Think of England

“Curtis?”


He couldn’t do this, couldn’t face it. How the hell did da Silva do it? How could he look him, anyone in the eye? Oh dear God, the man reported to his uncle.

“It is that bad. I see. Ah, if you’re thinking of assaulting me, for God’s sake not the face, but can I just point out that we still need to work together—”

“What are you babbling about?”

“I’m hoping you’re not planning to hit me.”

Curtis lifted his head at that. “Of course I’m not!”

“Delighted to hear it.” Da Silva dropped to squat next to him with a whisper of movement. “I abhor violence, particularly when it’s directed at me.”

“Why on earth would I do any such thing?” Curtis found himself ruffled by the suggestion. He might not be an intellectual, but he wasn’t a bloody brute.

“Oh, well. Some men appear to feel that it’s less queer to have a chap suck one’s cock if one abuses him afterwards.”

“Well, I don’t,” Curtis said, and then realised that didn’t sound quite right. “Hit chaps for doing that, I mean. Not that it comes up, of course—” Da Silva clamped his lips together, looking very like he was trying not to laugh again. Curtis glared at him. “What I mean is, obviously it doesn’t make one queer, having a fellow do that for one. I’m not your sort.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, I’m not. I just—that was… It’s not the same thing, is it?”

“Nothing like it,” da Silva agreed obligingly.

“That’s not the point, anyway,” said Curtis, dragging the conversation back from this unnecessary tangent. “The point is, that business just now was my fault, so I am certainly not going to blame you for it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but fault doesn’t come into it.” Da Silva pulled out his pocket watch. “We should be getting back to the house, it’ll be luncheon soon. Will you listen to me a moment?”

“I seem to do nothing but listen to you,” Curtis said with feeling. “You could jaw the hind leg off a donkey.”

“A beast to which you bear a striking resemblance, in more than one way.” The twitch of da Silva’s brow robbed the little jab of any sting. “Firstly, I will retrieve these photographs, because I am better placed to do it than you. End of discussion. Secondly, I hope you won’t indulge in any regrets over this encounter. Chalk it up to a misunderstanding, a sleepless night and a dramatic situation. Consider it forgotten.”

That sounded like something he should be relieved to hear. Da Silva didn’t give him pause to think.

“Thirdly, and this is the important one: dead men. Dead men under the sun of Jacobsdal or floating down the Thames at night. Dead and smashed in the seas off Beachy Head, or in lonely rooms with a gun falling from their hands, or in the next war because of the secrets that have been sold. The Armstrongs have left a trail of blood for their own enrichment, and I intend to bring them to justice. And I am quite sure that you will stand with me to do it, whatever else happens, because if you are a man to put personal concerns before duty, then I have lost my judgement.”

Curtis inhaled deeply, taking on the words without excuses. “I beg your pardon, da Silva. You won’t need to remind me again.”

Da Silva nodded, as one professional to another. He stood, and extended a hand to pull Curtis up. Curtis, who outweighed him by several stone of muscle, took it, feeling da Silva’s fingers warm around his for a moment.

“Very well,” da Silva said. “I’ll slip out first, give me five minutes before you leave. I’ll come up with a reason for you to return to London, and a means for you to let me know when assistance is on the way. Keep your head, keep your countenance. No heroics. Getting the information to Vaizey is what matters.”

“Understood. Just let me know what’s needed. Otherwise, er—what’s that thing of that chap about service?”

“‘They also serve who only stand and wait’?”

It was pleasing how easily da Silva picked up his meaning. “Yes. I always rather struggle with that.”

“Do you? It sounds like my ideal job.” Da Silva gave him a swift smile, without the usual hint of mockery, picked up his coat, and went silently down the stairs.

Curtis sank back against the wall and wondered what in the blue blazes was happening to him.