Date: Tue, 17 Jan 2017 20:00:06 +0000
From: Henry Hilliard <h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 4 (Revision) Chapter 1

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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at the beginning of Chapter One.)

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Noblesse Oblige
by Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 4
The Hall of Mirrors
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
quite ill but that 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 very 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 offensive that they had been meticulously planning for 1919.

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
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 weakly 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.  In 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 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 his 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 private joke. "What are you two chaps going to do?"

This was a good question and 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 that.

"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 upon 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 arose 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, who had a wife and children, could resume his job with the
railways but Louch 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 with whom they dealt.

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 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 saddle 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. 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.