Returning to our lodgings (Marylebone, just off Baker Street) I was at last able to get some long overdue shut-eye. For once I was untroubled by the disquieting dreams that had plagued me of late. These nocturnal visions inevitably left me anxious and soaked in sweat, though I remembered the details of them not. Well, on this occasion I awoke refreshed. I rose in the early evening and attended to some minor household chores.
Only one incident struck me as in any way out of the ordinary. Some scoundrel, possibly one of the local vagrant youth, had scrawled upon the pavement, outside our front steps, a most peculiar set of chalk markings; I noticed them from our parlour window. Upon investigation I discovered a collection of queer esoteric symbols and glyphs — crescent moons, shooting-stars, runes and the like. Strangest of all, inside this arrangement, lay what appeared to be a chicken’s liver, still attached to a string of entrails, along with part of a beak. For some reason their alignment struck me as in no way a product of happen-chance. I brushed away the chalk and binned this random offal forthwith, granting them no more attention than they deserved.
After supper my head began to ache, unsurprising considering my recent stresses and strains. With a cup of herbal tea I retired to my modest room to continue my studies. A little before midnight I was disturbed by ‘is lordship’s boisterous return. Apparently the club brass had made a day and night of it, painting the town red, as well as several other shades too. Flushed with drink, the master barged into my room without so much as knocking.
‘Ah! Here you are, Bill. Hiding yourself away again. I’ve been looking for you.’
I sat up in my bed. ‘I trust all is well, sir?’
The guvnor swayed a little. ‘All is very well, my good man. Remind me again — how much do I pay you?’
I considered this for a moment; where was this heading? ‘Sixty shillings a month, sir — a full three pounds. Your father is not thinking of reducing your allowance again, is he?’
‘The bugger better not be. How he expects a gentleman to keep house in style on the pittance he pays me I’ll never know. Scandalous, that’s what it is.’
I struggled to remain diplomatic. The stipend paid to ‘is lordship by His Lordship would have been perfectly adequate, if not for the gambling, whoring and incessant high-end debauchery. It was plenty sufficient for me to skim off a regular percentage un-noticed, to fund my own small investments. My retirement fund, as I thought of it — held mostly in railway stock and other shares focused on emerging markets and new-fangled technology. In giving answer I strove to achieve the right tone.
‘I fear your father’s medical bills eat considerably into his fortune. Maybe it would be wise, from time to time, to visit him at the home.’
Master Alex shot me a sharp look. ‘Home, home? You make it sound too convivial, Bill. Call it what it is, a blasted asylum.’
The details of the shocking downfall of Lord Bracknell were common knowledge. How, after his modest career in Lord Salisbury’s government, he had collapsed under his many pressures and strange afflictions.
‘Visit him at the asylum then, sir,’ I said, a bit sharply. ‘These small social graces may help . . . secure your future finances.’
Master Alex did not look convinced. ‘Can’t stand the blasted place — packed to the rafters with sick people and nutters. As you know, I fear no man nor beast, but I dread any form of medical affliction. And dear old pa-par is shot through with knob-rot. Can’t bear to look at the blasted fellow.’
‘I assure you sir, neither syphilis nor madness are easily contracted. You’re unlikely to catch either one, as long as the meeting restricts itself to the normal social niceties. Why not pay him a visit? To help expedite the inheritance . . . if nothing else.’
The guvnor gave a shudder and slumped down on the edge of my bed; mine was but a small room. I could see that, as usual, my entreaties would do no good. I endeavoured to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand, so at least I could be shot of him. ‘You wished to discuss my remuneration, sir?’
‘Ah, yes. I’ve been thinking, Bill . . .’
Wouldn’t that be a change for the better.
‘. . . how would an extra shilling a week suit you?’
I paused before answering. ‘It would suit me very well, sir. Are you sure we . . . I mean, are you sure you can afford it? When last I enquired your checking account was looking rather threadbare. Club fees are not cheap. You spend a small fortune on hats.’
Master Alex waved a hand. ‘Oh, we’ll find a way. We always do.’
I always do, I could have corrected.
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‘I don’t mind saying Bill, you’ve become damn useful to have around. Uncommonly serviceable — for a servant. How long now is it you’ve been under my wing?’
I strove to remain composed. ‘Since you entered the Indian Army, sir. Eight years past, I signed up with you as your batman.’
‘And before that?’
‘I was a groom at your family seat. Mucking out stables.’
‘Really?’ he looked startled. ‘Well, consider this raise a small token of my appreciation.’
Yes, I thought — a very small token indeed.
‘You’re a fine fellow, Bill. No, you needn’t thank me. Your old mum, God bless her soul, would be proud of the way you turned out. A credit to her, you are.’
Despite these words, which I’m sure ‘is lordship meant in lieu of praise, I felt it best to nudge our palaver back to fiscal matters. I experienced a sudden flash of inspiration.
‘What we need to do sir is . . .’ I struggled for the right words, ‘find some way to monetize your fame.’
The guvnor’s eyes went wide, ‘That’s genius, Bill. How would we do such a thing?’
Without a thought I blurted out, ‘Perhaps you could write a book. Detailing your adventures, and the like.’
The look he gave was all the answer I’d need. We both knew that was not going to happen. In any case, such an undertaking would likely land us both in gaol, cracking rocks, or worse. I wracked my brain, but it was late, and I was tired. ‘Never fear, sir. I’ll set my mind to the problem and see what I can come up with.’
‘You do that, Bill.’ The master struggled to his feet, most unsteady. I moved to help him to his room, but he waved me back. ‘Stay where you are, man. I’m not a child.’
Never-the-less there was a pressing matter I had to raise. ‘Sir, it would be remiss of me if I failed to point out the folly of your course of action this morning. Any one of the good members of the Casus could have been injured by your reckless shot, or a gentleman of the press slain. Either would have resulted in a regrettable scandal. A preventable scandal.’
The guvnor wobbled for a moment. ‘Damn your impudence, Bill. But I concede you may have a point.’
My teeth were gritted behind my smile. ‘What came over you, sir? It did not play-out as we agreed.’
Master Alex looked sheepish. ‘It was never my intention to strike the Frenchie, just to fire into the dirt. At times it seems I’m beset by the devil’s own misfortune. Worked out for the best though, don’t you think?’
What I thought, was that we had been damned lucky, but I held my tongue.
‘Only added to my legend — isn’t that what you’re always encouraging me to do, Bill?’
I must confess, I’d worked towards this end for many a year. But of late I’d begun to speculate that perhaps I’d been too effective in this endeavour. And where had it got us? Master Alex’s place in high society was secured, but there was only so much advantage that could heap at our door. Mayhap, time to reign him in a little, like an over eager stallion.
‘I fear sir, the Comte intends to lay bloody violence upon your person, first chance he gets. A dangerous opponent to have stalking us through the grass.’
The guvnor puffed out his chest. ‘Well, I don’t fear him, nor no-one. Chaps such as I have destiny on our side. We scoff at danger and thumb our handsome noses at perils that would cause lesser men to quake in their spats — glory awaits!’ With that he broke wind so forcefully it caused him to totter on his feet.
And therein lay our problem. The guvnor had come to believe his own mythology; to trust himself invulnerable to the slings and arrows outrageous fortune launched our way. I was victim to my own success in this regard. And my success had increased the likelihood Master Alex would one-day become a victim himself — the last thing I intended. This state of affairs would not do. I found myself skewered on the horns of a dilemma.
For the first time in our meeting it seemed to occur to ‘is lordship that he’d interrupted me. ‘What the devil are you reading there, Bill? Forever have your nose in a bleedin book. Waste of time, if you ask me.’ He peered down at the cover laying on the sheets.
‘The Iliad?’ he snorted. ‘Bunch of high-born zorbas offing each other over some preening dolly-bird — bloody fools. You’ll not learn nothing from such.’
Not for the first time I marvelled that self-awareness was not one of the guvnor’s strengths. Just what were his talents remained a matter of conjecture for gentlemen more learned than I. His lordship certainly sat well atop a horse.
Or at least he did whilst sober. Now, he slumped against the doorframe and came over all musical, showing the first signs of breaking into song. Despite his protests I roused myself from my crib and hastened to help him towards his own. It was not an easy task; high living had, of late, piled on the pounds around certain midriffs. Sturdy though I was I struggled to get him in motion.
When the guvnor was safely snoring, face down next to a jug of water, I secured our quarters for the night. Checking each door and window I snuffed-out the gaslights. I must confess, I tarried long at a discreet vantage, watching for the return of any pavement-artist come chicken-slaughterer, but the hour was late and none were apparent. Soon I retired to my own quarters for a second time.
About my neck hung a silver locket, strung on a slender chain. As was my custom I removed this item before I lay down to sleep, to place it on my nightstand close at hand, less I wake panicked by some dream-terror. As I’m wont to do at moments like this I gazed down at the adornment, my fingers playing across its tarnished surface, rubbed smooth with age and care; the trinket was most dear to me. I sometimes think it a form of mental armour, a cuirass protecting my sanity.
I suppose we’ve reached the stage of my strange tale where you, dear reader, might begin to speculate on several pertinent facts. Why is old Bill’s fate so tied to that of ‘is lordship’s? I’d hazard you know me well enough by now to recognize my loyalty is granted of my own free will. I trust you’ve seen that the guvnor could, at times, try the patience of a saint — and as we know, I’m no Lamb of God. Perhaps, you believe, your tale-teller would be best served striking out on his own, to rely on his modest talents to navigate the shoals and tempests this world so regularly offers. A fair point, one on which I confess to dwell myself, from time to time.
At moments of doubt I take out the locket and contemplate its contents; I did so now. The heirloom reminded me of a solemn promise, earnestly given, backed by love and sorrow. The tale of how it passed into my keeping is one for another time, but I pledge you this: you’ll hear it before my story is told. Suffice to say for now, despite his many failings, Bill strives to be a man of his word.