Page 11 of The Demons of Wychwood

CHAPTER 8

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-clever 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.