Chapter Eight #2
“I should probably be more of a burden on you,” Titus pointed out.
“You are helping me with my wardrobe so much, and I was reflecting, when my new clothes arrive, I won’t be able to put off replying to invitations and going to events any longer, and I know nobody and have no idea what to do.
Perhaps, if you cared to continue helping me, we could do one another a service? ”
“Monsieur, say no more. It is of a thoughtfulness, and I accept with gratitude. I shall be delighted to offer all the assistance I may. In fact, this could work superbly. I applaud your ingenuity.”
He smiled, widely, warmly, heart-skippingly. Titus had invited those smiles into his house, to live there. Something squirmed in his stomach. “It’s my pleasure, Comte.”
“Nico, if we are to share lodgings. Or Nicolas if you prefer, but I usually go by Nico.”
“Nico.” It was terribly exotic, somehow, compared to workaday Nick or Nicky. “Thank you. Um, Titus.”
“Titus. Like the Roman emperor?”
“Yes. My brothers were Augustus, Vespasian, Claudius, and Hadrian.”
“I … see. At least there is no Caligula. Or is that your second name?”
“No, that is Caesar. All of us have the middle name Caesar. My father was greatly interested in Roman imperial history,” Titus added. It was a phrase he had used many times in his life.
“Titus—Caesar—Pilcrow. But of course. A pilcrow, it is a bird?”
“No, actually. My father says it comes from a town in Suffolk, but what the word means—it’s a punctuation mark. For paragraphs. To show they’re over.”
“A punctuation mark. Your name is an emperor and a punctuation mark. Ciel, you English.”
“We can’t all be called Valois.”
The Comte—Nico—acknowledged that with a graceful half bow. “But merely the mark to end a paragraph? Non, non. Rather, you should be—long, thin, hesitant—perhaps the dash?”
“At the moment, I feel like a semi-colon,” Pilcrow offered, and couldn’t help beaming at Nico’s yelp of unrestrained laughter.
All in all, Titus was in a good mood when he settled down with the Thorpes for a cup of tea. They always sat in the housekeeper’s pantry. The Thorpes had a sitting room, but that would have made this a formal visit.
Titus was very glad the Thorpes had invited him to continue that tradition and quite understood why Miss Whitecross had liked to join the little family—the butler, the housekeeper, and their very pretty daughter, Alma, who had been lady’s maid elsewhere but had taken something of a step down to return to the house in Carey Street as senior housemaid.
Tea with the staff was doubtless inappropriate for a wealthy lady, or gentleman, but it was the sort of society he was used to, nobody would find out, and Miss Whitecross’s rooms—his rooms—were still very empty despite the clutter of decoration.
Titus had not realised how much he’d miss the jeweller’s family’s noise. He didn’t want to speak to people all the time, but there was something about having them around. He was looking forward to Nico’s company.
He recounted his last couple of days to the Thorpes while flexing his sore feet.
They hurt after a day of walking in his thin, cheap shoes; he hoped Hoby’s boots would be comfortable as well as fashionable.
Alma was fascinated by his account of shopping: her lustrous green eyes glowed with interest, she bombarded him with questions, and Titus wondered if she was hoping he’d bring home a fashionable mistress.
“So when will all this finery be ready, sir?” Mrs. Thorpe asked with a smile.
“In a few more days, I believe. I’ll use the time to clear my shop out.
Then once I am respectably dressed, I suppose I’ll start accepting invitations.
” He’d been putting that off, guiltily aware he was glad of the excuse.
“I must say, it’s a little odd to be invited to things by so many people I don’t know, and who don’t know me. ”
“Well, you might think, sir,” Thorpe said. “The mistress was beset by leeches and hangers-on, out for what they could get. She’d have none of it, of course. She was fooled a few times in her youth, not to mention what that Laxton did to her sister, and it hardened her.”
“She accused me of cheating her often enough,” Titus remarked. “I don’t think she meant it, exactly…”
“It was her way,” Mrs. Thorpe said. “She wasn’t trusting. Anyone could see why not, but she went too far. She always thought, What does this woman or that fellow want from me? and she let them know it. People don’t like that.”
“Nobody likes being cozened either,” Mr. Thorpe observed. “And I daresay you’ll meet a lot of cozeners, Mr. Pilcrow, people who want to hang on your sleeve, or put you to the touch. You’ll have to be careful. A fool and his money are soon parted.”
“You mind your words, Thorpe,” his wife told him sternly. “Not but what he’s right and the mistress always said as much.”
“Oh, you are both maddening,” Alma said.
“What should Mr. Pilcrow do, then, sit inside all day not speaking to anyone? Of course he wants to go out and buy beautiful things and go to parties and meet all the best people and have a wonderful time! Just because the mistress was terrified of anyone getting her money—and what for? She did nothing all her life while it piled up in the bank, and died worrying about it!”
“Now, Alma,” Mr. Thorpe said.
“It’s true. And if it had made her happy to have a lot of money, that would be one thing, but it didn’t. I think we should all try to be happy when we can.”
Mrs. Thorpe clicked her tongue. “Easily said. But there’s a lot of people who set their hearts on happiness, and make themselves miserable by it.”
“Quite right,” Mr. Thorpe agreed. “You have to be sensible.”
Alma rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to them, Mr. Pilcrow. They’ve been blissfully married since the dawn of time, and they don’t understand some of us have to work a little harder.”
“Alma!”
“I think she makes an excellent point,” Titus said, largely to head off what felt like a well-established family disagreement.
“I don’t know about meeting the best people; I can’t imagine they’d want to meet me.
But Alma is right that it would be foolish to have all this opportunity, but to be so afraid of being cheated that I don’t do anything at all. That I don’t even try.”
“As long as you’re careful,” Mrs. Thorpe said.
“I’m more likely to be too careful than the other,” Titus assured her. “I’m not in the habit of recklessness.”
“Glad to hear it, sir,” Mr. Thorpe said. “With that said, had you considered a valet? All these new clothes, and going out—”
“I have thought of that, actually. I do need someone to give me a polish.” All three Thorpes nodded in unflatteringly strong agreement. “So I am to interview the Comte de La Motte’s valet. He needs to let the man go, and he recommends him highly.”
Mr. Thorpe’s brows went up. “The French gentleman’s man? Why’s that, sir?”
“Because he recommends him. You cannot fault the Comte’s appearance, surely.”
“No, I can’t,” Mr. Thorpe said. “I daresay there’s plenty of ladies who don’t, either. Well, Mrs. Thorpe—”
“Thorpe!” Mrs. Thorpe snapped.
“I need a valet, and he’s available,” Titus said. “And that reminds me.” He felt ludicrously embarrassed saying this. Your house, he told himself. “I have invited the Comte to stay with us for a while. He was looking for a new lodging, and this is an absurd house for one man. One upstairs, I mean.”
“Ooh!” Alma said, eyes brightening. Mrs. Thorpe’s lips pursed. Mr. Thorpe said, “The Comte, sir? Really?”
“He needs a place to stay for a while, and I have a great deal of room,” Titus said, a little annoyed at his urge to explain himself. He was sharing his space with a friend, as everybody did who could afford it. At least, they did in his former life. Maybe rich people didn’t share.
“Yes, sir. But—well, is this wise? Considering he had his eye on the mistress’s fortune…”
“She was making an arrangement with him, just as she made with me. What has that to say to anything?”
“The mistress believed the Comte to be a very sharp gentleman indeed. Adept at cutting a wheedle. And when he’s taking you shopping—”
Titus sighed. “Mr. Thorpe, do you think I’m a fool?”
“No, sir, but—”
“I daresay the Comte is out for what he can get, but I have had a very great deal of help from him that I could not find any other way. I’m sure he is taking me to shops where he has outstanding bills, but why should he not, if he ensures I receive good service and gives me good advice?
If he can do that, and ease my way into Society, and keep out Matthew Laxton and the Ormskirks and their sort, all for the cost of board and lodging—wouldn’t you call that a bargain? ”
Thorpe opened his mouth, failed to speak for a second, then shook his head. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Pilcrow: I forgot you were a shopkeeper. But, you know, there may be hidden costs.”
Titus nodded acknowledgement. “I truly don’t think I’m up to every rig and row.
If you see me being lured into some scheme, please do mention it.
But so far the Comte has been immensely helpful, and if this is a matter of—well, of hiring an assistant without giving it that name, I am happy to pay for the services I receive. ”
“Don’t you think he’s your friend?” Alma said, with mildly excruciating sympathy.
Titus had to pause on that. Could a friendship not be a transactional thing?
He’d had favourites among the artists who bought his paints.
He’d dined with them, let accounts run to extraordinary sums for one or two, frequently accepted paintings in lieu of cash, and even housed a portraitist in his room for three weeks when she had nowhere else to go.
He hadn’t felt exploited by those people: he’d chosen to share what he had.
He could afford to house Nico, and he was getting invaluable assistance and enjoyable company from the man.
If that wasn’t a friendship, it certainly had a very similar shape to one.
It was surely no more mercenary than any of the recent invitations he’d received to parties and teas, all of them addressed to an ambulatory eight thousand pounds a year who happened to be named Titus Pilcrow.
And God, the Comte was lovely.
“I like him very much,” he told Alma. “And I don’t think he is planning to cheat me. Your father and I are just being careful.”
“Careful is as careful does,” Thorpe said. “But I daresay you will keep your wits about you.”
Titus thought of Nico’s glowing, dancing eyes, that wicked smile, the prospect of having him an arm’s reach away. “I’ll do my best.”
The next day was too busy for fretting about his decision, or examining why it had seemed such a good idea to move Nico into the house.
Titus had decided to close his shop altogether, at least for now.
Finding another location was simply too much effort, and keeping it open would require further dealings with Henry.
He wished he could ask Nico to come with him, in case Henry happened by the shop. Nico would deal with him, he was sure. But Henry could be terrifyingly indiscreet when he was angry, and he would doubtless be very angry by now.
In the event, the shop was blessedly quiet.
Titus spent the day emptying it of all his stock with the assistance of a hired carter, taking comfort from the familiar odours of paint and powders and linseed.
He knew where he was with pigments, with stained hands and choking smells and the endless use of pestle and mortar.
He’d liked his quiet life in the shop, making paints.
He was less sure he’d like his new life, where he would wear fine clothes and move in elevated company, and go to parties with people he didn’t know.
But it was what he should be doing, and even if the prospect was terrifying, he was determined not to be a coward.
The whole world dreamed of joining the rich, glittering few at the pinnacle of Society, and he, Titus Pilcrow, had been given the chance.
It would be absurd not to take it just because he cringed from the thought of rich, well-dressed people laughing at his efforts to become one of them.
Titus wasn’t glittering, and no amount of gold would make him so. But he would surely meet like-minded people, and come to enjoy parties in a quiet manner. He could do it if Nico was there with him, being charming and smooth, knowing what to do, and flickering that confident smile his way.
He was going to try his best. He had been given a miraculous windfall, other people would kill to be in his shoes, and it would be ridiculous to hide away from the opportunities his new life offered.
And if at the moment that seemed to hold more threat than promise, well, that was unfamiliarity. He would learn to like it. He had to.