Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER IX

A/N: The photo above is by Jacob Kamara, the same photographer who shot the photo in the cover. I love his work!

At dawn, Charles led Harry out of Louis' bedchamber by the scruff of his neck. He may have been Harry's servant but he was also a proxy of the Duchess, charged with protecting her son at all costs.

Back in Harry's bedchamber Charles undressed him angrily while the boy recounted his adventures.

"I fell off my horse!"

"I nearly died!"

"I slept in my riding attire!"

His valet fetched a hot towel from the basin and dragged it over his face. "You're a frightful sight. I scarcely know what to do with you." He leaned in and sniffed. "Is that brandy I smell?"

"The Duke gave me a thimbleful for the pain."

Charles threw down the towel. "This house is bacchanalian!"

He picked up the silver-toothed comb and began combing and arranging Harry's dark curls, restoring them to their natural luster, while Harry chomped wolfishly on his breakfast and slurped his tea.

"There's a rumor that the Duke's a murderer. Can you believe it?"

Charles pursed his lips and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "You shouldn't gossip, your grace. And yes, I can."

Harry smiled. "Charles, you've a wicked tongue!"

After much needling, Charles recounted night of the fire as told to him by a scullery maid, who'd heard it from a parlor maid, who'd heard it from a footman, who'd eavesdropped on the valet Theodore telling the butler in the servant's hall.

The facts were these:

1. The fire occurred at midnight on the east wing of Warwick House.

2. It was the eighteenth birthday of Louis' eldest brother, James.

3. Every member of the family was asleep in their bed.

4. Except one.

5. Louis was nowhere to be found.

Harry thought the details curious but they were far from an indictment. Louis loved his family, his brother James in particular. Harry was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation why Louis was not in his bedchamber that night. Moreover, Harry didn't believe the rumor because his innocent mind simply couldn't conceive of such evil.

Fully dressed with the blush of health on his cheeks, Harry made his way to the library with an armful of books. The day's sporting event was canceled due to inclement weather. It hadn't begun to rain but the clouds were black and grey as though etched with charcoal.

He had the Latin poems of Ennius to amuse himself on such an occasion. He planned to work on a light translation of The Hedyphagetica in the morning before moving onto to The Epicharmus after lunch.

He spotted Sir Clarence in the rotunda. He had circles deep as wells beneath his eyes and was puffing on his pipe, examining an oil painting of a hound.

Harry waved, teetering under his stack of books. Sir Clarence nodded but did not wave back. Harry approached, the heels of his boots unsteady on the plush Oriental rug.

"Good morning." When his friend didn't respond, Harry added, "is something wrong?"

"You shared my cousin's bed last night."