Noblesse Oblige
Book Four
The Hall of Mirrors

By: Pete Bruno & Henry Hilliard
(© 2014 by the authors)

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

Chapter 1
Chasing Rainbows 

Martin walked briskly for it was cold.  Stephen’s dogs bounded around him and then set off across the frosty ground, lured by some noise or scent that only they could interpret.  With a pang he remembered that Job was not with them, for their last walk together had been when he carried the corpse of his beloved canine to its final resting place under the big oak on the west side of the lake.

Job was an old dog and had been a puppy when his mother had died and that was in the days of King Edward and well before the War and even before he met Stephen.  In fact Job had been his companion on that journey too.  It was a summer walk then and he had sought the shade of the woodland by the little stream that ran through the village of Branksome-le-Bourne.  There he came upon Stephen, stripped to the waist and wielding an axe to clear a fallen tree that had spoilt his swimming place.  He had been lonely and looking for love on that occasion but didn’t know it.  By the end of that fateful day he had a new companion and his world had changed forever.

He reached the village where Mr Destrombe was tending to the wreaths that lay at the foot of a large wooden cross that Martin had set up at the side of the road where it broadened before the churchyard.

“Good morning your lordship,” said Mr Destrombe through his gauze mask.

“Happy New Year,” Mr Destrombe, replied Martin . “When do you think you will resume services?”

“Oh this influenza is still raging your lordship and I don’t see the church or the school getting back to normal for some months.  There has been another death; poor old Grindling over at the infirmary—although he was 90— but poor Mr Treeby was only a young man and quite fit I would have thought, and then there was Mr and Mrs Tidpit senior and there are several who are quite ill but Dr Markby thinks will pull through.  It’s cruel coming on top of everything else.”

Martin nodded.  “I will replace this with a more fitting stone memorial,” said Martin changing the subject slightly and indicating the wooden cross.  “We will inscribe the names of all those who have fallen and all those who have served as well.  Even those who have returned have made many sacrifices.”

The vicar nodded, for it was true that they themselves were changed and all those who survived were returning to a place different from the one from which they had so blithely marched away.  More than seventy men on the estate had served in the Army and the Navy. Two women had been nurses.  Eighteen had lost their lives and ten of these had left wives and children whom Martin was determined to care for.

The absence of the young men of the village was apparent when Martin looked about.  Even without the Spanish flu there was a palpable sense of grief.  The new school, which had been home to Belgian refugees, was now closed due to the pandemic and many of the cottages looked to be in need of repair as little had been done since 1915 when the last of the bathrooms had been installed.  Stephen’s gymnasium, however, was a bright spot and could be put to its proper use quite soon.  The thought of this made Martin think of Douglas Owens who with his brother Reuben had been keen on boxing— among other activities— and now poor Douglas too lay among the dead.

The ’bus rumbled past and the driver waved to his lordship.  The bus service, initially installed to bring children to the Higher Elementary School, had proved to be vital for the munitions workers who toiled in Tatchell’s factory in Wareham and by some means the two vehicles had been patched up and kept going during the War.  They would soon be requiring a new omnibus and that would be costly. So too would be repairs to his own house where one wing—a Victorian addition—had been reduced to a ruin in a big storm early on in the War.

“Where’s Elsie?” asked Martin when he strolled into The Feathers.  The men touched their caps, but they did not stand, for the pub was a democratic bastion on the Marquess of Branksome’s estate.

“She’s gone of t’Horstralia, your lordship,” said the publican.  “She’s hitched up to some digger whose mother owns a public house out there.  Big good-looking chap he was and said he was goin’ t’make an honest woman of her and all.”

“That’s a long way away.  Where abouts is this public house?”

“Somewhere called Wooloomooloo.  It must be in the outback I reckon.”

“Yes,” said Martin nodding sadly, “and Elsie will miss being in the centre of a crowd.”

“How is Mr Stephen?” 

***** 

Major Stephen Knight Poole DSM (and bar) and recipient of the American Distinguished Service Medal and the Croix de Guerre was in fact demobilised and in London at this moment.  Stephen had been in London since early October following Monash’s sixty days of decisive battles that, despite the casualties, had breached the Hindenburg Line and precipitated the German moves to seek an armistice.  Every day Martin had returned with news from the Foreign Office of Prince Max and President Wilson and eventually of a mutiny at Kiel and the collapse of Germany into revolution.  Monash and his force of over two-hundred thousand allied men would not get to implement the massive 1919 offensive that they had been meticulously planning.

But no one was more pleased that the War had come to an end than Stephen.  He had been very keyed up but exhausted at the same time.  His Sans Culottes were still billeted at Branksome House and their welfare was his greatest anxiety and he fussed about them, sorting out their difficulties at home, checking their feet and other places for infection and infestation when not in conference with the other officers under Monash’s command.

It was during this buoyant time that Stephen was at his most enthusiastic in the bedroom. Carlo, his valet, could hear (and indeed see through the keyhole) Stephen ploughing his lordship on the afternoon when the Kaiser had abdicated.  Clothes were scattered all over the bedroom and some items of furniture had been damaged in the course of the several hours of their lovemaking.

“I feel that I’m not satisfying you, Mala,” said Stephen with real anxiety as he had Martin bent double and was thrusting his cock into the aristocratic buttocks from above.”

“Believe me, Derby, I’m satisfied and very sore.  I won’t be able to sit down for a week and I think you have ruptured me.”

“There’s no blood, Mala,” said Stephen looking down, “and you don’t have to say that just to be nice.  I want to get this right and do it properly.  It is what you deserve and I just need to concentrate more.  Here put your arms around my neck and I’ll lift you up.  I think I can get in deeper that way and I know you like it.”

Martin felt it was useless to protest.  His legs were like jelly anyway and, if truth be told, he did like to do it that way, with his arms locked around Stephen’s strong, sweaty neck, their faces close, as he was impaled, with abandon, on Stephen’s abundant manhood.

Stephen stood with his legs apart with Martin’s wrapped his around his waist.  Carlo could see every inch of Stephen’s cock was deep in his lover but he could not hear the things that Stephen was whispering into his ear with each thrust.  Within a few minutes Martin let out a ragged moan and spilled his seed between them.  Stephen looked pleased at last and lowered Martin to the floor, withdrew his cock and proceeded to hose his fourth load very inelegantly all over Martin’s face.  Martin was too exhausted to have protested even if he had wanted to- which of course he didn’t.

“I was right, wasn’t I Mala?” proclaimed the stud as Carlo entered the room with a towel.  “It was there somewhere, just eluding us, but we found it, didn’t we?”

Martin could only weekly nod as a big trapeze of semen suspended itself between his eyebrow and chin.

“Come on Mala,” said Stephen brightly as Carlo towelled down his back. “Aunt Maude is coming to tea and I want to hear all the news.”

Martin turned his helpless eyes to Carlo who extended his hand and pulled him to his feet, making sure he also obtained a sample of Stephen’s essence for which he had quite a fondness. 

Aunt Maude did have news. I n the forthcoming general election she was striking a blow for her sex and standing in the Labour stronghold of Poplar representing the Conservative interest— although she planned to support the Lloyd George coalition in the increasingly unlikely event she was elected, she said.

“Only this morning I was down in Cable Street haranguing the dockworkers from my carriage.”

“What did you say, Aunt?”

“Why I told them that those Labourites would cut our throats in our very beds and have us all working in collectives like in Russia.” She paused in thought.  “I must admit it didn’t go down as well as it did when I practiced before the Ladies’ Auxiliary.  In fact Hicks had to spur the horses to make haste.” 

“Don’t let Stephen hear you say that Aunt Maude, he’s as red as Ramsay McDonald,” said Martin looking at Stephen giving him a winsome grin.

“No!” said Aunt Maude, putting her teacup down with a clatter and turning to examine Stephen for any signs of Bolshevism.

“Yes!  He even wears a cloth cap to the Saville Club.”

Stephen said nothing to this outrageous lie but helped himself to another slice of Madeira cake.  Aunt Maude was again silent in thought for a few minutes.

“You know boys, maybe I was wrong to put up as a Conservative.  I might have been the first woman in the House of Commons if I had have stood for Labour.  You know I’ve always been profoundly working class at heart, Stephen, just ask my maid.  Do you think I should try for the other side next time?”

Martin sat there with his mouth agape.  Stephen simply said: “I’m sure you would be a force of nature in the House, Lady Vane-Gillingham and you’d bring the revolution that much closer,” he added with a wink in Martin’s direction. 

It was only a few days later that the Armistice was agreed to and the next twenty-four hours were never to be forgotten, as anyone who lived through them will attest.  Huge crowds had gathered in London where the church bells rang out continuously.  From Trafalgar Square the throng moved to Buckingham Palace and called for the King and sang the National Anthem.  When darkness fell early the mood became rather frightening and the police seemed to lose control as drunken bands of soldiers, sailors and civilians roamed in the darkness. There had never been a night like it.

Martin and Stephen joined in the revelry, substituting woollen jumpers for their uniforms. When they came away from Trafalgar Square they made their way down to the Embankment, but progress was slow as they were stopped frequently and made to drink from bottles, join in drunken dances and were kissed and slapped on the back.

It only took a few minutes to pick up three sailors by Cleopatra’s Needle.  It was all quite easy.  ‘Cec’ and ‘Pumps’ were young men about their own age.  Norman was very young, explaining that he lied about his age when he joined up in 1917.  They brought some bottles of rum and walked with their arms about each other’s shoulders, except for Norman who was too short but received many pats on the backside.  They gambolled and half-danced all the way to Blackfriars Bridge where they paused for more refreshment. It was decided to go to see the Bos’n of whom the sailors talked a great deal as they had all been shipmates together and had spent many months in the South Atlantic in the vicinity of the Falkland islands.

The Bos’n had rooms above an empty shop in Southwark and was pleased to see them, although he had clearly been drinking in his own private celebration.  Norman ran straight over to him and sat upon his knee and took a drink from the glass of gin that the Bos’n had on the go.  He was older than the others, thin and wiry— perhaps about forty.  It was clear that he was held in great respect and that Norman in particular adored him.

“You boys is toffs, ain’t ya?  Don’t bother answering; it’s obvious.  Them’s officers’ trousers you’re wearing.  We don’t mind, do we boys, now that it’s all over.”

Some biscuits were produced and the rum was dignified with glasses.  They fell to talking about the War and what they would do now that it was all over.  ‘Pumps’ was going to stay in the navy a while longer, he said, while Cec had a friend who could fix him up with a job as a furniture removalist.  Then the Bos’n said: “Me and Norman is going to live here.  I’ve already arranged to rent the shop downstairs and we’re going to set up as a tobacconist’s, ain’t we Norman?  We’re both alone in the world but we’ve got each other.”  Norman nodded and gazed adoringly at the speaker. “We’ve put a little bit by and we have our deferred navy pay.” Cec and Pumps giggled at some joke. “What are you two chaps going to do?”

This was a good question.  Martin looked at Stephen.  “I’m going to get out as soon as I can and try and put it behind me.  I was a student; I suppose I can go back to that,” said Stephen who sounded unusually lacking in conviction.  Martin didn’t like this.

“I’m a sort of farmer, chaps, but I was at university too,” said Martin.  “They won’t let me get out of uniform too quickly I fear.”

This information made the sailors glance at each other; clearly he was an important toff.  Stephen looked at Martin, because this was the first he had heard of Martin remaining in the army—or rather continuing in the Foreign Office.

They were all pretty drunk by now and Cec said: “Do you know how the Bos’n and Norman made their whack?”

Martin and Stephen said they couldn’t guess.

“Show them, Norman,” said The Bos’n.

Norman dropped to his knees and undid the Bos’n’s trousers and quickly and expertly sucked the sailor’s cock to hardness. “He’s a born cocksucker, chaps.  Loves it, don’t you Norm?” Norman removed the appendage long enough to grin at the others then resumed his labours.

“He must have blown every sailor on board at a shilling a time (one-and-six for extras) and I kept half and Norman kept half.”

“And some of the officers,” said Norman, taking another breather.

“Yes, they was two bob” but I washed his face and hair first—he ’as lovely ’air ain’t he?  He loves it so I had to tie him to my bunk at night so he wouldn’t go off and give them all free ones.  We had some good times in old Bos’n’s bunk, didn’t we Norman?”  Norman nodded without removing anything.  “And when we set up the tobacconist’s Norman can work behind the counter and I’ll take bets on the horses on the sly.”

Norman looked alarmed.  “Oh you can still do the sucking out the back, Norm.  All that you take will be yours; that is if the coppers don’t find out.  And you know what else we will do, men?  We will get Norman’s teeth taken out by a proper dentist.”  Norman did have horrible teeth.  “And we will have ‘dentures’ made special.  Think how good you’ll be at sucking if you can take your teeth out, Norman,” continued The Bos’n looking down.

Norman pulled off and hotly replied:  “I ain’t never had no complaints about me teef, Bos’n. What do you take me for, a new bride?”

“That’s true,” called Pumps from the other side of the room where he was slowly stroking his own cock. “Never felt so much as a molar in all the times he blew me.”

“Nor me,” added Cec, “on either side of the Atlantic.  A real pro, not like Pumps who leaves it looking like a barber’s pole.”

“I do not, ya dirty cunt!” he said and dived on him to prove it.

Martin and Stephen looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Why don’t you suck our two visitors, Norman?” said The Bos’n in soothing tones.  “It is a special occasion after all and they have brought all this lovely rum—the real good stuff it is too.”

Norman waddled across on his knees and proceeded to undo their trousers.  Even though it was cold, Stephen pulled his jumper over his head and was soon naked.  His half hard cock was revealed girded by the leather strap that gripped the base tightly and stretched his scrotum.  All eyes turned to it except for Norman’s, which looked back at The Bos’n.

“Yes it is a big one Norman, but I am confident you can handle it.”

Before he could start the others came over and felt Stephen and made admiring noises.  Martin leaned over and stretched Stephen’s abundant, silky foreskin with his teeth.  It must have hurt a little, but he knew Stephen liked it.  He kissed Stephen and resumed his own seat where he was worked on by Cec, Pumps and then by the Bos’n himself.

“The apprentice has outshone his master, I’m afraid,” said the Bos’n, ruefully, as he looked at Norman going hammer and tongs.

At one point The Bos’n ordered Norman to stop but had to pull him off by the hair to affect this. “Give the gentleman a rest, Norman, and take a drop of rum yourself.”

While Norman caught his breath the others took turns in sampling Stephen, laughing at how little of him they could accommodate. “You’re a lucky bugger, Martin,” said Pumps and Martin smiled because he knew it was true.

“Bring him off now, Norman,” said The Bos’n when Norman resumed.  Stephen was enjoying it greatly and was slumped in his chair with his back arched and his mouth agape.  Martin knew what that meant and straddled his face to give him something to suck on.  He pulled back and released into Stephen’s mouth, holding his head steady by grasping a hank of his sweaty hair.

“Come on, Derby!” encouraged Martin.

“Come on Norman!” called the others.

With a cry Stephen released and Norman spilled very little and did not really require the Bos’n’s firm grasp of his skull at the crucial moment.  He rose triumphant, grinning and licking his lips.

“Now do your shipmates, Norman.” And so he did and received a handful of silver and what Norman didn’t clean up himself, the Bos’n did with a towel.

Martin and Stephen left the shop, wishing them all well and contributing something to the funding of the tobacconist’s establishment with its interesting sidelines. “That was all right, Mala and I love an audience, but I’d much rather it was you,” said Stephen as he put his arm around him and they headed off into the watery light of the first day of peace. 

***** 

As November moved into December Martin grew worried about Stephen.  He was restless and depressed.  At night he was troubled by sleeplessness and nightmares.  Sometimes both Stephen and Carlo were haunted by the same phantoms.  Often Carlo was the only person Stephen felt he could talk to and Martin knew that their shared experience of the Western Front was something that he could never quite be a part of.  When in London, Stephen would visit his two chums, Sgts Swane and Louch who now had artificial limbs.  Swane, with his wife and children, could resume his job with the railways but Louche could not.  Stephen presented his idea for setting him up in a motor garage in Branksome-le-Bourne and he was receptive.  Stephen brightened when together they drew sketches for a new building and in the meantime, Stephen made sure he did not go short of money.

It was the same story with his Sans Culottes who had been repatriated to their homes in various parts of the country.  Stephen made a point of visiting them when he could and visited the families of the two men, Doling and Rugg, who had been killed.  Without telling her, he arranged one hundred pounds to be placed in Mrs Rugg’s post office account.

Despite all this, Stephen was not moving forward; he was still stuck in the War and neither Croome nor Antibes seemed to interest him.  “I don’t want to go to Antibes until you can come, Mala,” he said and so Martin, knowing that the place reminded him too much of Christopher, wrote to Mrs Chadwick promising that they would come one day and making sure that affairs were in order with the firm of solicitors they dealt with.

Stephen began to spend his blackest days in his room, listening to William’s gramophone, seeing no one and having his meals sent up on a tray.  On these days Martin felt he could do little.

These were the thoughts that occupied Martin the day he walked into the village and spoke to Mr Destrombe.  Martin clearly realised that while his world and the world his father knew was now lay in the ashes of the War, it was even harder for Stephen who had naively believed in things like goodness and progress.  Poor Stephen who took it upon himself to make sure that everyone was safe and happy; the world had spat in his face.  The war had destroyed these things as surely as it had destroyed the Belgian cathedrals and the British aristocracy.

He went back to the house and telephoned London and begged Stephen to come down to Croome.  “I miss you Derby and your stepfather and Miss Tadrew are anxious to see you,” he said embroidering the truth only slightly.

Stephen was there by the evening train and sent word that he would stay in the cottage for a few days and help Titus with making besoms and hurdles.  “That will be good for you Derbs,” said Martin, not having a clue what they were.  “I will come and inspect them when you’ve finished.”  Stephen gave a weak smile.

That night he had Chilvers bring up a bottle of icy champagne to their bedroom, which was warmed by good fire and Stephen seemed better.  They were both sitting up naked in bed, Stephen with his free arm around Martin trying not to spill any wine as Martin ran his free hand under the blankets, feeling any parts of Stephen that took his fancy.  Stephen spread his legs to give Martin unfettered access to some of his favourite bits.

“I love you very much, Derbs and I wish you were happy.”

“And I love you, Mala and I am happy I suppose… I’m happy with you it’s just…”

“I know; it’s the bloody War.”

“Yes it has unsettled me a bit and I suppose I’m a bit over wound—like a clock.”

“Would it help if you fucked me?” asked Martin disingenuously.

“It might,” said Stephen with a sly smile. “But it might be even better if you fucked me. Would you?”

“Carlo!” called Martin.

“Yes, your lordship?” Carlo instantly replied from out of nowhere.

“Carlo, will you take these glasses and bring me some Spong’s.  Do we have any?”

“Of course sir, the village shop keeps it now.”

With Carlo’s help the Spong’s was applied and Chilvers returned to carry out the silver champagne bucket just as Martin had his face planted in Stephen’s muscular buttocks.

“Oh excuse me your lordship,” said the butler evenly as he took the tray and turned out the lamp.

“No, excuse me Chilvers, but I had to get to work quickly; it’s so lovely.”

“I’ve often though so your lordship.

Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face. Thomas Dekker,” quoted the butler.

“In my end is my beginning.  Mary Queen of Scots,” intoned Stephen with his voice muffled by the pillow.

There was a strange noise and both Martin and Stephen looked up.  It was a sight never seen before: Chilvers was laughing and trying to suppress his guffaws while at the same time endeavouring to hold the salver steady.

*****

That night Martin was awoken by Stephen having one of his dreams.  He was calling out incoherently and thrashing about in the bed and Martin fought to rouse him.  When at last he did he was heaving and drenched in sweat.  “I’m sorry, Mala. I’m alright,” he said flatly.  After a pause he put his arm around Martin and practically pulled him on top of him.  “I don’t even know what it was about, only that I had to do something and I couldn’t— like trying to put rabbits in a box— but it wasn’t rabbits in the dream.”  There was another long pause.  “I still feel it so intensely even though it’s already slipped away.”

“Derby,” said Martin as he was trying to insert Stephen’s cock into his own rectum—for Stephen was rock hard, despite the horrors of his dream— or perhaps because of it.  “Derby,” continued Martin, “The F.O. wants me to go to Paris, to the Peace Conference.  I can’t imagine what they want me to do because I’m pretty useless, although I can organise things, I suppose.  Anyway, I’ll be away for some time and I’d like you to come with me.”

There was a long pause.  “Mala, honestly, I’d love to be with you and I loved it in Paris before the War, but I don’t think I could stand France again just at the moment.  Do you understand?”

“Yes… I think I do,” replied Martin, crestfallen.  “Anyway I will be popping back home whenever I can.  I don’t suppose it will be more than a few months.  It will be like separate schools again.  Will you be alright without me?”

Stephen didn’t answer the questions but said: “Mala, Herman Moss has offered me a job.”

“Why that’s marvellous, Derbs, but isn’t he in Australia?”

“Yes, and that’s where the job is.  Monash’s company is building a concrete dam for an irrigation scheme— it’s nearly finished—and they said if I’d like to gain some experience…”

“Australia! Derbs, that’s on the other side of the world; I won’t be able to see you.”  Martin was now looking at him in wild alarm and trying to decide if it was he who was now having the nightmare. “How long is the job for?”

“Only about six months.”

Martin started to cry— he just couldn’t help it— and Stephen tried to soothe him.

“Mala, I’m no good as I am at the moment.  I need to get my head clear again.  You can go back to Cambridge and…”

“But I don’t want to go back to Cambridge.  I want to be here with you, “he wailed. “Oh this is the worst day of my life!”

“No it’s not, Mala.  This is the best day because we love each other.  Every day that we love each other is the best day; nothing else matters.  When I come back I will live with you always.  I will finish up my degree by taking extension classes so I can spend every night here in this bed.”  There was another long pause broken by Martin sniffing.  “Tell me about our bicycle ride again.”

Martin knew what he meant: it was a fancy of Martin’s used to evoke pure happiness.  He began in a raspy voice, much affected by emotion: “It is summer and we are riding our cycles (I haven’t updated it to my Rolls Royce yet)” he added with a weak smile.  “We are riding down that deep lane on the road to Pendleton the one where the trees meet overhead as you cross the little stream.  A warm wind is blowing and your hair has fallen over your eyes and your white shirt is open.  All I can think about is that I love the boy with his sleeves rolled up riding next to me.  You are laughing and shouting something to me.”

“What am I saying?”

“You are making a joke about me having taken the seat off my cycle and…”

“And what?”

“And you are telling me that I must let you go to Australia.”

Stephen kissed Martin and wiped away his tears.  Somehow Martin had managed to wriggle enough for Stephen to pierce him and he now set about milking Stephen yet again until they fell asleep.

It was locked in this unusual position, with Stephen by some miracle of physiology, having maintained his erection through the remaining hours of the night that Chilvers found them when he brought in their early tea.  Carlo followed to lay out Martin’s clothes for London and Stephen’s for making besoms and hurdles at his stepfather’s cottage.  It was such an affecting sight that the two servants silently withdrew and left the lovers united in their embrace.

To be continued… 

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

Posted: 04/04/14