Silence And Shadows Collection

Chapter 4-1

Noah Bartholomew, lying in bed on a chill grey afternoon, found time to reflect on recent events and foremost, of course, upon the beautiful lad now sleeping snugly beside him. The fire burned warm and frost-rimed branches framing the diamond-paned window served only to emphasise what a cosy shelter from the elements this room afforded … as, too, did his bed.

They had met aboard the Mirabel, one of his brigs on its final leg home from Barbados, having stopped in Le Havre to unload sugar and pick up a cargo of Bordeaux. This interesting young man, taking a last-minute passage, had been invited to dine with him in his cabin in the aftcastle. They had found much to talk of, the lad having come directly from the French court and being in possession of all the latest gossip and intrigues afoot there.

Nothing had occurred between them onboard ship – other than a mutually recognised interest – for it would have been difficult. True privacy was hard to come by. And it was too soon, anyway. No need to rush it. He planned to remain in England for many months, or until Margaret became too hard to bear once more. Though he had made another quick trip across the channel to fill the Mirabel’s hold with cheap but top-quality port wine, suddenly available after an importer went bankrupt. Margaret had been enraged he chose to be away for the Christmas festive season, so missing his sons’ visits home.

He had finally met the lad again in London, where they had arranged to dine together, and had found each other physically soon afterwards in the comfort and safety of a bedchamber in a private house. After that they had met often, with much discretion and no little ingenuity. It had not taken long to find himself smitten. Unwise, he knew. Bit late now.

He looked down at the silky hair fanned-out on the fine white linen pillow and sighed, quietly. With his passion spent, the guilt arrived once more. The guilt about the risks he took. f**k. For, in truth, he risked his family as much as himself. Yet the moment his wife had announced plans to take the waters at Bath, he had determined to arrange this tryst at their country house in Bethnal Green. He had, though, argued against her going for the weather was poor and the journey would be gruelling. But her gout was always worse in winter and Bath’s hot spring waters all the more welcome because of it. He knew she would go, just as he knew this encounter would take place.

When the body beside him began to stir, the self-reproach started its retreat as desire flamed once more. ‘Holy God,’ he murmured, moving in again to slide his hand over a warm flank and beyond, smiling. ‘Well, laddie, I am finding you more and more delightful.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it, for I’m feeling much the same about you.’

Noah rumbled a laugh. ‘So, let’s see what we can do to delight each other further.’

‘Do you know, I rather enjoy you calling me laddie.’

Noah grinned. ‘I shall call you it because you’re small as well as young.’

‘Well, I’m most certainly not small. It is you who are a giant. The first moment I saw you I thought Viking God.’

‘And I thought pretty laddie.’

They laughed easily together.

‘Must we return to London today?’

‘Aye, I’m afraid so.’ Noah’s short Yorkshire vowels were long gone. Though his father had hailed from Whitby, he liked to claim he had been honed by the sea. He ran his hands through his thick fair hair. He disliked having to conceal it beneath a dark wig, though his flaxen locks sometimes felt a little frivolous – not quite right for a serious and very successful merchant. The wig gave him more gravitas, somehow. ‘I’ve a ship sailing on the morning tide. I should be there to see it out.’

A fine-boned hand with long slender fingers reached up to smooth the golden mane. ‘You should always wear it uncovered. Its colour is a wonder. You have your own candleflame to light your way. The hand dropped away. ‘May I ask you something?’

Noah nodded, almost certain he knew what was coming.

‘Do you still–’

‘Do I still swive my wife? No, I do not. Not now. And before you ask, did I enjoy it? The answer being, as best I could.’ He had been asked these questions many times before. And Margaret was not an easy woman. Her gout brought her much discomfort he knew, which did nothing to help her temperament. If not for his sons, he could easily imagine leaving her. If not for his sons. Yet they were so nearly grown now, so might it not be different? After all, she would always be well provided for, and it harmed no one that he imagined living a happier life.

‘Forgive me if I’ve offended you.’

‘You haven’t. I can understand your confusion that I could be with her and also with you. It is more common than you might think. In truth, extremely so.’ There were many deceived wives, and he took some small comfort that Margaret had been better served than many.

‘I don’t doubt it for a moment … it is just I know it can never be that way for me. I tried. Once–’

Noah laughed. ‘Once? And how old were you on this momentous, life-changing occasion?’

‘Fifteen. Neither of us liked it much. But it wasn’t that which made me so certain. Something happened not long afterwards.’ He took a sharp breath. ‘A man forced himself on me.’

Noah matched the breath. ‘r***d? At fifteen? Christ.’

‘I suppose he knew what I was before I did myself. It was dark so I never … I was at a friend’s house during school holidays. But later I was strangely grateful to him–’

‘Grateful for r**e? That is wrong. So wrong. He didn’t know what you were he just wanted his c**k in you.’ He smoothed chestnut hair back from a warm forehead. ‘I’m sad for you. You should have discovered yourself in kinder hands.’

He caressed Noah’s face. ‘With you would have been nice.’

‘Indeed, it would, lad. Indeed, it would.’

In the event, they had not set out for London until early the next morning, leaving at first light. When a messenger had arrived telling him the Cleopatra would be a day delayed waiting for a missing cargo, fate handed them the chance for another night together. He turned to look at the lad who slept with his head resting against his coaches’ well-padded squabs. The horses made good time even if the passengers were rattled to within an inch of their lives, moving over the frozen rutted ground. Or he was. It had been as the rocking of a cradle for his companion.

Now the sun had risen higher, and the lad’s face was in full light, Noah took advantage of his absence in sleep to look at him. Chestnut hair, loose about his shoulders, shiny as a conker. Dark lashes so long they cast a shadow on his cheeks. Lips, slightly parted, full and wide. He wanted very much to touch them with his own but knew what would follow and a rattling coach was not the place and broad daylight certainly not the time.

The lad woke as they clattered through Clerkenwell, moving ever westwards and down towards the river. He smoothed his hair, looking confused and then uncomfortable before frowning. ‘Forgive me. I’ve been poor company.’

Noah tilted his head. ‘You’ve had little sleep for which I must take the blame.’

They smiled at each other.

‘I believe the blame is shared equally.’ He held Noah’s gaze. ‘Are you certain I cannot tempt you to take luncheon at my house?’

Noah smiled, ruefully. ‘You can tempt me, but I fear I must resist on this occasion.

‘Well, perhaps we might dine later in the week?’

Noah reached across to touch his knee. ‘I shall try. I swear.’

‘Send a note and I’ll make sure I’m free.’

Finally, the coach entered Covent Garden and he asked for it to stop on the corner of Hart Street. Both men were, of course, very aware of the importance of discretion.

Noah later wished he had dropped him at his door and embraced him on his steps but the more circumspect part of him knew that he had not, had been very much for the best.

On his arrival in Rotherhithe, having taken the horse ferry to Lambeth so avoiding London Bridge, he was surprised to find his son, Henry, waiting in his office. He watched him for a moment through the window from the corridor. His eyes were closed and, just as earlier in his coach, he was able to study him unawares. He was a man. There was no other way to describe him. They shared the same build with Hal’s hair not quite his own pale shade, but close enough. There was stubble on his face. When had that happened? Yet he had not seen him in almost a year and that, of course, was time enough. He would be eighteen now for the love of God. That meant Michael was sixteen. Christ.

He walked into his office. ‘Hal. What are you doing here?’

He stood and hugged his father. ‘Are you not pleased to see me, Papa?’

Noah held him tight and then moved away to look at him. Their eyes were level. ‘Of course I am.’ He kissed his cheek. ‘Of course. My God, I’ve missed you. But aren’t you up at Oxford now … Corpus Christi?’

Hal frowned. ‘Well, I should be … but–’

‘But?’ Noah gave him a hard look. He could still read him like an open book. ‘Come on. Out with it, Hal. No point in not.’

He ran his hand over his hair. ‘After Mama’s reaction, I admit I am a little reluctant.’

‘You’ve seen your mother? Where?’

‘At home. She has taken to her bed. She and Aunt Mary had another of their pointless scraps, so they turned the coach around and returned home. She’s not at all happy you weren’t there last night … and she is especially not happy with me.’

Christ’s f*****g wounds. ‘Well then, you better explain it all to me, no?

He looked down at his feet. ‘I’ve been rusticated.’

‘Rusticated?’

‘Sent home for the rest of the term.’

Noah folded his arms and raised his eyebrows.

Hal would not meet his gaze. ‘A w***e in my rooms.’

Noah knew immediately it was not the truth. He touched his son’s face. ‘Look at me, Hal.’ He did. ‘You know what you risk, so–’

Hal looked away again. ‘Please, Papa. I don’t need a damn lecture from you. Where were you last night? Jensen said you hadn’t slept here. So where?’ He shook his head. ‘Mama said, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” when I told her what I’d done.’

Noah went behind his battered oak desk and sat down with a sigh. He gestured for Hal to sit, too. ‘I’ve been at Bethnal Green, if you must know.’

‘Alone?’

He took a breath. How could he expect the truth from his son if he was not honest himself? ‘No, Hal. But I wasn’t with a p********e. And I don’t think you were either.’

Hal threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. ‘It’s all so damn ridiculous. It was nothing. It meant nothing.’