Fic: A Fish Out Of Water - parts 2 & 3
Mar. 29th, 2005 12:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonelybritI'm posting these two together as the second chapter is really a transitional thing - which I suppose is the polite way of saying nothing much happens, LOL! Hopefully things pick up a bit in the next chapter, though. Again, huge huge thanks to the wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eloise_bright for helping feed the bunnies as well as being a sterling beta!
Chapter One can be found here.
Chapter Two:
The trip to the village had two purposes. One, it gave me and Will a chance to scout our surroundings. Two, it would help distract Will a little from the funeral scheduled for later that day. An unplanned third benefit was that it also gave me time to think about the Pryce situation. After Will’s words in the car, I was hardly happy that I had a potentially treacherous valet to deal with on top of everything else.
We scouted and ambled and investigated the local watering hole for about an hour or so. Everything except funerals and sons of ambitious lords was discussed at length. Then, finally, we decided to face the music and returned to the car. I dropped Will off at the gates to his uncle’s house so he could pay his respects and check what his role was to be in the service. Meanwhile, I squared my jaw, braced myself, and returned to the cottage and to Pryce.
As I strode in through the front door, making a beeline for the stairs and the illusion of privacy in my room, I glimpsed him in the drawing room doorway.
“Funeral today, Pryce,” I barked – yes, I was already barking after only a few hours – “Look out some suitable clothes, will you.”
I didn’t bother making it sound polite, and I didn’t wait around to hear an answer. I was halfway up the stairs by the time the quiet ‘Yes, sir’ hit the air.
There had been a hot midday sun over me and Will when we trawled the village square, and consequently I felt in need of a shower and a good drink. I headed into the bathroom, closing the frail partitioning door with some relief. The morning had turned out to be unexpectedly complicated. The discovery that this antique joint didn’t have a shower, only an iron-eagle-footed bathtub, did nothing to sweeten my mood. I started the water running with a muttered curse before moving away to strip off my outer layers.
A small blot of bright colour caught my eye when I threw aside my jacket. A flash of brilliant yellow on white enamel.
“Okay...”
I approached the object with disbelief. I picked it up and gave it a slight squeeze. It gave a friendly wheezy squawky sound in response. A pair of large black outlined eyes smiled back at me over an orange beak. I turned the duck over in my hand and then threw into the filling bathtub. It bobbed upside-down for a second before righting itself and turning its tail to me in hurt reproof. Typical. In England, even rubber inanimate objects could treat you with scorn.
I had just finished removing socks and shoes and was moving onto the trousers, when suddenly Pryce materialised a few mere feet away. Behind him, the shuttered door flapped from his unseen passage. I crashed back into the mirror, jarring my elbow and would have said something quite unprintable had I not also bitten my tongue.
“Pryce!” I furiously choked out, “what the hell do you mean, bursting in here! I was about to have a bath!”
“I surmised as much from the sound of running water, sir,” said Pryce, and even if his face was marble still, he sounded hurt. “If you wished to bathe, why didn’t you say so and I would have run one for…”
“I’m not a child,” I snapped back, “I am perfectly able to run a bath for myself, thank you.”
“Very good, sir.”
“What I would like is a little bit of privacy in my own room. Now get out!”
“Sir.”
And just like that, he was gone. And I mean, just like that. One moment he was there, and the next he had somehow drifted unseen from the room in the time it took me to blink. The thin door softly clicked back into place and it was just me and the duck.
“Don’t say anything,” I said to the reproving tail.
The tail bobbed a little in the quiet din of the taps, then moved with dignified steadiness under the curve of the rim and out of sight.
*~*~*~*
I emerged a while later, still towelling my hair dry. The cooler air of the bedroom made the skin tingle, and I hastily began looking for clean, dry clothes. I had barely taken a step before I saw the dark suit neatly laid out on the bed. A pair of brilliantly polished black shoes that I barely recognised as the scuffed-up pair I’d packed back in LA stood in silent order on the dark rug. There was just something about the utterly precise and ‘just so’ way it had all been set out that made my heart twinge in unwanted guilt. Remembering my words to him as I picked up the perfectly ironed shirt, I found myself fighting the urge to go and apologise to the man.
“Mr Davies asks if you could speak to him as soon a possible, sir.”
Once my heart had unpeeled itself from the ceiling and returned to its usual haunt of the ribcage, I turned round. Speak of the devil.
“Do you think… I mean, can you try to make just a little noise when entering my room, Pryce?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Noise,” I repeated pathetically. “Make noise, you nearly gave me a heart attack just now.”
“I apologise if I inadvertently caused you shock, sir.”
The ‘a’ word, and the realisation that Pryce was carrying a tray with what looked divinely like a tumbler of whiskey, made up my mind.
“No,” I said firmly, straightening my shoulders and trying to look as serious as a man can do with only a towel wrapped around his middle, “it’s me who should be apologising, Pryce. I was terribly rude earlier…”
“There is no need to apologise, sir.”
“Yes, there is. You’re doing me a big favour, taking on a job like this at such short notice. Least I could do is give you the benefit of a doubt.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. Is that a whiskey?”
Pryce gave a slight inclination of the head in wordless reply, and I gratefully took up the glass. My mind cleared with the first amber warm swallow. Will may have been right, maybe Pryce wasn’t the most honest person in the house, but somehow it just felt wrong to use Pryce’s professional loyalty and silence as excuses to treat him like I’d already passed judgement.
I finished the glass in normal time, and set it back down on the tray.
Pryce looked at the twinkling crystal for the smallest fraction of a second and I sensed the silent reproof. Clearly, downing a good finger or so of whiskey was not a practice he fully approved of.
“Mr Davies is waiting for you in the drawing room, sir,” he said, as if worried I might have already forgotten. “He seemed highly agitated, and requested that you confer with him with all due haste.”
“What?”
“He said,” and Pryce almost visibly winced, “pardon me, sir, but I’m quoting, ‘Tell that bloody spine-headed oaf to get his arse down here before I come up there and drop a frog in his bath. And you can tell him that I said that.’”
“Ah. I’ll get changed then.”
“It would appear to be advisable, sir.”
Pryce moved toward the door, but at the last moment turned left and, instead of leaving, flung open the wardrobe and began looking through my coats. I hesitated, one hand gripping the towel, my gaze travelling between that graceful back and the clothes lying out beside me. Pryce floated my way once more, looking over a dark wool coat with approval. He noticed my still undressed state and seemed surprised.
“Do the clothes not meet your approval, sir?”
I blinked, confused. “Oh no, I think your outfit’s… lovely. The black and white is really… you.”
A small muscle twitched at the side of Pryce’s mouth.
“I was referring to the garments I had laid out for you, sir.”
“Right.” I considered things for a moment. “Erm… sorry, I’m new at all this. Is it… Am I meant to get changed with, erm…”
The look Pryce gave me was kind. “I can go and inform Mr Davies that you will be with him shortly, sir.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
He shimmered slightly and then the door shut behind him as he vanished from sight. My grandmother, Freya Connor, God rest her soul, used to be full of tales about genies and ghosts and witches that could walk through walls. I was beginning to wonder if maybe there was some truth in her tales and if one of Wes’ ancestors belonged to this light-footed group.
I dressed quickly, made a vague attempt to put my hair in order, and then descended to the drawing room.
Will was standing by the bay window, hands stuck deep in his pockets and when he turned round, his face was grave.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You been alright?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Can’t complain.” Will looked hard at a potted fern as if he expected it to disagree with him. “It’s all fine, right and dandy.”
That little exchange done with, we stood for a while in silence. Will still glaring at that poor plant. I’ll come clean straightaway and say that I was puzzled. When I had left him, Will had a relative spring in his step and a face that said he knew the sun was shining. Now, he had the bleak expression of a man who doesn’t’ need to ask for whom the bell tolls, because he knows damn well it tolls for him.
“They want it to be a small family affair.”
I blinked.
“The funeral?”
Will nodded glumly, and then sniffed and straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. I could almost see the upper lip stiffening.
“So be it. I may not like it, but I’m a Davis, Liam,” he said, solemnly, “and we Davises do not let our family down.”
“You mean like running off to America and leaving your Mum behind?”
“That was totally different. That was a matter of pure survival. Holtz would have had our hides if he’d caught us.”
“Valid point.”
“Anyway, Aunt Edith specifically requested this.”
“For a small funeral? Well, I suppose…”
“Oh, hell no!” Will looked at me like I’d sprouted a beak and tail. “No, far far worse. She’s requested that I recite some of my poetry as one of the readings.”
Thundering silence rolled over us as we both considered the probable repercussions of her request. I actually think Will’s poetry is kind of pretty, full of heart. But when Will’d done readings before, we sometimes had to flee the literal shower of vegetables.
“People don’t normally bring, you know, fruit and squishy produce to funerals, do they?”
“Not normally,” I said thoughtfully, “though they might be carrying snacks for the wake afterwards.”
Will slumped into a chair and reached for the decanter of whiskey. He didn’t bother with a glass, just took one long swig straight from the neck.
“Stuff ‘em,” he said after a few more swallows, the old stubborn fire in his eyes. “If Aunt Edith wanted my sorry words on her big day, then she shall damn well have them!”
He slammed the now half-empty vessel back onto the tray, making the remaining glasses tinkle, and stormed from the room. A few seconds later and I heard the study door slam shut and the faint squeak of a chair being drawn up. After so many years, I could easily recognise Will’s I Have Been Bitten By The Muse Disturb Me At Your Peril mood. It looked like Aunt Edith would be having her own personalised ode to listen to, where-ever she might be. It also looked like that, until further notice, my study was out of bounds to anyone wanting to keep their head attached to their body.
“Greylings has just spoken to me regarding the recent alterations to Lady Cusplip’s funeral.”
I rocketed several feet skywards at the sudden voice in my left ear. Finally I regained breath and turned to see who had spoken.
“Jesus, Pryce!” I said weakly, holding onto the back of a chair for support. “Please wear a bell or something, or cough at least.”
Pryce looked appropriately apologetic.
“I will endeavour to make my presence more easily noticeable to you, sir.”
“Thanks.” I took up Will’s vacated seat and began reaching for the whiskey only to have it whisked away from my outstretched fingers.
“Allow me, sir.”
He neatly plucked up a clean tumbler and poured a healthy portion of soda that I received rather cautiously.
“I was going to have a whiskey, Pryce.”
“Pandora was going to only take a peek, sir.”
“Was she a friend of your- Oh, no, you mean the box thing, don’t you. Sorry. Anyway,” I continued hastily, sipping away, “does small and personal family mean I’m staying here this afternoon?”
“I believe that was the general wish of both Lord Cusplip and Master Davis, sir. Although with regards to young William’s orders, I think this was not a personal slur, merely a wish to ensure you do not get caught up in any possible fallout.”
“Oh, nice of him.” I craned my neck to look out the large window behind me. Outside the sun was blazing away, the grass looked green and soft, I could hear the silvery rustle of wind-played leaves. A few extra free hours might not be so bad, after all.
Pryce stood politely a few feet away.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, no, although if you could pick out some less, you know, grim, clothes, that’d be great. I’ll be up to change in a minute.”
“Very good, sir.” Pryce inclined his head and suddenly wasn’t there any more, but I’d already begun my next sentence, and so he reappeared with his hand on the door knob.
“So, it’ll be just you and me, then?” I said cheerfully, and after blinking at his silent and apparently instantaneous move, I raised my glass. “Well, I suppose it’ll be a good time to get to know each other a little better, right?”
I gave what I knew to be a warm and honest smile. I’d given that smile countless times in bars and clubs, and always got the most positive response. Previously suspicious doorkeepers or barmen have decided to take a liking to me on the basis of that smile, and thrown open their doors and tankards respectively.
Pryce showed no emotion on his face, but even so I felt like he was… apprehensive at the words and utterly un-reassured by the smile.
“As you say, sir.”
And then, this time, he really did vanish, and I was watching the door click quietly back into place.
*~*~*~*
At half past one that afternoon, Will drove off to the local church with the grim but determined air of a gladiator striding out to face the lion pack. Although the service was going to be a quiet, ‘close family only’ affair, a more open wake was being thrown at three in the main house of the widowed Lord Cusplip. Will extracted from me promises sworn on the souls of my unborn children that I would be there with a ready cocktail to greet him. Greylings went with him and so once the car had pulled away, it was only Pryce and me.
“Share a drink with me?” I said as we processed back into the house. “See if I can’t hold a proper conversation this time.”
“Thank you, sir, a very kind thought, but I really should-”
“That wasn’t actually a request,” I said firmly, but with a grin. “Come on, humour an eccentric American.”
He looked at me, blue eyes quizzical and for some odd reason suspicious. Then he relaxed and gave a gentle nod.
“As you wish, sir.”
Chapter Three:
We relocated to the drawing room and yet again I headed for the whiskey. By this point I suppose there was a healthy chance that Pryce thought that he worked for, among other things, an alcoholic. But, stuff it, I wanted to try and get a proper impression of the guy. If he turned out to be the snake that Will thought typical of the Wyndam-Pryce clan, then I wanted to be sure for myself before taking off the proverbial gloves. And if he wasn’t, then maybe I should be congratulating him on making the break. But I wanted to know either way.
“So,” I said, trying my hand at the ‘jovial’ thing, “it must take a lot of training to be a… a… What is the correct term? A butler? Valet? Gentleman?”
“The usual term is ‘gentleman’s personal gentleman’, sir, although in more general circles the title ‘valet’ will also suffice.”
Pryce turned his glass round in his hands but didn’t drink. He didn’t meet my eye either. Instead he stared thoughtfully down into the swilling liquid as if hoping to find answers somehow etched into the crystal. His answer had sounded automatic, like even though his body was there and speaking to me, his mind was somewhere else completely. Not the world’s greatest start.
“Noted, Pryce, noted. So, it takes a lot of training to be a gentleman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You enjoying it so far?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose it can be a busy job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Still, you must get to meet lots of people. Make friends and that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think you could give me a hint here as to what I should be asking?”
“Yes- Pardon, sir?” Pryce blinked at me, and I think it was one of the first times I ever saw him show any real emotion while still working. In this case, an expression of simple bewilderment.
I sighed.
“Pryce… Look, I don’t even know your first name.”
“Well, sir-”
“Can you just tell me? I promise I won’t call you by it if you don’t want me to, but it just feels, I don’t know, disrespectful to not even show an interest.”
He seemed to think this over before offering: “Wesley, sir.”
“Wesley?”
“Yes, sir.”
I looked him over in what I hoped was a not too obvious way. He didn’t look like a Wesley. He had too much colour for one thing; a Wesley should be some po-faced, blonde-haired ponce with curls. Still, you can’t pick these things.
“Suits you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Silence descended again, but, God knows how, the ice had finally been broken and Pryce, after a tiny inclination of the head, took his first sip out of the glass. He looked across at me with a gaze of frank curiosity.
“May I ask how you came to know Master Davis, sir?”
“You can call me Liam, you know.”
“Yes, sir, but it is not the usual practice to display such familiarity between employer and employee.”
“Oh. So if I went around calling you Wes-” I stopped without finishing, seeing Pryce wince at the mere thought. “Right ho, then. Pryce it is.”
He continued to look at me expectantly.
“Um, you realise I’ve completely forgotten what your question was.”
“My apologies, sir, it was not my intention to derail your train of thought. I was enquiring as to the nature of the history between yourself and Master Davis, sir.”
“Oh!” I grinned with fond nostalgia. “Oh, take a seat, Pryce, and I’ll give you the full scoop.”
And that was precisely what I did. Pryce sat himself in a facing chair and delicately sipped his beverage as I happily related to him the bedlam and havoc that Will and I had unleashed on Piddleston School For Boys. He didn’t gasp or laugh as other people have done, but he still made a good audience. Plus, for me, it was a valuable learning experience. I learnt that an ‘Indeed, sir’ was the equivalent of a heartfelt ‘You’re kidding!’ or a ‘My God, did you even own a brain?’ depending on which syllable was heaviest. By the end of my happy tale, we were, by English staff standards, almost clapping each other on the back and offering one another a cigarette. Until I did the silly thing of trying to be a good host and giving the guest a chance to speak, and uttered the dreadful words:
“So, what were your school days like, Pryce?”
At once the friendly spark in the eye went out, and Pryce drew himself up.
“Passable, sir,” he said with distinct coolness.
In hindsight, I see that that the polite thing to do when your guest suddenly clams up is to change the subject and pretend it never happened and never mention the topic ever, ever again. But I was new to this game, so I dealt with the situation with all the finesse and grace of a drunken elephant at a baptism.
“Meaning they kinda sucked?” I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, mine were like that too, really.”
“I was unaware that one’s time at school could be ingurgitated, sir.”
I waved aside his gentle rebuke. Will and I had grown used to people choking at our use of the English language, basically by ignoring them. Besides, you could tell Pryce’s heart wasn’t really in it.
“Well, I’ll admit I’m surprised,” I said, eyeing him thoughtfully. “I’d have thought you were Head Boy material for sure. I mean, don’t tell me you put a frog in the headmaster’s snuff box?”
A wistful look flashed into the blue eyes.
“No, sir. Although one must admit, such a plan would not have been without its appeal.”
“Again with the surprise.”
Pryce’s gaze, which had drifted ceilingward, snapped back and he gave me an odd look. And with the sunlight behind me streaming into the room, well, those eyes really were something to have staring right back at you. I mean, I had listened to what Will said and had looked at Pryce with some caution. But now I suddenly was reminded of Will’s ‘eye candy’ comment, because, hell, who wouldn’t?
“As you say, sir,” was all Pryce said.
“I remember our old headmaster, Professor Holtz, oh, when he got ahold of his cane and started swishing… The blood still runs cold at the memory.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Oh yes,” I said, with feeling. “Causing the chaos was always great fun, seeing the expressions on their faces when the tree fell down or their inkpot sprouted legs… That could be incredibly satisfying.”
“I will take your word for it, sir.”
“But, of course,” I continued with gloomy nostalgia, “we always had to pay the price in the end. Although actually, old Holtz wasn’t that bad. I mean, he was tough and left you unable to sit for a few days and never got that whole forgive and forget thing, but the worse part was getting home.”
“Sir?”
I sighed. I could remember some of those interviews with Holtz. Standing in front of that heavy desk, with its owner looming like a prophet of doom behind it. That gravelled voice intoning your fate, and then the sickening lurch of the stomach when he leant forward and picked up a sealed and addressed envelope. The words ‘And of course, your parents will be notified of your behaviour, Master Connor’ were more dreadful than any number of lashes.
“Are you all right, sir?”
I started and returned to the present, to find Pryce looking concerned. I gave myself a mental shake, offering him a weak grin.
“Ah, my father was a formidable man, Pryce. And let’s just say my school record hardly pleased him.”
“Parents can be prone to expressions of extreme disappointment when their offspring fail to reach their expectations.”
I gave a short laugh.
“I think the extreme disappointment came from the fact I didn’t give a damn about his expectations and stopped trying to live up to them a long time ago.”
“Your relationship with your father was not a cordial one, sir?”
“If you mean did we fight like cats and dogs? Oh yes. In the end he wound up in Ireland and I wound up in America, so you can see how well that ended.”
“I am sorry to hear that, sir.”
Okay, so I’m not the world’s greatest wordsmith. And I’ll be the first to own up to being no real mastermind. Will can run circles around me when it comes to mathematics and obscure poetry and odd historical figures. Up until then, the people who’d met me in England had all looked at me with a mixture of pity, contempt and curiosity. Like I was some strange object possessing all the intellectual capacity of a flea. But while I can’t read Arabic or identify the dynasty of a china vase, if there’s one thing I can do perfectly, it’s read people. I can pick up on the little things, I can figure out what makes people really tick. In my school days it meant I always knew just what to do to a particular teacher to really get him where it hurt. And it was the only thing that kept me from sinking completely when I came to England, because when you meet someone who believes on having an upper lip so stiff you could crack a walnut on it, you need all the help you can get when it comes to figuring out what they’re really trying to say.
And in that room, at that moment, although he was standing there with his face all calm and clear, I could tell Pryce was squirming. He had frozen the instant I mentioned having to go home, and then there had been the faintest flicker in the eyes at the word ‘father’. Plus - and to me it was like a giant fire alarm sounding - he had forgotten to insert his usual ‘sir’ in one of his replies. For a valet who took his business seriously, such casualness was nothing short of a hanging offence. So while an outsider might have said that Pryce looked as cool as a cucumber, to the experienced eye, he was clearly on edge. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the possible cause might be.
What was it Will had said about Roger Wyndam-Pryce? ‘He treats some people well, and the rest of us like dirt.’ In my wonderings, I’d seen a pretty broad range of humanity, and even if it wasn’t a possibility that immediately sprang to mind, I could see no reason why Roger would automatically include a mere son in the category of people worth a sniff of respect. That’s men for you.
“Well, that’s how it ended anyway,” I said with a shrug. “Probably I should have stayed around and faced the music, but at the time I really didn’t see the point. I knew what he would say.”
Pryce remained respectfully silent.
“Still, got at least one good friend out of the whole thing,” I continued, more cheerfully, deciding to stop the torture and move the topic along a little. “Will can be a pain sometimes, but he’s a good pal. Stuck with me throughout, even came up with some pretty imaginative ideas once or twice. I mean, there were others along the way, but when the smoke cleared, or the cane got brought out, Will was the one who’d still be there.”
“Some friends play at friendship, but a true friend sticks closer than one’s nearest kin, sir?”
“Exactly, Pryce. Nicely put.”
“Thank you, sir, book of proverbs, verse-”
“Thank you, Pryce.”
“Not at all, sir.”
By then I was thinking longingly of the whiskey decanter again, my own glass drained and dry. My simple initial plan of having a nice Getting To Know You chat with Pryce hadn’t included me unearthing a minefield of past topics that each sent Pryce into nothing short of the valet equivalent of a ‘tizz’. I mention this because, just as Pryce had stiffened at the mention of parents, he had again imperceptibly tensed when the focus switched to past school pals. And if his quotation wasn’t what Will calls a doubled-bladed sword, then I’m a ferret.
The problem was, even though I could diagnose the problem quite well, I was less experienced in knowing what to do next. I mean, if I’d wanted to send Pryce up the wall then, hey, I knew exactly what to say. It’s what I did for pretty much for most of my younger years, happily infuriating every pupil and teacher that had the misfortune to attract my interest. Trying to do the opposite though… Well, that was more tricky. Still, I decided to try anyway, using a piece of advice given to me ages ago by my despairing father; tackle the problem head on, take the bull by the horns, and so on.
“So,” I began, feeling like someone edging out over a thinly iced lake, “you still keep in touch with your school pals?”
“No, sir, our paths diverged some time ago.”
“That’s a shame,” I said sympathetically, and also a little encouraged. Pryce still looked tense, but he wasn’t recoiling from the continued questioning. “Or was it? Paths diverged because you wanted them to or because people got in the way?”
He cocked his head a little on one side, and fixed a thoughtful gaze on some distant point over my shoulder.
“I fancy, sir, that our common interests had naturally come to an end before any external circumstances took effect.”
It was said without any real bitterness, and I relaxed a little more. Talking about old wounds was usually less dangerous than going over still bleeding ones.
“Oh well. We live and learn, eh, Pryce?”
“Indeed, sir.”
His gaze switched back to me, and again the light caught his face just so… Oh hell. Yep, I recognised the trouble I was getting myself into. It was all very well to decide that my new valet was nothing to be feared or suspicious of, but that also removed the one safety shield I’d had against the simple fact that the man now employed to live under my roof and be my ‘personal gentleman’ had a certain appeal that was not fading despite repeated viewings. Not exactly the most comforting position be in.
“I suppose we should start getting ready for the wake up at the main house.” I sighed and put my glass to one side. Pryce instantly drained what was left of his portion, and was on his feet and standing in perfect Valet Waiting Position #1 before I even began getting up.
We discussed basic timetabling, what should be worn, and such things. And then we started to head about on our separate tasks. I had one foot on the stairs when I caved and asked one final question.
“Pryce?”
“Sir?”
“This paths diverging thing. They haven’t verged since, have they?” Lord knows, but I didn’t need to discover that there was some ancient row between my valet and that of some neighbouring lord. Britain is a very small island, after all.
“No, sir,” Pryce said, with every sign of having no problem with that state of affairs.
“Ah, well, makes life easier. Thank you, Pryce.”
“Sir.”
Afterwards, life was quite nice and simple. I read for a bit, looked in on the kitchen in hopes of something to nibble, and then at the right hour retired upstairs to dress. Will, who had borrowed the car, said that he would send one of the guests to pick me up and take me to the hall. Pryce would remain at the cottage. I was suited up and hitting the bottom step of the stairway when I heard the low growl of an approaching engine. I arrived at the front door and opened it to see a youngish man of similar age approaching up the path. He grinned at me, eyes blue, brown hair slightly longer than most gentry would have liked.
“Hello!” he said brightly, and I have to say I didn’t dislike him, except for that rather foppish hairstyle. It just looked… untidy, flopping over his forehead, making him stop to push it fully out his eyes. “You’re Liam Connor, right? I was told you needed a lift.”
He stuck out his hand and shook mine in a firm handshake.
“Robert Knox,” he quirked another smile at me. “Oh, you and I are so going to have to talk soon. I haven’t been back home for years, you’re going to have to tell me what it’s like these days!”
I should have mentioned that, styles aside, I had quickly picked up on the slight hint of an American drawl underneath the usual plum English tones. So it came as no surprise to find his first home had been on the other side of the big blue.
Our conversation was abruptly terminated by the unusual sound of approaching feet. And I say unusual because, as you may have picked up, normally Pryce approached with all the sound of a slight draught.
At the same time that I was contemplating this, I saw Knox’s eyes go wide and a look of pure astonishment quickly gave way to a delighted grin.
“Oh my God… Wesley!”
I turned. Behind us, his face frozen in an expression of painfully correct politeness, Pryce stood utterly rigid. Then I was barged aside as Knox entered the house and took Pryce’s left hand in his own whilst at the same time kneading the opposite shoulder with his other. It was the closest the male folk round here could decently get to giving a heartfelt hug. And it was weird to see someone trying it out on my respectable valet.
“Good lord, I never expected to see you here,” Knox was saying. “I lost all track of you, you just… went.”
“I admit I was not aware that you were in the area, sir, or I would have anticipated such a meeting and acted accordingly.”
Knox pulled back and I saw him frown in a puzzled way, the smile a little uncertain.
“What are you blathering on about, Wes? You sound like-”
He finally seemed to take in the uniform. He took another step back and looked from Pryce to me and back again.
“Wes, what exactly are you doing here?”
“I only arrived just over a week ago,” I chipped in, feeling oddly protective of Pryce when he was obviously feeling like a bomb had just landed right on top of him. “He’s my gentleman’s personal gentleman, his first day, and he’s doing a grand job so-”
“What?” Knox gaped at me for a moment before turning back to Pryce. “A valet?”
“It’s a really tricky job,” I said, a little shortly. “And he’s doing it very well so far.”
Knox instantly back-pedalled.
“Oh, if you want to be a valet then that’s great, I didn’t mean too sound all snooty about it.” He sounded anxious. “It’s just… Well, a surprise that’s all. I always put you down as a researcher going off to Egypt and such, I mean your marks in Ancient Scripts were through the-”
“Robert.” And if voices could cut, then Pryce’s would have easily speared a block of lead. It certainly stopped Knox in his tracks.
“Marks?” I asked, getting more and more lost.
Knox shot another look at Pryce before answering.
“We were in the same class for years,” he explained helpfully. “Wes was brilliant, really, you should have seen him. But then we… lost contact.”
And yes, something did flicker in his eyes too at that last part.
I looked from one face to the other. Some friends play at friendship. Others apparently play at friendship and then meet up again anyway in front of the last person who wants to get entangled in old feuds while he’s still struggling to remember to drive on the right side of the road. The right side being the left side. Apparently.
“Anyone for a whiskey?” I offered, feebly.
*~*~*~*
“So you two were at school together.”
“Yes, nearly three years.”
“So what happened?”
“I think maybe you should ask Wes that, Liam.”
Knox wasn’t being hostile, just very cautious but at the same time trying to sound and look relaxed. The result was a horrid lurking awkward silence hovering over us as he drove up to the hall.
“I can’t,” I pointed out simply. “From what I hear, valets don’t like to bandy names around, take secrets to the grave and all that.”
Knox fidgeted as much as one do when also trying to drive safely.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, “so I’m one of the employers now?”
“Well, yeah. You’re a guest; he’s a servant, to be brutally honest.”
He mulled this over as we turned in through a pair of large iron-wrought gates. He had a face that you could just see was made for laughing and smiling about life and all that jazz. But now he had the furrowed brow and thin lips of a Grade A brooder.
“He’s still my friend,” he said abruptly, out of nowhere. “Just so you don’t think you can… well, he’s not just some nameless valet. I know they make it look like you can treat your staff any way you like and they’ll never complain, but-”
“Hey!” I said, hurt. “What kind of guy do you think I am?” It stung, to think that after knowing me just a few minutes, Knox had apparently decided I was the kind of man to treat my employees like slaves.
Knox instantly deflated and some of his previous airiness returned. He flashed me a quick grin.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to insult. Anyway, no way Wes would let himself get walked all over by someone like you.” This delivered with an almost fond indulgence, like I was some sweet but rather pea-brained duck.
The short remainder of the journey was spent pointing out the attractive features of the garden. A few stray peacocks eyed us with haughty disdain as we sailed past. Ahead of us, looming up until it filled all vision, was a huge red-bricked, ivy covered, mansion. The windows gaped like watching eyes, the sun sparking off the panes as we drew up by the steps.
“Well, here we are!” Knox chirped cheerfully, springing from his seat with a nimble and unfairly easy hop.
I swallowed, looking up and up at the lair of the Cusplips.
“Oh joy.”
Next part can be found here
eloise_bright for helping feed the bunnies as well as being a sterling beta!Chapter One can be found here.
Chapter Two:
The trip to the village had two purposes. One, it gave me and Will a chance to scout our surroundings. Two, it would help distract Will a little from the funeral scheduled for later that day. An unplanned third benefit was that it also gave me time to think about the Pryce situation. After Will’s words in the car, I was hardly happy that I had a potentially treacherous valet to deal with on top of everything else.
We scouted and ambled and investigated the local watering hole for about an hour or so. Everything except funerals and sons of ambitious lords was discussed at length. Then, finally, we decided to face the music and returned to the car. I dropped Will off at the gates to his uncle’s house so he could pay his respects and check what his role was to be in the service. Meanwhile, I squared my jaw, braced myself, and returned to the cottage and to Pryce.
As I strode in through the front door, making a beeline for the stairs and the illusion of privacy in my room, I glimpsed him in the drawing room doorway.
“Funeral today, Pryce,” I barked – yes, I was already barking after only a few hours – “Look out some suitable clothes, will you.”
I didn’t bother making it sound polite, and I didn’t wait around to hear an answer. I was halfway up the stairs by the time the quiet ‘Yes, sir’ hit the air.
There had been a hot midday sun over me and Will when we trawled the village square, and consequently I felt in need of a shower and a good drink. I headed into the bathroom, closing the frail partitioning door with some relief. The morning had turned out to be unexpectedly complicated. The discovery that this antique joint didn’t have a shower, only an iron-eagle-footed bathtub, did nothing to sweeten my mood. I started the water running with a muttered curse before moving away to strip off my outer layers.
A small blot of bright colour caught my eye when I threw aside my jacket. A flash of brilliant yellow on white enamel.
“Okay...”
I approached the object with disbelief. I picked it up and gave it a slight squeeze. It gave a friendly wheezy squawky sound in response. A pair of large black outlined eyes smiled back at me over an orange beak. I turned the duck over in my hand and then threw into the filling bathtub. It bobbed upside-down for a second before righting itself and turning its tail to me in hurt reproof. Typical. In England, even rubber inanimate objects could treat you with scorn.
I had just finished removing socks and shoes and was moving onto the trousers, when suddenly Pryce materialised a few mere feet away. Behind him, the shuttered door flapped from his unseen passage. I crashed back into the mirror, jarring my elbow and would have said something quite unprintable had I not also bitten my tongue.
“Pryce!” I furiously choked out, “what the hell do you mean, bursting in here! I was about to have a bath!”
“I surmised as much from the sound of running water, sir,” said Pryce, and even if his face was marble still, he sounded hurt. “If you wished to bathe, why didn’t you say so and I would have run one for…”
“I’m not a child,” I snapped back, “I am perfectly able to run a bath for myself, thank you.”
“Very good, sir.”
“What I would like is a little bit of privacy in my own room. Now get out!”
“Sir.”
And just like that, he was gone. And I mean, just like that. One moment he was there, and the next he had somehow drifted unseen from the room in the time it took me to blink. The thin door softly clicked back into place and it was just me and the duck.
“Don’t say anything,” I said to the reproving tail.
The tail bobbed a little in the quiet din of the taps, then moved with dignified steadiness under the curve of the rim and out of sight.
*~*~*~*
I emerged a while later, still towelling my hair dry. The cooler air of the bedroom made the skin tingle, and I hastily began looking for clean, dry clothes. I had barely taken a step before I saw the dark suit neatly laid out on the bed. A pair of brilliantly polished black shoes that I barely recognised as the scuffed-up pair I’d packed back in LA stood in silent order on the dark rug. There was just something about the utterly precise and ‘just so’ way it had all been set out that made my heart twinge in unwanted guilt. Remembering my words to him as I picked up the perfectly ironed shirt, I found myself fighting the urge to go and apologise to the man.
“Mr Davies asks if you could speak to him as soon a possible, sir.”
Once my heart had unpeeled itself from the ceiling and returned to its usual haunt of the ribcage, I turned round. Speak of the devil.
“Do you think… I mean, can you try to make just a little noise when entering my room, Pryce?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Noise,” I repeated pathetically. “Make noise, you nearly gave me a heart attack just now.”
“I apologise if I inadvertently caused you shock, sir.”
The ‘a’ word, and the realisation that Pryce was carrying a tray with what looked divinely like a tumbler of whiskey, made up my mind.
“No,” I said firmly, straightening my shoulders and trying to look as serious as a man can do with only a towel wrapped around his middle, “it’s me who should be apologising, Pryce. I was terribly rude earlier…”
“There is no need to apologise, sir.”
“Yes, there is. You’re doing me a big favour, taking on a job like this at such short notice. Least I could do is give you the benefit of a doubt.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. Is that a whiskey?”
Pryce gave a slight inclination of the head in wordless reply, and I gratefully took up the glass. My mind cleared with the first amber warm swallow. Will may have been right, maybe Pryce wasn’t the most honest person in the house, but somehow it just felt wrong to use Pryce’s professional loyalty and silence as excuses to treat him like I’d already passed judgement.
I finished the glass in normal time, and set it back down on the tray.
Pryce looked at the twinkling crystal for the smallest fraction of a second and I sensed the silent reproof. Clearly, downing a good finger or so of whiskey was not a practice he fully approved of.
“Mr Davies is waiting for you in the drawing room, sir,” he said, as if worried I might have already forgotten. “He seemed highly agitated, and requested that you confer with him with all due haste.”
“What?”
“He said,” and Pryce almost visibly winced, “pardon me, sir, but I’m quoting, ‘Tell that bloody spine-headed oaf to get his arse down here before I come up there and drop a frog in his bath. And you can tell him that I said that.’”
“Ah. I’ll get changed then.”
“It would appear to be advisable, sir.”
Pryce moved toward the door, but at the last moment turned left and, instead of leaving, flung open the wardrobe and began looking through my coats. I hesitated, one hand gripping the towel, my gaze travelling between that graceful back and the clothes lying out beside me. Pryce floated my way once more, looking over a dark wool coat with approval. He noticed my still undressed state and seemed surprised.
“Do the clothes not meet your approval, sir?”
I blinked, confused. “Oh no, I think your outfit’s… lovely. The black and white is really… you.”
A small muscle twitched at the side of Pryce’s mouth.
“I was referring to the garments I had laid out for you, sir.”
“Right.” I considered things for a moment. “Erm… sorry, I’m new at all this. Is it… Am I meant to get changed with, erm…”
The look Pryce gave me was kind. “I can go and inform Mr Davies that you will be with him shortly, sir.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
He shimmered slightly and then the door shut behind him as he vanished from sight. My grandmother, Freya Connor, God rest her soul, used to be full of tales about genies and ghosts and witches that could walk through walls. I was beginning to wonder if maybe there was some truth in her tales and if one of Wes’ ancestors belonged to this light-footed group.
I dressed quickly, made a vague attempt to put my hair in order, and then descended to the drawing room.
Will was standing by the bay window, hands stuck deep in his pockets and when he turned round, his face was grave.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You been alright?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Can’t complain.” Will looked hard at a potted fern as if he expected it to disagree with him. “It’s all fine, right and dandy.”
That little exchange done with, we stood for a while in silence. Will still glaring at that poor plant. I’ll come clean straightaway and say that I was puzzled. When I had left him, Will had a relative spring in his step and a face that said he knew the sun was shining. Now, he had the bleak expression of a man who doesn’t’ need to ask for whom the bell tolls, because he knows damn well it tolls for him.
“They want it to be a small family affair.”
I blinked.
“The funeral?”
Will nodded glumly, and then sniffed and straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. I could almost see the upper lip stiffening.
“So be it. I may not like it, but I’m a Davis, Liam,” he said, solemnly, “and we Davises do not let our family down.”
“You mean like running off to America and leaving your Mum behind?”
“That was totally different. That was a matter of pure survival. Holtz would have had our hides if he’d caught us.”
“Valid point.”
“Anyway, Aunt Edith specifically requested this.”
“For a small funeral? Well, I suppose…”
“Oh, hell no!” Will looked at me like I’d sprouted a beak and tail. “No, far far worse. She’s requested that I recite some of my poetry as one of the readings.”
Thundering silence rolled over us as we both considered the probable repercussions of her request. I actually think Will’s poetry is kind of pretty, full of heart. But when Will’d done readings before, we sometimes had to flee the literal shower of vegetables.
“People don’t normally bring, you know, fruit and squishy produce to funerals, do they?”
“Not normally,” I said thoughtfully, “though they might be carrying snacks for the wake afterwards.”
Will slumped into a chair and reached for the decanter of whiskey. He didn’t bother with a glass, just took one long swig straight from the neck.
“Stuff ‘em,” he said after a few more swallows, the old stubborn fire in his eyes. “If Aunt Edith wanted my sorry words on her big day, then she shall damn well have them!”
He slammed the now half-empty vessel back onto the tray, making the remaining glasses tinkle, and stormed from the room. A few seconds later and I heard the study door slam shut and the faint squeak of a chair being drawn up. After so many years, I could easily recognise Will’s I Have Been Bitten By The Muse Disturb Me At Your Peril mood. It looked like Aunt Edith would be having her own personalised ode to listen to, where-ever she might be. It also looked like that, until further notice, my study was out of bounds to anyone wanting to keep their head attached to their body.
“Greylings has just spoken to me regarding the recent alterations to Lady Cusplip’s funeral.”
I rocketed several feet skywards at the sudden voice in my left ear. Finally I regained breath and turned to see who had spoken.
“Jesus, Pryce!” I said weakly, holding onto the back of a chair for support. “Please wear a bell or something, or cough at least.”
Pryce looked appropriately apologetic.
“I will endeavour to make my presence more easily noticeable to you, sir.”
“Thanks.” I took up Will’s vacated seat and began reaching for the whiskey only to have it whisked away from my outstretched fingers.
“Allow me, sir.”
He neatly plucked up a clean tumbler and poured a healthy portion of soda that I received rather cautiously.
“I was going to have a whiskey, Pryce.”
“Pandora was going to only take a peek, sir.”
“Was she a friend of your- Oh, no, you mean the box thing, don’t you. Sorry. Anyway,” I continued hastily, sipping away, “does small and personal family mean I’m staying here this afternoon?”
“I believe that was the general wish of both Lord Cusplip and Master Davis, sir. Although with regards to young William’s orders, I think this was not a personal slur, merely a wish to ensure you do not get caught up in any possible fallout.”
“Oh, nice of him.” I craned my neck to look out the large window behind me. Outside the sun was blazing away, the grass looked green and soft, I could hear the silvery rustle of wind-played leaves. A few extra free hours might not be so bad, after all.
Pryce stood politely a few feet away.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, no, although if you could pick out some less, you know, grim, clothes, that’d be great. I’ll be up to change in a minute.”
“Very good, sir.” Pryce inclined his head and suddenly wasn’t there any more, but I’d already begun my next sentence, and so he reappeared with his hand on the door knob.
“So, it’ll be just you and me, then?” I said cheerfully, and after blinking at his silent and apparently instantaneous move, I raised my glass. “Well, I suppose it’ll be a good time to get to know each other a little better, right?”
I gave what I knew to be a warm and honest smile. I’d given that smile countless times in bars and clubs, and always got the most positive response. Previously suspicious doorkeepers or barmen have decided to take a liking to me on the basis of that smile, and thrown open their doors and tankards respectively.
Pryce showed no emotion on his face, but even so I felt like he was… apprehensive at the words and utterly un-reassured by the smile.
“As you say, sir.”
And then, this time, he really did vanish, and I was watching the door click quietly back into place.
*~*~*~*
At half past one that afternoon, Will drove off to the local church with the grim but determined air of a gladiator striding out to face the lion pack. Although the service was going to be a quiet, ‘close family only’ affair, a more open wake was being thrown at three in the main house of the widowed Lord Cusplip. Will extracted from me promises sworn on the souls of my unborn children that I would be there with a ready cocktail to greet him. Greylings went with him and so once the car had pulled away, it was only Pryce and me.
“Share a drink with me?” I said as we processed back into the house. “See if I can’t hold a proper conversation this time.”
“Thank you, sir, a very kind thought, but I really should-”
“That wasn’t actually a request,” I said firmly, but with a grin. “Come on, humour an eccentric American.”
He looked at me, blue eyes quizzical and for some odd reason suspicious. Then he relaxed and gave a gentle nod.
“As you wish, sir.”
Chapter Three:
We relocated to the drawing room and yet again I headed for the whiskey. By this point I suppose there was a healthy chance that Pryce thought that he worked for, among other things, an alcoholic. But, stuff it, I wanted to try and get a proper impression of the guy. If he turned out to be the snake that Will thought typical of the Wyndam-Pryce clan, then I wanted to be sure for myself before taking off the proverbial gloves. And if he wasn’t, then maybe I should be congratulating him on making the break. But I wanted to know either way.
“So,” I said, trying my hand at the ‘jovial’ thing, “it must take a lot of training to be a… a… What is the correct term? A butler? Valet? Gentleman?”
“The usual term is ‘gentleman’s personal gentleman’, sir, although in more general circles the title ‘valet’ will also suffice.”
Pryce turned his glass round in his hands but didn’t drink. He didn’t meet my eye either. Instead he stared thoughtfully down into the swilling liquid as if hoping to find answers somehow etched into the crystal. His answer had sounded automatic, like even though his body was there and speaking to me, his mind was somewhere else completely. Not the world’s greatest start.
“Noted, Pryce, noted. So, it takes a lot of training to be a gentleman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You enjoying it so far?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose it can be a busy job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Still, you must get to meet lots of people. Make friends and that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think you could give me a hint here as to what I should be asking?”
“Yes- Pardon, sir?” Pryce blinked at me, and I think it was one of the first times I ever saw him show any real emotion while still working. In this case, an expression of simple bewilderment.
I sighed.
“Pryce… Look, I don’t even know your first name.”
“Well, sir-”
“Can you just tell me? I promise I won’t call you by it if you don’t want me to, but it just feels, I don’t know, disrespectful to not even show an interest.”
He seemed to think this over before offering: “Wesley, sir.”
“Wesley?”
“Yes, sir.”
I looked him over in what I hoped was a not too obvious way. He didn’t look like a Wesley. He had too much colour for one thing; a Wesley should be some po-faced, blonde-haired ponce with curls. Still, you can’t pick these things.
“Suits you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Silence descended again, but, God knows how, the ice had finally been broken and Pryce, after a tiny inclination of the head, took his first sip out of the glass. He looked across at me with a gaze of frank curiosity.
“May I ask how you came to know Master Davis, sir?”
“You can call me Liam, you know.”
“Yes, sir, but it is not the usual practice to display such familiarity between employer and employee.”
“Oh. So if I went around calling you Wes-” I stopped without finishing, seeing Pryce wince at the mere thought. “Right ho, then. Pryce it is.”
He continued to look at me expectantly.
“Um, you realise I’ve completely forgotten what your question was.”
“My apologies, sir, it was not my intention to derail your train of thought. I was enquiring as to the nature of the history between yourself and Master Davis, sir.”
“Oh!” I grinned with fond nostalgia. “Oh, take a seat, Pryce, and I’ll give you the full scoop.”
And that was precisely what I did. Pryce sat himself in a facing chair and delicately sipped his beverage as I happily related to him the bedlam and havoc that Will and I had unleashed on Piddleston School For Boys. He didn’t gasp or laugh as other people have done, but he still made a good audience. Plus, for me, it was a valuable learning experience. I learnt that an ‘Indeed, sir’ was the equivalent of a heartfelt ‘You’re kidding!’ or a ‘My God, did you even own a brain?’ depending on which syllable was heaviest. By the end of my happy tale, we were, by English staff standards, almost clapping each other on the back and offering one another a cigarette. Until I did the silly thing of trying to be a good host and giving the guest a chance to speak, and uttered the dreadful words:
“So, what were your school days like, Pryce?”
At once the friendly spark in the eye went out, and Pryce drew himself up.
“Passable, sir,” he said with distinct coolness.
In hindsight, I see that that the polite thing to do when your guest suddenly clams up is to change the subject and pretend it never happened and never mention the topic ever, ever again. But I was new to this game, so I dealt with the situation with all the finesse and grace of a drunken elephant at a baptism.
“Meaning they kinda sucked?” I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, mine were like that too, really.”
“I was unaware that one’s time at school could be ingurgitated, sir.”
I waved aside his gentle rebuke. Will and I had grown used to people choking at our use of the English language, basically by ignoring them. Besides, you could tell Pryce’s heart wasn’t really in it.
“Well, I’ll admit I’m surprised,” I said, eyeing him thoughtfully. “I’d have thought you were Head Boy material for sure. I mean, don’t tell me you put a frog in the headmaster’s snuff box?”
A wistful look flashed into the blue eyes.
“No, sir. Although one must admit, such a plan would not have been without its appeal.”
“Again with the surprise.”
Pryce’s gaze, which had drifted ceilingward, snapped back and he gave me an odd look. And with the sunlight behind me streaming into the room, well, those eyes really were something to have staring right back at you. I mean, I had listened to what Will said and had looked at Pryce with some caution. But now I suddenly was reminded of Will’s ‘eye candy’ comment, because, hell, who wouldn’t?
“As you say, sir,” was all Pryce said.
“I remember our old headmaster, Professor Holtz, oh, when he got ahold of his cane and started swishing… The blood still runs cold at the memory.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Oh yes,” I said, with feeling. “Causing the chaos was always great fun, seeing the expressions on their faces when the tree fell down or their inkpot sprouted legs… That could be incredibly satisfying.”
“I will take your word for it, sir.”
“But, of course,” I continued with gloomy nostalgia, “we always had to pay the price in the end. Although actually, old Holtz wasn’t that bad. I mean, he was tough and left you unable to sit for a few days and never got that whole forgive and forget thing, but the worse part was getting home.”
“Sir?”
I sighed. I could remember some of those interviews with Holtz. Standing in front of that heavy desk, with its owner looming like a prophet of doom behind it. That gravelled voice intoning your fate, and then the sickening lurch of the stomach when he leant forward and picked up a sealed and addressed envelope. The words ‘And of course, your parents will be notified of your behaviour, Master Connor’ were more dreadful than any number of lashes.
“Are you all right, sir?”
I started and returned to the present, to find Pryce looking concerned. I gave myself a mental shake, offering him a weak grin.
“Ah, my father was a formidable man, Pryce. And let’s just say my school record hardly pleased him.”
“Parents can be prone to expressions of extreme disappointment when their offspring fail to reach their expectations.”
I gave a short laugh.
“I think the extreme disappointment came from the fact I didn’t give a damn about his expectations and stopped trying to live up to them a long time ago.”
“Your relationship with your father was not a cordial one, sir?”
“If you mean did we fight like cats and dogs? Oh yes. In the end he wound up in Ireland and I wound up in America, so you can see how well that ended.”
“I am sorry to hear that, sir.”
Okay, so I’m not the world’s greatest wordsmith. And I’ll be the first to own up to being no real mastermind. Will can run circles around me when it comes to mathematics and obscure poetry and odd historical figures. Up until then, the people who’d met me in England had all looked at me with a mixture of pity, contempt and curiosity. Like I was some strange object possessing all the intellectual capacity of a flea. But while I can’t read Arabic or identify the dynasty of a china vase, if there’s one thing I can do perfectly, it’s read people. I can pick up on the little things, I can figure out what makes people really tick. In my school days it meant I always knew just what to do to a particular teacher to really get him where it hurt. And it was the only thing that kept me from sinking completely when I came to England, because when you meet someone who believes on having an upper lip so stiff you could crack a walnut on it, you need all the help you can get when it comes to figuring out what they’re really trying to say.
And in that room, at that moment, although he was standing there with his face all calm and clear, I could tell Pryce was squirming. He had frozen the instant I mentioned having to go home, and then there had been the faintest flicker in the eyes at the word ‘father’. Plus - and to me it was like a giant fire alarm sounding - he had forgotten to insert his usual ‘sir’ in one of his replies. For a valet who took his business seriously, such casualness was nothing short of a hanging offence. So while an outsider might have said that Pryce looked as cool as a cucumber, to the experienced eye, he was clearly on edge. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the possible cause might be.
What was it Will had said about Roger Wyndam-Pryce? ‘He treats some people well, and the rest of us like dirt.’ In my wonderings, I’d seen a pretty broad range of humanity, and even if it wasn’t a possibility that immediately sprang to mind, I could see no reason why Roger would automatically include a mere son in the category of people worth a sniff of respect. That’s men for you.
“Well, that’s how it ended anyway,” I said with a shrug. “Probably I should have stayed around and faced the music, but at the time I really didn’t see the point. I knew what he would say.”
Pryce remained respectfully silent.
“Still, got at least one good friend out of the whole thing,” I continued, more cheerfully, deciding to stop the torture and move the topic along a little. “Will can be a pain sometimes, but he’s a good pal. Stuck with me throughout, even came up with some pretty imaginative ideas once or twice. I mean, there were others along the way, but when the smoke cleared, or the cane got brought out, Will was the one who’d still be there.”
“Some friends play at friendship, but a true friend sticks closer than one’s nearest kin, sir?”
“Exactly, Pryce. Nicely put.”
“Thank you, sir, book of proverbs, verse-”
“Thank you, Pryce.”
“Not at all, sir.”
By then I was thinking longingly of the whiskey decanter again, my own glass drained and dry. My simple initial plan of having a nice Getting To Know You chat with Pryce hadn’t included me unearthing a minefield of past topics that each sent Pryce into nothing short of the valet equivalent of a ‘tizz’. I mention this because, just as Pryce had stiffened at the mention of parents, he had again imperceptibly tensed when the focus switched to past school pals. And if his quotation wasn’t what Will calls a doubled-bladed sword, then I’m a ferret.
The problem was, even though I could diagnose the problem quite well, I was less experienced in knowing what to do next. I mean, if I’d wanted to send Pryce up the wall then, hey, I knew exactly what to say. It’s what I did for pretty much for most of my younger years, happily infuriating every pupil and teacher that had the misfortune to attract my interest. Trying to do the opposite though… Well, that was more tricky. Still, I decided to try anyway, using a piece of advice given to me ages ago by my despairing father; tackle the problem head on, take the bull by the horns, and so on.
“So,” I began, feeling like someone edging out over a thinly iced lake, “you still keep in touch with your school pals?”
“No, sir, our paths diverged some time ago.”
“That’s a shame,” I said sympathetically, and also a little encouraged. Pryce still looked tense, but he wasn’t recoiling from the continued questioning. “Or was it? Paths diverged because you wanted them to or because people got in the way?”
He cocked his head a little on one side, and fixed a thoughtful gaze on some distant point over my shoulder.
“I fancy, sir, that our common interests had naturally come to an end before any external circumstances took effect.”
It was said without any real bitterness, and I relaxed a little more. Talking about old wounds was usually less dangerous than going over still bleeding ones.
“Oh well. We live and learn, eh, Pryce?”
“Indeed, sir.”
His gaze switched back to me, and again the light caught his face just so… Oh hell. Yep, I recognised the trouble I was getting myself into. It was all very well to decide that my new valet was nothing to be feared or suspicious of, but that also removed the one safety shield I’d had against the simple fact that the man now employed to live under my roof and be my ‘personal gentleman’ had a certain appeal that was not fading despite repeated viewings. Not exactly the most comforting position be in.
“I suppose we should start getting ready for the wake up at the main house.” I sighed and put my glass to one side. Pryce instantly drained what was left of his portion, and was on his feet and standing in perfect Valet Waiting Position #1 before I even began getting up.
We discussed basic timetabling, what should be worn, and such things. And then we started to head about on our separate tasks. I had one foot on the stairs when I caved and asked one final question.
“Pryce?”
“Sir?”
“This paths diverging thing. They haven’t verged since, have they?” Lord knows, but I didn’t need to discover that there was some ancient row between my valet and that of some neighbouring lord. Britain is a very small island, after all.
“No, sir,” Pryce said, with every sign of having no problem with that state of affairs.
“Ah, well, makes life easier. Thank you, Pryce.”
“Sir.”
Afterwards, life was quite nice and simple. I read for a bit, looked in on the kitchen in hopes of something to nibble, and then at the right hour retired upstairs to dress. Will, who had borrowed the car, said that he would send one of the guests to pick me up and take me to the hall. Pryce would remain at the cottage. I was suited up and hitting the bottom step of the stairway when I heard the low growl of an approaching engine. I arrived at the front door and opened it to see a youngish man of similar age approaching up the path. He grinned at me, eyes blue, brown hair slightly longer than most gentry would have liked.
“Hello!” he said brightly, and I have to say I didn’t dislike him, except for that rather foppish hairstyle. It just looked… untidy, flopping over his forehead, making him stop to push it fully out his eyes. “You’re Liam Connor, right? I was told you needed a lift.”
He stuck out his hand and shook mine in a firm handshake.
“Robert Knox,” he quirked another smile at me. “Oh, you and I are so going to have to talk soon. I haven’t been back home for years, you’re going to have to tell me what it’s like these days!”
I should have mentioned that, styles aside, I had quickly picked up on the slight hint of an American drawl underneath the usual plum English tones. So it came as no surprise to find his first home had been on the other side of the big blue.
Our conversation was abruptly terminated by the unusual sound of approaching feet. And I say unusual because, as you may have picked up, normally Pryce approached with all the sound of a slight draught.
At the same time that I was contemplating this, I saw Knox’s eyes go wide and a look of pure astonishment quickly gave way to a delighted grin.
“Oh my God… Wesley!”
I turned. Behind us, his face frozen in an expression of painfully correct politeness, Pryce stood utterly rigid. Then I was barged aside as Knox entered the house and took Pryce’s left hand in his own whilst at the same time kneading the opposite shoulder with his other. It was the closest the male folk round here could decently get to giving a heartfelt hug. And it was weird to see someone trying it out on my respectable valet.
“Good lord, I never expected to see you here,” Knox was saying. “I lost all track of you, you just… went.”
“I admit I was not aware that you were in the area, sir, or I would have anticipated such a meeting and acted accordingly.”
Knox pulled back and I saw him frown in a puzzled way, the smile a little uncertain.
“What are you blathering on about, Wes? You sound like-”
He finally seemed to take in the uniform. He took another step back and looked from Pryce to me and back again.
“Wes, what exactly are you doing here?”
“I only arrived just over a week ago,” I chipped in, feeling oddly protective of Pryce when he was obviously feeling like a bomb had just landed right on top of him. “He’s my gentleman’s personal gentleman, his first day, and he’s doing a grand job so-”
“What?” Knox gaped at me for a moment before turning back to Pryce. “A valet?”
“It’s a really tricky job,” I said, a little shortly. “And he’s doing it very well so far.”
Knox instantly back-pedalled.
“Oh, if you want to be a valet then that’s great, I didn’t mean too sound all snooty about it.” He sounded anxious. “It’s just… Well, a surprise that’s all. I always put you down as a researcher going off to Egypt and such, I mean your marks in Ancient Scripts were through the-”
“Robert.” And if voices could cut, then Pryce’s would have easily speared a block of lead. It certainly stopped Knox in his tracks.
“Marks?” I asked, getting more and more lost.
Knox shot another look at Pryce before answering.
“We were in the same class for years,” he explained helpfully. “Wes was brilliant, really, you should have seen him. But then we… lost contact.”
And yes, something did flicker in his eyes too at that last part.
I looked from one face to the other. Some friends play at friendship. Others apparently play at friendship and then meet up again anyway in front of the last person who wants to get entangled in old feuds while he’s still struggling to remember to drive on the right side of the road. The right side being the left side. Apparently.
“Anyone for a whiskey?” I offered, feebly.
*~*~*~*
“So you two were at school together.”
“Yes, nearly three years.”
“So what happened?”
“I think maybe you should ask Wes that, Liam.”
Knox wasn’t being hostile, just very cautious but at the same time trying to sound and look relaxed. The result was a horrid lurking awkward silence hovering over us as he drove up to the hall.
“I can’t,” I pointed out simply. “From what I hear, valets don’t like to bandy names around, take secrets to the grave and all that.”
Knox fidgeted as much as one do when also trying to drive safely.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, “so I’m one of the employers now?”
“Well, yeah. You’re a guest; he’s a servant, to be brutally honest.”
He mulled this over as we turned in through a pair of large iron-wrought gates. He had a face that you could just see was made for laughing and smiling about life and all that jazz. But now he had the furrowed brow and thin lips of a Grade A brooder.
“He’s still my friend,” he said abruptly, out of nowhere. “Just so you don’t think you can… well, he’s not just some nameless valet. I know they make it look like you can treat your staff any way you like and they’ll never complain, but-”
“Hey!” I said, hurt. “What kind of guy do you think I am?” It stung, to think that after knowing me just a few minutes, Knox had apparently decided I was the kind of man to treat my employees like slaves.
Knox instantly deflated and some of his previous airiness returned. He flashed me a quick grin.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to insult. Anyway, no way Wes would let himself get walked all over by someone like you.” This delivered with an almost fond indulgence, like I was some sweet but rather pea-brained duck.
The short remainder of the journey was spent pointing out the attractive features of the garden. A few stray peacocks eyed us with haughty disdain as we sailed past. Ahead of us, looming up until it filled all vision, was a huge red-bricked, ivy covered, mansion. The windows gaped like watching eyes, the sun sparking off the panes as we drew up by the steps.
“Well, here we are!” Knox chirped cheerfully, springing from his seat with a nimble and unfairly easy hop.
I swallowed, looking up and up at the lair of the Cusplips.
“Oh joy.”
Next part can be found here
