Noblesse Oblige
Book Two
Indian Summer

By: Pete Bruno & Henry Hilliard
(© 2013 by the authors)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 1
The Old Order Changeth 

Martin looked out at the obscene clothes pegs that lined the achingly familiar road beneath the elm leaves that led through the park and down to the little grey church with its square tower that anchored the village of Branksome-le-Bourne as a pin anchors a butterfly in a collection.  They were mostly black clothes pegs with just a flash here and there of a white shirt or petticoat and they seemed shockingly out of place on this summer’s day.  The pegs were of different sizes; some were upright household servants, others were broad farmers and others gnarled labourers; some were stout women, the little ones were children.  The whole population of the estate had come to silently line the route from the house to the church down which would pass the hearse bearing the remains of Martin’s father, just as they had only four years before lined up for Martin’s mother.  In the Daimler crawling in its wake would sit the new Marquess of Branksome, William Charles Alfred Friedrich Poole and his younger brother and heir presumptive Martin, Earl of Holdenhurst. Opposite would be Lord Alfred Poole, Martin’s bachelor uncle, late of Rajpipla in India who happened to be on his way to England at the time of the accident.

In one of the six carriages in the cortege would sit Martin’s lover, Stephen Knight, who had been so helpful over the past ten days as well as Archibald Craigth (otherwise known as The Plunger), Martin’s school chum, and Dr Alexander who had personally come up from the Bournemouth nursing home with the ill and doomed new Marquess. 

It was a dreadful day and one that had to be got through.  Beyond this loomed a memorial service at the Abby where the new King and Queen would be joined by peers of the realm and important national figures.

In the church, Stephen, at Martin’s insistence, sat in the family pew.  There was no cheerful fire to poke on this occasion.

Ten days before they had been stunned by the news of the accident on the Chemin de Fer du Sud.  It was apparently caused by a local train not having cleared the points for the express to pass and five people had been killed: the driver of the express, a passenger in the stationary local and three passengers in the fast train, including the Marquess who struck his head and died instantly.  His valet, William, had two broken legs but was alive and recuperating at Croome, having come home with his master’s body.

It was Stephen who proved his worth in the crisis.  He comforted the stunned and distraught Martin and did his best with William.  He enlisted the help of Dr Alexander and telegraphed the news to Croome where Mr Destrombe the vicar, Blake the estate manager and Chilvers the butler broke the news to their respective constituencies.  He next asked Viscount Delvees, Martin’s godfather, for help and the Viscount came directly to Bournemouth accompanied by Sir Danvers Smith K.C. the principal of a well-known firm of solicitors in Kings Bench Walk who had acted for the Poole family over the years.

Sir Danvers immediately dispatched people to France to bring back the dead body of the Marquess and the broken body of his valet.  Stephen quietly explained about the ring and suggested that William might be able to help in its recovery and got them to organise the removal of all the late Marquess’ possessions from the Villa Elonore-Louise and to recover all the documents and letters they could.  The venerable solicitor listened intently and was impressed by the young man’s clear headedness and agreed with his course of action.  It was the Viscount who took charge of the funeral arrangements.

On the fourth day of their return to England, Stephen organised another meeting of the five of them in William’s room, with his lordship’s permission.  It was Martin who explained the compromising situation that his late father had entangled himself in with La Belle Otero, including his investment in the Carlton Hotel Company, the gifts of jewellery and possibly of money to the lady and the position resulting from any promises of marriage that might have been undertaken.  The situation was delicate, but Martin told it as plainly as he could.  Sir Danvers promised to investigate and the Viscount suggested that there needed to be a proper review of the finances of Croome at some date following the reading of the will.

These practical matters were played out against the background of Martin and William’s grief.  Martin was worried about how William’s health would stand up to the strain.  His liver was affected by the disease and Martin and Stephen were not sure whether it was simply weakness or some other cause that saw William occasionally break off in mid-sentence and stare into space and more than once utter words that were gibberish, until he recovered himself. 

At night in their bedroom at Stewart’s Hotel (now grandly renamed the Norfolk Royale) Stephen spent hours just holding Martin and quietly talking or listening as Martin recalled some amusing incident or peccadillo of his father’s and then would weep at the pain that the remembrance engendered.

It was while sitting with William that they received another shock.  They had been talking about who would succeed after William was gone if Martin died without issue.  The next in line would be some distant second or third cousin from one of his grandfather’s younger brothers and William and Stephen were trying to place him.

Suddenly William said, “Our father was very desperate for me to marry and have an heir, as you know.” Martin nodded in the sad knowledge that he was in the same position; being an invert like his brother and that it would have only been a matter of time before his father thought the same way about him too. “Papa tried to make me love women—thought that he could change me—but it was useless.  I didn’t like women or girls in that way.  It was papa who made me go to a certain brothel in Cleveland Street in the West End where he introduced me to the daughter of the madam.  Pretty girl.  But it was no good—I still didn’t want to fuck women even after being with her once a week for two months.  All I got was confirmation that God made me this way and the syphilis of course.”

“You contracted syphilis from a woman?  From a woman that our father made you sleep with?” cried Martin.  William nodded and Martin threw himself on his brother and wept.

“He was terribly guilty when he found out of course.  Blamed himself, but also still blamed me for being this way too,” continued William, “I don’t think he would have tried that with you, but you know Martin, with Father gone now you’ll never have to go through what I did.  You’ll never disappoint him like I did.”  Martin raised his tear stained face and sniffing, tried to digest all that he had said.  William wiped the boy’s eyes with the corner of his dressing gown.

“However,” said William with a half-smile, “it would be very convenient if you could produce a baby, Martin.  Do you think that Stephen might try very hard to see if he can get you with child?  Stephen, are you ready for fatherhood and do you think you could move the screen across the doors in case we are disturbed?”

 And with that Martin’s tears of sadness were replaced with tears from another cause as Stephen was stripped off and set to work ploughing Martin deep and hard, spending his seed deep inside his lover to the delight of William.

“You might have to try that a number of times, Stephen” said Martin with a watery smile “It doesn’t always work the first time.” And Stephen promised to try later that night and in the morning too.

*****

The boys’ father was laid to rest in the churchyard next to his wife.  The guests had all departed and Chilvers was bringing the boys their early tea, as was the custom. 

He said, “Excuse me your lordship, but the memorial service is on Friday.” Martin put down his post and looked at Chilvers and nodded. “I think it would be advisable to open up Branksome House as there will be many guests, such as your uncle and Mr Craigth, the Plainsongs and others, sir.  As your brother, the new Lord Branksome, will not be attending, you will be chief mourner, sir.  Lord Delvees informs me that their Majesties will be attending.” Martin nodded again.  “I could send instructions for the house to be made ready this morning and send up staff from here on the afternoon train.  Then might I suggest that Mr Stephen and I go up tomorrow afternoon to make the final arrangements.  Your lordship could follow on Thursday evening after you have met with Sir Danvers and his lordship in Bournemouth.”

“Will I get to meet the King and Queen?” asked Stephen.

“I don’t know,” replied Martin. “Could Mr Stephen sit next to me in the Abby, Chilvers?”

“I don’t really know the protocol, your lordship, you’d best ask Sir Danvers about your ‘secretary,’ sir,” said Chilvers.  “It would be very nice for him to be able to say he’d had the honour.” 

“What shall I wear to meet the King?” cried Stephen as he leapt naked from the bed in his excitement and rushed to the wardrobe, his cock at its usual morning hardness.

“Mr Stephen!” cried Chilvers, “You will wear your mourning clothes of course and I might suggest the dark blue silk drawers.  You will look very presentable to their majesties in the dark blue silk drawers, I believe, sir,” opined the butler mysteriously.

Stephen and Chilvers shared an empty second class carriage to Waterloo.  Stephen got Chilvers to talk about the London house and the old days when it was in its glory—a comfortable topic it seemed.  Suddenly Stephen said, “Mr Chilvers, you’re awfully good about his lordship and me.  I very much appreciate your tact and may I say your friendship?” Chilvers gave a little bow.

“I hope I am able to be of service to his lordship and his friend,” and here he paused, “and…ahem… sir, there was a young footman when I was at Matching in 1890…” he said with an air of wistfulness.

Branksome House stood in busy Piccadilly and was a larger version of Lowndes Square but with a central entrance and an additional floor.  The dining room was on the ground floor and the double drawing room was on the first floor.  A very large landing off the double-height hall served as a ballroom and there were two floors of bedrooms and an attic housing servants’ cribs; the kitchen was, as in most London houses, in the basement which was reached from the street by stairs down to an ‘area.’  The panelling in the principle rooms was pleasant, far nicer than the dining room at Croome but the furnishings were very old fashioned.

When Chilvers had introduced Stephen to the housekeeper, Mrs Smith, who with her husband, a cook and four maids maintained the house in its hibernation, he took Stephen upstairs and discussed the allocation of bedrooms for the guests.  Stephen selected two bedrooms on the second floor above the ground floor for himself and Martin.  They were not the grandest rooms but had connecting doors and a pleasant view over Green Park where the flagpole on Buckingham Palace indicated that their majesties were in residence. Archie was placed next door and Uncle Alfred in a fine room on the floor below with the visitors from Croome disposed over the remaining rooms.

A conference was held and the number of meals, their menus and transport to the Abby were organised.  Stephen and Chilvers went on a tour of the old house with a book and pencil and made a note of things that should be put to rights.  Stephen ate that night in the servants’ hall, now crowded with the staff from Croome and went out by himself to the Hippodrome where he enjoyed looking at the boys but missed Martin terribly.

Martin arrived with Uncle Alfred and some of the Croome party and was impressed by the presentation of Branksome House.  Being in mourning, he did not feel right about seeing a show, so after a very fine dinner where Chilvers’ skills were on display, Martin was soon in bed with Stephen.  He was aching for Stephen but felt guilty of thinking of his own pleasure when he should be in mourning.  Stephen would have none of this false sentiment so got out of bed and returned with two black armbands, which he placed on their naked left arms.  Martin was shocked, but laughed when he realised how ridiculous he was being.  Stephen wrapped his arms around Martin and kissed him, his tongue entering Martin’s mouth with urgency.  “Fuck me, Martin; I want to feel your thickness in me.”

Stephen laid spread eagle and parted his buttocks revealing the soft clean hair that glistened in the lamplight.  Martin knelt between his strong legs and licked and kissed the back of his hairy thighs, gradually moving up to Stephen’s waiting crack.  Eventually he lathed the cleavage and probed Stephen’s tight hole.  “Get the oil and put your fingers inside me,” breathed Stephen.

When Martin returned with the bottle, Stephen had raised himself onto his knees and was leaning on his elbows.  Martin could see his hard and arching cock leaking clear fluid and used his finger to touch just the tip to gather some for him to taste.  “Let me taste,” said Stephen.  Martin ran his finger across Stephen’s lips.

“I don’t want you to touch yourself,” said Martin. “I want to be the one to make you spend.”

“I don’t know if I can, Mala,” said Stephen.

“Try for me, Derby, I need to know if I can do it to you.”

Martin started off with his oiled fingers and soon had Stephen opened up. “Stretch me,” groaned Stephen and reached back and attempted to make Martin put three fingers together.  Then he reached for his aching cock and Martin knocked his hand away.  Stephen groaned again.

Martin then entered Stephen’s hungry hole with his blonde cock with its thick helmet-shaped head.  It slid in.  When he felt Stephen relax he began to slide in and out, increasing the pace.  Then he changed to pushing right in with his hips, with his arms at first grasping Stephen’s shoulders, then clasping him in a bear hug and flexing only his hips and grinding his crotch in a circular motion when at full penetration.  By pulling back on Stephen’s torso with each powerful thrust Stephen’s aching cock was slapped repeatedly against his belly and all this stimulation brought him to a climax.  With a grunt he spent in a long stream onto the pillow and sheets.  Martin was not done yet and continued to pound Stephen’s aching hole, with his hands clasped together under Stephen’s chin until he too spilled deep inside the lad, the excitement of which caused Stephen to bite down hard on Martin’s right hand.

“Ow!” cried Martin and he suddenly and painfully withdrew from Stephen’s tender hole and sucked the blood on his own hand.

“Ow!” cried Stephen as he felt his ravaged hole. “I say, I’m most awfully sorry, Mala, let me look.”  His hand had a large cut that was bleeding.  Stephen got a clean handkerchief and told Martin to press on the wound.  He pulled on some trousers and went to the bathroom where he found some iodine and some gauze.  Martin’s hand was bandaged and Stephen kept apologising, but Martin said it was all right and kissed Stephen.

“I needed you tonight.  Thank you, Derby. 

*****
 

There was a large crowd at the Abby, but it was nowhere full.  Stephen, who was very nervous, sat with Martin in the same pew as Uncle Alfred, Viscount Delvees and the Viscountess, Aunt Maude and her children, Anthony and Sophia Vane-Gillingham.  “We’re a small family,” observed Martin to his godfather.
 

There were many important personages in the congregation and lords spiritual and temporal were ten a penny.  Presently there was a stir and the crowd stood as the King and Queen walked down the aisle and sat on the opposite side, no one daring to look sideways.

The service began and the hymns were those selected by the Dean, the Organist and Viscount Delvees.  The archbishop himself conducted part of the service, which was very impressive.

At the conclusion Martin realised that he hadn’t thought of his father at all over the last hour and was surprised and pained at this filial betrayal.  They all stood and the King and Queen moved over to Martin who bowed and shook the King’s hand.

“Your father was a fine man, young fellah and his death is a terrible tragedy,” said the King. “I’m very sorry that your brother could not come.  May and I came twice to Croome to shoot when you were but a pup, my boy.”

He moved on to Stephen who shook hands and bowed correctly.  The King, looking up, said simply, “I’m so sorry for your loss young man.”

Stephen found voice and managed, “Thank you, your Majesty.”

Queen Mary saw Martin’s bandaged hand and said, “Lord Poole, were you injured when you were coming home with your poor father? I had no idea.”

“No, your Majesty, this is an injury after I had come,” replied Martin who had to bite the inside of his lip to control himself. 

Sir Danvers Smith and Viscount Delvees and their wives dined at Branksome House that evening.  It was a fairly subdued meal.  Uncle Alfred talked about his late brother and of their parents.  Martin told him of meeting his cousin, Friedrich, in Cannes and the talk drifted to the German side of the family and then, by way of Thomas Cook & Son, went on to India where Uncle Alfred was in his element telling tales of the Raj.  After the ladies withdrew the stories grew a little more racy, which bored the boys, but caused the older men to chortle.

Presently Sir Danvers asked Martin if he was free to call on him in his chambers in Kings Bench Walk the next afternoon and that Mr Knight would also be welcome, if convenient.  The boys agreed.  There was no auction bridge when they joined the ladies in the drawing room because they were in mourning, but Uncle Alfred felt no such restraint when it came to telling more stories about India, but they were far from racy ones and mainly concerned the preparation for the great durbar to be held next year for the King-Emperor’s coronation.

Stephen was fascinated by the quaint location called The Inns of Court in which the legal profession dwelt.  Sir Danvers was pleased to see the young Earl and his friend.  Martin felt uneasy, crossing and recrossing his legs and fidgeting with his hat and stick, fearing Sir Danvers held bad news.  The workings of the law were a mystery to him, although he knew he would one day have to sit on the bench at Croome as a J.P. Sir Danvers sensed the young man’s unease and smiled kindly.

“There will be a reading of your late father’s will next week after probate has been obtained.  I do not be believe you should be concerned, Lord Poole as your father’s will is the same one he made after your mother, died four years ago and I wouldn’t expect anything untoward.” Martin relaxed a little.

“I have heard nothing from France about any difficulties that might have arisen in that quarter.  We have recovered your grandmother’s ring and are still engaged in going through your late father’s papers.  The lady in question I believe has transferred herself and her— ahem—affections to their Royal Highnesses Grand Dukes Peter and Paul in the Principality of Monaco.”

“The Oteros did send a wreath and a card to the funeral, Stephen,” volunteered Martin.

“There will also be the matters of your father’s life insurance and any actions we might take against the French railway company,” continued the K.C.  “I was hoping we could discuss these at Bournemouth next week.  More importantly, your lordship, after talking with your godfather, I do think you and your brother should think seriously about looking at your financial situation and the future of Croome.  And, if I may be so bold, I would like to suggest a financial advisor that I hold in great regard.”

Martin and Stephen looked intently at Sir Danvers.

“He is only a young man, milord, the same age as your brother and that might be an asset in itself.  However he has had a great deal of experience already: he began at nineteen at Couttes Bank and then worked for Sir Ernest Cassel.  He has set up on his own account and continues to work for Sir Ernest and also others such as Sir Thomas Lipton and possibly even those in the highest circles, although he has never said so himself.  He is intelligent and discreet.  He is also a very personable young man.”

“I will take your advice very seriously, Sir Danvers, and discuss it with my brother as well as Mr Knight and my godfather.  I would like to me him,” said Martin.

“I was hoping you would say that sir, because he is outside at this very moment.  I will have him brought in,” said Sir Danvers.

Daniel Sachs was a strikingly handsome young man of middle height and couldn’t look less like a City type; he was almost a ‘swell.’  He carried a soft hat and stick and there wasn’t an umbrella, watch chain or attaché case in sight.  He had a beautiful face with sad brown eyes in repose, but they smiled when he was animated.  He had a fine head of wavy black hair that was as immaculate as the orchid in his buttonhole.  Stephen saw the look of approval on Martin’s face and wondered what sort of bulge Mr Sachs had in his trousers, which were, unfortunately at this juncture, concealed, beneath his frockcoat.

Daniel Sachs explained that his services were not inexpensive, but said that he felt certain that if the estate had funds to invest he would do his best to secure a good return. He also went on to assure Martin that it was his policy to recommend a diverse range of investments and that he steered his clients clear of speculative stocks such as mining companies, unless his clients particularly liked the thrill of gambling.

There and then Martin felt like he could trust him, but for the sake of good form he thought he would speak to William first and discuss it with Stephen, lest he be misled by Mr Sachs’ beguiling appearance.

“If my brother agrees to consult you, Mr Sachs, would you be free to come down to Bournemouth next week?  My brother, as you know, is an invalid and we will be meeting at his nursing home.”

“I am to sail on Sir Thomas Lipton’s yacht at Cowes later in the week, so it will be quite convenient anytime from Monday to Thursday, if you let me know at your earliest convenience” replied Sachs with efficiency, combining it with a smile and a bow.

“Excuse me for saying so, Mr Sachs, but you are quite young for someone who is moving in circles of high finance,” said Stephen as they rose to depart.

“I began my career at an early age, Mr Knight.  I wasn’t even ten years old when I had my own barrow down the Mile End Road.  An outcast in England and a life of poverty in the East End is a hard school, but it can be a very effective one, sir.”

That evening Martin let it be known that they were going to call on Aunt Maude but the boys actually went to a music hall.  “I know I’m supposed to be in mourning,” Martin said to Stephen, “but I need cheering up after the seriousness of the past few days. I’m not sure how I feel about father, either.  I mean after what he did to William and what he would have done to me.  I really don’t know what to think, Derby.”

“I know what you mean,” replied Stephen, “and it would be easy for me to say that your father really loved you—which I’m sure he did, Mala—and that he just found it difficult to show his affection, but I know you’re going to have work that out for yourself and it’s likely to take a long time, maybe years, maybe the rest of your life.  How do we ever know?  All we ever have is instinct I suppose.”

Martin was silent for a time and swung his stick in thought. “And this financial biz, Derbs, what do I know about investments?  Do you trust Sachs?”

“I think I do, Mala, I mean he doesn’t look like a proper financier and if he was a crook he’d try and look like Lord Baring or someone,” laughed Stephen. “You will have to rely on William and you godfather as you have no one else except…you know you can rely on me, Mala, I will be there beside you, if you want me to be.”

“More than I can ever tell you, Derby, I love you and I need you.  I won’t worry if you’re beside me—or I’ll try not to.  Can we be together for a long, long time—I mean what if you meet someone else, a nice girl?”

“What if you do?”

“I don’t want a nice girl, I want you.”

“I bain’t no nice lass I tole you tha’,” said Stephen in his West Country accent, grinning.

Aye, you bin t’very bad lad wurt nowt but trubble,” said Martin returning the smile.

They enjoyed the show and found themselves walking down Piccadilly laughing and singing:

“Re-mem-ber when I first came to town

Take a look at me now!”

As Stephen thought Miss Beth Tate’s boast was also his own story.  They shushed each other as they came to the doors of Branksome House.

To be continued... 

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I would love to hear from you.

Posted: 09/06/13