Date: Tue, 29 Nov 2016 21:48:40 +0000
From: Henry Hilliard <h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 2 Chapter 26 (Revised)

From Henry Hilliard and Pete Bruno h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com This work fully
protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a),
302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No
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Noblesse Oblige
by Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 26
Così Fan Tutte

"Do you need any help, your lordship?" asked Stephen.  Uncle Alfred looked
up from the roll of plans.

"No thank you, Stephen, there is not much more to do until the central
heating people come.  Have you seen the new table?"

Stephen hadn't and followed him across to the dining room.  Stephen was at
somewhat of a loose end.  Martin had gone back to school but Stephen wasn't
to start at the University of London for several weeks.  He had already
spent a week with his stepfather at Croome, making sure he also spent time
with Miss Tadrew, the lady who had helped raise him.  Stephen had played
some cricket on Saturdays, however his teammates had played five matches
without him and his position as the captain had been usurped by the curate.

He had also seen the Owens brothers, but they were much engaged in their
work at the mill and Douglas, in particular, devoted his spare hours to his
writing.  Even Elsie at The Feathers now had a steady beau--the man from
the brewery--and while she had a smile and a kind word for Stephen, she was
disinclined to do more than give him a hug and a pat to his groin.

Stephen had written to Christopher Tennant who was going to Leeds to look
for accommodation, having gained a small scholarship, and Chris had
replied, full of the news from home, but this brought little consolation to
Stephen who suddenly realised he was lonely.

Uncle Alfred opened the door to the new small dining room that was now
separated from the larger one at Branksome house by a folding wall.  The
new table was circular and could accommodate six people.  "See how Lutyens
has copied the eighteenth century design of the big table, Stephen? The two
halves can be added to the ends of it when required and otherwise they can
make up a small table in here as you can see."  It was a clever piece of
work, like all the renovations to Branksome House, and which would soon be
nearing completion.

Stephen looked at his watch.  It was still some hours until he could
decently go to the Saville Club for a glass of beer and a chat to any
members who might feel in the mood.  He went up to his room--or rather the
bedroom he shared with Martin-- and he picked up the speaking tube that
hung on a hook by the big, canopied bed and blew into the brass mouthpiece.
In his room on the floor above Carlo was darning Stephen's socks when he
heard the piping of the tube's whistle.  He picked up the instrument and
put it to his ear. There was no sound.  He spoke into it: "Yes, Mr
Stephen?"  There was still no sound.  "Mr Stephen, take it out of it; it's
not supposed to go there!"

There was the sound of laughter down the tube and Stephen said, "I wanted
you to suck, Carlo, I think that would be very convenient."

"I might have to tell Mr Chilvers of your behaviour, sir," said Carlo,
amused.  "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I'd like a bath, Carlo."

Carlo undressed Stephen, thinking that two years ago his master would never
have let a servant do this.  He folded Stephen's clothes and fetched the
long-handled brush that he knew Stephen liked applied to his magnificent
back and shoulders.

"I feel a bit at a loose end, Carlo," confessed Stephen.

"We all miss his lordship, sir," said Carlo.  "Is there nothing to be done
at Croome, sir?"

"Well I suppose I could go back.  I might go down to Bournemouth to see
Lord Branksome.  I don't have a lot of friends in London, Carlo."

"Yes sir, big cities can be lonely places, but you, sir, make friends
easily, if I may say so, sir," said Carlo applying the brush to Stephen's
shoulders.

"Do I, Carlo?  I never thought of that.  I think I was lonely before I met
his lordship.  I never realised it then, but I do now."

"Could you not go and visit Lord Martin at his school, sir?"

"Yes, I suppose I could.  Could you wash my balls, Carlo?

"It would be a pleasure, sir.  Shall I use the brush?"



Stephen went down to Bournemouth with Jackman driving him in the Daimler
and he put up at the Royale Norfolk as usual.  He found William, Lord
Branksome--his guardian--in a talkative mood, although his unnerving lapses
in speech and slight twitches--almost seizures--were disturbing.  Stephen
realised that he'd spent little time with William alone and was grateful
for the chance.

William had little news to tell of his own life--although there were two
new paintings to be inspected-- but he was interested in all Stephen's
doings.  So Stephen talked of his prospective university degree and then of
Uncle Alfred's alterations to their London home.

William in reply recalled entertaining and slightly scandalous stories
about the Pooles.  Stephen had no idea that Martin's grandfather-- the man
whose portrait by Hayter hung so grandly in the Great Hall at Croome--was
such a Regency rake.

Then William alluded to the men that he had been romantically involved
with.  "I'm not shocking you, am I Stephen?" he said during a pause.
"Perhaps I should not be telling these things to an 18-year old, but I feel
you are quite mature for your age--much more mature than I was back in
1902.  I guess I've always had a romantic nature," he said wistfully and
Stephen immediately thought of Mrs Leybourne.

"You know, I think I would have been happy with Tsindis--despite the smell
of turpentine-- but I would have had to abandon Croome and scandalise my
whole family-- my mother, father and brother.  And I could never be sure
that Tsindis wouldn't just move on to someone else--especially if I had no
money.  He's with your friend Craigth now isn't he?"

"Archie is still at school with Martin, but he does stay in his studio when
he comes up to London, I believe.  He says he's enrolling in the Slade next
year."

Then Stephen tried to put into words what he felt about Martin but found it
difficult to express.

"I knew you were the right person for my brother the moment I saw you
together in this room three years ago.  He worships the very ground..."

"No, William, it is me who is the lucky one--I don't mean just the money--I
mean it's for him that I now do things.  I want him to be proud of me.  I
want Croome to be the place that he deserves--for you too of course.  More
than that, I feel that I can be myself with Martin; we just like being
together; we laugh at the same things--he can be quite naughty you know,
although he looks such a golden-haired angel on the outside."

"Tell me some of the naughty things he does," said William eagerly.

"No, not without him here to defend himself, William--next time.  I will
tell you about what happened in Germany, but please keep it confidential."

William was intrigued, but was quite unprepared for the adventure story
that Stephen unfolded.

"... so you see, Martin was cool and quick-thinking in a crisis, William;
we worked together--actually, the three of us did really, because you can
see what a fine chap Carlo Sifridi has turned out to be--although he is a
very cheeky valet.  Shall I tell you what he did with the brush while I was
in my bath?"

And so the visit was concluded on a happy note.



Stephen took a room at The White Hart and anxiously awaited Martin's
clandestine visit.  Martin attended `absence' after the Sunday service and
left the school as if he were merely going for a stroll.  Under a hedge he
had a change of clothes hidden and swiftly donned them and put his `half
change' uniform into the bag.  The inn was strictly out of bounds and so
Martin had to approach it by stealth, keeping an eye out for any masters
who might be also taking their ease on this Sabbath.

Martin knocked at the door and Stephen opened it, as he had hoped, just
wearing the lemon-silk pyjama bottoms that were enlivened by an attractive
eruption of silky, soft, raven curls just above the waist; hair which
matched the triangular patch in the middle of his naked chest.

They flew into an embrace, the workman's cloth cap that was part of
Martin's disguise becoming dislodged in the process.  It was a few moments
before they could speak.  "I've missed you Derby.  Have you bathed?"

"Not for two days, Mala, I was saving myself."  He lifted up his armpits
and Martin plunged in.  "I know it's you for certain when I can smell you.
I sometimes dream I'm with you, but there's never your smell."

"You dream about me?" asked Stephen.

"Yes of course, don't you dream about me?"

"I can never remember any dreams.  I don't think I really dream at all."

"Everyone dreams," said Martin a little disturbed.

"Let me look at you," said Stephen as he roughly pulled Martin's garments
off.

"Your legs are thicker, Mala," said Stephen, feeling them and then deciding
to give the velvety skin a lick.

"Rowing machine," Martin managed to gulp.

"And you have more hair here," he added licking the blonde trail that led
down to his hard, leaking cock.  "You're becoming a man and I'm not there
to see it.  And is your cock bigger?  I can't remember what I did with my
last measurements, Mala."

"I've missed you too, Derbs," said Martin replying to these unformulated
expressions of Stephen's longings.  "Do you think you could fuck me before
I have to get back for absence?  Your pyjama bottoms look near ruined."



"That was wonderful, Derby," said Martin as he lay with his nose on
Stephen's chest in the silken ornamental half-diamond of coal-black locks.
"I didn't think there'd be time for a second one."

"I think the second was better, Mala; I was too urgent the first time.  I'm
lonely at home, Mala.  I want you with me all the time."

"Stephen, you are always telling other people that they'll make friends.
You of all people will make lots of friends, I'm telling you.  Everyone
loves you--and you can never be too urgent by the way."

"You're saying I should take the same advice I give to Chris and Donald?"
Martin nodded.  They lay in the hotel bed and talked, Martin enjoying the
rising and falling of his chest and the bass rumble in his ear when his
spoke.  "Mala, come back here tonight.  Bring The Plunger."

"How can I, Stephen?"

"Find a way.  Look how we evaded Count Osmochescu."



The Plunger was anxious to see Stephen too and had devised the most
marvelous disguises: He put on a false beard and bushy eyebrows with spirit
gum and wore an elaborate embroidered clerical vestment beneath a cloak
lined with purple satin.  The Albanian Coptic bishop was to be accompanied
by his young priest who wore a black curly wig and a clerical collar.

"If we manage to get out of the school, Plunger, no one will suspect a
thing when they see two Albanian priests strolling in a dark country lane
in England."

"I think it's best if you refer to me as Vladyka," said His Beatitude as he
donned a tall kalimafi.

The boys escaped from their house via a route prepared earlier and made
their way in the dark to the gates which stood wide open in the moonlight.
The Plunger thought it might be too suspicious to walk through them and so
the wall was scaled with the aid of a nearby tree. Archie's tall,
cylindrical kalimafi kept falling off and he commented that metropolitans
in the Eastern Rite must not do a lot of wall climbing.

They had just reached the other side when The Plunger realised that he'd
left his crozier behind.  Time was fleeting so Martin took a chance and
walked through the gate and returned with the silver-topped staff.

They proceeded down the road, so familiar in the daytime but quite
different at night.  All of a sudden they heard the crunching of boots, the
pace quickening as the wearer gained on them.

"Hello, Craigth. Hello Poole.  What are you doing here?"  It was Mr
Daventry, the sports master.

"Hello sir, out for a jog?" asked Martin.

"Yes I am.  I think the night air is bracing.  I like to go for a run
before bed.  Mrs Daventry encourages it too.  Should you boys be out
walking at this time of night?"

This is awkward, thought Martin, but he remembered his Baltic adventure and
thought that the direct approach might just work.  "We're off to see a
friend, sir.  He's staying at The White Hart."

"A friend of yours, Poole?"

"Yes sir.  Actually he is my lover, sir."

"Indeed Poole, and what's the matter with him?"

"Well sir, he's distraught without me, sir.  He has very strong needs you
see, sir, and it's affecting his cricket."

"Affecting his cricket!"

"Yes, sir.  You've met him.  Stephen Knight-Poole.  All rounder."

"The fine big fellow who bowls off-breaks?"  Martin nodded.  "Well why
didn't you say so?  Let's hasten if he's in distress.  I have strong needs
too--or so Mrs Daventry tells me--but it's never affected my game, although
I did drop a catch once when Zena Dare visited in 1908."

They walked on.  "Yes, you're a lucky fellow, Poole, to have a chap like
that."

"I think so, sir."

"Craigth, I thought you said you were half American..."

Mr Daventry was a sport and distracted the landlord so the two Albanians
might climb the stairs to Stephen's room.  Martin knocked at the door and
opened it a little. Stephen was in bed.  He sat up with a look of alarm at
Martin's costume.

"Derbs, it's me.  I'm here with The Plunger...and...we've brought Mr
Daventry who was kind enough to help us."

The gas was lit and Stephen was amazed at the sight before him.  "How do
you do, Mr Daventry," said Stephen.  "Hello, Archie."

"Its good to see you again, Knight.  I'm so sorry to hear that your cricket
has been affected," said the sports master.

Stephen looked at Martin who made a shrug and said, "Oh Mr Daventry, he can
barely talk about it.  He missed me so much his game was in tatters.  They
were even going to drop him."

"Oh yes, sir," said Stephen catching on that Mr Daventry may have taken a
few too many hard tackles in rugby.  "I only needed a two against Holes to
avoid the follow-on and I was thinking of my Martin and swung wildly and
was caught on the boundary.  I didn't half cop it in the dressing room
afterwards.  We were lucky to get the draw in the end."

"Well, Poole.  This big fellow needs his desires fulfilled.  Get your robes
off and jump in.  What's your role here, Craigth?"

"Well, I was thinking of joining them sir," said The Plunger, trying to
hang his kalimafi on the hook behind the door.  "Stephen sometimes needs
two or more people to do him justice."

"I think you might like this, sir," said Martin who was now naked and
climbing under the covers.  He lifted them up to reveal Stephen's splendid
cock girded in the narrow black leather strap that also stretched his
balls.  "It came from the same shop, sir."

Mr Daventry looked delighted.  "With a cock like that, sir, you would have
been made captain of our First XI even if you couldn't bat or bowl at all.
What an inspiration he would be to the team in the shower baths, eh
Craigth?"  The Plunger was moved to agree.  "And do your balls hang low
from stretching them, sir?"

Stephen looked thoughtful.  "Well, I think they were always like this, Mr
Daventry--at least since I was 11--although I do like them stretched."

"So do I, Mr Knight-Poole.  I bet they could take a fair bit of attention.
Do you see to that, Poole?" said the master as he felt Stephen's privates.

"I do my best, sir, but it's a lot of work.  He is insatiable."

Stephen removed the handsome strap and let Daventry have a better feel.
Martin lifted his cock clear.  "I'd like you to have this as ...er...a
memento of the occasion," said Stephen, handing it over to Daventry.

Daventry quickly removed his clothes and The Plunger helped him fit it.  It
was admired in the looking glass. "Mrs Daventry will be pleased, boys.  She
may even visit her mother's less often."

Martin and Stephen exchanged bemused glances.  "Mr Daventry do you think
you could help us satisfy Stephen.  It might be a bit crowded, but his team
would be most grateful if he was up to the mark for next Saturday's match?"

I'll make sure these two do a good job, Mr Knight-Poole.  They're both
sports champions in our School, you know.  And we'll take our time; boys, I
can get you back into school through the infirmary before morning prayers."

In a few moments they were all squeezed onto the bed.  Martin sat on
Stephen's chest.  "Your not going to let him put that big thing up there,
are you, Poole, he'll kill you."

"I certainly am, sir.  I take it for the team."



*****



"It's your round, Knight," said Fortune.

"Yes, sir," said Stephen and he went to the bar.  The pub was one in South
Kensington, much frequented by the Engineering students who were formidable
drinkers.  Stephen had been persuaded by several of their number to join
them for beer one Friday afternoon, about four weeks into the term.  With
them was Charles Fortune who was their tutor in Engineering Design, a
subject that he managed to make interesting for the students with the
injection of a little humour and which was therefore in marked contrast to
the subjects presided over by the older lecturers who dutifully wheeled out
and dusted off one creaking jape per term and who, generally speaking,
resented having to deal with the callow first year students at all.

Fortune was different: he was about 25 and had not long graduated himself.
He had an easy manner and, as Stephen was finding out, could be jolly
company.  He was a slight young man with a rather untidy and anaemic
moustache but he had an attractive face behind a pair of round spectacles
and his rather shambling gait and slightly forgetful ways were endearing
and quite appropriate for an academic.

Fortune was a little under the weather and was alternatively praising
London life and cursing the expense of living in the metropolis.  He was on
a part-time tutor's lowly salary and thus grateful for his students buying
him drinks, which they did not begrudge as they knew he had genuine
affection for them unlike his older colleagues who struggled to remember
their names.  Stephen found himself more and more drawn to Fortune as his
fellow students departed and it was quite late when he realised that there
was only the two of them left in the snug and that Fortune had his arm
around his shoulder as he blaggarded the Faculty and the University.

"I think we'd better be going, Mr Fortune," said Stephen.

"One more drink--if you're buying," said Fortune, lighting another
cigarette when he already had one burning in the ashtray, "and call me
Charles when we are in a tutorial in a public house."

"Then you should call me Stephen, Charles," said Stephen and he set down
two more pints.

"Are you drunk, Stephen?"

"I don't believe so, Charles."

"It's just you've gone a bit fuzzy.  Sure you're not drunk?"

"I can't be positive, Charles.  May I help you home?"

"Did I tell you you're my favourite student?" said Fortune when they were
out in the road.  Stephen said nothing.  "You're the only one who's done
all the damn reading and you've got half a brain.  Pity you drink too much
or you would have made a good Engineer."

"I don't believe that has been an impediment before, Charles," said Stephen
referring to the other students.

Fortune laughed then said "But you're the damned hardest one to teach."

"Why is that, Charles?" asked Stephen, briefly reflecting on his conduct in
his tutorials.

"Because you're too damned good-looking and always adjusting yourself in
your trousers--makes me forget what I was saying."

"I'm very sorry, Charles; I'll see what I can do about it."

"There you go again!" And sure enough Stephen had hefted his balls.

"It must be a nervous habit," confessed Stephen, laughing.

"Have I told you what a swine the University is, Stephen?"

"No, Charles," lied Stephen and Fortune launched again into his litany of
complaints as they crossed the Fulham Road and navigated the narrow streets
beyond it.

They stopped before a small and rather shabby house.  "Well, thank you for
seeing me home, Stephen.  I hope you're not too squiffy to get home to your
digs."

"I'll get the tube, Charles."

"Then I'll see you in our tute on Monday.  No, damn it; come inside for a
few minutes. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Stephen had to retrieve Fortune's latchkey from his pocket and they entered
a dingy hall from which stairs rose to somewhere unknown.  Fortune opened
the door to the front room and shepherded Stephen inside.  The gas was
already lit and the room was untidy with books and papers stacked high on
every surface.  There was also a number of overfull ashtrays and empty
teacups ornamenting the scene.  It took Stephen a second or two to realize
that there was a man sitting on a chesterfield reading.  He was
old--thought Stephen--maybe 35, although at 18 he no longer thought of 30
as ancient as he had at 16.  The man had wavy dark hair and small, kind
eyes.  He too wore spectacles.

"Stephen, this is Thayer," said Fortune.

"Dr Thayer?" asked Stephen, "I've seen your name at the Faculty.  I'm a
first year student, sir."

"Not doctor yet," replied Thayer with a tight smile.  "You must be the one
that Charles tells me about.  How do you do.  I see Charles has been
enjoying himself.  He doesn't do this very often, sir.  I would not like
you to get the wrong impression.  It has been a rather stressful week for
us both."

"Tell him, Jack, he's a good listener," said Fortune slumping into a chair
on top of some papers and causing a teacup to fall to the floor where it
smashed.

"Well I'm not sure the young fellow wants to hear my troubles.  Let me make
us some tea.  We don't have staff."  Thayer disappeared down the corridor
and Fortune attempted to say something about having to do all the housework
but then fell asleep.

Stephen was just thinking about taking his leave when Thayer returned with
the tea.  He looked at Fortune and put his cup down where it remained
untasted.

"The University would like to get rid of me Mister...?"

"Knight-Poole, but Stephen, please, sir."

"Well they want to give me the boot, Stephen.  If I can be frank: they
don't like my living here with Charles.  Do you understand my meaning,
young man?"

"I do sir, but how can they remove you?"

"Well, I don't have tenure.  I obtained my position on the strength of my
research and on the promise that I would publish.  This I have failed to
do.  That is their excuse.  The University has a board that I'll almost
certainly have to appear before.  I was warned just a few days ago."

"What is your field, sir?"

"Structural systems using concrete.  I am writing a thesis on the systems
of two Frenchmen, Hennebique and Cottancin.  I believe that concrete
construction will be the foremost method this century, Mr Knight-Poole."

"That is very interesting, sir.  I have heard those words before and I am
interested in it too and have worked with someone--an Australian--familiar
with the Monier system, which I know is also from France.  I look forward
to reading your thesis."

"That's just the point.  I need two months leave to finish it and if I
don't, I face dismissal.  The University Disciplinary Board has the power
to do that and the Academic Committee will probably refuse my request for
more time.  And look at the mess here.  How can I work?  Charles has only
his tutor's salary and we take in lodgers but have no servants.  We can't
risk the gossip, Mr Knight-Poole, you see.  You wouldn't understand and I
have no right telling you these things.  I suppose you're shocked."

"Not at all sir.  I have to be circumspect with my own living
arrangements."

"Oh, so you're living with a girl or someone's wife?  I can well imagine a
lad like you would..."

"No sir, it's not a woman."

Thayer put down his cup with a clatter and looked up in surprise.  "Mr
Knight-Poole I would never had...and Charles certainly..."

"Because I don't look like a Nancy, sir?"

"Well, yes I suppose that's what I mean.  I hope I haven't been offensive."

"That's all right, sir.  Inverts are compelled to lead their lives--or a
part of their lives--in the shadows.  I will have to face that and so will
my Martin."

"Does he live with you, Stephen?"

"No sir, he is still at school in the country."

"He is a farmer's son?"

"In a way.  I lived nearby.  I was a scholarship boy but now my
circumstances have eased."

"You have somewhere to live in London?  We could find you a room in this
house where you would be free to live with your Martin.

"That's kind of your sir, but I'm very comfortable in my present digs and
we are fortunate in that we can make sure there is no talk when we are
together."

"Wake up Fortune, you're snoring and you're neglecting our guest."  Fortune
roused himself and came and sat on the chesterfield with Thayer and put his
arm around him.  They presented a very warm and affectionate picture.

"You can see how it is between us, Stephen?" said Thayer.

Stephen smiled and nodded.

"Isn't he beautiful, Jack?" said Fortune.  "I can't help but look at him in
class.  I will have to fail him just so he has to come back next term."

Thayer kissed him and said, "I wish you'd look at me that way."

"I have had a little money from home," said Stephen, "would you be my
guests to dinner say, next Tuesday or Wednesday?"

"That's very kind of you Stephen," said Fortune, "are you sure you want to
spend your money on us?"

"Yes, quite sure.  It has been an education to see a happy couple."

"Oh we fight sometimes, Stephen," said Thayer. "I'm often made to sleep in
the bath."

"I don't believe that for a moment," said, Stephen, laughing.  "I would
never make my Martin do that, not unless I could sleep in the bath too."

Stephen left them and hurried home.  He would have to get an early train
for Croome as he had a match to play, but before he went to bed he was busy
writing letters.



The following Tuesday he arrived at the little house and the two friends
greeted him warmly.  They took him to a hotel in Chelsea that had a good
dining room and they repeatedly assured Stephen that it wasn't too
expensive.  They fell easily to chatting. Charles and Jack had been
together for five years.  Fortune came from Ipswich where his father was a
postmaster.  It had been a struggle to send him to school and then to the
polytechnic.  He had worked at Smithfield Market to pay his way until he
obtained the tutoring job.  He aimed to practice as a consulting engineer
one day.

Thayer was much troubled by his failed marriage.  He was now separated and
his wife had custody of their eight year-old daughter.

"My wife is a lovely woman, Stephen," he confessed in a low voice, "it was
not her fault that I was an invert.  I didn't realise it when I married
her--I should have of course--and I have ruined her life.  Her family,
however, is another matter.  Her father would like to see me destroyed but
he is restrained by the knowledge that if he has me dismissed from my post
at the University, where he has influence through his brother-in-law, I
will not be able to pay to support Emily and Ruby.  How he must gnash his
teeth at the thought of this dilemma!  That is one of the reasons why we
are so hard up; most of my income goes to them in Cheltenham.  I haven't
seen them since we separated, but I am kept informed how they are through a
friend.  I have really made a mess of my life, Stephen," he said with a
deep sign.  "Meeting Charles is the only good thing I've ever done."

"Do you think your wife would let you see your daughter, if you don't mind
me asking?"

"She may, but her father wouldn't allow it."

The pudding came and they set to work eating.  Presently Stephen said:
"Lord Delvees is on the University Board, isn't he?"

"Why yes, why do you ask?"

"I can't exactly explain, but I think you will get your leave to write if
you apply."  The two men looked at him amazed.  "I have a friend..." he
began and left the remark unfinished.  "Jack, I also know a place in the
country-- in Dorset--where you could go to work.  You could live there and
you would be fed and looked after; you could write all day if you wanted
to.  Do you need to be close to the library at South Kensington to complete
your thesis and could you bear to be separated from Charles?"

"No and certainly I could," he said with a straight face and Fortune
pretended to look hurt. "Is it your family's place?"

"Yes, sort of.  You'd be quite comfortable and you could stay as long as
you liked.  Charles and I could come at weekends, but I won't disturb you
unless you want it."

"Would there be room?  I would insist on paying for my keep.  I can't have
your mother keeping me for nothing."

"My mother's dead, Jack.  Wait until you're there before you worry about
money.  Will you go?"

Thayer and Fortune looked at each other and then Thayer nodded and said he
would be very grateful for a place to write, "If I get my leave."

"Oh you'll get it; Lord Delvees is very sensitive to any sort of
unfairness, especially to threats and blackmail of that sort, I believe."

They walked back to the house discussing how Charles would cope in London
alone.  They had two boarders-- single men who seemed disinclined to
question their landlords' sleeping arrangements and Fortune had to prepare
their breakfasts before he went to his university job.  "We do have a
charwoman and a laundress who come in, but no maid would stay in a house
with two inverts," said Fortune, gloomily.  Stephen went inside with them
and some bottled beer was produced.  Stephen looked at the confusion in the
room and wondered how Thayer could get anything done at all.  Thayer showed
Stephen some of the standard texts on his special subject and tried to
explain the finer intricacies of reinforced concrete.

"Yes, I will be very pleased to have a quiet little place to write up my
thesis, thank you so much, Stephen.  I will see the academic committee
tomorrow and should have an answer by the end of the week.  How do you come
to know Lord Delvees, if I may ask?"

"Oh he's a friend of a friend.  I'll tell you about it one day," said
Stephen, drinking his beer, and trying not to wonder about the cleanliness
of the glass."

"That only leaves one problem," said Thayer.  Stephen looked surprised.
"How is Charles going to teach when you are such a distraction?"

"Well, I can't very well hide in his study-- there are only four of us.  I
could change subjects, I suppose," said Stephen with a straight face.  "Or
he could swap with Mr Spencer."

"Engineers look for simple structural solutions, Mr Knight-Poole," said
Fortune.  "Do you think you could remove your clothes so I can see what I
have only been able to imagine."

"That is simple homework, sir," said Stephen. "I usually sit like this in
tutes, don't I?"  Stephen removed some books from a hard chair and sat in
it and pretended to take notes.

"That's right," said Fortune, "but your legs are usually spread wider."

"Well it's hot in your study, Charles," said Stephen in his own defense,
"and I get sweaty."  He spread his legs and Fortune and Thayer exchanged
looks and smiles.  "See what I mean Jack?"

Stephen then stood and removed his jacket and tie. He unbuttoned his shirt
and pulled it over his head.  He wore no vest.  He ran the palm of his
right hand over himself.  He then sat down again and untied his boots and
removed his hose.  Fortune and Thayer watched, entranced.  Stephen then
stood again and undid one button on his trousers and they fell about his
ankles.  As usual he was naked under them.  He then sat back in his
tutorial chair and pretended to take notes, with a straight face, and mimed
asking questions with his hand raised.

"Look at the size of him!" said Fortune.  "How can I talk about the design
of mining pumps when I know that thing is lurking just a few feet away in
his trousers?"

"It would be a little bigger but it's cold in here," said Stephen.

"May we inspect you a little closer Stephen?" asked Thayer.

Stephen swaggered over and clasped his hands behind his head.  His cock was
rising and stood out before him.

"What Engineering principle does this illustrate, Mr Knight-Poole?" asked
Fortune.

"Hydraulic or structural, sir?"

"Structural."

"Why, it's a simple cantilever."

"You're correct, Mr Knight-Poole, although this one is hardly simple.
Could you change your thesis topic, Jack?"

"Might we pleasure you Stephen, to show our gratitude?" asked Thayer.

Stephen thought: Why not?  And moved closer.  He rubbed the head of his
penis over the lips and noses on his seated friends while they reached up
and felt his chest-- in fact while they felt all the parts of Stephen that
they could reach from the chesterfield.  Then they both put their heads
into his groin and inhaled deeply and then, together, ran their lips and
tongues from the root to the tip on either side of Stephen's cock.

Fortune and Thayer took turns in sucking Stephen.  He became so hard that
they were starting to find it impossible to bend his cock down.  They
enjoyed snapping it against his stomach.

"You're hard as a rock, Stephen," said Fortune.

"Reinforced concrete," said Stephen smiling.  "I haven't pleasured myself
since this morning.  I often have to do it a couple of times a day when my
Martin isn't with me--actually even when his is with me," added Stephen
ruefully.

"Let me finish myself off, boys," said Stephen.  They laid him down on the
chesterfield with his head in Fortune's lap and his legs parted either side
of Thayer.  Stephen set to work with his left hand, then his right and then
with both hands.  He closed his eyes and his hair fell forward as he
spilled an impressive load, the first two shots of which landed on his own
face.  He lay there panting and then lazily stretched his arms.

"Well that was very nice!" he said smiling and looking around.

Fortune and Thayer were speechless. "We don't usually do this sort of
thing, Stephen," said Thayer.

"Oh," replied Stephen, disappointed.  "Well, I wouldn't like to interfere
in your relationship, but I did need to spend quite badly.  I wouldn't be
able to read chapter 6 of The Design Brief for tomorrow if I hadn't been
relieved."

"No, I'm really glad we did," said Thayer, "it was very intense."

"I still don't know how I'm going to conduct the tutorial," laughed
Fortune.

"I'll have a little surprise for you tomorrow morning," said Stephen as he
went to dress himself.  The others jumped to their feet and dressed
him--not allowing him to touch a thing.

When Stephen was out of sight of the house he found a taxi that took him
speedily back to Piccadilly.  He really did have some reading to do and he
his mind was already occupied with what he would tell Martin and how Thayer
would cope with Croome.

The next morning Stephen called Carlo on the speaking tube. "Carlo have you
seen my strap?"

"You mean your...?"

"Yes, that one. Could you help me find it?"

Carlo removed his own trousers and reluctantly unfastened the shiny leather
strap that was such an ornament to Stephen's cock and such a stimulus to
his testicles.  He went down to Stephen.  "Here it is," said Carlo,
producing it from a cupboard by a conjurer's trick.

"Thank you Carlo.  Would you help me put it on?  I say, it's warm."

"Oh the cat was sleeping on it, sir," said Carlo, quickly bobbing down lest
Stephen see him blush.

Stephen was the first in Fortune's tutorial.  He walked over and placed the
tutor's hand on his groin.  Fortune felt it thoroughly, his own cock
hardening in his trousers.  Stephen quickly unbuttoned and revealed the
handsome leather strap girding his privates.  He quickly buttoned-up again.
Stephen was merciless and sat grinning with his legs wide apart, giving his
cock an occasional scratch while Fortune stammered and stuttered and got
the names of inventors of the new German alloys hopelessly mixed up.  He
glared at Stephen when the tutorial came, at last, to an end.





*****



Thayer sat in the second-class carriage with Stephen.  As predicted, the
committee did not refuse his leave and even wished him well.  Thayer had
six suitcases to manage, five of which contained papers and books and
weighed heavily.  Stephen had his own Gladstone bag that he brought down to
Croome on the weekends.

They chatted about the University and about engineering.  Thayer was
fretting that Fortune would not be able to manage the house or their
lodgers.  "Would you employ a housekeeper if you could find a discreet
one?" asked Stephen.

"Well, she'd have to be a cook-housekeeper.  It would be a lot to
undertake."

"But there are only four of you and the house is not large.  You do have a
char and a washerwoman."

"Yes, I suppose if you look at it that way.  But you may not have noticed;
we are not all that tidy, Charles and I."  Stephen nodded and changed the
subject.

When they alighted at the station the stationmaster was surprised to see
young Mr Knight-Poole emerge from a second-class carriage.  They all helped
the porter retrieve the suitcases and they were taken to a trap waiting in
the yard.  "Your cottage is beyond the village, Stephen?"

"Yes, Jack.  It's a nice walk or cycle, but too far with all your bags."

As they passed through the village Stephen was greeted by Miss Tadrew,
Reuben Owens and Mr Destrombe.

"I'm not surprised that you are a popular figure, Stephen," said Thayer,
good-naturedly.  He looked around from left to right when they were beyond
the village to see if their prospective destination was in sight.  "Is it
far from the village, Stephen?"

"Not far."

They entered the elm avenue, now golden in its autumn garb.  "This looks
like private property," observed Thayer.

"It is."

They reached the bend where the gap gave onto a vista of Croome at its most
splendid.

"What's that enormous place?" asked Thayer.

"That's home," said Stephen, savouring the surprise.

Thayer's jaw dropped as Stephen hoped it would and he stammered and
spluttered worse than Charles in his tutorials.

"I can't stay here!  I don't know the family or anything!  What will I
wear?"

"Well, there's only me.  Lord Branksome is an invalid and in a sanatorium.
I am his ward.  His younger brother, Martin, as I've said, is away at
school.  His uncle is up in London where I live during the week."

"Your Martin," Thayer began in an urgent whisper so the driver didn't
hear," is the brother of your guardian?"

"Yes," said Stephen and reading his mind said: "Yes, it is very convenient.
I have been enormously fortunate, Jack.  I hope that I can--that Martin and
I can--help you.  I hope you're not cross.  I feared you might not come.  I
hope that we can be friends, Jack.  I'm quite new to all this too.  My
stepfather is just a cottager--although I don't mean `just' in a bad
way--he's the most wonderful man I know."

Thayer was speechless and was introduced to Chilvers in a trance.

"I have prepared the Waterloo Room for you, sir, and the one next door to
that would be very suitable for writing."

"Doesn't it have a name Mr Chilvers?" asked Stephen.

"It was called the Prince Regent's Room, I believe sir, but in 1848 his
lordship's grandmother came to disapprove of his late Majesty's more
amorous peccadilloes--especially in respect of Mrs Fitzherbert and refused
to use the name."

"Mr Chilvers," said Stephen suddenly, "I haven't seen Mr Kells, the
librarian, for some time; is he well?"

"I believe he left us about four months ago, Mr Stephen.  Janet found a
note in his room one morning and that's all we know.  Very curious sir."

Thayer was settled and Stephen wandered in just wearing his lemon silk
pyjama bottoms whose waist was just above his arching cock. "Shall we have
tea here?  I have to go off and see my stepfather, but I'll come back here
for dinner.  Would you like to have it in the Gothic Dining Room--it might
be fun?  I'll ask Chilvers when he comes up.  I'll also introduce you to
our own engineer, Herman Moss."

The little dinner went off very well.  Although they just wore their
ordinary clothes, the Victorian Gothic chamber was impressive place in
which to dine.  Moss and Thayer liked one another straight away.  Stephen
was careful to make it clear that Moss was returning to Australia to his
sweetheart and Moss was pleased at the prospect of a companion in the
rather lonely, big house.  Naturally concrete and universities were topics
of conversation.  Moss described Stephen's construction projects at Croome
and then turned to the oddities of living in the enormous house.

That night Thayer found his way to Stephen's room.  He knocked and Stephen
told him to come in.  Thayer was in striped pyjamas under a checked
dressing gown.  Stephen was naked in bed as usual and was sitting up
bare-chested reading Three Men in a Boat.

Thayer sat on the bed.  "Stephen, I just want to say how grateful I am.
This will make a big difference to me.  You know...my life has been such a
mess...and I don't want to muck this up."

Stephen once again read his mind.  "I think we'd find it convenient to
sleep in our own rooms, don't you?"

"Yes, I think so too," said Thayer, relieved, "not that I wouldn't like
to--your Lord Martin is a lucky fellow-- but I don't know what I'd do if I
didn't have Charles.  I don't want to lose him to a younger chap either."

"I'm no `home wrecker', Jack.  I could not live without my Mala--that's
what call him.  You know," he said more brightly, "he will be home for a
few days in a fortnight.  Do you think Charles would like to come down then
too?"

"I'd better write to him and tell him what to expect.  Our lodgers will
have to look after themselves, but he will love it here."

"And until our partners get here we'll keep to ourselves.  However, I feel
that I must pleasure myself right now, Jack," said Stephen indicating the
seismic shift in the bedclothes.  "I think it will be a big load.  Could it
have been the oysters?  You can go or stay and help.  I can always use some
constructive criticism."


To be continued. Thank you for reading.  If you have any comments or
questions, Pete and I would really love to hear from you.  Just send them
to h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and please put NOB Nifty in the subject line.