Excerpt: Anachronism part 3

Charles stumbled into the kitchen where I was frying eggs, my shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow.  He had a hand to his head and was scowling as he squinted at me.  I gestured toward a chair nearby and he staggered to it, dropping into the seat as if his legs couldn’t support him anymore.  I smiled a little as he groaned, leaving the stove for a moment to pour him a cup of tea from the waiting pot.

“Here,” I said, “Drink this, then get yourself another and another and another, until the headache goes away.”  He took it, glaring at the cups contents.

“I prefer my tea stronger,” he grumbled, but threw the whole cup back anyway.

“Weak tea will settle your stomach,” I lied with a knowing tone.  The reality was that he just needed to hydrate, but I couldn’t remember if they had known about the effects of dehydration during this time period, so I settled for a falsehood.

“And who told you that?” Charles grumbled, pouring himself another cup of tea and sipping it, wincing as the hot water went down his throat.

“My father,” I said with a shrug, flipping the eggs.

“What sort of man was he?” Charles asked, rubbing at his temples with his eyes closed.  I considered telling him.

“Off the record?” I asked, and Charles peered at me from beneath his hair and hand.

“Of course,” he said, “We’re friends now.”

“Business,” I answered dispassionately, “Can’t be too careful.  He was a good man.  A hard-working man.  He loved me, gave me everything I needed and most of what I wanted.”

“Were you fond of him?” Charles asked, too hung-over to feel much offended, draining his second cup of tea and pouring his third.  I plated the eggs and handed the plate to him along with a fork I had scrounged out of drawer.

“Rather,” I said, cracking two more eggs into the pan for myself and changing the subject. “Can you remember anything from last night?”  I made my voice smooth and even, not betraying my nervousness.  Charles narrowed his eyes as he thought.

“I remember that Geoffrey stood me up, we were supposed to box yesterday but he never showed… and then I started drinking with Morgan.  I went outside looking for you just when you showed,” he said, I shifted my weight, fiddling with the eggs so that my fidgeting would be less obvious.

“Anything else?” I asked, my heart beginning to pound as I did my best to appear as calm as possible, nonchalant even.  

“You hailed a cabbie.  We talked in the cab.  You were angry about something, but I can’t remember what,” he continued, and I nodded, encouraging him, “And then we arrived here, and you told the cabbie to take a message to Stefan and Evangeline.  I think I fell asleep on my feet then.  I don’t remember anything else.  Did Stefan and Evangeline send a message this morning?  What time is it?”  I blew out a sigh of relief, plating my eggs.  As far as I could tell, Charles didn’t remember the kiss, and while a part of me had hoped that he had, practicality dictated that it was a better situation all around if he didn’t.  There would be no embarrassment for either of us, and there was far less chance of me slipping and not being as disgusted, distraught, or distressed as I should have been.  I took up my fork and cut and speared a bit of egg, brandishing it at Charles with a playful smile.

“It is late morning, nearly eleven o’clock,” I said, “And Stefan and Evangeline sent a note ‘round nine this morning, thanking me for taking care of your sorry arse.”  I winked at him, catching how familiar I was acting with him.  I was probably being too familiar, but I was too relieved to not feel like celebrating somehow.  Thankfully, Charles merely laughed as he stuck the last of his eggs in his mouth, grimacing as it made his head hurt.

“Well, they’re ahead of me then,” he said, sipping at his weakened tea, “I should thank you for getting my sorry arse out of the club and home where I could sleep it off.  I hope I didn’t offend you with anything I said last night.”

“Not at all,” I answered, chewing briefly, “I was more concerned with keeping you from hurting yourself, though it meant virtually carrying you up the stairs.”

“Ah, that must have been hard!” Charles said with a smile, “You’ve not much muscle on that scrawny frame of yours.”  I snorted.

“And you’re oh-so-muscular,” I retorted, pointing the tines of my fork at him as I put down my plate and took the bread out of the pantry along with a pat of butter.  I used the spatula to deposit a square of butter in the middle of my pan, dropping a piece of bread neatly on top of it and circling the slice once.

“Who knew you knew how to cook, Alexander?” Charles teased, changing the subject.  I froze, bitterness rolling through me like a wave.  I struggled to hide my hurt, regaining my composure to shrug coolly.

“One of my many talents, I suppose,” I said, “I need to know how to feed myself when my housekeeping cook is away, you know.”  Like so many things I told Charles, this was, in fact, true, but it was only the tip of the iceberg.  I had started learning to cook while I was still in high school, quickly finding that I was good at it.  Through college, I had had a running deal with my roommates: I would cook if they would clean.  They had readily agreed to this, and all three of us had chipped in for the groceries.  The result had been many, many nights spent over borderline gourmet food, discussing our classes, boys we fancied ourselves in love with, philosophy, literature, and life in general.  It had been a golden period of my life, one of my fondest memories, and one of my great sorrows in the life I had made for myself in this time was that I had to keep a cook instead of cooking for myself.  Even when Mrs. Tottenham was gone, I could do little more than prepare eggs and toast, for fear that she would be suspicious if overmuch disappeared from the pantry, or if half-used ingredients that hadn’t been there before appeared, much less the scandal of being seen doing my own grocery shopping.  Being a gentleman in this society was, to me, painfully limiting at times.

“You do appear to be rather multitalented,” Charles mused, apparently not having seen my misery at all, for which I was very thankful.  I flipped the bread, sliding another square of butter under the untoasted side of it.

“Business, cooking, whatever shall I do next?” I asked half-heartedly.

“Embroidery?” Charles asked, laughing a little as he poured another cup of tea, “Or perhaps hat making would be a good venture for you.”  I laughed out loud as I dropped the piece of toast on his plate.

“Then I’ll be madder than any hatter you’ve ever met,” I said with a grin as I made another piece of toast, swirling the slice of bread in the bit of butter.

“Truly,” Charles said, taking a bite of toast, “You’ll likely make hats in the most atrocious colors.”

“Red, green, blue, and purple,” I confirmed, “In lovely, dark jeweled tones.  No black or navy for me.  I’ll make a concession for gray though.”

“And three feet tall, from brim to crown!” Charles said, chuckling.  I flipped the toast in the pan.

“Patterned hats too,” I said, “Spots and stripes and damask.  And how about orange?  Amber?  No, that’s more yellow isn’t it?  Fine, then umber and amber also.”

“No one would buy them is the tragedy,” Charles said with a snicker, “Though some ladies would become more interesting with such toppers.”

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t be their sparkling personalities which would repel the populace,” I said slyly, sliding the piece of toast from the pan to my plate and eating it in short, quick bites.  We both laughed, and then a comfortable silence settled gently in the kitchen.  I leaned against the island counter, finishing my toast before replacing the pan with the re-filled kettle.  After some ten minutes or so, it was just beginning to whistle and I refilled the pot before pouring myself a cup of tea to sip at, wondering where I should start.  I put the cup down.

“I wanted to ask you for a favor, Charles,” I said, cutting to the chase as he poured tea in his cup.

“What do you need, Alexander?” he asked, looking up at me as he handed the pot to me and I set it down on the counter.

“You remember the discrepancies I found in my company records?” I prompted him, and he hummed in agreement, “Well, I’ve noticed that it’s two specific clerks that I need to fire, but there’s several clients involved.  The oddest thing is that there’s strange items on the order inventories.”  He caught on immediately, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline.

“What’s being ordered?” he asked, his tone hinting at eagerness.

“Animal parts.  Plants.  Powders made by witch doctors and medicine men.  Fetishes,” I said, nearly able to see the gears in his head turning as he put everything together.

“Rituals?” he asked finally, “There’s been that trend of spiritualism lately.”

“Precisely my thoughts,” I murmured, “But three of the orders came from a club called the Amaranth.”

“The Amaranth Club?” Charles asked, his eyebrows winging upward again, “That’s interesting.  There’s several powerful men in that club.”

“One of who ordered lion teeth,” I told him, and Charles sucked in a breath between pursed lips.

“You suspect that the other orders were made by other members of the club?” he asked, “But you said you wanted a favor.  Did you want me to investigate the names?”  I nodded, picking up my teacup and sipping the scalding liquid for something to do as I held his gaze.

“Not all of them, mind, I won’t throw you to the wolves on your own,” I said, and he chuckled.

“Most of them wouldn’t talk to a reporter,” he said, shaking his head.

“The season is coming up,” I pointed out, “And I can easily secure you an invitation or two to the soirees I am invited to.  Another gentleman is always welcome.”  Charles shook his head again.

“You’ll be committing social suicide to be seen with me so publically,” he said seriously, “You’ll need to marry in the next few years, and in order to do that, you’ll need to be out and about in society, meeting young ladies until you find one that catches your fancy.  You won’t be able to do that when you’re so closely connected to me.”  He looked a little disheartened as he explained, and my heart went out to his implied loneliness.  He had his family and their friends, but those friends were not his friends.  I could sympathize, having been virtually friendless myself during my adolescence.

“I’m not particularly inclined toward marriage anytime soon,” I corrected him, “And I’m not in the habit of abandoning those I call friends.  Besides, disassociating myself from you would be just as bad as steadfastly staying by your side.  On the one hand, I’d be considered properly fickle, but on the other I’d be loyal to a fault.  Personally, I’d rather be loyal than fickle.”  I offered him my most winning smile, trying to charm him from his melancholy.  It sounded far too much like what he had said last night under the influence of drink.  This was just further evidence of how close to the surface his private pains really were.  And attraction or not, a friend would have done their best to make him feel better.  His eyes, as he looked at me, were filled with hope, and I answered him with a steady, trustworthy gaze.

“Well, if you don’t mind missing out on so many lovely ladies, perhaps we could devise some sort of plan,” he said, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

~