Page 34 of The Death Wish
‘I’d ‘ave told ya, wouldn’t I?’ There was a notable pause. ‘Now ‘ow’s about ya go get yourselves sorted for breakfast then? Charlie, there’s a room for ya, down the way here. Proprietor gave me the key, amenable bloke he is, said he’ll get onto some food for us soon as ya like.’ She turned to Isaac who’d not said a word, where he waited in the corridor. ‘Got that key that bloke gave us?’
The coachman grunted, handing her a tarnished key. ‘You gonna get out of the way if I give it to ya? Didn’t follow you to stand here like a shag on a fucking rock.’
The key was handed over, Tyvain stood aside, and Isaac moved like a dark cloud across the room, ignoring Silas and Pitch entirely, to warm his hands at the fire.
‘Right then,’ Tyvain said. ‘Let’s meet back here in a half hour, shall we? Charlie, you come with me, and don’t you boys be doin’any fuckin’ around up there. And I mean that as it sounds. Ain’t no time for that.’
‘There is always time for –’ Pitch began.
‘We will see you back here on the half hour, Tyvain.’ Silas planted his hands on Pitch’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. ‘You have my word.’
CHAPTER TEN
IT WASjust over an hour later when they returned downstairs, in a fairly decent state, and washed to a degree more reasonable than before. Silas thought the time frame quite reasonable, considering the dressing and quick wash had been done in a swift ten minutes, and the rest of the time had involved being on his knees, tending to all the tenderest of places on Pitch’s body.
‘Your buttons are askew, my dear.’ Jane gestured to Pitch’s linen shirt, visible beneath his unbuttoned jacket of deep bronze green: with silver buttons, and elaborate silver and pink embroidery at the collar and cuffs. The buttoning of his shirt was certainly misaligned, but he made no haste to sort them.
‘Well, you are to blame for that, are you not? Bothering us so.’
She inclined her head. ‘But was it not worth it for the clothing I’d found?’ The small wicker basket she’d brought in on her arrival had held the jacket Pitch now wore, along with a most fetching pair of stovepipe trousers, a deep black satin that clung in all the right places.
‘He looks marvellous, Jane. You did very well,’ Silas said, his lips still humming from services rendered.
‘I’m yet to see him in something he cannot wear to perfection,’ Charlie added, his face pink with having beenscrubbed clean, his hair slicked back with oil. ‘It’s extremely annoying.’
‘But there’s no corset vest. No waistcoat at all, for that matter,’ Pitch returned. ‘Which makes the interruption of Silas’s carnal explorations of my body unforgivable.’
‘For the love of all holy things, shut that mouth of yours, Astaroth.’ Isaac was already seated at the dining table, a rectangle of polished mahogany that had been cleared of its decorative table runner, and most places set with beautiful Damask placemats, polished silver cutlery, and large Vaseline green wine glasses. ‘I’m about to eat, and don’t need to hear nothing about your body.’
He’d placed himself at the head of the table, nearest to where the fire snapped and cracked cheerily, and already had his fork in hand and a napkin tucked into the high collar of his, unsurprisingly, dark jacket. At least he’d seen fit to discard his scarves, and his overcoat. All of which were thrown haphazardly over the settee.
‘You look very fine, too, Silas.’ Charlie grinned. ‘Blue has always suited you.’
The coat that Jane had secured for him was not quite the blue of his beloved Inverness; it was far duller–more a late evening sky than brilliant midday–but the cut was fine and the fit was only marginally too tight.
‘Places, places, now.’ Tyvain strode into the room, beaming. ‘Mr Churchill is a right saint, don’t know how he’s done it so fast, but we are ready to feast, my friends. Sit down, sit down.’
Silas pulled out a chair for Pitch, who was the epitome of good grace as he bobbed in a grateful bow, inclining his head. Suave, until the moment he made a sly grab at Silas’s trouser front and pinched.
‘Stop it.’ Silas knew himself entirely unconvincing as they took their places side by side. Charlie and Jane sat opposite,their places yet to be set, with Sybilla taking the other head of the table. A spare chair, for the soothsayer, remained beside Pitch.
‘If there’s a heaven, you’re headed there, Mr Churchill.’ Tyvain stepped aside to allow entrance of the inn’s publican. He pushed a trolley ahead of him, laden with a plethora of bowls and plates and condiments. ‘I dunno how you’ve accommodated us so darn fast.’
‘I’m not entirely sure myself,’ Robert laughed. ‘But the kitchen was already bustling when you came to me with your request, which was an oddity in itself. Never known cook to surface before mid-morning, especially when it’s been a busy night before.’
The waft of hot food, all manner of scents, had Silas salivating.
‘Cook is your fella, then?’ Tyvain hovered by the trolley, wringing her hands. ‘Heard about his mastery with a decent pastry even over at the Golden Mile.’
‘I can vouch he is deserved of all praise,’ Pitch declared.
‘Feckin’ Christ, ‘igh praise don’t come ‘igher than that.’
Robert beamed. ‘My Samuel does indeed have the magic touch with sweets. But there is no way you’ll see him out of bed at this hour. No, the cook is a different fellow.’
The onslaught of scents was mouth-watering. Silas breathed them in; baked bread, hints of cinnamon and cloves, the richness of meat dishes and the unmistakable crispness of baked potatoes. His stomach gurgled in anticipation, earning him an amused side-long look from Pitch.
Two serving girls entered the room, one carrying a tray that held the missing cutlery, wine glasses and napkins. She had a three-pronged candelabra tucked under her arm, whilst the other serving girl held a deep basket, with corked bottles peeking their head from within. A wreath of holly was looped over her arm, another adornment for the table.