. Wylit.” Lance attempted to pull her hands away from her ears. She resisted him a few moments, and then slowly moved her palms away.
“Christ,” she swore, and shrugged Lance away to pick up her bag and dig for her flask.
“What’s going on? What’s the matter?” A tall, thin man in dark clothes and a priest’s collar came to the door and stood behind the bloke with glasses.
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“I’m so sorry.” James stepped back from the door. “It’s that... erm, she doesn’t... she can’t listen to a kettle whistle.”
“She looks about to faint.” The priest drew the sandy-haired man back by the shoulders and held the door open for them. “Please, bring her inside.”
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