Page 51 of Infernal Vices

“Have you been hitting the sauce early old chap?” Ashe continued with his schoolboy ribbing.

“No, no, bad oyster, I’d wager. I breakfasted at Whytes this morning. I swear, Chef Andre will see the back of my hand when I return to London,” he grumbled with less fire behind his anger than usual.

“Goodness, Benjamin, you do not look well at all. Has Stroker sent for a doctor?” I asked with genuine concern.

“Yes, yes, a boy has gone to Abbotsham Village. I just need a tonic, preferably with a bottle of gin,” Cavendish said morosely.

“I’ve experienced the sickness caused by bad oysters when I was in Greece and wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I suggest you go to bed and drink lots of water. Come along, up you get,” Ashe ordered.

“Cordelia has a headache and has taken to bed. I value my tackle too much to disturb her,” Cavendish whined.

“This house must have, what, twenty bedrooms? We’ll find you another room for you to recuperate in,” I suggested.

Appearing ever dutiful to our brother, we each took one arm and hoisted Cavendish to his feet. The bilious green tinge to his complexion alarmed me. He lurched to vomit. As if with one mind Charles and I dragged Cavendish to the half full brass coal bucket by the fire and held him over it. All that came up was a loud, foul smelling belch. I turned a sour face away, and then said to Charles. “Let’s get him out of here.” We continued out of the Library with Charles roaring “A little help if you please,” to arouse any servants that were about. We had made it to the foyer before the two under-butlers rushed to relieve us of our burden.

“Get your master into bed, not in his original suite, the mistress is sleeping. Somewhere quiet, and ensure he drinks plenty of water. The doctor has been sent for,” I said urgently. The servants nodded and did as required taking an arm each and carrying Benjamin up the stairs.

It was then that a maid pushed backward through a door behind the staircase, when she turned she was carrying a large tray and she startled a little at seeing us, the teacups tinkling as she shuddered.

“Ah, good afternoon,” I gentled. “Master Cavendish is unwell and has been taken up to bed. Where is the best place for myself and Mr. Ashe to take our afternoon tea?” I said pleasantly. The girl was portly with an angelic chubby face, much like a cherub. She spoke with a country accent.

“Good afternoon sirs. I’d say the Orangerie’s best. It’s lovely and warm and has a view over the gardens, would that be suitable?”

“Yes, yes, lead on my dear, lead on,” Ashe replied whilst hungrily eyeing the tea tray laden with sandwiches and freshly baked scones.

****

By four o’clock I was full and a little overwhelmed with having to converse for so long with Charles as my only companion. He told me he’d wanted to do a series of illustrations telling of country life and was veritably giddy with having “Such exquisite vistas to draw.” When we parted company, Charles headed toward the stables. I may be long in the tooth but I’d wager the ‘country life’ Charles was interested in was the strapping blond stable lad who made doe eyes at him while he dealt with our horses.

I returned to my room and lay on the bed to rest my eyes. I could hear the cacophony of a working stately home—the footsteps, the opening and closing of doors, the barked orders and distant murmurs of conversation. Then other guests began to arrive and demanded the attention of the now overworked servants. With a full house I was reluctant to put myself on display or open myself up to discourse until dinner. And so I remained in bed until just before the dinner gong resounded.

****