The Terrible Fate of Gideon Dormer: Part 1

Some questions have always had easy answers. Questions such as “What is the sum of four and nine?” or “What is Queen Victoria’s first name?”

Other questions are more difficult. Like “What is the meaning of life?” or “What is queen Victoria’s second name?”

However, the occupants of the drawing room at Deanfield house might have been facing the most ambiguous question of them all. A question, perhaps, for Aristotle himself.

Which night-cap would Mary eventually choose?

It was nearly eleven O’clock as I watched Mary, who, on her way up to bed, pondered about the drinks-cabinet. I felt my inside pocket for the cigar I had saved since dinner. The meal had been heavy; thus, I hadn’t fancied lighting up this hearty tobacco until now. But Mary was one of the last to retire for the evening and the drawing room was almost empty.

I pulled out the cigar, placing it between my lips and lit it, still watching through the mirror above the mantel piece for her eventual farewell.

‘For goodness sakes Mary!’ cried Alastair. ‘If you want a night cap, just take one. There’s no good in dallying about, waiting for someone to offer you a drink under the pretence of modesty.’

‘Quite. Although I’m not sure which one.’ Mary protested. ‘Oh Ally, do give me advice.’

‘On condition that you stop calling me by that name.’

‘Alastair then… It is such a mouthful’

‘Ally is a name for females and servants, and since I am neither I am willing to let you have your mouth full of “Alistair, Alistair, Alistair”’

I grimaced at his choice of words, still with my back to the scene and still observing through the mirror. I was certain that the innuendo was deliberate.

While some might have looked at Alistair and seen a harsh exterior with a well-meaning heart, I saw him more as a gold-plated shit. He knew full well that Mary had tried to impress him all evening but as he had no interest in pursuing any form of courtship, he enjoyed – instead – watching her fluster and turn sharply back to the shelves of liquor bottles.

I glanced at Alastair now. He was back to reading his book with an unapologetic smirk.

‘Antony?’ Mary turned to me ‘What drink would you suggest a lady of my petite?’

I spotted his eyes rolling and ignored it.

‘It depends on what you feel like.’ I walked towards her taking another puff from my cigar. ‘What are you in the mood for?’

‘Something… sweet.’ She said with a grin and an exaggerated bob just to show off her femininity.

‘Might I suggest a liquorice?’ quipped Alistair.

‘The girl wants a drink!’ I replied before Mary could understand his remark. ‘This gin…’ I pulled a little dark bottle from the very back of the bottom shelf where I had hidden it for my own personal use ‘Sweet - Awfully expensive too so you must be careful. Will you ring the bell for me?’ I poured her a measure into one of the finer crystal whiskey glasses.

She skipped across to the fireplace to pull on the bell rope. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’ Then she came back and went to pick up the drink.

‘Wait! It’s not ready yet.’

‘Oh, do tell her.’ Alistair said, finally putting his book down with a jolt that told us both we were being far too noisy and inconsiderate for him to concentrate.

‘Tell me what?’

‘Consider it a lesson in etiquette.’ He got to his feet and stood remarkably close behind her. Purposefully, remarkably close. I was sure of it. I imagined it would be another one of his cruel games.

‘You should wait for Antony to hand you the drink. Loitering about here behind him like this is tactless.’

‘Alright.’

‘Go and take a seat over there and he’ll bring it to you once it’s ready… If he’s feeling kind.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ I reassured, feeling the need to show a little human compassion for her.

She walked around Alistair and took a seat in the chair closest to the fire.

Alistair shot her a glance. ‘Not that one!’

‘Be. Kind.’ I hissed, although not too discretely. I saw Mary give me a faint smile of appreciation.

‘It’s an ill choice for a lady of her petite.’ He was mocking her. Enjoying himself in front of his new audience member.

It was the perfect moment for Longman, the butler, to interrupt before the tension broke my spine. ‘You called?’

‘Some ice please, Longman’ I smiled ‘-and some lime. Cut, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Very good.’ He nodded before leaving and I turned back around to see Alistair elaborating on why her choice of chair was unsuitable. Something about not being able to sit up as a lady should. I decided to ignore it, think of other things and puff on the cigar until Longman returned. I thought of the meal we had just endured and the foreboding monotony of eating something almost identical tomorrow. I also thought of the stack of letters I had on my desk – the same letters I could hear screaming at me from across the house.

Although try as I might, my thoughts were no longer in my control. I wasn’t sure what was more invasive: the conversation behind me or the memories of Alistair’s own flirtations with me last night. His jabs and double entendre’ over the dinner table, cocky but still just out of ear shot from the others. Thankfully, the sharp knock at the door followed by Longman’s reappearance gave my concentration a third escape. I squeezed a quarter of a lime into each glass and left the peel floating before picking up the drinks and handing one to Mary.

‘Cheers.’ I held out my glass for her to chink. She realised too late and ungracefully tore the glass away from her lips, a bead of gin dribbling down her chin.

I continued to ponder about, briefly considering sitting down before realising I would then have to make conversation. There’s always excusing myself for the night. But morbid curiosity made me want to… No. Don’t even think that, Antony. It was silent again and my cigar was pulling hot drags as it wore to a nub. I dropped it in the fire and…

‘Oh, do sit down, Dormer!’ Alistair ordered.

I don’t know why, but I obeyed. Perching myself in the seat that the poor girl had been ordered out of just moments before.

Mary and I quietly sipped while Alistair stared into the hearth. It was all very out of place but at least he seemed comfortable.

‘How are you enjoying the gin?’ I asked. Not entirely without curiosity.

‘Oh, it is lovely.’ She sucked on her lower lip while searching for something else to say about it.

‘Good.’ I snapped the conversation shut.

‘Thank you… for using the rest of your gin on me. I don’t know an awful lot about fine drinks, but this is rather splendid.’

I raised my glass. Partly to accept her thanks. ‘I got a drink out of it too.’

She smiled and took a sip. Then another and another. I took me a moment to realise that she drunk every time Alistair glanced at her. Clearly, he had noticed too. It was like something from a pantomime, and he was having far too much fun as the villain. What was she going to do when got to the bottom of the glass? A reality that was fast approaching.

‘Alistair! What book are you reading?’

He looked over at me – thank goodness – and then down at his little publication. He told us that it was an omnibus of Chekhov’s short stories, and it was too fewer examples of his work to do him justice. All the time he talked he still glanced up at Mary and by the time he had finished, so had she. She gave a little hiccup, stood with an expected sway, and walked toward the drink’s cabinet.

‘Well thank you all. I will now be…’ she didn’t trust herself to finish her sentence. Instead, she pointed toward the door with small movements that didn’t require a lot of coordination. Taking a deep breath, she walked as best she could to the door. Opening it was a whole new obstacle I decided not to watch.

That was more than could be said for Alistair who observed the whole movement with a knowing amusement tugging his lips. ‘I noticed she left with the crystal glass.’ He pointed while looking back down at his book. ‘Pity. I’m quite fond of them.’

I decided to give him a smile and leave it at that. Although something was telling me that I had made a mistake to stay down when I could have gone to bed earlier and not be left alone with… him. I watched him read, and while he paid no attention to me, I had a suspicion he knew I was watching. All those things he had said last night while alone on the gallery. All those knowing looks he had given me at the table as I was pressed about my courtship with Miss Perruche. The way he pushed a finger into my chest like it was the most expected thing in the world. It was wrong – vile and vulgar – if it was what I thought it was. How dare he touch me, smirk at me like he had every right. And yet I was here when I could have been anywhere else. I gave him time when I could have shut him out. I don’t know when I stopped looking at him and reverted my gaze to the lime in my drink. I also hadn’t noticed when I started feeling the burn of his gaze on me instead. Not gaze, that made it sound like this could be acceptable, that he could be something else, a woman perhaps. Although if this were predatory, a game, a hunt, why did I feel like the prey? I used my drink as an excuse to tilt my head up and see if he actually was looking my way, or if I had just imagined it, like I had most likely just imagined everything else.

He was. He stared at me with unfaltering eyes. Not even the grace to pretend he wasn’t.

‘You ought to be more careful than that, Antony.’

Does he mean the looks? Did he assume I was looking at him with some sort of vulgar expectation?

‘Hiding drinks away for yourself. Next thing you know, you’ll be stashing whiskey in your desk cabinet for a morning pick-me-up.’

It took me a second to realise he was talking about the expensive gin I had stashed away out of sight. ‘Is it really that shocking to you that I hid gin in a drink’s cabinet? Nothing gets past you, does it, Ally?’

He decided to ignore my low blow. I would imagine it wasn’t worth the effort of scrubbing the eternal smugness off his face. ‘Should I put another log on the fire?’

I looked at the dying smoulder. Another log would be nice if I were staying up. Why am I not just heading to bed? ‘If you wish?’

He got up with grace, picked a large chunk of wood out of the log basket and shovelled it into the fire, picking up the poker for one last prod. Then he sat back down and resumed his reading. I considered heading to the library to pick something out. Something small and light to pass the time. No, it would be a futile attempt at pretending to read when we both knew I wasn’t actually. Too distracted, too present in the here and now. Instead, I did the best I could not to fidget and just stare into the hearth, focusing on the flames that bred across the fresh log like a colony. A colony that had discovered coal and used it to destroy the very place it resides.

The sound of Alistair giving up on his book for the third time distracted me and I involuntarily looked at him again.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

I smiled reluctantly. That was never going to happen.

‘Oh, do stop brooding, Antony. Miss Perruche can’t be worth it if you are sitting here with a face like that.’

‘My courtship has absolutely nothing to do with this.’

‘Oh, so you admit that you are in a mood. Is it me?’

I opened my mouth to protest before realising that it would be dishonest if I did. It was entirely him and what’s more the look on his face told me he knew that. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘I wouldn’t mind a scotch.’

Reluctantly, I made my way back to the cabinet. I wouldn’t give him a choice; he can have the cheap stuff from the front. I handed it to him, and he didn’t complain. Bastard.

A pause. ‘It isn’t you.’ I lied

He didn’t believe me. ‘So how is it with your new beau? Dry I would imagine.’

‘What makes you say it would be dry?’

‘Oh, you are so very naïve. She must go to church at least four times a week. By dry I mean you must be in need of a… release.’

‘If you are talking about what I think you are…’

‘All I am saying is that no-sex-before-marriage is a thing of the past. There are plenty of people out there getting their way.’

‘Stop it Alistair.’

‘Cut it out. I know about Christopher.’

It stopped me in my tracks. ‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘So what? You think you are the first boarding schoolboy to get fucked in the library?’

‘I didn’t- how dare you!’

‘Oh, so you were the fucker. Good to know.’ He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. How could he make such pointed remarks while sitting there so relaxed? ‘I must say, Chekhov has nothing on your diary.’

And all of a sudden all of it made sense. I could see it now, him alone in his room, one hand holding my diary from last year and the other in his waistband.

I chewed on my tongue. All my better judgement told me to stop talking. Leave for bed and maybe in the morning it would all be forgotten about. But I didn’t. ‘So, what do you want from me? You think I’m going to recreate my school days with you? You think we are going to sneak about the house just because we are bored. Because no woman will ever be good enough for you to settle down with?’

For the first time he seemed at a loss for words. Had I hit the spot? It occurred to me only now that was why he had seemed to swear off women. He was an actual sodomite. Of course, I had bent the rules in the past. A lot of people had in a boarding school, what with shared bunking with two dozen class mates every night. But that was different. Alistair actually chose men over women as a rule. I realised that my jaw had dropped on realisation. He had noticed.

‘Only if you wanted to.’ he said. He didn’t meet my eyes, just stared into his scotch glass as he swirled it. Was this vulnerability? Had his pursuit suddenly mellowed? ‘Of course,’ He was smirking again, and all his confidence was back in place; like a bobo-doll. ‘It would be fun though.’ You could knock him down, but he just bounced right back.

But what he had said made my chest collapse and a strange but familiar sensation run through every part of my body. Every part. Maybe it would be fun. His advances had suddenly seemed innocent enough. It was nothing new to me, apart from the lack of necessity. It would be like a sordid affair.

I chewed on the inside of my lip now, hoping that my face hadn’t betrayed me and my contemplation. ‘No’ I said, ‘It’s wrong.’ I stood up, necked the last of my gin and put the glass down on the drink’s cabinet. Then I picked up the bottle of scotch, leant over the back of the couch that Alistair was sitting on and poured a large measure into his glass. I was so close I could smell his cologne, the whiskey on his breath and the scent of recently laundered fabric. ‘But I’ll be by your chambers in twenty minutes to get my diary back.’

He turned his head to face me, nose nearly brushing mine. I saw his eyes flicker across my face. He knew exactly what I meant. I could hear a slight intake of breath and thought he was about to kiss me, but we both knew this wasn’t about kissing.

‘Bring the whiskey.’ I said, and then left.