Page 37 of These Old Lies
“Apparently they liked to drink port together.”
“Perhaps I should park and go find the servants’ entrance?”
Ned didn’t like the nervousness that underlaid Charlie’s tone. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just a house. It creaks in the night, has drafty windows, and a problem with mice that have foiled the past four generations of owners.” Ned took Charlie’s hand. “If nothing else, this is my family home. I welcome you here as someone I’m proud to call my friend.”
That seemed to put Charlie slightly more at ease, even if he was still rigidas the staff came out to welcome them.
The benefit of arriving unexpectedly and soaked to the bone is that it causes so much upheaval that all other awkwardness just gets swept up in the wider commotion. Ned found himself explaining to the footman, the head butler, and then his parents respectively the situation with the motor. Before full introductions could even be made, he and Charlie were whisked off to warm baths with invitations to dinner.
Which is how Ned found himself soaking in a bathtub while his father’s valet brought in a freshly pressed suit. Staring up at the ceiling, Ned reflected that this had escalated a tad more quickly than he had anticipated. It was a pleasure to see his parents, of course, and there was nothing shameful about going for a drive with a friend, but he wasn’t used to the aspects of his life intersecting. Ned couldn’t help but feel exposed, and he didn’t know if he was more worried about an awkward dinner or one where everyone got along.
“Jackson, is Mr Villiers settling in well?”
“I believe so, sir. Her Ladyship asked for him to be put in the Blue Room and suggested that a suit of Master Francis’ might do him for this evening.”
Ned splashed water on his face to hide a wave of emotion on hearing Francis’ name. “Mother thinks of everything. We did arrive a little underprepared.”
“But an unexpected delight.” The valet turned away from the suit and looked directly at Ned. “If I may, sir, I haven’t seen the viscount this excited for dinner in a long while.”
Ned knew his parents put on a brave face for him, for society. Of course the servants saw the truth and mourning behind it all.
With Charlie’s location secured and Jackson dismissed, Ned quickly got himself ready, enjoying the smell of his father’s cologne as he slid on the borrowed suit jacket. In temperament Ned was a lot more like his mother than his reflective father, but his size was all Pinsent blood.
The Blue wasn’t the most imposing guest room, but Ned considered it one of the best due to the view of the gardens. It was, delightfully, also not that far from Ned’s own room, which opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities for the evening. He had this thought in mind when he lightlyrapped on the door. “You decent, Charlie?”
A slightly frazzled Charlie opened the door, damp hair sticking up in various directions and cuffs hanging loose. “Come in and help me with this nonsense.”
For a moment Ned saw double, the dishevelled man standing in front of him, and a dark-headed boy on his eighteenth birthday, pleased as punch with the cut of his new jacket. The mixing of happiness and grief made him dizzy.
The act of helping Charlie, of feeling around the collar, pulling the jacket straight in the shoulder, clipping in place the shirt studs, seemed to bring the two images together. Like in those stereoscopes he played with as a child, where if you held the two images just far enough from your face they merged into a three-dimensional image.
The suit wasn’t a perfect fit, and the style was dated, but it gave Charlie a refined air. Ned couldn’t help but think that Francis would have been delighted to help rough-and-ready Charlie play the gentleman. As Ned finished the last of the buttons and smoothed Charlie’s hair into place, he leaned in for a slow and gentle kiss. “I’m sorry if being here makes you uncomfortable.”
“I always knew that you were upstairs and I downstairs, but it’s still quite the thing to be dining in a house that has more art than the National Gallery.” Charlie’s blunt appraisal wasn’t wrong; the social gulf between them—of money, status, accent, and literal power—was one of the constants of their relationship. Charlie bent his head towards Ned’s chest. “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
Ned gripped Charlie’s shoulders. “That would never be possible.”
???
Dinner was an intimate affair, albeit a five-course one. The dining room wasn’t as imposing as others in the house, as his mother had long since insisted that she would not be glowered at by paintings of Tudor ancestors while trying to eat her dinner. Instead, gentle pastorals hung on the wall, which, when paired with the sturdy oak furniture that was a necessity for Pinsent-sized men, created a welcoming warm ambiance.
An atmosphere that had an effect even on Ned, much to his disconcertion. By the standards of the British upper classes, he had a warmrelationship with his parents, and genuinely enjoyed their frequent dinners and trips to the theatre. Yet Ned couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with them that was more than an exchange of empty pleasantries and updates on common acquaintances. Tonight, Ned found that he had ideas and stories to share around the dinner table.
“Papa, do you think that the Prime Minister will call an election? It seems to be all London can talk about.”
After several spirited conversations on the topic, Ned and Charlie both agreed that the Tories had to go, but Charlie had more faith in Labour doing good for the working man than Ned. Charlie had called Ned apathetic, and Ned had retorted that Charlie was naïve.
“The man wants a mandate.” Ned’s father took his responsibility in the House of Lords seriously, unlike many peers, so Ned was genuinely interested in his views. “The 1922 Committee has already brought one Prime Minister down, and they won’t respect this one until he proves he has the support of the nation.”
“Is an election really the best idea with the Norfolk farmers’ strike still smouldering?” Charlie’s tone was the perfect balance of politeness and honest inquiry.
Ned, however, wanted to needle his father a bit. “Baldwin needs to start thinking about the one million unemployed.”
“Balderdash,” Ned’s mother cut in sharply. “Bankrupting landowners to pay their fieldworkers will not do anything to help anyone.” His mother was aghast by the suffragettes, but never felt the need to hold back on her own political opinions.
“And the veterans left begging on the street? What does Baldwin or his landowners have to offer them?” Ned retorted, unable to get Billy McLean or the sheet of war souvenirs out of his mind.
“If you are so passionate about the unemployed, Edmund, why don’t you tell the Prime Minister yourself?” his mother replied, deboning Ned like the white fish in front of her.