Page 45 of By Any Means

Chary laughed—unexpectedly—and then felt guilty for doing so, and suppressed it with a hasty hand.

But surely, Laurie had meant him to find it funny. Or was he being goaded into doing so? Would laughter be condemnation of his character? It wasn’t funny that people should be propagandized into working for some imagined and nonexistent glory instead of fair pay. Especially to a socialist.

Laurie was eyeing him, so he supposed either way, he’d gotten it wrong.

“It’s all right to find humor in bleak things, you know.”

“So long as both parties understand that it is bleak?”

“Sure,” Laurie said softly. “But I’d say that was implicit in the joke.”

If only Laurie didn’t have such dark, kind-seeming, deceptive eyes. “It wasn’t. I don’t know your faith in me—or lack of it.”

“Yeah. I can see that. It’s mutual.”

“Mutual? You’ve accused me of murder, espionage, union-busting⁠—”

“You haven’t been honest with me, and folks have died. A source of mine.”

“You haven’t been honest with me!” Chary hissed. “And by the way, I find you very hot and cold.”

Laurie snorted. “Hot ’n’ cold. Says the man who held me up and then asked for a f⁠—”

He was cut off by the breakfast room door opening. It was Sarah, the lone housemaid, improbably bearing a fresh pot of coffee.

“Mr. Wright?”

“Good morning, Sarah. Can it be seven already?” He hadn’t put on his wristlet watch.

“Yes, sir.” Sarah took everything in stride—Chary’s being awake and not dressed, the already-laid buffet, Laurie’s presence—and said, “Do you need the fireplace laid?”

“No, thank you. I like the chill, and it’ll be hot shortly. Is that fresh?”

“Yes.” Sarah went to the buffet. Self-consciously, Chary watched her as she went to the table to refill their cups and back again. He felt keenly when Laurie leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles, bringing all of himself somehow closer—closer than any acquaintance would get.

“Barely up, isn’t he? Did you sleep alright?” Laurie asked him quietly. Lover’s spat? he mouthed. Yeah?

Across the room, Sarah moved slower than before, wiping the cold pot free of condensation, then wiping a tray.

“Yes,” Chary said, wary but meaningful; he nodded to Laurie. In for a penny, in for a pound. Why not? Laurie had said. And why not? August would’ve done it. “Thank you.”

Laurie acknowledged with a similarly meaningful nod. “Good,” he said. “You needed it, the way I left you.”

Chary choked on his coffee. Beneath the table, Laurie’s oxford nudged Chary’s tartan house slipper, pressing down lightly. Were male lovers really so casual and open—even in private? Maybe so. Laurie would probably know better than he. August too. Anybody would.

Sarah slipped out of the room, steps a little hastier than before.

“Was that necessary?” Chary muttered, when the housemaid was long gone down the hall, and he’d heard the baize door swing shut.

“Mm-hm,” Laurie hummed, low. “Terrible gossips, housemaids.”

“The human being is a terrible gossip,” Chary said, exasperated. “Surely, you didn’t have to go q-quite that far.”

“Maybe not, but isn’t it fun?” Laurie cocked his head. “Hang on. She’s coming back. Clever girl.”

Chary hadn’t heard it. “What⁠—”

“One makes themself conspicuous, leaves, and then comes back immediately, when it’s least expected,” Laurie said quickly, murmuring in Chary’s ear. All of him was so close, chills tramped rampant up Chary’s arms. “Or maybe”—he leapt out of his chair and pulled at Chary’s, scraped it sideways, turned it, Chary’s weight be damned—“somebody’ll have told her to go back and see what more spectacle she can catch us in.” He put himself between Chary’s surprised knees.