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On the morning of June second, 1895, Lady Evans—nee Annabel Broadwater—rang the bell, fully expecting Quincy the butler to enter with the breakfast tray and his customary report of how the children had taken their breakfasts in the nursery.
Nothing happened.
She frowned delicately and rang the bell again. Was Daniel interrogating poor Quincy again? The boy was positively obsessed with the man's stories from when the Broadwaters lived in Venice. Quincy had been Aunt Emmeline's butler then, may God rest the old battleaxe's soul. That had been nearly ten years ago now, good gracious—had she and Cassius really been married so long? And where on earth was Quincy? Annabel considered herself quite a patient woman, especially after all these years married to Cassius, but really. There was such a thing as too long to wait for one's tea in the morning.
Annabel rang the bell a third time. Where was Quincy? And where, for that matter, was Cassius?
The door did open, then, but the person carrying the breakfast tray was not Quincy. Instead it was Flora, the housemaid, looking rather put out at this new addition to her duties.
"Flora, whatever are you doing? Where's Quincy?"
Flora placed the tray on the table a little too sharply, and internally Annabel winced for her china. "Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but Mr. Quincy asked me to bring up your ladyship's breakfast as he's got summat else on his mind this morning. He told me to ask you to step up to his room once you've finished."
"I... see. And where's his lordship?"
"The master," said Flora with a disapproving sniff, "is in Mr. Quincy's room with 'im. Looking at a newspaper, they were."
"Thank you, Flora, that will do. See that the children are dressed and ready for school, and then help Ellen with the curtains once you've finished the beds."
"Yes, your ladyship." Flora dropped a curtsey and left the parlor, closing the door behind her with a sharp click.
Annabel drank her tea and ate her breakfast, still frowning. Over the past ten years, she, Cassius, and Quincy had settled quite comfortably into an arrangement; she (for the most part) stayed in the parlor and her bed- and dressing-rooms, while Quincy (for the most part) stayed in the kitchen and servants' quarters unless the household was entertaining; the dining room had been silently agreed upon as neutral ground where they could meet as butler and mistress. Cassius alone wandered freely about the house, drifting from Annabel to Quincy and back again as the mood struck him. It was unusual for either Annabel or Quincy to enter the other's territory, and even more rare for it to happen by invitation. Clearly there had been something utterly shocking in the news that morning to cause this much disruption to her well-ordered home.
She swallowed the last of her tea and stood with a huff. Leaving the parlor, Annabel gathered the rose-pink skirts of her tea gown (since she had intended on a quiet morning, there had been no need to wear anything more formal) and began to climb the stairs. As she passed the nursery, two flights above the parlor, the heels of her shoes began to make noise against the linoleum instead of being muffled in the carpet. This was a part of her house she had almost never seen since her return from Venice, husband and butler in tow. Here, tucked under the eaves, were the little bedrooms for the servants: Flora and Ellen, Mrs Eastlake the cook, and Quincy the butler. In some ways, Annabel counted herself highly fortunate that she never had to worry about her butler getting any of the maids in trouble, and thus could give them all rooms on the same floor. Why, only yesterday Lady Halliday had been telling her about her need to hire a new chambermaid, the previous one having been led astray by one of the footmen.
Ah, here she was. Annabel brought herself back to the present with a shake of her head and a sharp tap on Quincy's door. It opened swiftly to reveal the man himself, impeccably dressed as he always was. His face, though, was not its usual calm mask; his eyes were red and—were those tears on his cheek?
"Quincy, whatever is the matter?"
He inclined his head to her, formal as ever. "Good morning, Lady Evans. There's—there's been some news that's come as rather a shock to Cassius. And—and to me." His voice caught, and he stepped back to grant her access to the room. She pushed past him to finally find Cassius in his dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, sitting on the edge of Quincy's narrow, neatly-made bed with his face in his hands and his shoulders shaking. An open newspaper lay discarded on the foot of the bed next to him.
Annabel crossed the room in four quick strides and knelt next to the bed, reaching for her husband's hands. "Cassius, what has happened?" Concern made her voice sharper than she intended, and she winced, trying again in softer tones. "What's wrong?" She fumbled for the pocket of her gown, trying to remember if she'd tucked in a handkerchief while dressing. Quincy tapped her shoulder and held out a crisp square of folded linen, another crumpled in his other hand. She took it gratefully, pressing it into Cassius' trembling hand.
He took it and roughly wiped his face, then looked at her. "Do you remember that play we saw with Lord and Lady Halliday back in February? The one about the two gentlemen, both named Earnest?" He took a deep, shuddering breath. Quincy, who had sat down on the bed, wrapped an arm around him, resting his head against Cassius' shoulder. Cassius leaned his cheek against Quincy's head and went on, "well, the playwright was hauled into court last month—Regina v. Wilde. Haven't you heard about it?" A fresh wave of tears caused his voice to crack and fail, and he pressed his hands over his face. Quincy lifted his head and placed one hand on Cassius' unshaven cheek, guiding it so Cassius could hide on his shoulder.
Annabel looked at Quincy. "On trial? Oh... I think Lady Halliday mentioned something about that. There was an enormous crowd outside the Old Bailey." She paused, thinking through the rumors and gossip she'd heard about the playwright, and her heart suddenly sank. "They've announced the verdict of the trial, haven't they?" And based on the reactions of the men in front of her, it can't have been good.
Quincy nodded, blinking back more tears. "It's all in the paper."
Annabel pulled herself to her feet and sat gingerly on Cassius's other side, shaking open the newspaper as she went. It had been folded open to one of the inner pages, and her eyes skimmed the dense print until she found the section at the bottom simply headed "The Wilde Scandal." With a glance at Quincy, and his nod, she began to read out loud. "'With the conviction of Oscar Wilde—'" Oh no. "'And the sentence of two years' hard labour passed upon him...' Two years' hard labor? That's the maximum sentence, isn't it?"
Cassius lifted his face from his hands. "Yes. Two years breaking rocks or picking oakum, and did you see what they called him? A loathsome criminal! For loving another man!" His voice cracked and broke, but he continued, ignoring the tears flowing down his face. "This past month I've been in an agony waiting for this day to come, and I wish I was more shocked but this is what I expected. The only other thing I can think is... that could have been me, if I hadn't found Martin. I would still be sneaking about in the shadows, suffering in silence, visiting the renters and, oh, what was the phrase he used?" He turned to Quincy, who said quietly, "Feasting with panthers, Cash."
"Yes, that was it, feasting with panthers. Annabel, do you know how scared I was that year in Italy? I knew how risky it was to steal your aunt's statue, but I truly could see no other path. Not if I wanted to keep Martin and my reputation. If Justin hadn't come up with the idea of us marrying, I don't know what I would have done. What we would have done." He squeezed Quincy's hand between both of his, and then turned to Annabel, extending a hand to her. "I owe Justin a great deal more than I'll ever admit to him, but Annabel... we owe you even more."
"Me? What have I done?" As she asked, Annabel took Cassius' hand automatically, pressing it (and the damp handkerchief it held) between her own.
"Not sacked me," Quincy commented.
Cassius gave a bleak chuckle. "Not sacked Martin, not gone to the police... you've accepted me, and us, and in doing so you've protected us from shame, scandal, and infamy. I owe you a debt, Annabel, and I've not the slightest idea how to repay it, but... " He looked at her, his eyes more serious than she'd ever seen them before. "Thank you."
Quincy cleared his throat. "I was being flippant, madam, but there's many a woman that would send a man in my position away if she found her husband was so attached to him. You've not only not sacked me, you've... There's much about this life that I could never have dreamed of, but watching Daniel grow up is something I never knew I wanted." He bowed his head.
Annabel looked at Cassius, so unnaturally solemn, and Quincy next to him. For the past ten years, she had been accustomed to thinking of her marriage as one primarily of convenience—her convenience. Marrying Cassius had allowed her to leave the stifling (but presumably well-intended) chaperonage of her aunt behind, and step into a world where her tastes and preferences set the tone. His title as an Honorable had opened doors for her that she had only dreamed of in her youth; while she knew that her wealth had been the primary attraction for Cassius, this was a new perspective for Annabel. That her presence had real power to protect this man, both of these men, of whom she had grown so fond over the years? That was not something she had considered.
For a long moment, the three sat there in tableau: Quincy holding one of Cassius' hands, smoothing his thumb across Cassius' knuckles; Annabel holding the other as she thought; and Cassius in the middle, holding onto his lover and his wife as hard as he could. Eventually the sound of footsteps striding down the passage—Flora, from the length of the stride, fetching her hat prior to taking the children to school—broke the silence, and the trio on the bed stirred. Quincy made to stand up and leave the room, but Annabel reached out and caught his hand.
"Wait, Quincy. I..." she paused, then, sorting out in her own mind what it was that she wanted to say. He looked at her, one eyebrow slightly cocked.
"Yes, madam?"
"Quincy. Martin." The eyebrow rose higher at the use of his Christian name, and she smiled wryly in acknowledgment of the informality. "I have come to rely on you, over the past years. I truly do not know how we would have ever gotten Daniel to sleep without your stories, nor would I have been able to host half the salons that I do. These are the topics on which we have spoken, but we have been living with a silence for the past ten years. That silence concerns Cassius." The gentleman in question jerked his head up to stare at her with a slightly panicked eye. She squeezed his hand, but continued. "You were there when Justin Hawking first suggested Cassius and I marry, so you know that ours was not a love match. I have become quite fond of you, Cassius—and of you, Martin—but... From what I have seen over the past ten years, there is nothing loathsome about either of you, and you are certainly not criminals. At first I didn't understand the connection that you two share, and I'm still not sure I do, but I understand enough to know that nothing you are doing is wrong."
By the end of this speech, both men were staring at her with open astonishment. Annabel, quite out of character, felt herself blushing slightly. Cassius was the first to find words.
"Annabel, my dear..."
She smiled at him and Quincy. "You're welcome, Cassius. Now, have you had anything to eat?" At the shake of his head, she gave his and Quincy's hands a last squeeze and stood up, briskly shaking out her skirts. "I'll go speak to Mrs. Eastlake; I could do with another cup of tea, myself. Once you've washed your face, why don't you—both of you—come join me in the parlor?"
Cassius' answering smile was watery, but present, and matched by the surprise in Quincy's eyes. With a glance at Cassius, Quincy answered, "Thank you, madam."
"In moments like this... Annabel."
He smiled. "Annabel. We'll be down shortly."
Annabel nodded, then went to the door. Turning back for a moment, she saw Cassius and Martin slump into each other in an exhausted embrace. For the first time that morning, a tear or two welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. They needed her to be strong, to protect them, and so she would. Straightening her shoulders, Annabel slipped out into the passage and went to speak to Mrs. Eastlake about the tea.