“I do,” Ephraim admitted. “But recent events have reminded me that certain young gentlemen believe they require far more funds than they may typically attain—unless through criminal means.”
“Criminal?” Mr Hull echoed.
Ephraim forced himself to meet Mr Hull’s gaze. “Blackmail, sir.”
Mr Hull’s beautiful dark eyes flew wide. His perfect lips fell open for speech.
“You intend blackmail,” Ephraim reiterated, cutting him off. He knew better than to give his silver-tongued clerk the opportunity to sway him. “And I shall not let you speak it, for your own sake as much as mine. Let this remain a mere suspicion on my part, and let this suspicion drive me to release you from my employ without making a black mark upon your record of service. I wish you better fortune and better sense in your next position. Good day, sir.”
Mr Hull continued staring at him. “Sir—”
“I said good day.”
~
Mr Grigsby may as well have struck Hullvardr a mortal blow.
He’d felt his feelings reciprocated. He’d known it. With every kind enquiry after Hullvardr’s own well-being, with every appreciative look Mr Grigsby had flicked up and down his frame whenever he’d entered a room, with every wistful glance Mr Grigsby had cast towards him whenever he departed his company, with every lingering touch as Hullvardr handed over his tea and his letters and their fingertips brushed together with incidental elation, with every word of greeting and good-bye brimming with something Mr Grigsby never dared speak but Hullvardr could hear nonetheless.
And particularly just now, when their lips had finally met after months of dancing around the question. How a breathless gasp carrying all he couldn’t say had escaped Mr Grigsby’s throat. How that delicate mouth had opened beneath Hullvardr’s own, welcoming the caress of his tongue. How Mr Grigsby’s stiff frame had melted into his embrace. Hullvardr had felt the shackles of what seemed like centuries of self-restraint shattering in his arms, if only for a moment.
Yet Mr Grigsby denied them. Denied both Hullvardr’s advances and his own desires, despite all evidence to the contrary.
And Hullvardr’s conscience demanded he take his employer at his word.
“You may pack your things,” Mr Grigsby said, regardless of Hullvardr’s inner turmoil. “Then you must go. Tonight.”
Hullvardr nodded his assent, unable to speak around the unaccountable lump in his throat. He’d almost held something gossamer and precious in his hands—only to dash it against the floorboards in his clumsy efforts to capture it. And any effort to regather the broken shards would only hurt them both.
Against his every instinct, Hullvardr turned away from Mr Grigsby and went upstairs.
Packing his things didn’t take much time or much thought. Which made matters worse, as it left his mind free to wander over what went wrong. The Holly King had warned him how men who lay with men were viewed in the mortal realm and what dangers awaited them—but Hullvardr had thought, surely, in the quiet solitude of their little office, blanketed by fog and secreted behind closed doors, Mr Grigsby could indulge himself in just a taste of what they might have together, if he wished. The gentlemen in Hyde Park certainly didn’t seem to mind any risk, and they had only the cover of darkness in the woodier depths. Four thick walls, stout doors, and shuttered windows seemed safe enough to Hullvardr’s mind.
Hullvardr dreaded the prospect of explaining his failure to the Holly King. Yet even with that before him, he found it less daunting than the thought of leaving Mr Grigsby behind. It felt wrong beyond words to abandon him alone in the empty office, knowing full well his only friend in all of London wouldn’t return to him until after the New Year.
Self-denial was not a trait oft found amongst the Hidden Folk when a willing partner awaited them. Hullvardr couldn’t understand Mr Grigsby’s refusal—but he would honour that refusal nonetheless.
~
Ephraim had never breathed a word of his secret to anybody.
He’d had infatuations and indiscretions at school, of course—everyone had. Yet somehow, while all his fellows seemed to grow out of it, he never did.
He didn’t harbour any particular dislike for the fairer sex. But when he compared his own feelings to, for example, how his friend Dr Hitchingham had pined for his wife throughout theircourtship, cherished her in their marriage, and mourned her after her passing, the nearest thing Ephraim had ever known to it was his own infatuations with Thomas, Harry, or Richards. All of whom, like Dr Hitchingham, had gone on to settle down with respectable young ladies in matrimony.
Like Ephraim, Lofthouse had remained a bachelor far longer than most fellows and never seemed to take an interest in the fairer sex beyond the book-keeping aspects of assisting Ephraim in tending Miss Flora’s fortune. Ephraim sometimes wondered if Lofthouse was more like himself than like other young gentlemen. If so, he hoped Lofthouse might lead a less lonely existence. Ephraim took comfort in recalling how Lofthouse had found at least a friend in Butcher. And perhaps, Ephraim thought but didn’t dare to hope, Lofthouse had meant something more than friendship when he mentioned finding his place in the household of a “kindly eccentric.”
Ephraim, however, had contented himself with Dr Hitchingham’s friendship these past forty-odd years—nearer to fifty, now.
And he might have died content with it, if not for Mr Hull.
Ephraim caught himself looking to the doorway where Mr Hull had gone. He forced his gaze upward in search of a distraction but saw only the mistletoe garland adorning the frame overhead.
He ought to tear them all down, he thought. Then he thought of how much taller than himself Mr Hull had stood, and how he’d have to get out a step-stool and drag it all over the office, all the while forced to think on the kiss he’d rather forget as he tore down all evidence of the foolish tradition that’d caused it. His shoulders and knees ached with a weariness that went beyond his brittle bones.
He’d do it in the morning, he decided, and went up to bed.
It took far more minutes than he cared to count of lying on his back and staring up into the darkness to fall asleep. Dreams he didn’t wish to reflect on sent his body tossing and turning amidst the bedclothes, and he awoke in a tangle at sunrise. He felt wretched and couldn’t remember why.
