My dear Jude,

I read your letter with sorrow.

You have no need to apologise; you had received a shock and cannot be blamed. You would never say so, but if I was responsible for what happened, please find it in your heart to forgive me. It was never my intention to mislead or embarrass you.

You will know by now that I have cancelled our engagements. I saw no point in prolonging your discomfort. But if you could reply with your address in Yorkshire I will make sure you have your portion of our remaining salaries as they come to me. I do not expect to be at Rose Street for much longer, so reply with haste.

Thank you my Captain, for sharing your beautiful music with me, and thank you for your friendship. These months we have had will always be precious to me.

Yours always, NF, April 1895

Julian found it impossible not to cry again.

He folded the letter and put it into his jacket pocket. Later, in the afternoon, he took it out to re-read. There was something about the short, despondent note nagging at him. Why did Noel not expect to stay in Rose Street? He loved living there, at London’s chaotic centre, and he had never considered moving in all the time Julian had known him.

Except once, when he had spoken about going back to Mallory. Julian feared he was, again, planning this move.

He remembered months ago, crossing a pub to intervene in a dispute on behalf of someone he barely knew. Mallory had frightened him before he knew anything about him; he had seemed powerful, violent, and endlessly dangerous to Noel.

What kind of life would Noel have with Mallory? Julian was certain it would not be the one he envisaged. Noel was no fool, but there was a childlike quality about him; Julian had seen how he tended to take an uncomplicated view of the people he came across, accepting them at face value. He would believe it possible to build a life with Mallory because, for some reason, Mallory wanted him to believe it.

Why, he wondered, was Hitcher’s stall still permanently pitched at Rose Street? Months had passed, and he was still noting every coming and going. Why did Mallory still care to keep him on, if not because he had not yet given up on Noel?

When Julian left the house for the omnibus stop, it was with the intention of talking Noel out of the plan he was sure he was formulating.

~*~

His fears were confirmed when he arrived in Soho. Outside the house, a lad was stacking cases and boxes on to a cart. Upstairs, the flat door stood open; Noel was not there but Hitcher was inside, a vile intrusion. He leaned on his cane, supervising the packing up of Noel’s possessions by a gang of boys, who could only be his sons.

The place was transformed. The beautiful gowns that had hung along the wall of the living room had all been taken away, exposing fading wallpaper beneath. The chaos and clutter that so spoke of Noel had gone. The world had been drained of all colour and all life.

He pushed passed Hitcher into the bedroom. Here, the contents of drawers and wardrobe were being tipped into boxes. One boy was taking Noel’s paintings from the wall and tossing them into a crate. Furious, Julian snatched one away from him. It was the little crouching monkey.

“Take care with these. They’re not a pile of eels.”

Hitcher appeared in the doorway. “Something amiss, squire?”

“Yes. No. Where’s Mr Fielding?”

“He was here just a moment ago, sir,” one of the boys piped up, earning himself a hard stare from his dad.

Noel was not in the house or in Hercules Pillars, but he wasn’t hard to find. He rarely passed unnoticed, and one of the regulars had seen him wandering in the direction of Soho Square.

Julian found him on a bench there, sitting stiffly on the edge of the seat. He wore a black jacket that was too big for him, and something clenched around Julian’s heart when he realised it was his own, crumpled evening jacket.

“You’ve got monkey,” Noel said. Julian still had the painting, held protectively under his arm.

“They’re not treating your creatures very gently.”

“Poor things,” he replied.

He shifted over to make room on the bench, but Julian, who had suddenly remembered the embarrassment of the kiss, was too anxious to sit down.

“Have you come for your suit?” Noel asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m not going to need it again; I’m going back to teaching music.”

“You’re better than that. You mustn’t stop composing.”

“What about you? What are you giving up?” Noel only shrugged in response. “He’ll hurt you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But you do. He did before.”

Noel sighed. “Sit down, Jude,” he said. “I’m not contagious.”

Julian did as he was told.

“I know you think he’s a demon, and I don’t blame you. But, he’s different to when I first knew him; kinder, and gentler.”

“He was neither the times I met him.”

“Not by your standards, it’s true. No one could be. But we spent a lot of time together, and he was good to me.” He lowered his voice. “It wasn’t all tea and cucumber sandwiches. You do understand that?” He glanced at Julian when he didn’t answer. “Perhaps you don’t, you always think of me as better than I am.

“Noel, I wouldn’t trust him to pour you a cup of tea. You deserve better than someone who only wants to control you.”

“Honestly, I never knew you were such a romantic. Every second marriage is like this.”

“And are the others happy ones?” Julian asked.

“That’s not an option for me, is it?”

“Yes it is,” he said.

“With who?” A spark of interest lit Noel’s dulled, sad gaze.

“No, I mean –“ Julian hesitated. “What I mean is. No one is forcing you to go, you’re financially independent, you don’t need him.”

“Oh.” Noel turned away, giving up on the argument. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.”

When the silence became too much, Noel shrugged off Julian’s jacket, leaving it to fall onto the bench. “It doesn’t matter, Jude,” he said. “Don’t worry.” Then he walked away, without looking back.

Later Julian watched from the upstairs window of Hercules Pillars as the last of the carts left with Noel’s belongings. He saw Mallory’s Brougham draw up, and Noel get inside.

With the monkey painting held carefully, and his jacket forgotten, he started walking; following the carriage on foot, at the horse’s halting pace, to Bloomsbury. He saw Noel alight, and one of Mallory’s servants admit him to a fine, Georgian town house.

He watched the house from a safe distance, but he did not see Noel again. Eventually, when darkness had settled, and the lights in the house were extinguished, he reluctantly left.

~*~

Over the next week, before his return to Yorkshire, he made frequent visits to Bloomsbury. Each morning he concealed himself by a neighbour’s fence, and watched the comings and goings of Mallory’s household.

As the sun rose he saw the first sleepy appearances of maids and delivery boys, the scrubbing of the doorstep, the polishing of the brass, the tumble of coal into the cellar. And once, as the curtains of an upper window opened, a glimpse of a young woman, brushing long dark hair.

Mallory left the house every day at half past ten. Julian normally gave up his vigil shortly after; at least temporarily persuaded Noel was no longer in immediate danger.

He could not rest so he began to walk. He walked miles each day, with no destination. His routes were haphazard and he hardly noticed his surroundings. Once, he followed the river so closely his feet were wet, but he had no consciousness of the floating traffic of barges and steamers that must have been there.

All he did was listen to the whispering sound of a small, inner voice. The voice had always spoken to him, but he had let it go unheeded. He now heard it urgent and insistent, above all other thoughts.

It had been trying, he knew, to send him back to Noel, even though this wasn’t in any way possible. It just wasn’t. Noel had gone to Mallory of his own volition. He had gone because he hated to be alone and he had, once again, been deserted. But Julian couldn’t stay. The kiss they had shared could not be talked about, or even thought about. It was sin, crime and shame all together. So he had to leave. He had to leave, no matter how loud the voice screamed at him to stay.

His walks always returned him to Bloomsbury, aching, hungry and exhausted. Mallory normally returned from his business day at four or five o’clock, but often went out again at dinner time. He never brought Noel to dine with him, and Julian began to suspect Mallory was preventing him from leaving the house.

There were times he could barely stop himself banging on the door and demanding to see Noel; when he believed he would have no peace unless he saw him for one last time. But he knew it would probably be dangerous for Noel if he did, and anyway, seeing him once would not be enough. This realisation alone resulted in at least one sleepless night.

It was the morning of the day he was due to travel, when he at last knew what to do.

He had started, through wakeful nights, restless days, and a panicked sense of running out of time, to understand and define his feelings for Noel. He stared at the walls of his room and learnt to compare them to the feelings a husband might have for a wife. Revelation though this was, it did not begin to express the overwhelming desire he had to be with Noel now he was away from him.

And instead of denying his feelings, instead of picking up and running, as he was still instinctively inclined to, he recalled the taste of Noel’s lips and invoked the single-mindedness Yorkshire men prided themselves in. He began to question his belief that these feelings were wrong.

Who had told him they were? Not his father, whose ghost at least, was at ease with the idea. He had learned it from those who believed themselves qualified to tell others how to live their lives; churchmen, politicians, and those newspaper writers who were speaking so unkindly of Oscar Wilde during his current troubles.

What right had they to tell him how to behave when, he was (reasonably) sure, none of them had ever kissed Noel, none of them…loved him…and so did not have any idea of what they were talking about?

If Noel wanted someone, could he not have Julian? He knew he was poor and dull, and ignorant of the world, but as long as Noel liked him even the tiniest bit better than Mallory, he could save him from a terrible fate and, he finally realised, save himself as well. He abandoned his packing and left his lodgings.

He waited until late morning, when Mallory was sure to be out, before knocking at the door of the Bloomsbury house. The last few days of distracted roaming had taken a toll on his appearance, and the butler seemed startled to find him on his master’s doorstep.

He became more nervous when Julian asked to see Noel, and informed him the gentleman was indisposed. But Julian was persistent, and when the butler unexpectedly admitted to having seen and enjoyed Lady Patricia’s performance on one of his evenings off, he was ushered inside.

He was shown into a finely decorated parlour, at the front of the house, and left alone to wait. The house was quiet, but he was sure he heard the sound of a key unlocking a room on the floor above.

When Noel finally appeared he was wearing a pale, blue gown of Lady Patricia’s, but no wig or stage make up.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said quietly, closing the door and standing against it, as if to stop anyone else entering. “And what happened to you, you look ill?”

“Why are you dressed like that?” Julian asked. “Are you performing this afternoon?”

“No, I -” Noel sighed. “At the moment. I can’t seem to get to any of my other clothes. They’re locked away somewhere.”

Julian stared at him.

“He’s a proud man, and he hasn’t forgiven me for leaving him before. I’ve just got to make him trust me again.”

“But he’s locked you up too, hasn’t he?”

Noel hushed him as his voice rose. “Be quiet. Please. It’s just going to take time.”

“Noel,” Julian said. “I can’t leave you here.”

“You can, I’m well and I’m here by choice. Tell me what you want and then, I’m sorry, you’ve got to go.”

Julian gathered himself, taking a bold step closer to Noel so they faced each other by the parlour door. “You said before, that a happy marriage isn’t possible for you.”

“Oh Jude, I can’t keep arguing with you –“

“Have one with me,” Julian said. “Have a happy marriage with me.”

“What?” Noel’s eyes were wide, and Julian’s own words, said out loud frightened him too.

“Live with me. I –“

“I don’t think you understand,” Noel said. “I’m not looking for a friend; no one could be a better friend than you. It’s more than that.”

“I do understand. If I could, I’d put a ring on your finger.”

“You’re serious,” Noel breathed. He closed his eyes, and moments passed before he spoke. “No,” he said.

“Noel?”

“But I thank you.” His hand closed around Julian’s and Julian gripped it hard in return. “You’ve always held my heart.”

“But then, why not?”

“It’s not what you want. You need a good Yorkshire wife who won’t embarrass you in the street, not a soft southerner who doesn’t know whether he’s a boy or a girl.”

“No, I’ve thought about it, all those things don’t matter. We were happy. Weren’t we?”

Noel smiled. “We were.”

“I – I kissed you.”

“It was a beautiful thing.”

“Then, I don’t understand”

“Jude, listen to yourself. I’ve made you wrong.”

“It wouldn’t be wrong,” Julian said firmly. “How could it be wrong?”

Noel looked surprised; it was evidently not a question he had ever entertained. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’ve never been more certain.”

“When did you last sleep? You’ve just lost your dad, you’re not yourself.”

“I am myself,” Julian claimed dizzily.

“Aye Captain, there’s no other like you,” Noel soothed. “But it would be impossible. This kind of life isn’t for you.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, at last defeated.

“Yes,” Noel placed a soft kiss on Julian’s cheek. “I’m sure.”

He was standing on the pavement staring at the stony facade of the British Museum when he came to his senses.

~*~

Julian had little choice but to travel to Yorkshire as he had planned. He found comfort in the familiar landscape of hills and estuary, and in the broad vowels and unexpectedly warm welcomes of his countrymen. But he always carried a yellow silk scarf in the pocket of his jacket, and each time his hand brushed across its gossamer surface, he ached with guilt and regret.

His father’s house was a cottage, away from the town. It had its own half-acre of land, which his mother had kept as an orchard up until her death. Julian had grown up used to the space, and a solitary existence as an only child, but now he found it eerily empty. For the first few days he could not accustom himself to the absence of carriage wheels and horses hooves outside his window, or to not encountering acrobats at their ablutions in the bathroom.

His cousin had dismissed the maid and housekeeper, keeping only the gardener on. He did not re-employ them, to air the rooms or hold the dust at bay. He could not feel at home or at ease anywhere while Noel was alone with that man.

There was an upright piano in his father’s study; the one Julian had learnt to play on. He rarely ventured into other rooms, sleeping on a daybed there.

His mother had framed the maps his father collected, and hung them on the study wall. He passed his nights, tracing great journeys across the continents by the light of a burning out hearth fire; the complaining calls of the seagulls keeping him awake as they never used to.

The work of executing the will was unending. There seemed to be countless letters to write and records to check. He tried to work in the weeks that passed between anything happening. He did not teach music as he had told Noel he would, because he did not intend to stay, but he tried to compose. He spent hours at the piano, sometimes working but, as often, puffing at his pipe and gazing out of the large leaded windows on to his mother’s orchards.

Things went a little better when he took Noel’s monkey painting, and hung it above the piano. It frightened him that his ability to create depended so much on another person. A person he might never be allowed to speak to again.

He returned to London less than three months after he had left, despairing of ever concluding the business of his father’s estate. The few scores he had written while in the north were in his suitcase. They were meant as music hall songs, but he had lyrics for none of them. He believed they needed a lighter hand than his own.

He found Noel’s old rooms had become vacant again, and he spent most of what was left of his savings on the rent of them. It was not the magical place he remembered, not without Noel; but the wrought iron bed was still there, as was the piano and the overstuffed sofa. He hung the monkey painting in its original position above the bed. It was a start.

Julian learnt from his landlady that Lady Patricia had recently returned to the stage. So after his first night, in what he could only think of as Noel’s bed, he spent a mild summer morning walking around to the West End halls.

He found him on the bill at three, and buying one of the few remaining tickets, he went to see the first show of the evening, joining the mayhem of the upper circle.

Noel came on stage in one of his old gowns, a red and silver creation of Lizzie’s, lucent under the stage lights. The unruly crowd hushed as he appeared.

The quality of Noel’s female impersonation had undeniably improved and, even from these poor seats, it was possible to see why. He always looked more feminine the thinner and lighter he was, and now there seemed almost nothing left of him.

The act had also changed. The cheeky humour had gone from the Lady’s delivery, and the songs seemed more serious. Noel’s voice, accompanied by his old pianist (the traitor), was still strong, and the audience were appreciative, but to Julian, there was something missing. Noel had always known he was a better comic than singer; he would not be enjoying this.

Julian too missed performing their own songs, and daft husband and wife comedy. By the end they had been so in tune with one another they would wander far from the script, feeding off the responses of the audience and their own natural synchronicity. Sitting alone with his piano, as much as he loved it, did not compare.

Noel whispered something to his pianist before announcing his final song, ‘the boy I love is up in the gallery.’ When Noel seemed to look straight at him, Julian felt as though he was waking from a dream.

He waited at the stage door, with the same sense of unreality. Noel had never been far from his thoughts in the time they had been apart, but it was hard to imagine finding him solid and human, and close enough to touch.

When he saw him, he was still in costume, and he had his pianist with him. They were hurrying to a waiting Brougham. Noel’s eyes widened as he saw Julian, but he walked on without acknowledging him.

He understood immediately why he had been ignored. He understood the precarious position Noel must still be in. But tonight he was incapable of keeping away. He waited at the second theatre until after the show, standing among a small crowd by the stage door, so he could see without being seen.

But when Noel left with his pianist, he must have been feeling equally reckless; he stopped and sought Julian out. Julian approached, putting out his hand. Noel hesitated, glancing back at the traitor before taking it.

“Mr Barratt.” Noel said, greeting him formally. “Do you have business here?”

“Good evening, Mr Fielding,” he replied. “I have written some music, and thought perhaps you might be interested.”

“I’m sorry, no. Everything is arranged by my manager.”

“The songs have no words.”

“That is sad, but I can’t help you. Good evening, Mr Barratt.”

He went to the third theatre because he did not believe in Noel’s distant words. They told a different story to the white-gloved hand, which had so fiercely and desperately gripped his own.

This time Noel left by himself. He had changed out of his costume, and was dressed for dinner in a suit, a long green velvet coat and felt hat. There was an element of coordination to the ensemble which was somehow disappointing. If he didn’t pick out his six favourite things from the wardrobe, regardless of occasion or coordination, perhaps dressing up wasn’t as much fun any more. Or perhaps he still had no say in the matter.

Noel’s eyes were as expressive as they ever were, and Julian saw he was glancing pointedly at the carriage waiting a few steps away at the kerb.

“Perhaps I was not clear, Mr Barratt,” he said.

Julian held out the yellow silk scarf. It had been folded into the pocket of every jacket he had worn since their final performance.

“I apologise for disturbing you again, but you dropped this at the Strand.”

“I -, yes I wondered what had become of it.”

Julian made sure Noel heard the rustle of the paper folded into the scarf. The note inside contained an address. He did not dare write a message.

“Thank you, Mr Barratt.” Noel said, stuffing the scarf into his pocket and hurrying away as the carriage door opened.

He waited at home on the following day, but received no callers. In the evening he met Mangassarian for a drink in the Crown.

Of all in London he was the only one Julian had kept in touch with. Mangassarian wrote surprisingly cheerful letters about the hall folk and their gossip, feeding Julian’s growing need to return to that life. He never mentioned any further communications with deceased members of his family, and Julian thought this for the best. Life was confusing enough without the opinions of the dead. Noel had been right on that particular score.

“Have you spoken to Fielding recently?” He asked Mangassarian, as casually as he could.

“He no longer speaks to me,” the Professor said. “Or makes the dancers laugh in the wings. He barely even scratches the head of his friends the collie dogs. His manager spirits him away after every performance. And always I have his grandmother in my ear, asking why the Yorkshire man is not there.”

“Damn,” Julian said, almost on his feet. “I’m going to go and get him.”

Mangassarian shook his head. “Let him find the right time to come to you. To receive a visitor would, I believe, cause him a great deal of trouble.”

~*~

It was three long days later on Saturday night that Julian came home from Hercules Pillars to find Noel waiting for him.

He was sitting on the floor in the lamp-lit near-darkness outside Julian’s rooms, the cat stretched out by his side. He stroked its fur with tense thoroughness, and although he smiled his eyes were those of a hunted animal.

“What cheer, old friend?” Noel asked, his greeting hesitant.

He was wearing a suit and his long green coat, but as he got to his feet, Julian could see he had dressed in a hurry. He had no jacket or hat, his shirt was collarless, and his hair unruly from where he had hastily removed his wig.

“Can I come in?” Noel prompted gently.

Inside, Julian lit candles, and at last found his voice. “Are you staying?” He asked.

In the flickering light he saw Noel’s smile had dissolved.

“Jude,” he began. “I know you didn’t mean those things you said at Mallory’s house. I know it was a bad time for you. I just need a day or two –“

“Please stay. Please Noel. Don’t go back to him.”

“I’m not. I mean I can’t. He’s away on business, and I gave his driver the slip after the final show. The girls at the Palace helped me, they smuggled me out. He would kill me for that. But I won’t have to bother you for long, I -”

“Stay with me.”

“Jude –“

“Stay with me. Stay.”

Noel bit his lip and, finally, gave a half-nod of ascent.

“I’ll never leave.”

For a long time they stood close, Noel’s fingertips making soft circles through the taller man’s hair, Julian’s tears dampening the velvet of his coat.

Later, Julian unlaced the ribbons on the corset Noel had not had time to take off when he escaped the theatre, and he rolled down the stockings he still wore under his suit trousers. He gave him his dressing gown to wear and, with warm water, he washed smears of half-removed makeup from Noel’s face. It was impossible not to notice how thin he was now, how frail the normally invincible body seemed to be.

Julian poured him a brandy and sat beside him on the old sofa. He put his arm around Noel’s shoulders. His courage had failed him the last time they were here together, it would not again. Noel responded cautiously, moving close, moulding his body to Julian’s.

“I don’t understand,” Julian said. “Why didn’t you leave him before?”

“It wasn’t so easy. I had nothing of my own, no clothes except the Lady’s, no money, no room except a locked one, not even a pair of shoes to get to the end of the road in.”

“My love.” The unfamiliar endearment fell easily from Julian’s lips, and he felt Noel’s shiver as his own.

“And I am a bit simple. I still thought I could make him trust me. But it was hopeless; I can only think it was all done for revenge. Right from the beginning it was all he wanted. I should have listened to your warnings.”

I was fortunate his business was in difficulty and he wanted me back on the stage, otherwise I don’t know when I would have been able to get away.”

“What else did he do to you, Noel?” When he had helped him undress, Julian had seen bruises.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“I’ve never wanted to kill anyone before.”

Noel burrowed further into Julian’s embrace. “Someone will one day, but not you, gentle Julian. We must be careful, though; he will come for me. He will come for you too.”

“He won’t succeed.”

“Aye Captain, I believe you. I’ve been so lucky to find you, and I bring you nothing but ill-fortune.”

“No, Noel. You’ve saved me.”

Noel looked up at him in wonder. “You’re a dark horse, aren’t you? You are truly easy with this?”

“My eyes are open at last.”

“What would your father think?”

“He approves of you. Or so I hear.”

“From our friend the Professor? How odd, I don’t even approve of me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Noel. Why should you always think this way?”

“When did you become so modern?” Noel stared into the dark gold of his drink. “What a day that was, Jude. When you arrived at Mallory’s house, with your wild eyes and marriage proposals. You said our being together wouldn’t be wrong.”

“It can’t be,” Julian insisted. With this, if nothing else, he was on steady ground.

“My whole life has been secrecy and artifice. I’ve always believed everything about me was shame and disgrace.”

“You were so young, and all you had was him,” Julian said. “No wonder you thought you should be suffering. I was luckier.”

“But Jude, speak to me honestly. Are you certain of what you’re doing? What kind of life you’ll be leading?”

“Aye, believe me.”

“I’m not a girl, you do understand?”

“So you say.”

“Shut up. All right, perhaps a little.”

“Be what you are, Noel. And wear what you like; you can go about as Sarah Bernhardt for all I care.”

“Bernhardt was last season. But I like that. I like that you don’t care about the clothes. For him, they were everything.”

Finally, in the silence there was only Noel’s breathing, and in the candlelight there was only Noel’s head lightly against his shoulder, as natural as if this was where it always rested. Julian’s hand drifted through Noel’s hair until he knew by the change in his breathing that he fell asleep.

He inched sentinel arms around him, marvelling at the miracle now unfolding in his life.

Why had he come to London almost two years ago? He had felt settled enough at home, following the well-worn paths of his life, never aware of being unhappy. He taught music to children, worried about winter moth in the apple trees, played organ for the church choir every Sunday and accompanied the local orchestral band from practice to pub each Thursday evening.

But as his thirty third year passed without event, he planned his journey south. He was conscious of seeking modest adventure; he had wanted to participate in life as others did and not always watch from the outside, he had wanted to find somewhere to belong.

But it was only now he understood all this was but the surface of his desire, it was only now he knew the true reason he had come to London. He had come to find Noel.

“Jude?” Noel whispered as he awoke.

“Hmmm?”

“Do you have a bed in these fine rooms of yours?”

“Yes, Noel. I have decided to keep it in the bedroom.”

“Always so conventional,” Noel yawned. “Then, let us go to it.”

“I, yes -”

“You don’t want us to?”

“No, it’s not…I’ve no idea what I’m doing,” he confessed, blushing.

“Ah well,” Noel murmured, still mostly asleep. “Six positions before sunrise should see you right, young man.”

“Oh, right. Yes.”

“At ease, soldier, just a joke.” Noel reached up to cover Julian’s mouth with his own. Warm and brandy-tasting, the kiss was a promise.

He took Julian’s hand, and by the last, burning out light, led him to the bedroom.

~*~

As it transpired, they had to quickly abandon London, only returning months later when it was safe again.

As Noel had predicted, Mallory did not take his escape well. Julian was twice aware of being followed by a stranger as he left the Rose Street house. He kept to the busiest streets but was sure his shadow stayed with him, melting away into the crowd when he turned to look.

Then a fire started when Julian was alone upstairs. As Noel returned home one day, he saw the top-hatted figure of Hitcher fleeing by the front door, his black bird an omen in the darkening sky. Running in, Noel discovered the landlady’s ground floor sitting room alight. The fire had not spread and he quickly extinguished it.

He rushed up the smoke-filled stairs, expecting to find a dead body. Instead he found a live one, gazing out of the window and wondering why his pipe smelt so strong today.

He had flung himself into Julian’s arms, and held tight to him. Julian had never before seen Noel unable to master his emotions, and tried inexpertly to comfort him. Noel could not speak at first, but Julian eventually smelt the smoke in his hair and clothes and guessed what had happened.

“We have to leave London,” Julian said, when they had helped the landlady salvage what they could of her room, and prise her indignant cat out from the top of a cupboard. “Just for a time, until it’s safe.”

“With what? Mal has all my money, your lawyer has yours, and you’ll not see your security deposit on these rooms, you can be sure of that.”

“Could we join a touring company?”

“It would take time to arrange and I don’t think we have any to spare.”

“We can go to Yorkshire,” Julian suggested finally. “I have a house there. It stands alone in its own small grounds. We would never be disturbed.”

“Jude, you can’t take me to Whitby. Look at me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Be serious. I can’t be normal, even if I try. They won’t turn a blind eye.”

“They won’t understand. Most of them don’t know this exists.”

“You can’t rely on that anymore, Jude. Everyone’s heard of Oscar now.” It was true, the talk in town had been of little else. “In fact you’d probably be better off taking Oscar with you.”

“What if I didn’t come to Yorkshire with a man, what if I came with a woman?”

“Oh,” Noel said. “I see.”

The success of Noel’s impersonation relied partly on his skill, and partly on people tending to see what they expect to see. Lady Patricia retired and Mrs Barratt took the stage. He dressed plainly, spoke little, and wore a wedding ring when he walked with Julian to do the marketing or to watch a band play in the public gardens. Those they met were too polite to comment on the teacher’s son and his unusual looking wife.

But mostly they stayed home together; in the bedroom mapping one another’s bodies, and in his father’s study, writing songs and planning their return to the halls. When he was not upsetting Julian by trying on his mother’s crinolines, Noel took up his paint brush and began a new menagerie.

They stayed in Yorkshire for almost six months before receiving news from London. Mangassarian reported the coast clear for their return following Mallory’s hasty departure for France, encouraged by the interest the police were taking in some aspects of his business. Mangassarian seemed to know a lot more about it than he was letting on. Julian wondered who had been whispering to him; perhaps even the spirits of the dead wanted rid of Mallory.

Mangassarian talked a lot about other universes and other worlds. Julian found his letters wistful. He liked to present Spiritualism as a science but beneath this surface, was a longing for a more understanding world; a warm, kind place with room for an oddity such as he.

Julian understood the longing because once he had shared it. Now the only universe he needed existed in Noel’s eyes, the only warmth was provided by a yellow silk scarf.

End

Jackie Thomas

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The Yellow Silk Scarf

Chapter 3

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Jackie Thomas

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Chapter 3

Contents

Jackie Thomas

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Series

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Challenges

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Disclaimer