Page 8 of The Demons of Wychwood

KIT HAVELOCK

I must have a death wish or balls of steel to order the likes of Kit Havelock to follow on behind me. I don’t have the words to explain how good it felt to hear his footsteps and to know that this handsome Duke was following my orders. My bollocks burned with arousal after the fight and my treacherous prick was at half-mast by the time I reached the porch door! I took the key from my pocket and opened the door to meet a welcome wave of blessed warmth. I moved to the slide and held the door for Havelock to enter and then closed and locked it behind us. The Duke was ashen-faced, and he stood in this toasty warm mansion-house kitchen, mute as if his lips were coated in horse glue.

“Come in, come in,” I beckoned as I removed my garments and hung the coat on a hook. I chanced a glance at Havelock whose eyes darted guiltily away from mine. There was a spark of something between Havelock and me, the excitement of our scuffle still pulsing through our blood. It was as if a sudden move would light a touch paper and we’d have at one another, violently, or in other ways. At this point, I wasn’t quite sure which.

“Can I take your coat, milord?” Havelock continued to stand stiffly and stare as if he was in a trance. “No? Fair enough. Take a seat, make yourself at home.” I said casually as made my way into the large mansion kitchen. I filled the kettle with water and put it on the blistering hot range.

“I think this situation calls for coffee, don’t you?” I turned to the pantry in search of the canister of Jamaica Coffee I knew was hidden away.

“I’d say it calls for something stronger, but I suppose coffee will do,” Havelock said haughtily as he stepped to the oak kitchen table and pulled out a chair. I was quite surprised to hear him speak but pleased that the aggressive bravado of earlier seemed to have evaporated completely. When I glanced back I saw he’d removed his top hat and the red leather gloves but did not remove his greatcoat. If I’m honest, he looked a little bit sick, like he was about to face justice, and I was his judge and jury. He sat stiffly at the table with his hands clasped on the worn surface, and his right thumb absently rubbing at the mottled angry scar on his left wrist.

“Why have you been following me, milord?” I asked as I busied myself around the kitchen. Silence settled between us with just the bubbling water in the kettle on the range measuring time.

“I um…feel I owe you an apology Mr. Lazarus…for what I did and said in the alley. I don’t know what came over me. It was most unbecoming of a man of my station. Forgive me.”

I didn’t say a word but continued opening cupboards, removing silver platters from cabinets, and readying for the fancy wares that were due for delivery. Lord Penhelligan haltingly continued,

“My...mind has become distracted of late, and I was concerned you were sent by another to spy on me…when you delivered Georgia’s letter by hand… you knew my number . And…and when I asked around about you, no one in my circle knew who you were. I followed you because I thought that there was some…connection between us that I could not fathom. And now, here we are at Wychwood,” Havelock sighed.

“I’m surprised you took this task on yourself, milord, most nobs would pay another to do their dirty work.”

“Maybe they would, but that would mean I’d have to share secrets I do not wish for others to know…and there is no one I can trust with a task of such delicacy as this.”

I felt a little sorry for him then, not for him having to stalk me himself, but for not having a soul he could trust to carry out the task on his behalf .

“You clearly know what this house is used for,” Havelock continued, “You knew my membership number. But why are you here? What is your… purpose here?” He sounded conflicted, confused, and troubled. “Do you…participate…in sin ?” Havelock asked warily as if he was unsure as to whether he wanted to know the answer. I turned and glared daggers at him, cos I knew exactly what he meant.

“Does I get on my knees and suck cock for my betters?” I said sarcastically, my tone unable to hide my anger. How dare he think I was to be bought into that kind of service.

“We all have our vices, milord, but I’ve got other employment, so no, I don’t… participate in the doings that happen here.”

“But…but you know what goes on here…about the… the wicked and sinful acts .” He lowered his head unable to look me in the eye and rubbed at the scar on his wrist again. Havelock appeared so terribly ashamed, and I must admit I felt a little sorry for him. The man couldn’t even bring himself to say the word sodomy for what went on here, and even the mention of unspecified wicked and sinful acts made him look like he wanted to find a shadow to hide in.

Did Lord Penhelligan detest that he fancied men? Did he punish himself for what he desired? Is that what the hate-fucks with Mr. 45 were for? I knew all about that scar on his wrist and how it was made. I figured it must be horrible to go through life hating what you are, and so, even though he’d had a knife to my side a few minutes earlier, I took pity on him.

“Milord…”

Havelock looked up and his eyes fixed on mine as if he was trying to read my intentions toward him and for reasons I couldn’t fathom, his gaze held me and I couldn’t look away. His eyes were dark warm pools like hot chocolate, and although they told me he was shocked by the coarse language I’d used earlier there was something between us. He was the first to break eye contact and shyly look away. Havelock shook his head as if he’d said or done something foolish, and then he held his face in his hands. I hoped he wasn’t crying because there was no wall between us this time, and I wouldn’t fight my natural urge to reach out and comfort a fellow in pain.

I turned away and didn’t look back at Havelock; instead, I carried on busying myself around the kitchen. I found the canister of coffee, and the coffee press. I laid out two lovely porcelain cups with painted pink roses and gilt edging. I checked my watch, well aware that I had work to be done and Jim would knock at the kitchen door at half-past twelve with the deliveries .

“It’s lucky I arrived early today. I can spare you fifteen minutes, Milord, then I’ve got to get to work.”

He looked up from his cupped hands.

“Work? What work? What do you do here?” he demanded.

“Do you think these parties appear out of thin air?” I harrumphed. I swear this nobleman had no idea how the working man earned his coin. Havelock looked at me in a curious way, as if something had clicked in his head, then he smiled curiously and asked, “Are you the house mouse?”

The kettle whistled. I wet the coffee grounds and let them steep. “The what?”

“The house mouse.” Havelock repeated, “Members often wondered how the soirees came together as there are no servants—apart from Mr. Joshua that is. The parties appeared to have been created, well, like a magic wand was waved. In our cups, a few of us decided that there was a mousy old housekeeper who made it all happen. We even joked about hearing her scratching and scurrying behind the walls upstairs,” Havelock explained.

I was glad to be standing at the stove with my back to the man, cos I gulped and felt my cheeks bloom hot with embarrassment. So, they did hear me behind the walls…and there was I thinking I was being oh-so-cl ever as to not be discovered. I took a breath and set my face to a calm mask. Then I turned and carried the coffee press to the table with a bowl of sugar, and a jug of cream. I drew out a chair and sat to the right of Lord Penhelligan. I poured two cups of rich dark coffee. I pushed a cup and saucer to my unexpected guest and pulled my own cup closer.

“So, what the bleedin’ hell’s going on, milord?” I said as I added two lumps of sugar into my cup with a splash of cream and then stirred.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Havelock said, adding one lump to his cup.

I didn’t have all day for these shenanigans!

“Okay then, one question each for starters. You first,” I suggested boldly.

Havelock took a sip of his coffee and after moments of silence said, “Very well. What is your particular job here for the parties?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Maids come in before me and clean the place up—they dust, set the fires, change the linens and get rid of any evidence the gents leave behind, if you know what I mean!” Havelock’s face twisted sourly, so yes, he did know what I meant.

“I add the flourishes…the finishing touches if you like. I set up the rooms; arrange the food, drinks, and flowers. I deal with the particulars of bedroom preparations too. The employer didn’t want to leave that in the hands of the maids!” I explained and saw how his eyes widened, and his cheeks coloured when I mentioned the bedrooms.

“But, I don’t recall ever seeing you here before, I would remember you —” He paused to let his eyes roam over me in a way that made my bollocks twitch. The blush of colour in his cheeks rose and mine burned. We both looked away and an uncomfortable impasse fell between us. Lord Penhelligan was a comely man, and I’d wondered what he thought of me. Hearing him say he would remember me was surprising and I wish I knew what he meant by that.

“So, how do you recognize me from my number? Where have you seen me and connected the face to the number?” It sounded to me like his lordship was getting himself in quite a pickle, worrying about what I knew of him and if his secret was safe.

“Nope, milord that’s not what we agreed,” I reminded.

“I didn’t agree to anything!” he whined.

I gave him a withering look and he couldn’t hold in his grin. “You’ve had your turn, milord. Now it’s my question.”

“You’re rather insolent, aren’t you Mr. Lazarus?” Havelock glared at me, annoyed that he hadn’t set the rules of this strange little game we were playing. As this was my one and only opportunity to have a chat with Havelock I decided not to beat around the bush— Fortune favours the brave , and all that!

“Answer me this, milord. What the bleedin’ hell is going on between you and Mr. 45, cos it sure ain’t friendship? You coves don’t even like each other.”

“I…I beg your pardon!” Havelock said in haughty outrage. He sat up in his chair his back as straight as an iron bar. His hands were shaking as he placed his coffee cup back on the saucer.

“Come now, milord. Let’s not mince our words. You understand that I know things I shouldn’t oughta know about a lot of gents, and I’m paid well for my silence. I have no plans on blackmailing you or any of the other fine gentlemen who frequent Wychwood – Life is short and lonesome, and what you do with your body is up to you and your maker. But I do have a problem with finding that one of my gents has got himself so upset that he decided that sliting his wrist is a good idea.”

I couldn’t help the anger in my tone. I knew that this wasn’t any of my business, but he did try to kill himself at my place of work, so I’d made it my business. Talking to him in such a bold manner was dangerous though—like juggling shards of glass. He was my better and so I knew I was taking my life into my own hands. This man was born into a wealthy family and was given an easy ride in life, and yet, he’d wanted to die. For my sanity, I needed to understand what was so bad about his lot that death was the better choice. I pinned my gaze on Lord Penhelligan. His face appeared bloodless and pale, and he stared into his coffee cup. When I saw how beaten down, he looked I regretted the roughness of my tone. He was a strapping, handsome man, but there was something very fragile about him too.

“Don’t worry, milord. I won’t hurt you and I won’t tell no one your secret. You’re not in any trouble and—“His eyes darted up to meet mine, and the look I saw was of pleading terror. I’d seen wounded men in pain, crying out for good reason cos they’d taken a bullet or a sword blade in the gut, but this cove had no wound that I could see, still, he looked at me with the same desperate pain. In exasperation I exclaimed,

“For crying out loud, why would I hurt you after I saved your bleedin’ life?”

I knew I’d said too much as soon as the words fell from my stupid mouth. What was it about Christopher Havelock that made my sense flicker out like a candle in a breeze and words tumble out of me?

In the eyes of the Church, suicide’s a sin. It’s something that’s drummed into us all from nipper to adult. Those that succeed at the act are denied their place in heaven and don’t even get a proper burial. Those who live to tell the tale are shamed for the rest of their days. The way I sees it, you’d have to be in a dark-dark place in your head to even think that toppin’ yourself’s a good idea. I ain’t never had a bad injury nor been in such pain that I wanted to be dead, but I can think of circumstances where looking for a quick way out would suit me just fine, thank you very much. I never saw my Ma when she was sick, but from what Elowen tells me, she suffered something awful, and with my old man in gaol there was little money for Laudanum to ease the pain. I swear though, if I’d been in England instead of in India I would have helped find her a quick exit as a kindness.

“ YOU! ” Havelock breathed out that word as if it was an accusation. “Y…you were the one who… not him ?” He spoke to the cup of coffee as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. I could see shame flood into his expression just like the tide rolling in. I felt a little tug in my gut, and my fingers ached to reach out to comfort him, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate coddling.

“Yeah. I was the one who found you and tended to your wound,” I admitted. “I swear, it was a blessing your knife wouldn’t cut butter,” I added, trying to make light of the horrible topic. Then I remembered I still had his knife. I thrust my hand into my trouser pocket and retrieved the small-bladed flick knife.

“Here, you might as well have it back to use as a letter opener, cos that’s all it’s good for,” I sneered as I pushed the Mother of Pearl handled knife across the table. Now you might think me foolish to give this desperate man a weapon, but I didn’t want him to consider me a thief. Maybe you think ‘Felix, he might try again,’ but I didn’t believe Christopher Havelock wanted to die. What I saw was a man who was out of his depth; he was drowning in whatever secrets made him so afraid. He grabbed the knife and held it between both hands. He looked so full of sorrow that I didn’t think he had it in him to cut a nail with that blade, let alone stab me or himself.

“I thought…I thought that finally he cared…that Edward had come back to save me. “ He shook his head and slipped the knife into a pocket. He fisted his hands into his dark curls and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Edward?”I prodded.

“General Edward Napier… you called him Mr. 45.”

Well, blow me down. A Duke getting plowed by a General . What a scandal that would make if it got out! We sat in silence for a minute sipping our scalding coffee before Havelock raised his eyes giving me the most genuine look I’d seen from him yet.

“Um…thank you, Mr. Lazarus. I drank far too much that night and got myself into quite a state,” he admitted. Havelock didn’t have a clue that I’d seen the whole fiasco from start to finish—the fighting, the submission, and then the fucking between him and his Edward—and I hoped he wouldn’t ever find out.

“I woke up when Joshua banged on the door. I saw all of that blood on the sheets, and over me. I was horrified. I noticed how neatly my wrist was bandaged.” Havelock paused and then, almost conversationally he said ”It was a good bandage and in spite of the circumstance I was rather impressed.”

“I fought in India and sometimes assisted a battlefield surgeon with the wounded.”

Lord Penhelligan’s cheeks pinked. “Well, I’m grateful. I guess it was wishful thinking to believe that Edward had come back to save me from myself.” He sighed again and that pitiful wish made me heartsick for him. He wanted this Edward to give a shit about whether he lived or died, and the bastard didn’t.

“You want him to care for you, don’t you?”

Havelock was back staring into the depths of his coffee cup. He started to speak in a dreamy sort of way,

“He does his duty…and that’s all a man like me can ask for. I’ve not been at my best these past six years.”

Gods, had they been at this back-and-forth for six years? I’d never had a special someone, and from watching my Ma and Pa I knew that relationships could be messy and some folks were less a blessing and more a curse, but this…whatever this was, it was beyond my understanding.

“Why do you keep it going? Surely there’s another more agreeable man in the club who could give you what you needed and wouldn’t drive you to drink, and worse?” I ventured.

“I don’t want this…I don’t want to be… this… an invert!” Havelock spat, whispering as if the kitchen mice were listening in. “My nature is an abomination in the eyes of the Church. Edward deals with my sickness. I don’t have any say in how he does it,” Havelock said dismissively.

I’d already had a feeling that Havelock hated being a queer, but the talk of him having a sickness, and all of the talk of demons I recalled from their last liaison made me shudder with revulsion. His nature didn’t bring him any happiness, not like the other men I saw loving in the rooms upstairs, men who snatched precious moments together before going back to their lives, duties, and probably their wives. I’d say that even a few hours of happiness is better than denying yourself for life. Havelock’s desires were a torture for him, and this Edward fellow was his jailer, a cunning brute who pretended he was trying to relieve Kit from his ‘ sickness’. The whole sordid business was starting to make me feel queasy.

“Look, something ain’t right here…” I began, but Lord Penhelligan stopped me with a raised hand.

“I…I’ve said too much, Mr. Lazarus, forgive me.” Havelock looked stricken. “I don’t know what came over me. Why am I telling you this?” He questioned himself then said, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t know you Mr. Lazarus and this is my private business. I’d be grateful if you would keep it to yourself. I will of course pay you for your silence.”

There was that lordly tone I knew so well. He’d just put me back in my place, beneath him .

“My employer has ensured everything that happens at Wychwood does not leave the house. I’m a trustworthy man, milord.” I gritted out the words. My old man would have slapped me around the head for saying that cos I’d just lost myself a nice bit of bribe money. But damn the man, I wasn’t in the extortion business. Silence settled between us again, and Havelock appeared conflicted.

“Look, I’m sorry if I offended you, Mr. Lazarus. I didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. I am grateful for your help—for saving my life.”

“I was glad to be there when you needed help,” I admitted. “And if you need help again you know where I’ll be. You can find me at the GPO most days and here early on party days.” I said calmly. I meant every word. Maybe he wouldn’t lower himself to ever seek help from me, but I was adamant that he wasn’t suffering from any sickness, and I would not share his secret.

Our eyes met again, and Havelock considered me. “You are a curious fellow, Mr. Lazarus.”

The fraught atmosphere lifted, and I found I wanted Havelock to trust me more than anything.

“I know were of different classes, but I wouldn’t mind at all if you called me Felix, milord.”

“Felix,” Havelock said my name slowly as if he was tasting it. Then he gave me the first genuine smile I’d seen today, and it was like the sun had burned its way through the fog. That smile lit up his whole face and made him appear younger. I could see myself looking at a smile like that in the morning and being happy for the rest of my days.

“My friends call me Kit. If you want…you can call me Kit.” There was a halting, childlike quality to what he said, and I must admit my heart swelled like a sea sponge. Had I ever met such a lonesome, troubled man in all my days?

“Thank you, Kit,” I returned his smile. I saw how his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip in consideration of me, and my bollocks burned at the lewdness of such a simple act. We both stared at one another and squirmed in our seats as if painfully embarrassed by our strange new friendship. Kit’s choice of words made me feel warm inside, but I didn’t know if I could trust that feeling. I didn’t quite know what kind of friend I could be to Kit Havelock, Duke of Penhelligan. Could nobs and servants be friends? Could I believe his swift change of manner—from roughly pushing me against the alley wall with a hand to my mouth and a knife in my side, to this nervous fumbling surrender? It felt like I was dealing with two different people. I knew I liked the brooding, sensitive man I saw when he was awaiting his Edward. I felt for that man, and if I had the chance to give in to my nature, I wanted that man even for just one night to show him how good it could be without the angry threats, God bothering, and bindings. Kit Havelock was as powerful and haughty as you’d expect of a man from the upper classes, but he was not unkind. The fact he, an aristocrat, permitted me to use his moniker was a small victory. I hoped that we would meet again one day in other circumstances and maybe, he might learn to trust me more .

I was pulled from the orbit of Kit’s gaze by the gurgling of the range. I looked away and absently checked the time. “Crikey, milord…Kit, much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I’ve got work to do. You’re welcome to finish your coffee or find a comfortable spot upstairs but I’m afraid I can’t dally any longer.”

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