I glanced at a photograph of my siblings every night before I went to bed, staring at the faces in sepia, scared that if I didn't, I'd forget what they looked like. How young we were then, how life had not tarnished us or beaten us with its cruel hand. It hadn't touched us with the wonders of life either and we had so much to learn. Growing up we were like most brothers and sisters, fighting constantly but having each-others backs when the occasion called for it. I hadn't seen my eldest brother Joseph for the longest of all— five years in fact— so imagine my surprise when I saw him sitting at the table of the servants' quarters one ordinary morning. There was a cup of strong black tea in front of him and a slice of marmalade toast and he was happily munching away whilst all the servants sat around him as though he were a specimen at a laboratory or worse...royalty. Listening to his voice, I smiled. I'd almost forgotten how gentle it was and how all the traces of the working man's accent had been lost with time.
"Jack!" he said as he saw me. His eyes were warm and sparkling.
"Joe!" I skipped over and embraced him in a hug whilst he was still seated. "Why didn't you bloody tell me you was coming?"
"Mind your language, Jack, in front of the ladies!"
"Sorry." I held onto him for a moment longer.
"I've been visiting Jess and the children. She said I should surprise you," he said.
"Bet old sis loved seeing you and the kids. How long you in England for?"
"Until I'm reassigned. Back at my old parish temporarily."
Joe had been a Christian missionary in Africa for those past five years with his wife and children and it had been the first time I had laid eyes on him since. I'd only seen the children in photographs, having only met two of them once or twice and the third never at all. Joe looked older now and he was tanned and lined, but essentially, he hadn't changed at all— still so neat, so serious, so soft-spoken and gentle mannered.
"I hope Jack's been behaving himself." He directed the question at the matriarch of sorts Mrs. Orwell who stood by the cooking pot, stirring the soup.
Her face turned a shade of red at being asked a question of the kind but didn't exactly seem shy to answer promptly. "Well, I'll not lie to a man of the church, Mr. Boys. I'm afraid your brother is a little bit of a handful."
Joe's eyebrow rose. "Jack! You never change, you old rascal. What was it mother told you on her deathbed?"
"Told me to make her proud. You know my sins are already forgiven."
He smiled, took a sip of tea, and clasped my hand. "I'm sure she'd be very pleased with your position here. Really landed on your feet at this fine house with these delightful people you work with."
"Don't say that, they'll get big headed." I teased at the others.
It was at that moment that the master's bell rang and I was summoned upstairs to the study.
"You have to come meet Monty...that is... you have to meet the master. If you want a handful, he's it. Come with me, he won't mind."
Mrs. Orwell frowned. "See. Can't get through to him. Jack Boys, you cannot take your brother upstairs un-announced."
"No problem, Mrs. O, I'll announce him when I get there."
I grabbed my brother's arm and wrenched him from his seat, leading him up the stairs to the main house at the top of the heavy door. It had once been my prison and the dread of a morning but now it felt comfortable, familiar, more dare I say it, like home. What had become of me?
I was strangely excited for Joseph to see where I worked and indeed who I worked for. He'd only ever seen me in tatty clothes, mending roads and fixing things. He'd never seen me in my last two work positions, working my way up the serving ladder.
"Jack, slow down."
"Give over. You used to be the fastest runner of the four of us. You and James had fist fights over that."
A smile found his face briefly. "Long time ago. I don't do a lot of running these days."
I tapped his stomach. "It shows."
"Cheeky git."
He followed me to the study and waited next to me as I tapped on the door in a rather excitable fashion. "Sir, it's me." I tapped again. "I've got a surprise."
"I hate surprises," came the reply.
"Well, good, now you know it's here, you won't have to worry about it."
"Just jolly well stop talking in riddles, Boys, and come inside."
He was still muttering something when we entered, and surprisingly, he was at his desk, keeping correspondence, pen to paper, working fervently with a cup of coffee beside him. The red under eye circles made it appear as though he hadn't been to bed. He had! I had put him there myself.
"Who's this?" he said, looking up from his writing, covering the papers with a book and then noticing Joe's dog-collar. "Clergy?"
"Yeah but not just any old church riff-raff," I said, nudging my brother forward to exhibit him. "This is my brother. He's a vicar, Joseph Boys. Joe we all call him."
"Sorry for the intrusion, Sir," Joe said apologetically. "My little brother never had many manners."
"Don't I know it." Monty rose from the leather chair and shook my brother's hands. He glanced him over. "Ah, I see the resemblance. Though you have more height than your brother."
"Thanks," I muttered.
Monty was far more friendly with Joe than he had been with me at our first meeting and I watched in open-mouthed bewilderment as he eloquently participated in a conversation with another member of humanity. I think it must have been Joe's calm demeanour—it always made everyone ready to open up to him in an instant and divulge their secrets. It was a good job my brother was an honest man and a vicar at that, people always seemed to trust the vicar.
They spoke so much that in the end I had to drag Joe away, take him back down to the kitchen for a spot of early lunch. I wasn't sure where the morning had gone in such a hurry but Monty kindly let me spend the afternoon with my brother before returning to work again at dinnertime and for that I was grateful. I was so keen to spend time with him.
When were arrived in the servants' hall, Mrs. Orwell was already serving the lunch, piling sandwiches onto Joe's plate as if he were a king rather than the ordinary chap I'd grown up with. Frank entered the room a moment later, sweating and looking confused, pacing back and forth, his expression blank.
"What's the matter, Frank, you seen a ghost?" Doris asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto a chair next to her.
"Might have done," he said, looking at her. "Was out doing some errands. It's real foggy out there, but I knew it was him."
We all looked at each other.
"Who was who?" I asked.
"He what left all mysterious. The old manservant, what's-his-name."
"Herbert Carey," Mary Boyle said, threading a needle.
"The bloke you all said was probably bumped off?"
"That's him. It was definitely him I swear. I got up real close and even in that mist I recognised the face and those cold dead eyes."
"Sinister was it? Jack the Ripper was it?" I laughed, nearly choking on my cheese sandwich.
"He never had a very trusting face," Mrs. Orwell admitted.
"Ignore 'em, Joe," I said. "This old servant is apparently a ghost but not a ghost, evil but not evil, disappeared into the night and now apparently stalks other unsuspecting servants in the fog when they run their daily errands."
I laughed but no-one joined in.
"Don't be flippant, Jack. Perhaps there was cause for concern," Joe said.
Typical Joe. Always well-reasoned and going against my own opinion even when I was right.
"They all told me he was murdered by the master when I first came here!" I said defending myself.
"I'm sure there's a simple explanation."
I was irritated. "But that's what I've said all along!"
Doris suddenly shrieked. "What if the simple explanation is he's coming here to murder us and that's why the master kicked him out?"
"So, it is Jack the Ripper?" I nudged her with a spoon, making a stabbing motion at her torso.
Mrs. Orwell placed the teapot down and sighed heavily as though dealing with a group of unruly schoolchildren. "For goodness sakes, young lady, that's the last time you read those mystery thrillers before bed."
After every theory got considerably more bizarre, my mind could not move away from the matter of the previous manservant and the reasons he left under mysterious circumstances. At least the rumours of his demise were untrue but it did beg the question: did the master ask him to leave? And why did he not say goodbye to the servants, leaving in the middle of the night?
I folded my arms. "Well, I think you're all wrong. He probably had some reason to leave, sure, but why all the morbid theories? At the end of the day, why are we so worried about it?"
"You weren't here, Jack," Doris said. "The atmosphere changed when he started work here and the master changed too and then his mother."
"How so?"
"Secret meetings for one," Mrs. Boyle said. "Always the three of them in that study. And they were always sending us away saying 'not to worry, Carey will see to it' as though he was the favourite. But after he was gone, they acted like he never existed, told us that he had left for Ireland and that we were just to get on with things."
"Yeah but the master looked guilty that following morning," Frank said.
"I'd say more sad," Doris added. "He didn't leave his room much until you arrived for work, Jack. Frank had to tend to him but he didn't seem to want anything done."
"Well he told me he didn't like him, maybe their personalities just clashed," I said.
"He told you that?" Frank said. "Well, there you go, what if he did bump him off?"
"You just saw him in the street!"
"Oh yeah."
Mrs. Orwell rolled her eyes. "That's enough of this conversation. We work here. We're not here to speculate. Off to work all of you. These are not the words for a vicar's ears."
...
I felt a shiver travel down my spine, and later as I led Joe to my room, I couldn't think of anything else but the image of the previous manservant shrouded by fog. I'd never seen the man myself so I pictured a faceless one, wearing a suit like mine, beckoning me close with bony fingers. I'd laughed at the servants for their wild imaginations but my imagination was the most vivid of all.
I opened the door to my attic room and Joe immediately sat on the rocking chair by the bed and rocked back and forth in an eerie fashion in the low light. I approached the window. The chair creaked. I walked slowly as though I was expecting to see something. I peered outside using my telescope. I gulped. My body froze in that moment. My eyes could not move from the sight that greeted me on the street outside— the sight of a man walking up and down the pavement— his face unclear, enveloped by the dense fog.
"What you looking at, Jack?"
I shrugged and looked away from the telescope. "Nothing mate. Just shadows of the past."
"Nice telescope. How you afford that?"
"Didn't steal it in case you're wondering."
"You're touchy. I never suggested."
"I'm sorry, Joe. I'm just so pleased to see you, my emotions are all over the place. I've had a lot going on the last months. The telescope belonged to the master. I helped him once so he gave it me."
"That was very kind of him. You've got a good position here, Jack, especially with your track record. You're lucky it's all worked out. Come on then, what was it you wanted to show me?"
"Only if you promise you won't laugh? Swear it on God or something."
He grinned. "I swear. What is it?"
"My book of poems. I wrote about everything, and about you and Jess and James. Thought you could read the one I did about you." I got onto the floor, on my hands and knees and pulled out a jemmy from under the bed. I began to use it to lever up the floorboard.
"A jemmy? Things hidden under floorboards? You been up to your old tricks?"
"No and it was one time, will you ever let me forget that?"
"Sorry. So why the secrecy, surely your poems aren't that bad?"
"No, but they're private. And believe me, nothing in this house is ever kept secret for long."
I felt around under the wood and sure enough I soon found a bundle I assumed to be my book, but when I pulled it up, it wasn't my poetry collection at all, it was a pile of paperwork I'd never seen before with a piece of string binding it together. I stared at it. The top piece was some kind of official form with a name I didn't recognise printed on it.
"You alright, Jack?"
I shook him off again and shoved the unknown papers under my bed, reaching under the floor again until I'd found what I'd been looking for. "Found 'em."
The other papers would wait until later. My brother was my focus for now.
...
After a pleasant afternoon with him, Joe trying not to laugh at my poetry and me trying not to sock him one, we shared a pint in the pub and then a calming walk in the park together.
I saw him off at the train station late afternoon with a hug. I had missed him so much. We stood there staring at one another not quite knowing what to say as the train pulled into the station and the sounds of goodbyes were all around us.
"I know I shouldn't say this, but I can't think of what else to say and I know I'm feeling it, but I really hope your next mission is London or Manchester, not the other side of the world."
"I doubt it, but you never know. I promise I'll write more, and look, you'll see the kids before we finally go. I'll write to you and arrange it."
"But I might need your help."
"You've never asked before, always done your own thing. And it seems you've got friends here. That Doris seems to like you too. Maybe you and her might make a nice pair?"
I shrugged. "She's not for me. I'm very fond of her but as a friend."
"I see. Well stay out of trouble. And keep doing what you're doing with the job." He opened the train carriage door and shook my hand. "And really your poems aren't all that bad."
I smirked. "Ta."
I watched him climb on the train and then moments later saw it disappear in a cloud of smoke as it chugged along the track and away from my life. When the smoke cleared and I could see around me, it was Monty's face that appeared through the evening mist, like that strange phantom that he resembled— only this time he was quite alert, standing on the stairs and raising his stick in the air to get my attention. He looked smartly -dressed and elegant, clean-shaven and quite handsome.
"You following me, Sir?" I said, walking past him and up the stairs where he was forced to run up two at a time to catch me.
"Don't flatter yourself, Boys. I was at Rosamund's dropping off something when I saw you and Joseph heading in here. I thought I'd wait for you. I supposed you'd be missing your brother after his departure and wondered if we could get a drink?"
"There's a nice tea shop in the station," I suggested.
"I thought maybe something stronger than tea, say at 'The Brothers in Arms' establishment?"
I was surprised. He'd not set foot there since the incident and he was the sort of chap that carried around a negative experience with him forever. "You want to go back?"
"Yes, I do. I think I'm ready, although not in all that disguise stuff, just as me. After all, why should I be ashamed of being myself in a publican house?"
I didn't reply, didn't tell him I'd already had a pint in another pub an hour before, and simply nodded as we walked together out of the station and the ten-minute walk to reach the Brothers in Arms. We didn't speak much on the way there. He barely looked at me and his head hung low, his hat down over his face as though shielding him. He said he wanted to be himself, but apparently that meant being moody and unrecognisable. In fairness, I didn't want to talk either. I was still thinking about my brother's departure and had no desire to participate in idle chit chat.
When we arrived inside the pub, Amy noticed us and beckoned us to the bar.
"Jack, you again eh? And good evening, Sir," she said, practically curtseying over the bar at Monty.
"Thank you, miss. We'd like two beers please."
"I thought you'd be more into wine," she replied.
"Beer will be fine, thank you."
"Whatever you like." She reached for the glasses and began to prepare the drinks. "It's real nice you two coming here together, this time the way God made ya. Real equals."
Monty and I looked at one another and laughed shyly at the assumption of being equal in anything. Looking at him, a strange sensation passed over me— I realised I felt proud of him, proud of his decision to be himself, to come back to the place he was hurt, to not hide behind a mask and pretend to be anyone but the person he hated. I slapped him on the back heartily as if he was one of my oldest pals. He smiled at this and in return copied my action, slapping me on the back in retaliation.
And then Bill appeared at the bar, cleaning one of the glasses with a tea towel. "Alright, Jackie lad? I don't know how you can show your face in here after turning down a job as barman for yours truly."
Monty's eyes suddenly widened.
"Just kidding," Bill said, "we got a better replacement anyhow and Helen's far easier on the eye."
I could practically feel Monty's eyes upon me as I carried our drinks over to the table in the corner, away from other examining eyes and listening ears. We sat down and I deliberately avoided the conversation that was coming.
"Turned down the barman job? When was this?"
I wiped foam from my chin after taking several gulps of my drink. "Does it matter?"
"Defensive as usual. Perhaps it does, perhaps not. Regardless I thought it'd be something you could tell me."
"Tell you I was looking for employment elsewhere?"
"Why not?"
"I was under no obligation to divulge any information to my employer."
He sniffed. "Employer. I see. That's how you see me, the tyrant employer that you keep secrets from?"
"Bloody hell, mate, what do you want from me? I considered it. I wanted options and, in the end, I decided against it. You had nothing to do with my decision for or against." I lied. He had nearly everything to do with it.
He held his hands up in the air in a form of surrender as if we were fighting in a war. "I don't want an argument. Forget I said anything. I've had enough of the bad blood between us. I've had enough fallouts with friends and family to last a lifetime."
He fell silent then and I joined him. In the silence, I wondered what he had meant by his statement. He never really confided in me as to why his friends had deserted him or why he rarely saw his extended family. I'd always assumed it was mood-swings and the very nature of him that pushed others away but now I wasn't so sure. All I did know was that there many secrets around us, secrets we may eventually share but ones that could equally stay hidden.
"Want another drink?" I suddenly said, ignoring the frostiness between us.
"Are you paying?" He smirked.
"Yes, I can afford it you know?" I resisted the urge to have a rant about my wages.
"In that case, if you're not going to go off on one about your wages, I'll have two more."
I shook my head and mouthed 'you git'.
By the time we left the pub, we no longer had any animosity towards each other and were rather merry. We were not drunk, I'll tell you that, merely in the master's words, 'slightly squiffy' and we walked along the darkened foggy streets together arm in arm like schoolfriends, laughing about this and that and god-knows-what. There wasn't a logic about our route home either, sort of zig-zagged across the park and the back alleys until we finally reached the corner of Linksfield Avenue. Monty was staring down at the ground as he walked then, not keen for anyone to see him in a merry state. I on the other hand, much better at holding my drink, was still reasonably alert and it was then that I saw the figure at the end of the road, standing back off the pavement, under the cover of some trees. It was still foggy so his face was unclear but he was definitely lurking and I was beginning to feel the house was being watched. Ignoring the stranger, I hurried Monty into the house and got myself ready for the rest of the evening's work.
My mind however kept drifting back to the strange paperwork hidden under my floor. Everything was confusing me. I needed to look at the papers properly and determine who it belonged to and so that's what I did. I undid the string and scattered the papers across the floor, looking over them with a magnifying glass as though I was a detective solving a complicated case. I stared dumb-founded at all the documentation. There were work permits, birth certificates, letters, all in different names but all looking incredibly official with seals and stamps and signatures. Despite that there was something about them that looked a little off to me and I should know, I'd met forgers inside prison and I'd used forged papers myself to get employment after my initial release— unkeen for anyone to see me as just the criminal. Why were these papers under my floor? I was now starting to understand why my colleagues were suspicious and even believed Frank was telling the truth in some capacity.
...
Like the secret papers hidden under the floorboards, I hid my discovery for a while, unsure when to reveal it, certain I needed to find out more before approaching Monty with evidence. Instead I acted as though nothing had happened at all, so when he began a conversation about my brother it proved a welcome distraction and it proved even more helpful in trying to sober him up.
So, there we sat in Monty's study as night time fell upon us, facing each other— Monty sat as usual on his favourite leather seat and I on a rather hard armchair that I was convinced he'd chosen for me as a punishment. The glow of the lamplight illuminated us and bathed Monty's face in a warm orange hue, making him appear more healthy than usual as if he'd been holidaying in some foreign clime rather than a night at the pub.
"So, was it nice to see your brother?" He asked, indicating for me to pour him a brandy. "Pour yourself a glass, Jack."
That was a shock. More drink?
"Thank you," I said, pouring us a glass each and then sitting back down on the uncomfortable chair, trying to find a suitable position. "Yeah, it was nice to see him. He's gone back to my sisters now. So, what do you think of him?"
Monty took a sigh of pleasure after a sip of his drink. "Splendid fellow I must say. Very charming and very likeable for a vicar."
"Not a church fan then?"
"Only to keep up appearances and all that."
"I'm surprised you worry about such things?"
"Unfortunately, I still care what people think, Jack. Too much so really. If they think I'm not a church-goer, everyone will wonder why, start digging around into my affairs."
"Really? I haven't been to church in a couple of years, no-one's noticed."
"Lucky for you then. I'm expected to be there like some obedient puppy."
"You don't believe in it all then?"
Funny we'd never had this discussion before. Perhaps the drink was talking for the both of us.
"It's not that I don't necessarily believe in God, but I rather think that he doesn't believe in me." He looked down then, staring at his glass. "What about you, Jack, are you religious?"
"I'm too lazy to be a practising Christian. I serve a man above me all week without having to do it on a bloody Sunday too!"
He laughed for a moment and then his face was serious again. "But do you believe?"
"Oh, I don't know, I believe in something. I guess I believe in my brother and the work he does."
I expected him to say something but he looked down again and took a big swig from his drink and I noticed his hands were suddenly shaking. He looked so uncomfortable, shuffling in his seat, his body all fidgety.
"You alright? Was it something I said? Do you not like Joe?"
"What are you blabbering about, Boys, how did you draw such a conclusion?" His voice was suddenly hoarse.
"I don't know, I just mentioned my brother and you turned to the drink. I'm recognising your faults now, your habits and traits."
He looked at me suspiciously. "You've got me all worked out then."
"Getting there. I could write a book."
I took a sip of my drink but instead of the laugh I was expecting from him, there was a sudden intake of breath and then a sob. Before I knew it, his head was buried in his hands and I was sat there watching as he descended into uncontrollable wailing.
"Monty?" I made my way to his side and my hand hovered over his shoulder. Did I touch him? Did he want me to, did he like that? I finally touched him lightly and then left my hand there as a manner of comfort. "What's the matter?"
He pulled his hands from his face and he peered up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks as if he were a small boy who had lost his mother. I hadn't a clue on how to deal with such emotions, I could barely deal with my own. I was his manservant, I wasn't his quack, I wasn't a relative and I wasn't a friend...was I?
"I must look pathetic," he said, drawing away from me, "ignore me, please."
"As you wish..."
He grabbed my sleeve and rubbed his head against it. "No wait, please don't ignore me. Don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere. Do you want to talk?" I gently lifted his head away and knelt before him, grabbing his hands in mine. "Tell me whatever it is. I can fix it."
"You may be able to fix my bear, Jack, but I'm certain not even you can fix this mess."
I attempted to make a joke then. "I'm good with a problem, me. Other people's anyway, not so much my own. What did I say that upset you so much?"
He let go of my hands and walked to the door, checking to make sure it was closed. He bolted the lock. He then sat back down upon his chair, wiping away the wet cheeks and eyes. I sat back on the armchair, eagerly awaiting to hear what had so upset him— something so terrible that it had him sobbing like a child. Although I wanted to know, there was a sudden horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that somehow this was all connected and I was about to hear the big confession.
"What is it?"
"It's about the previous manservant." He ran his shaking fingers through his hair.
"Yes. The bloke what Frank saw lurking at the park earlier. I thought I possibly saw him outside too on the way back, though I couldn't see his face."
With my words, he was on his feet again and I felt dizzy as I watched him pace the room. "He's here?"
"Calm down, what's some old manservant gonna do? Monty, who is this bloke?"
He stared at me and then said quietly: "He's my brother."
I instinctively laughed at the absurdity of the statement. He was having me on! But then I caught his expression and saw it had not changed in minutes. I'd never seen him look so terrified with his eyebrows low and his lip quivering.
I made my way to the master's side and whispered. "I don't follow. How is he your brother?"
"He just is. He came here as the new manservant but he's still my brother. My 'perfect' father had some liaison with a factory girl and well you can guess the rest. I only found this all out when he started working here. Had no idea when I hired him from the agency. All the secrets, all the lies, and truths and half-truths, I can't stand it, Jack. I don't know what's real anymore."
"Bloody hell." Feeling a sudden sympathy for him wash over me, I led him back to his chair and sat him down. I pulled my chair close to his and tapped his knee lightly. "But why did he leave in the first place? I'm guessing he wasn't looking for some cosy family reunion then?"
"No, he wanted money."
"Bloody hell, Monty, then how do you know he's your brother and not some con-man?"
As I said those words, I remembered the floorboards and all the fake documentation hidden underneath. He was about to respond to my question when there was a sudden thundering at the door and we both jumped back in fright. We looked at each other. Was it him?
I held Monty back so I could take a peek around the curtains to see who was at the door. "It's gotta be him. That's a shady looking chap if ever I saw one. Don't worry, I'll get rid if you don't wanna see him."
"No, you stay here. This is my mess. I must deal with it."
I had no idea what mess had occurred but I tried to insist to go to the door instead, but he stopped me, commanded me to wait, and then answered it himself. I raced to the window, attempting to catch a proper glimpse but the man's hat and the darkness of the night was obstructing my view. All I could make out was the man was tall.
When Monty returned, he sent me upstairs without a glimpse of the 'brother' and then I heard the man follow him into the study and heard the bolt being locked, trapping them together inside with all their secrets. Blast. How could I know what was going on? This 'brother', this 'had to be fake' was alone with the master and I was powerless to do anything but get down on my hands and knees and peer like some peeping Tom through the keyhole. At first the man had his back to the door and Monty was pacing back and forth, his voice raised. I was getting ready to break the door down should he lay a finger on my master but all he did was slowly follow Monty around quietly, calmly, eerily.
Then the man turned and I finally glimpsed his face through the keyhole. And I knew that face. It was an unmistakable face. Oh, how I knew that terrible face.