For another, he had the odd habit of ducking under every doorway he walked through. While Ephraim admitted Mr Hull stood rather taller than most gentlemen, he still had a few inches to go before he risked even brushing his dark locks against the upper part of the door-frame. Yet he stooped beneath them all to give himself at least another foot of leeway. He did so rather gracefully, Ephraim had noticed. A delicate bend of his waist and a smooth sweep of his shoulders, as a dancer might do to reel from one step to another over the threshold. Though Ephraim rather liked to watch him do it, he carefully kept his gaze averted, lest Mr Hull think he mocked him for his eccentricity.
On occasion, Mr Hull would remove his frock coat and hang it on the back of his chair whilst he worked. Ephraim’s blood ran too thin in his veins to go without his own coat in the autumnal chill of the office, but he supposed a much younger gentleman like Mr Hull might find the crackling fire made the air a touch over-warm. Whenever Mr Hull divested himself of his coat, however, and went about the office in his shirt-sleeves, Ephraim found it rather difficult to concentrate on his own work. The pale thin cotton shirt clung to Mr Hull’s broad shoulders and allowed an indecorous glimpse at the corded muscles of his arms beneath. Even the waistcoat, though made of thicker stuff, only served to draw attention to Mr Hull’s svelte waist and heightenthe contrast against his burly upper half. And when, for example, Mr Hull stood up from his desk and turned his back to take down a volume from the shelves, Ephraim couldn’t help but observe how tight his trousers fit around his behind.
All this, Ephraim thought, was rather more than a gentleman ought to notice about his clerk. And so he set his mind to ignoring it. Whether or not he succeeded in this task he preferred not to reflect upon.
Still more difficult to ignore than Mr Hull’s youthful vigour was the attention he paid to Ephraim in turn.
On the first morning in Staple Inn, Mr Hull had asked how Ephraim liked his tea. Ephraim replied he preferred a dash of cream without sugar. Every morning afterwards, Ephraim had arisen and gone downstairs to find a steaming cup prepared likewise at his desk. Never once did Mr Hull require a reminder or ask again. Nor did Ephraim ever have to ask to have his cup refilled. The moment he reached the dregs, it seemed, Mr Hull had the teapot and creamer in hand, and, gently taking the cup from Ephraim, would dispense without spilling a drop. When he handed the cup back, however, his fingertips had a tendency to brush against Ephraim’s, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver over Ephraim’s frame, the cause and implications of which he chose to ignore. Instead, Ephraim noted Mr Hull took his own tea black and resolved to prepare it for him as such, if he ever made it into the office before Mr Hull.
In addition to general sweeping and dusting of the office, Mr Hull also took it upon himself to add some decoration. The first to draw Ephraim’s notice were the delicate fern fronds in a little glass case beside the window.
“They don’t mind the shade,” Mr Hull said as Ephraim puzzled over the addition. “And I thought perhaps you might like a spot of greenery amongst your work.”
Ephraim hadn’t known he’d wanted such a thing, but now that he had it, he realised it was exactly what he’d needed for some time now.
“Woodbridge recommended mignonette as well,” Mr Hull continued. “I could bring that in tomorrow—with your permission, sir.”
“Woodbridge?” Ephraim echoed.
“A friend of mine,” Mr Hull explained. “Works as a gardener.”
Ephraim supposed gentlemen of all professions might be found at the Green Man or in Hyde Park—and either of these places, he mused, seemed poetically perfect for a gardener to wander.
And accordingly, the mignonette appeared in the windowsill the next morning, sweetly fragrant despite its lack of bloom. Though, Ephraim noted, not quite fragrant enough to disguise the queer honeysuckle and elderflower scent of Mr Hull himself, seated just across from him.
One might say, as doubtless Dr Hitchingham would, that this was all just as much as any clerk ought to do for their employer. Ephraim might have agreed with this, were it not for how, whenever they dined at the Red Lion, Mr Hull made a point to reach the table in the back room first and draw out Ephraim’s chair for him and wait for him to settle before he seated himself. This behaviour drew even Dr Hitchingham’s notice. Ephraim didn’t mind, and supposed this must be how all clerks conducted themselves in distant lands. The thrill he felt at having an admittedly extraordinarily handsome young man perform such attentive services on his behalf, he shut away in the little lock-box in his heart and did not dwell upon.
And every morning, as Ephraim arose to shave and dress, he heard the gentle tap-tap-tapping of Mr Hull’s boot-heels on the stair—a sound which became somehow sweeter than birdsong.
~
Even with the ache of iron hanging in the air, London held many opportunities for one of the Hidden Folk to feed.
Hullvardr had heard other fae speak on the virtues of The Globe for a few centuries. It had burnt down, rebuilt, shuttered, and vanished since then, but upon his arrival he found London held many other theatres with no less enticing entertainments. Some even still performed Shakespeare’s works, including a staging ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream. The play proved a delight, combining dance and puppetry and live animals with mortal mimicry of fae magic which baffled Hullvardr. The exhilaration of the audience around him well satisfied his hunger. His curiosity, however, he satisfied by lingering at the stage door and catching one of the fellows who’d worked behind the curtain. By offering to share a drink, he gleaned a great deal regarding limelight and gaslight and how to make glistening glass and shivering metal move together to mimic a waterfall. He satisfied his hunger again on his knees in the alley behind the tavern, to the enjoyment of the theatre worker as much as himself.
He found it more satisfying still the next morning, when Mr Grigsby enquired where he’d gone the previous evening. Hullvardr regaled him with the recounting of the theatrical thrills and beheld the brilliant twinkle in Mr Grigsby’s eyes as he heard it.
“Perhaps,” Hullvardr ventured, “you might accompany me to another performance, sir?”
Mr Grigsby demurred; the theatre ran rather too late. He feared he’d fall asleep in his seat and embarrass Hullvardr with his snores.
Hullvardr didn’t find the prospect embarrassing in the least. However, as Mr Grigsby would not be moved on that point, he contented himself with offering the invitation each nighthe went, and when Mr Grigsby inevitably refused, relaying the theatrical experience to Mr Grigsby on the morning after, which seemed to please Mr Grigsby almost as much as Mr Grigsby’s evident delight pleased Hullvardr.
Dancing, to Hullvardr’s bewilderment, proved more difficult. On prior adventures in the mortal realms he’d cavorted with them by bonfires under moonlight in shadowy hills. Not so in London. He spent a fortnight wandering and wondering where dancing might occur, until, finding nothing, he asked his fellow clerks outright one evening at The Green Man. The other clerks commiserated with his bad luck—had he arrived in summer, he might have joined them at Algar’s Crown and Anchor or another traveling outdoor dance hall. In the colder months, however, there remained a few avenues; though not, they added confidentially, in this side of town. His new acquaintances led him to rowdier taverns in other neighbourhoods. There, if the crowd could collect enough coin to persuade the fiddler, the tables and chairs would be swept aside, and cavorting could begin. So many mortals dashing together in each other’s arms, their sensations heightened by the music and rippling with the tension of attraction, provided a veritable feast for Hullvardr.
Hullvardr had sense enough not to mention these particular adventures to his employer. He could not, however, restrain himself from wondering how it might feel to dance with Mr Grigsby. Slower than with the youths in taverns, yes, more halting and perhaps more awkward—but all the more charming for it, and what a joy it would feel to prove his own strength and lend his own grace by carrying him through the steps.
Finally, one morning when he could contain himself no farther, Hullvardr ventured, “Do you dance at all, sir?”
Mr Grigsby blinked. “Heavens, no—though I will confess I once cut a dashing figure at certain county balls, but those days are far behind me.”
Hullvardr didn’t see at all why that should be so. However, when he pressed the issue, Mr Grigsby only shook his head and declared even if a lady would deign to dance with him, he would not humiliate her by asking.
He did not say what he would do if his clerk asked him to dance. Hullvardr spent many merry minutes imagining the possible result of that particular enquiry.
When neither theatre nor dancing would satisfy, Hullvardr wandered through Hyde Park. The sight of trees, however youthful, and greenery, however artificial, did something towards soothing whatever homesickness he might feel. As much or more soothing than the setting were the like-minded gentlemen he met beneath the shadow of Achilles and followed to still more shadowy corners of the park. Under the cover of darkness and the eternal fog, Hullvardr feasted with soldiers, sailors, servants, and sundry others. He left his gentlemen better off than he found them—more contented, certainly, if a touch winded—and would have felt the same, if he could banish the thought of Mr Grigsby from his mind. For while he grasped one fellow’s prick in his palm and slipped another’s between his lips and slid his own between the thighs of still another, as he heard their gasps and moans and groans and felt their shivers and shudders in his arms, all he could think on was what Mr Grigsby might sound like, feel like, taste like. He could well imagine his stiff and awkward frame coming undone in his embrace, the delicate lacework of his flesh, the soft sounds that would escape him as Hullvardr devoured him.
Still, Hullvardr spent his evenings with strangers in Hyde Park and found his hunger satisfied.
