... and will probably never finish. Be warned, this contains (or at least will do, later) relations of a homosexual nature between two men. If this squicks you out, stop reading here. Although I'd love it if you actually did read, and give me some con-crit and general thoughts about what I've written.
He sat precariously on the horse hair sofa, and took in his surroundings, his bright blue-green eyes peering into the gloom of the hallway. It was dark, the wall paper a faded red, with what appeared to be a paisley type pattern on it. The floor was a deep, dark wood, intricately places tiles all lined up next to each other, matching perfectly even after all these years. His dark hair flopped about his face as he examined the sofa. It was faded too, although he supposed that it used to be a beige colour, with red flowers. Now it was just dirty, faded pink thread raised up from the surface, random tufts of different coloured hair poking up through the seams, and places where the fabric was worn and bare. He looked up at the stair case in front of him, watching as it stretched up into the gloom, barely able to make out the landing, lined with expensive looking portraits, which extended down the stairs and around the hall that he was sat in. As he stared at them, he felt the suit of armour stood by the heavy door, set solidly in it’s hinges, was staring at him, a young boy all alone in new surroundings. The place gave off a sense of enclosure, even though it was far bigger than any home that he had seen before. How he had come to be here, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t sure whether he would like it, either. However, he had no choice in the matter, and was forced to accept the job at Hallwoods, because his mother could no longer afford to keep him, and at least here he would be given board.
Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and he rose, looking to greet whoever it was that had come to welcome him into his new home. A young lad, no older than himself appeared from around a corner. He had a fresh complexion and a rather pleasant face, with a mass of dark blonde curls sat above bright blue eyes that stood out from his face. On closer inspection, these eyes contained white and dark blue flecks, which drew the gaze of the other person. For a reason completely unknown to himself, the dark haired lad could feel a blush rising up his cheeks, and swallowed quickly.
“Hello. My name’s Patrick, or Pat to my friends. Although you’re supposed to call me Master Patrick, or Master Elderidge, I suppose,” he looked around quickly, before putting his face conspiratorially close to the other lads and lowering his voice. “Mind you, I’d prefer if we’re alone that you didn’t. I don’t hold much in store with this servant malarkey.” Upon finishing his sentence, he took a step back and held out his hand in way of a greeting.
“I didn’t quite catch your name, by the way.”
“I… I’m… Oliver. Oliver Ward.”
“Well, pleased to meet you Oliver. Do you mind if I call you Ollie? Foster, the main butler type person was supposed to show you, but he’s had to take mummy out in the gig instead, so I offered to do it. Do you like horses? I do, I think they’re rather wonderful. You’re to be my maid, as it were, so that means you get to follow me around the house and do all sorts for me, but seeing as I don’t like that sort of thing, you’ll basically be a friend for me. Won’t that be wonderful? I do hope you can ride, because it would be so wonderful to have a companion when I go out sometimes. It gets dreadfully lonely on your own. Anyway, I should really stop talking and show you the house. I’ll take you to your room first, so you can drop off your things and then I’ll give you the grand tour.” Patrick set off up the stairs, leaving Oliver open-mouthed at the bottom, before he came to his senses and quickly scrambled his things together and ran up the stairs after him.
Patrick took Oliver on a tour of the house, pointing out various rooms as they went. Just along from the top of the stairs was a room with grand oak doors, that stretched to the ceiling. (“That’s mummy and pops’ room. You don’t want to be going in there at night. They make the weirdest noises sometimes. I quite think that they’re mad.”) Along a little way, and there was a smaller door, less grand, but impressive none the less. (“This is my room. This is where you’ll be spending most of your time. And that little door there – that’s the nursery, although I use it mainly as a toy store now. I’ve got a door to it from my room, too. Some nights we can stay in there, if you like. There’s a table in there that if you drape a sheet over makes a simply divine tent.”) The tour carried on much in the same vein, with Oliver being shown the servants quarters, (“There they are. I’m not really allowed up here, but seeing as I’m showing you around, I suppose it’s okay. This is where you should sleep, but seeing as you’re going to be my man servant, I’ll see if I can get you somewhere closer to my room.”) a small room quite close to Patrick’s (“This is the room I want you to have. That way you’re much closer to me, you see, and I can sneak in in the middle of the night, and we can stay up late. Maybe even until the sun comes up! Won’t that be a riot!”) the gardens, (“Big flowery things there… not much fond of it, because it’s all for show. You can’t have a proper game of football or anything in it at all.”) and finally the stables.
“This is the best part of the house, to be honest. You can have a proper muck about here, and the servants don’t say anything, as long as you don’t scare the horses. This one here is my one. She’s middle sized, easier for me to control. My old pony is over there, you see? A dinky little thing, but he was an absolute darling. Really took care of me when I learned to ride. Here’s mummy’s horse, Rocker. I think he’s called that because he’s off his rocker, personally. Oh, and darling Beagle. He’s a palomino, don’t you know. He’d be good for you to ride if you came out with me. And finally, Goliath. Quite funny, really, as my old pony was called David. He’s the biggest one that we’ve got, and pops rides him when he and mummy go out. He pulls the gig too, sometimes. He’s as gentle as a lamb, though, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Gosh, you’re awfully quiet, aren’t you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve told you, there’s no need for that around me. Not when we’re on our own, anyway. Just call me Pat. Look, I know I talk a jolly lot, but that’s just something that you’ll have to get used to. Come on in, and I’ll convince mummy darling that you need to be in the room closer to me. If I can get mummy to say yes, then pops will follow on. He’s supposed to be the man of the house, but mummy has absolute say really.” Patrick turned on his heel and walked gaily back to the house, with Oliver following on behind. He wasn’t used to being surrounded by such richness. He could almost feel the wealth oozing from the particles of the house, swirling round him like leaves in the wind. It wasn’t a bad feeling, and he knew it couldn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t sure that he would fit in, even as a servant. As they walked past, he could feel the gaze of the others, and could tell that they were mentally gauging him, seeing him as a scrawny young thing, not good for much, and guessing that he would only be here for a few months. It was almost as though he was below them, too. The servants lodgings were far superior to the house he had been living in, and the room that Patrick wanted him to have had a four poster bed in! Imagine that, writing home to his mother that he was sleeping in a four poster bed, in a room all of his own with a big bay window on the second floor, that over-looked the most beautiful garden he had even seen, and was warm, without draughts or leaks. Why, she might well tan his hide for lying, that or die from the shock.
They arrived back at the house, and Oliver followed Patrick in through the corridors, into a large sitting room, with a huge open fire (unlit) surrounded by a marble fireplace. Sat either side were two large, high-backed leather chairs, and the walls were covered with books. Adjoining the fireplace on both sides were windows to the ceiling, velvet drapes of a rich moss green hanging either side, matching the colour of the leather. Oliver stared round in awe while Patrick spoke to his mother, dressed in delicate white lace and blue silk, a slim tome on her lap, head intelligently to one side.
“Well, darling, if that’s what you believe to be best for you, then I can see no objection. As long as he isn’t bringing friends into the house, I think that having him closer to you would be ideal.”
“Now, darling, just a minute…” A gruff voice interrupted Oliver’s gaze. A man with a large moustache and a tweed suit looked at him closely. It was worse that the gaze of the servants as they passed. Oliver felt very uncomfortable and began to squirm. A fragile hand was laid on the leg of the moustache, and his face changed.
“I suppose it’s okay boy. But mind he behaves, and works hard, else he’s up in the servants quarters with the rest of them.” A wave of the hand, and Oliver was dismissed. He made his way to the door, thinking about his new room upstairs, with the bed and the window, and the fact that it was his, and his alone. Once outside the door, he stood for a while, shocked that this was happening to him. Patrick joined him soon after, and smiled at him warmly.
“Come on then, lets go and move your things into your new room! See, I told you that if mummy agreed, then pops was bound to in the end.” For the second time that day, Oliver found himself following Patrick up the stairs in a hurry, but this time it wasn’t because he was left behind, but because he wanted to enjoy his time in his new room.
Oliver lay in bed, very still, unable to get used to the soft mattress, and silent emptiness of the room that he was in. It was very unusual. At home, even when everyone was asleep, there would always be the sound of breathing, or humming, and the occasional snore. This was luxury beyond his wildest dreams, yet he was more uncomfortable that he had been before. He tried thinking of things that relaxed him and made him feel happy, but his vision was clouded with a pair of blue eyes, and dark blonde hair that curled in just the right place behind an ear, or the base of the neck, or just above the eyes. He thought about the long, dark lashes, and the thin but strong build, the winning smile of Patrick that charmed his parents, and was slowly charming him. He began to feel warm, and tossed and turned, facing this way and that, turning over and over in his bed. The fourth time he rolled over he was greeted by a pair of eyes, and curly hair that framed the face of it’s owner. Oliver stretched out his hand to make sure that it was real, and not a dream, and lightly brushed the cheek of the person that was watching him.
“I say Ollie, that’s a bit forward, even by my standards.” Oliver flushed, glad of the darkness of the room.
“I.. I’m sorry.. I though I was dreaming and…”
“Shhhhhh.” Patrick stretched out a finger and placed it on Oliver’s lips. “Don’t want the folks to hear you now, do we?” He smiled, and Oliver could feel his heart melting. He’d always known that he was attracted to boys, even since he was about 8, but he’d never met someone this perfect before. And of course, he was unobtainable. Not only was he most probably inclined towards girls, but he was also the upper class. It just wasn’t possible, even if he were to like Oliver. He smiled a sad smile, lips still under the finger of Patrick, and moved his hand upwards, placing it tentatively on Patrick’s elbow as he climbed into the bed beside him. He slowly moved his hand up Patrick’s arm toward him mouth, testing the water, seeing just how much Patrick would let him do. Oliver realised there was something not quite right when he was able to lace his fingers in with Patrick’s and nothing was said. Patrick simply moved his hand away, holding Oliver’s hand, and leaned forward, planting a brief, gentle kiss on his lips.
“Now, lay down and go to sleep, there’s a good chap. You’re working in the gardens tomorrow from six am, and I want to you have enough energy to spend the afternoon with me.” Oliver did as he was told, and closed his eyes, feeling Patrick shuffle next to him, leaning his head against Ollie’s shoulder, and carelessly throwing an arm over his waist. Patrick was asleep in minutes, and Ollie couldn’t help but watch him, noting how his eyelashes fluttered slightly, and how his lips were partially open as he breathed out. It was a long while before Ollie went to sleep, but when he did, he felt completely at ease for the first time that day.
The first rays of sunlight began to flicker through the curtains, sending a thin beam of pale gold onto the bed. Oliver rolled over, throwing his arm out next to him, only to have it land on the sheets beside him. They were crumpled, as though someone else had slept in them. It took him a while to realise where he was, but once he did he thought back to the night before and smiled. He looked round for a note, not the slightest bit worried that they had been found, as it was too early for even the other servants to be up. When he found none, he sat, staring at the gap in the curtains until it was time for him to get up. Feeling rather let down by his subconscious, making him have such glorious dreams only to find they weren’t real, he dressed, before making his way down to the gardens to start his first task of the day.