well yes!

1 Prologue: Under the Greenwood Tree

2 The Estate Problem (Volt)

3 The American (Eddie)

4 Breaker Hall (Volt, Eddie)

5 A Week Later (Eddie, Volt)

6 Groundskeepers (Eddie, Volt)

7 The Hill (Eddie, Volt)

8 The Cottage (Eddie, Volt)

9 Into the Woods (Eddie)

10 The Solicitor

11 The Letter

12 A Town Outing

13 Interlude: Come Hither, Come Hither

14 The Solicitor, Again

15 Good Lord

16 My Azizam

17 Coda: Into the Greenwood

18 Epilogue

—

a/n:

This fic is an ode to all the English lit I read when I was younger. While I think of the idyll of the English country estate very differently now, I (unfortunately) still have a fondness for it that’s stayed with me all these years (to this day, a solid English novel can take me out of a reading slump). Of course, the idea of the English greenwood as a pastoral paradise is an elusive concept because it’s not actually real, though it retains a kind of romantic appeal anyway. This fic stages that idyll as a faux paradise, one that in reality is a site for a declining aristocracy post-WWI, class conflict, imperialism, and sexual awakening against societal norms.

Anyway, this is all preamble - this fic is really about Volt and Eddie fucking their way through an English estate and its surrounding woodlands, crazy style 🙂‍↕️

We have stories we hold closer to our hearts more than others, and for the moment, this is mine. (hands the fic to u with a kiss) pls enjoy 🫶

PS - updates will generally be every 2 weeks (fridays), general tags for future chapters have been added but any spoilery tags will be added later

PPS - any relevant historical/character context and date everything references will be found at the end of each chapter

From the half-open door, you’re greeted by the welcome sight of Eddie fucking Volt very slowly. You watch his cock slowly disappear into Volt, then watch as he pulls out even slower.

Volt’s ass is canted to the air, his arms restrained behind his back. His head is pressed onto the mattress, the side of his face rubbing against the sheets.

A low whine escapes his throat, “Eddie… touch-“

“No.” Eddie tightens his hold on Volt’s wrists.

He steadies the hand on Volt’s hip, his fingers digging a little, keeping Volt from getting some much needed friction on his cock.

“My pace, remember?”

Volt groans but nods.

Eddie continues to fuck Volt at a glacial pace, driving into him in a slow drag. He slid his cock from Volt’s ass, let the head of it stretch the entrance, almost pulling out completely, before pushing inside him again.

Volt actually whimpers.

You watch from the threshold, peering into the room.

You push the door open.

Eddie locks eyes with you as he rolls his hips into Volt again, smirking as he does.

Volt notices you instantly - he always does. Through heavy lidded eyes, he looks at you, “Live wire…”

“Yes, Volt?” You approach him.

“Please touch me, darling, please-“ he tries to reason with you, his bright eyes attempting to meet your gaze, wordlessly pleading.

You brush a few strands of his hair away from his face, the momentary heat a welcome feeling on your fingertips.

“Why are you asking me, Volt?” You pout a little, tipping his chin up with a finger.

He whines, his brows knitting in frustration, “Darling, please touch me, for amp’s s-sake-“

You stifle a laugh and look at Eddie instead, “Hi, Eddie.”

“Hey, spark.” He lets go of Volt’s hip to reach for you, and you meet him in a kiss.

You run a hand down his chest, your fingers brushing across a nipple, tracing up and down his sides. He hums into your mouth, “Mm, that feels good, baby.”

You give him another kiss then pull away.

He smirks at you, “He looks good like this, huh?”

Volt tries to turn to face you completely - Eddie’s hold makes it a futile attempt. Still, you smile and nod.

“Oh, Volt. How pretty you look like this.” You sit beside him on the bed, legs tucked under you.

You grab his face lightly, fingers pressing into his cheeks.

“What did you want again?”

He huffs a breathless laugh - it ends in a low groan as Eddie bucks his hips with a bit more force.

“D-darling…”

His cock was red and swollen, trailing a pool of precum on the sheets, barely touching the fabric, but certainly not for lack of trying.

Eddie’s hand digs into his hip to pull him closer, keeping his ass in the air, his cock swinging as Eddie rocks into him, as they rock together. Eddie mutters, “Our baby…”

“Both of you, please, please-”

Volt pants into the sheets, arms straining a little in Eddie’s hold as he tries to figure out how to give his hips a little leverage, as he tries to give himself some much needed friction, all to no avail.

He gives up, and instead tries to plead with you again.

“My darling… I’ll do anything, please, please touch-”

You look at Eddie, “Has he been good, Eddie? Does he deserve to come?”

“Up to you, spark.”

He traces the line down Volt’s back, looking at you and smiling. He shrugs, “A little whiny, but-”

Volt is quick to negotiate, “Alright, I won’t, I won’t-”

He looks at you and mouths, darling please, his eyebrows knitting.

You’d laugh if he didn’t actually look so lovely like this - a little pathetic, a little debauched, a little desperate.

You lean in to kiss his neck - he turns his head slightly, tries to meet you, but you pull away again. “Live wire-”

You trace his jaw, feeling almost sick with fondness at how he looked, before finally deciding to indulge him.

“Yeah, baby? You being a good slut for Eddie?”

“Yes, darling, I promise you-“

“You making him feel good?”

You run a nail along Volt’s jaw, tracing down his neck.

His eyes flutter shut.

“Just made for him, aren’t you?”

He lets out a low moan. Your fingers press at his throat.

“Made for him to fuck?”

He whines and nods.

“Like this was your real purpose all along…”

Eddie closes his eyes in pleasure, rocking a little faster into Volt. You hear him mumble a low fuck - guess your words are affecting him, too.

You stroke Volt’s shoulders, sending your fingertips to trace the straining muscles along his arms.

“Just so good for our Eddie, hmm?”

You pinch a nipple.

He gasps.

“D-darling, please touch-”

“I’m already touching you, Volt.”

He groans, head falling back onto the sheets, forehead pressing into the mattress in frustration.

“Oh, I know,” you say, affecting the same lilting voice he liked to use with you, this almost saccharine fake pitying tone. You tsk, a hand on his face.

Eddie forces himself to slow down again, undulating his hips at a more languid pace.

Volt makes a frustrated sound in return. He’d bite back with something sarcastic if he weren’t so preoccupied, if he weren’t currently so determined to get what he wanted.

You drag a lazy finger across his jaw as Eddie continues to roll his hips, humming low. He runs a hand along Volt’s side, lingering when he passes his hips. He gives Volt’s ass a squeeze.

Volt moans, nosing your fingers, desperate for any contact at all, a hazy pleading look in his eyes, the blush on the tops of his cheeks slowly turning a lovely lavender.

You decide to finally take pity on him. “Alright, baby.”

You bury a hand in his hair, pulling a little, feeling the warmth of it press into your palm.

“You wanna be good for me, too?”

Volt nods instantly.

He likes it like this, you discovered. He could easily physically resist Eddie, overpower him, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the feeling of being forced to relinquish control, wanted to be made to beg.

Wanted to be given a chance to please.

“Okay, I’ll think about touching your cock.”

You collect a little precum from the wet patch on the sheets, then press those same fingers against his mouth.

“Suck, Volt.” You pull at his lip. “Show me how good you can give it first.”

He instantly takes your fingers into his mouth, his tongue enveloping them in a hurry, lapping at them in a desperate, almost drunken sucking motion, spreading saliva around your fingers.

You feel the soft pad of the underside of his tongue pressing against your fingernails.

You retract your fingers. “Good, baby.”

You use your spit coated fingers to lubricate him, then finally hold his cock in your hand, running your thumb backwards and forwards along his swollen length.

He moans loudly, eyes squeezed tight, his face contorted in instant relief it almost looked like anguish. “Thank you thank you thank you-”

“Yeah? Feels good?”

“Y-yes, darling, yes.”

“You wanna come?”

“I-I do, live wire, p-please.” He nods profusely.

You continue stroking his cock, slowly building up a rhythm.

“Y-yes, yes-“ The relief was palpable in his voice now, “Live wire…“

He tries his best to look at you, “P-please, spark, faster-”

Negotiates with his bright eyes, “I… I n-need to come please-”

“Hmm.” You smile at him. “Okay, Volt. You will.”

“But can you do something for me first?”

“Yes anything darling I’ll give you anything at all-”

“Ask Eddie to fuck you harder.”

He obeys instantly, the nonsensical pleading falling from his lips, “Eddie harder please fuck me please fuck me harder-”

Eddie laughs, “…fucking brat.” He obliges Volt anyway, moaning low as he does, rolling his hips harder.

Volt moans and rocks forward slightly.

“Yeah? Letting Eddie fuck you like a good toy?” You thumb the head of his cock and mutter, “Such a pretty toy for us to play with…”

You fist him faster, rewarding him.

“Oh amp, I’m close live wire p-please-”

“Yeah? Fuck his cock like a good slut.” You tighten your fist. “Show me you deserve to come.”

Volt fucks back on Eddie’s cock, hips moving clumsily, thighs shaking with the effort.

Eddie’s hips stutter as he fucks Volt faster, harder, his arms straining a little as he tightens his hold on Volt’s wrists. “S-shit-”

“Oh, good Volt.” You continue stroking him, keeping the tightness of your fist, his head rubbing against your palm.

“See, you’re making Eddie feel even better now.”

You fondle Volt’s balls with your other hand, thumb rubbing on the skin. You move past it, your fingers caressing his hole, feeling Eddie’s cock slowly slide in and out. Eddie moans when your fingertips find his cock. He fucks Volt faster, clenching his jaw.

You move back again, rubbing the underside of Volt’s balls. You cup them in your palm, then tighten the fist around his cock.

“Live wire, fuck-”

You smile, loving how he was falling apart - sometimes all you wanted was to get Volt to swear in bed.

“Oh amp I’m-”

“You gonna come for me, Volt?”

“Yes yes yes, live wire-”

He fucks himself on Eddie, hips moving back and forth - fucking back on Eddie’s cock then into your fist, over and over-

“D-darling I’m c-close…”

His hips move faster as he chases his own pleasure, “Oh a-amp, oh amp-”

You rub your thumb on the head of his cock, and he comes, spurting on the sheets below.

He clenches hard around Eddie, and you feel his taint throbbing against your fingers.

Above him, Eddie groans, head tipped back, brows knitting, “Vooolt-“

Volt moans through his orgasm, whining repeatedly against the sheets.

You stroke him through it; Eddie fucks him through it.

Eddie bucks his hips, fucking deeper into him.

“Fuck, fuck-“ he grunts urgently, stuttering into Volt, hips pressing against his ass as he comes inside him. His hands tighten their hold on Volt’s wrists and his chest heaves, rising and falling as he rides through his orgasm.

A drop of sweat falls down his throat. A part of you wants to lick it off.

Below him, Volt whimpers as he starts coming down, his eyes closed, his mouth falling open in a pant, a drop of drool falling onto the sheets. You slow your fist around his cock.

After a few minutes, you let go.

He gasps into the sheets.

He finally tries to speak, still panting softly, “Oh, darlings…”

Eddie makes a soft sound, and gives a last weak buck of his hips, before finally letting go of Volt’s arms.

They fall to his sides, and he steadies himself on the bed. He opens his eyes, looks to you, looks to Eddie in satisfaction.

Eddie runs his hands on Volt’s hips as he pulls out.

“Volt, our baby,” he whispers, leaning in to press small kisses above Volt’s ass, slowly working his way along his back. He places his hands on Volt’s hips, gently lowering them on the bed.

Then he climbs on top of Volt, his front pressing onto Volt’s back, lazily nuzzling into his skin.

“I hope you don’t mind the weight, baby.”

“I don’t mind anything at all, darling.”

You run a thumb across Volt’s cheek. He tilts his head to press close to your fingers.

Eddie gently pushes his hair to one side, continues to press soft kisses on the back of his neck.

Volt hums at all the attention.

He smiles up at you, reaching up weakly, stretching out his arms slowly, like he was coming off a dream. “You come here, too, live wire.”

“Okay.”

You smile back at him, and lie on your side beside them, head on your hand, elbow resting on the bed. You run your fingers along Eddie’s back, and he hums softly under your touch, eyes falling closed, smiling lazily, almost half unconsciously.

He looks so peaceful like this, resting on top of Volt - you smile at the thought of him dozing off on Volt like this, looking like a real possibility with each passing second, his breath slowly evening out.

You lean a little closer to Volt. He meets your gaze and lifts his brows slightly.

You push the hair away from his face and whisper, “You did so good.”

He chuckles, “Mm? I’m glad, darling. Will you please kiss me now, though?” You laugh.

For the first time that evening, you finally lean in to kiss him - taking your time, humming into it, paying homage.

“Love you, Volt.”

With his outstretched hand, he embraces you, gripping you tightly, not letting go.

He presses a kiss to your lips.

“And I you, live wire.”

He’d known Volt, what, just a few weeks now? (Three weeks, his brain helpfully supplied. Twenty-five days, to be exact, it added.) And in that time, it had taken him approximately four meetings to be captivated by him (Less than twenty-four hours, total.)

He selected another stone by the shore.

He had spent the better part of the last two weeks making himself think about something—anything—else when they were together (Failing every time…). Though he tried to distance himself, he was moved by Volt anyway, felt him taking hold, even as he tried very hard to keep him from filling his thoughts.

He launched the stone from his hand—it skipped a couple of times before being submerged by the water. He fished for another one, feeling for a smooth flat surface, picking it up.

Volt had just been so unexpected. True to his word (Reliable). Eager to learn (Exciting). A little biting (Funny).

And… sincere (kind).

He tossed the stone.

As he watched the ripples fade on the moonlit surface, he almost wished to be given some sort of sign (Maybe the heron could appear again to fish?)

He looked up resignedly at the stars and sighed.

The last time Eddie had been with a man was five months ago.

It only happened because he was still completely buoyed by an encounter he had two evenings before, on his last night aboard the ocean liner from New York to Southampton. He was returning to Breaker Hall after a month away of celebrating Christmas and New Year’s in Albany.

Throughout the week-long transatlantic trip, he had been enjoying the company of an Englishman who was coming back to England from Brazil—the two of them had been assigned to sit beside each other in the dining hall. Their table had been lively enough, and had a recurring cast of characters that kept Eddie’s dinners entertaining: two couples who had separately spent the holidays in New York, and three older Englishwomen who kept mostly to themselves.

On the last evening, they had eaten dinner like usual, making conversation—Eddie, who once thought of traveling after the war, had been quite captivated by his stories. On their way out, he had remarked to Eddie how the dining hall had been half empty that evening; it seemed half the guests had become seasick on the last night of their journey—the other half drank joyously and commended each other on not being seasick.

As they walked together, they realized they had been on the same cabin floor all along. A silence settled between them, and Eddie felt the man’s eyes rake down his body—the whiskey he drank had clearly given him the bravery he sought.

Eddie looked to his left, and their eyes met. Neither looked away.

The man had broken the silence between them by inviting Eddie for a nightcap in his cabin.

After a brief interlude of attempting to talk about absolutely nothing at all, they had kissed, fondling each other lightly on the wicker sofa, pulling at each other’s clothes. He had pushed Eddie to the bed, and handed Eddie a bottle of oil, guiding Eddie’s hand between his legs.

He rode Eddie’s fingers, then sunk down on Eddie.

“Fuck—” Eddie had groaned.

He had pulled Eddie’s hair, whispering urgently, “Frig me, frig me hard with your big cock—”

Eddie had been momentarily surprised by his directness, but he drove his hips up, wrapped his fingers around him, stroked him while he rode Eddie.

They were uniquely well-paired.

After months in the Amazonia, he was slightly idiotic with lust; after months at Breaker Hall, Eddie was slightly idiotic with desire.

“Tell me how tight I am, Eddison.”

Eddie again balked in surprise but relented, wanting to please, “You’re… you’re so tight.”

And so Eddie spent the final evening on the ship fucking someone he barely knew for the better part of an hour.

Unfortunately, Eddie’s desire vanished the moment it had to become conversation in bed.

Eddie realized that the man saw himself, in his brief sojourn to South America, not as a traveler exactly, but instead as an… ‘explorer’, as eccentric Englishmen who are drawn to foreign, exotic places are often wont to do. Eddie thought a little less of him in the aftermath.

Sometimes people are better off staying in our imaginations.

Still, he had gone back to his cabin for what proved to be the most restful night of sleep he had on the ship. More importantly, it was all pleasurable enough for Eddie to feel emboldened to follow a stranger out of a station in London two days later.

He had stopped in the city for one night, to withdraw some cash and check the shops before finally heading back to Breaker Hall the following day. It was late in the evening, and he was going back to his hotel via the Underground. At Bond Street, a suited man got on, and stood in front of Eddie. Eddie felt the pressure of his knee against his, and he looked up momentarily—they locked eyes before Eddie looked away.

At the next station, the seat beside Eddie’s became empty, and the man quickly occupied it. He placed the book he was carrying on his lap, and underneath traced a light line down the side of Eddie’s left thigh.

They both continued to look forward; Eddie didn’t move his leg.

When he stood to get off at his stop, the man did, too. He walked in front of Eddie, glancing to his side surreptitiously to check if Eddie was following him. Eddie made a quick foolish decision.

He followed him past the end of the platform, into a deserted public urinal, into a closed stall.

The secretive nature of what they were doing, the sense of risk, heightened the pleasure for a moment, and Eddie came in his mouth with a low groan. He cleaned Eddie up with his tongue.

When he stood up, Eddie leaned close with the intention of reciprocating. He stopped Eddie—pushed a hand to Eddie’s chest, brushed Eddie’s hand from his shoulder, and shook his head. He walked in the opposite direction from which they came, and gave the smallest nod at Eddie before rounding the corner.

In the end, Eddie didn’t even get his name.

He hated everything about it.

Later, in his hotel, he had a sudden moment of sobriety over what he had done—it dawned on him that the man could have easily been the police. The month away had made him forget himself, and he had put himself in a needlessly dangerous situation far from home.

Needless to say, he never attempted anything of the sort since.

For now his heart seemed a steep price to pay for any of it. Besides, it felt almost childish and degrading to be sneaking sex at twenty-five.

Eddie skipped another flat stone across the river.

He finally got up to walk back to the cottage. It was time he got some sleep.

Maybe Volt will finally disappoint him somehow.

That seemed the only way out of this conundrum.

Otherwise, he couldn't imagine how this was supposed to end.

He turned in for another balmy night.

—

The summer heat continued to beat down the countryside during the day.

The light filtered through the linen curtains of the only occupied apartment in the house.

There, Volt, for the next few days, started his mornings by mindlessly rutting into the four-poster bed, with a quickness and a desperation that cannot be overstated.

He had summed up all this—the perversity of the urge, the intensity of the pleasure, and the swift cleanup of evidence before breakfast—in a silent agreement with himself, to deal with a new shocking impulse, which, in the following days with Eddie, did not subside.

Every morning, he looked all of it squarely in the face, then dismissed it from his thoughts completely, long before he dressed for the day. He would leave the house anticipating that he would have to spend every moment in Eddie's company suppressing the feeling, keeping up appearances, living his own version of hell.

Farce was always more entertaining to watch than to enact.

It was, ironically, being with Eddie that kept him in the present.

—

“We don’t have anything to work on today, actually.”

From what was now their lunch table outside, Eddie glanced up at Volt, who was a little ways away, walking along the bank with a piece of toast in hand. He noticed Volt had taken to strolling along the shore after he had finished with his main course over the last few days. He even took tea that way yesterday. It was a diverted, almost pensive mood—but maybe Eddie was imagining it. Still, he felt a slight anxiety over his own behavior—had he been too obvious around Volt?

He spoke up a little, just in case Volt couldn’t hear him. “I could… help you with the fruit in the grove, if you like. Some of those would’ve ripened by now.”

Volt glanced at him, a distracted smile on his face. “That would be quite lovely, dear Eddie.”

Dear Eddie…

Eddie was suddenly grateful Volt was too far away to see the flush on his face.

“We can take the car, load them in, bring them to the house.”

Eddie piled two empty crates in the backseat, and they set off toward the grove. And so it was: they had nothing else to do but pick fruit that afternoon.

The estate grove was at the end of a narrow road—from Eddie’s cottage, one took a left after the bridge. Rows of fruit trees began where the road ended, and led to an orangery.

The orangery was a Georgian peculiarity, built with the house, a byproduct of an eighteenth century enthusiasm for cultivating Mediterranean citrus all year round. In larger estates, they were somewhat of a grander folly, and served the additional purpose of satisfying a strangely English mania for exotic fruit.

At Breaker Hall however, it was simply a small rectangular structure behind a few rows of trees, made of the same stone walls and slate roofing as the house, with perfectly symmetrical French windows all around. Shallow stone steps lined the perimeter, and a stone terrace was extended on one side—small tufts of grass had grown in the cracks in the year after the estate staff was let go.

Eddie parked the car at the end of the gravel road, now overgrown with weeds. Volt started walking one of the dirt paths between the rows of apple and pear trees, choosing the middle one at random. On the ground were a few fallen fruit.

Behind him, Eddie was carrying the crates. He glanced at the fruit on the ground, smirked at Volt. “Fallen soldiers.”

Volt chuckled. The biggest irony in all this, of course, was that Eddie’s idiosyncrasies retained their charm completely, with no regard to what he was now feeling.

“Yes, quite. They must be given a dignified memorial.”

As they neared the orangery, his eyes fell to two wooden tubs housing lemon trees, which were sitting on the terrace. He looked at Eddie, confused.

Eddie smiled sheepishly, “I wheeled those outside in the spring. They… I thought they might benefit from the sun. The orange trees are all inside, though.”

Volt found himself overcome, momentarily at a loss. “Well. Even the lemons seem to be lucky recipients of your attention.”

Eddie averted his gaze and looked to the side to hide a growing flush. “It was a boring Easter.”

Eddie’s blush, which had previously only brought him amusement, now took on a new role—it had become the thing by which Volt measured his own composure, its appearance the only indication that he was still behaving as he always had.

Inside, there were two rows of orange trees in wooden tubs. Eddie was right—the fruit looked perfectly ripe.

Eddie put the crates to the side. “The last time I watered these was a few weeks ago.” He walked to the corner of the room to get the watering can.

Volt looked at him in astonishment. “I didn’t realize this was ever your responsibility.”

“Well, no, but I couldn’t let them just die.” Eddie grimaced.

Volt stared at him, a little dumbfounded. Did Eddie ever perform anything?

Volt marched to him and pried the watering can off his hands.

“Volt, what—”

“I’ll get the water.”

—

Volt felt that everything about Eddie now took on a tremulous beauty.

As he watered the trees (walking back to the tap twice to refill the can), Eddie started picking a few of the lowest oranges to test for ripeness, his hands handling them with such care.

For a moment, Volt envied the oranges.

—

When Eddie taught him how to pull at the fruit on the top of the tree cleanly with the picking net, their fingers brushed, and they locked eyes for a moment. Eddie turned red and looked away.

“I’ll… I’ll do the other side.”

Volt pulled at the net, gathering oranges from his side of the orangery. Previously, he scarcely cared about what he had to say around Eddie—in fact, he had never felt more free to say whatever was on his mind—but things were different now. He second-guessed himself all the time. Every joke he now examined twice over.

He felt his (new, slightly farcical) behaviour start to become a contrast to Eddie’s good-natured teasing, his easy humour. He was sure Eddie noticed—but if he did, he gave away no clue to the fact.

What grace this man extended.

When they finally got back to the house, Volt took a crate back inside; Eddie followed suit.

“Eddison, what are you doing? The other crate is obviously yours.”

“Volt, these oranges are the estate’s—”

“I won’t hear of it. What do you suppose I’d do with all of this?” He waved a hand.

“Darling, just take it, please—”

Volt froze. He didn’t mean to say it. He felt a little helpless—he didn’t usually think too closely about dropping in casual endearments in conversation, but it took on a different meaning with Eddie now and he wished he could take it back. Eddie seemed to show no response to it.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Okay, fine.” He met Volt’s gaze briefly, “Thank you.”

Volt felt himself loosen up slightly. Perhaps these things could be managed.

“Well! I shall see you back here in an hour, as usual.”

Throughout dinner, he watched Eddie’s face to see what impression his altered behaviour was making on him.

But nothing changed, not really. Eddie’s smiles still had their usual dry quality, bordering on indolent sarcasm, like he was in on a joke only he had made. When he made a joke, it was still with the same sideways smirk, like he was always silently amused by how things were. When he was teased, he still reacted with the same petulant indignation, affecting the same annoyed pout.

Most of all, his shyness was as easily visible on his face as ever. Volt decided to focus on that all throughout the meal instead.

As he poured them whiskey in the drawing room, he caught himself smiling at Eddie.

He realized that the terrifying fear he had of his desire was being gently snuffed away by Eddie’s very presence.

Maybe he hadn’t betrayed himself at all, then.

At the end of the day, as Volt watched Eddie’s car slowly drive away from the house, he felt two things pull at him from both directions—his shameful desire for Eddie, and his shameless desire to be with him.

He decided he could learn to live inside the contradiction.

He drew the drawing room curtain.

It would simply have to be endured.

—

The next day Volt spent the afternoon alone.

“I just need to go into town tomorrow, just to run a few errands,” Eddie had said over dinner.

Volt busied himself with the estate correspondence all day. He went through the remaining securities still in his name, small investments he had made on a whim a few years ago. He lingered over the ledgers before finally deciding a few would have to go.

He wrote a letter to the solicitors to ask them to divest of two securities, some modest holdings in an Indian tea company. He retained only a truly minuscule stake in a Singapore shipping firm.

He took a walk in the afternoon to pick the lemons from the orangery terrace. He tried to do it as best he could, the way Eddie had taught him. A few lemons were sacrificed to the cause, but in the end he had a crate filled with them, which he put in the larder downstairs.

As he did, he found himself thinking of Eddie’s sure hands.

In town, ten miles away, as a bank clerk prepared this month’s withdrawal from his trust dividends, Eddie wondered what Volt was doing.

__

The next day was the last day of June.

After a short interlude of work in the afternoon, they took the long way back to the house, driving north instead, near the lake.

Volt saw it from a distance. He mentioned his mother used to take him to the small meadow atop the highest hill in the estate, which overlooked the lake, and where there were three lovely marble pavilions all flanked by different caryatids.

“We used to play hide and seek by those, and I would always hide at the top of the hill. I thought because I couldn’t see her, she could not see me as well,” he laughed, “of course, that wasn’t how that worked.”

“We can drive there now.” Eddie said. Volt quirked an eyebrow in surprise, “Dinner still needs to be prepared. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really. Are you?”

“No.”

“Then why not? It’s not too late yet. You’ve been here a month and you haven’t gone there?”

“I suppose you’re right. I don’t know, I think I’ve been keeping south of the property, where I don’t remember or know most things. The lake and the hill I know rather well from when I was a boy, there was really no reason to figure out where everything was.”

Volt had an idea of his own as he looked pensively across the water.

“Have you tried swimming in the lake, Eddie? I have fond memories of it as a boy.”

And so Eddie turned the car north. He had never tried swimming in the estate lake.

Eddie parked the car just before the bridge that would take them beyond, to the northernmost part of the property. They got out and walked toward the lake, two figures against a soft afternoon, in the full maturity of the English summer.

They stripped to their drawers and went into the water.

He looked from a distance at Volt, swimming aimlessly, resplendent, his hair like a halo in the light. He realized this was enough—the privilege of seeing him, of being near him, far outweighed any pointless longing.

How simple affection could be, for those like Eddie who had no wish to possess or keep.

Volt turned to him, beaming. He had a strangely impish look on his face, almost menacing…

Volt's shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly just beneath the surface.

“Oh no, you fucking don’t!” Eddie exclaimed, splashing Volt even before he had a chance to.

—

The climb from the lake was refreshingly cool against the late afternoon wind—their clothes stuck slightly to damp skin, but not unpleasantly. Volt could see the pavilions clearly now—the marble figures were just as he remembered. He chuckled, “That’s where I liked to hide as a boy.”

He looked back at Eddie.

“She used to read passages of Middlemarch to me before bed. My mother. I think it was to imbue me with an early memory of how an estate worked. But she mostly read the chapters with the… estate disputes. An early lesson in estate management, if you will.” Volt smirked before continuing, “For a little while, I did actually think Caleb Garth was the protagonist. Imagine my surprise when I realized that the book wasn’t actually about a pastoral village.”

Eddie laughed. “So you thought Middlemarch was about… Mr. Garth minding his own business.”

“For several years, yes.” Volt laughed, too. “It was quite a shock to my system when I finally got to reading it myself. I was fourteen.”

“Poor Volt.”

“Indeed.” Volt said, the grin widening on his face. “Poor Volt, indeed.”

His eyes suddenly brightened. “Caleb!” He met Eddie’s gaze. “We shall name your lovely chickens after the characters in Middlemarch. Say… Caleb, Dorothea, Lydgate. Pending an analysis of their temperaments, of course.” Eddie laughed, “Okay, sure.”

They reached the top of the hill. They stood there, gazing at the wide expanse of the estate before them, looking this time like equals.

Open-collared shirts, undone waistcoats—boots.

Eddie looked at Volt’s feet. “You have your own boots. I expect mine back.”

“And here I thought those were gifted.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Give them back, Volt.”

Volt laughed, “Yes, yes.”

Volt swung his right leg a little as they walked into one of the pavilions. He admired the sturdy rubber soles of his new (old) boots, tapping his feet on the marble.

“Well, this is, unfortunately, your influence. I’ve had to scour the mudroom for these. I think they were the newest ones my father owned. They’re surprisingly comfortable for walking the land, of course. Who would have thought?”

Eddie chuckled. At that moment, the wind blew his hair to the center of his forehead. He pushed it back only for it to flop down again, a futile battle soon lost to the wind. Eddie laughed, muttering a curse under his breath as he tried to fix his hair in vain.

Volt started laughing, too. “Your hair, Eddie, what—”

“Whatever. I’ll just leave it.”

And when Eddie laughed and looked down, all Volt could think of was that a view of the world through such dark eyelashes must be one so extraordinarily shadowed and filtered.

Volt looked at Eddie, as though searching for something.

He leaned in—messy, fast, directionless. Eddie made a small sound of surprise, then returned the kiss cautiously, and just as cautiously placed a hand on Volt’s neck.

Then Volt felt a sudden jolt of shame, and pulled back.

Christ, what on earth was he doing—

“I… I’m sorry, it’s… it’s getting late.”

But his hands were still all over Eddie; his body didn’t want to reign them in. There, in the pavilion, he grasped at Eddie like he could maybe grasp for what he lost on this hill—innocence, affection, just anything.

Eddie took his hands, extricated them from his arms, and gently returned them to Volt’s chest.

“Volt.”

Volt looked up at him.

He watched Volt carefully. Seriously—humourlessly, now.

“You don’t know what you want yet.”

Volt stilled his hands under Eddie’s grasp. He tried to say something—nothing came out.

Eddie let go. Volt’s hands fell to his sides.

“I’ll bring you back to the house.”

The short motor ride felt like an eternity. In reality, it was a short distance from where they parked near the lake.

By the time they reached the porte cochère, the light in the sky had started to dim. Volt stood awkwardly by the front door, “Have… have a good evening, Eddie.”

“Good evening, Volt.”

Dinner, of course, was now out of the question.

—

Later, Volt sat alone in the kitchen, hand on his forehead, fingers pressing on one eye. He stared at the fine grain of the wooden table, finally trying to admit something he had spent years declining to examine directly. It had been a few hours.

Of course he’d known of those types—aesthetes, fairies, pansies, as the other boys called them. Always with a snicker. God knew Eton was full of those jokes (’Hey Breaker, what do you think? Is he a pansy? Think he wants to frig me?’). He had largely ignored it or fought back with wit (’You seem to be thinking far too much about me.’), until he was made Pop Boy, and by then he could somewhat afford not to care anymore.

Volt knew that with his decision to keep his hair long he could have easily been thought to be one of them. But pansies did not have broad shoulders. They did not spend their days walking around in sensible dark suits, did not end up being good at hunting foxes.

Pansies did not look like him. Or did they?

He sat in the kitchen with something he had known for years but could almost admit aloud now: he was an Oscar Wilde type. A homosexual.

The conclusion was hardly new. What was new was the inability to escape it.

Tonight, he had run out of ways to explain it. What he felt towards Amir should have been sufficient evidence—he certainly knew what he was feeling. Instead, Volt had simply found new ways not to think about all of it—after all, it was just one man—but now, there was certainly a difference between knowing something and finally naming the whole shape of it.

For a second, the shame—which had always seemed absolute, and which he would once have traded anything to avoid—appeared almost insignificant. It swiftly came back, but with it a new skepticism, which of course is more dangerous.

Because once one begins questioning things, one is apt to find one doesn’t believe them.

And there is nothing more difficult than to pretend a change like that wasn’t taking place.

And so to Volt, now, there was a relief in the fact that the worst that he dreaded to believe about himself had finally been named. To some temperaments, like his, anxiety was far harder to bear than shame.

Because then he could at least act on it.

If Eddie were a lady he would know what to do: he would invite him to stay at Breaker Hall for a predetermined period of time, showing him the grounds, inviting him to dinners and strolls, offering presents, after which he would propose with whatever was left of the family jewels in the bank.

But Eddie was not a lady. And Volt didn’t want him to be.

He got up, crossed to the larder, and put a bushel of lemons in a cotton net bag.

He figured it was as good as it was going to get, as far as gifts went.

Besides, he had no time to lose.

-

Notes:

Volt and his fuckass courtship lemons……whateverr. dont piss me off omg

O…k! So this one was a very fun exploration of Volt’s psychology, how compartmentalization looks like to someone so controlled, as well as some context about gay life in the 1920s - i hope u enjoyed the ride! (honestly, i went back and forth re: what volt’s internalized homophobia would look like, if it was ooc in the first place, but in the end i settled on it anyway - volt seems to me like someone who would want his image to be perfect, and in the 1920s i feel like something like this would make sense)

I’ll meet u next week in the cottage!!

—

Period/chapter notes:

frig - ‘fuck’

Bond Street - One of London’s main luxury shopping streets in the 1920s

Undercover police - In 1920s England, sexual activity between men was illegal, and the danger wasn't only in blackmail or social disgrace. Police often went undercover in plain clothes and entrapment was a genuine concern in the places where men were cruising, and gay men did in fact get arrested in this way

Orangery - basically an 18th century greenhouse

Volt’s investments - Volt unknowingly kept what would later prove to be the most profitable one

Aesthetes, fairies, pansies - all period pejorative terms for ‘homosexual’, depending on social context

‘Homosexual’ in the context of 1921 - simply meant a man liking other men; 1921 certainly did not have today’s wider queer vocabulary

‘Oscar Wilde type’ - ‘unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort,’ phrase loosely taken from Maurice by EM Forster (‘So you’ve never guessed,’ he said, with a touch of scorn in his terror. ‘I’m an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.’); Oscar Wilde’s blackmail, then trial, then imprisonment and subsequent public disgrace, became the threat with which upper class men understood the ‘wrongness’ of homosexuality, even decades later

Pop Boy - senior prefects at Eton

homophobia (🤝 homoeroticism) in all boys’ schools - oh mah guh where do we even begin with this……hold me back fr

Date everything allusions:

Eddie threw out the grounds and started over with new ones. He again took the kettle from the stove and poured the water through a cloth filter suspended over a ceramic pot. He let the coffee drip. Normally tea would suffice, but he needed something stronger today.

He dressed for the day as he waited. He toyed with the buttons of his waistcoat, before deciding he was being ridiculous. In the kitchen, he downed his coffee with a piece of toast. He went outside.

He started stacking large planks of wood beside a tree stump a few feet away. He put the handsaw and the wheelbarrow beside the pile. This way, it would be easier for Volt to—

He sighed, looking up at the sky in resignation. Or for a divine intervention.

Grabbing his measuring tape, a couple of stakes, and a string line, he made his way to the bank, walking towards the intervention they installed. He crouched beside the embankment, drove a stake into the mud, and stretched a line across the narrowing channel.

They would need to measure another section of the levee tomorrow. When Volt gets here, he’ll show him—

He felt the heat rising to his cheeks. He wanted to peel his face off.

Eddie decided he’d set up their lunch early today.

—

Elsewhere in the estate, just after noon, Volt was walking toward the cottage in high spirits.

Volt found that talking to Eddie at once revealed a world. It gratified a need he had not realized he possessed—for companionship that was simultaneously challenging and invigorating. There was a peculiar pleasure in discovering that a man he had initially taken for a simple groundskeeper possessed interesting opinions on nearly everything.

Even more unusual, those opinions were usually sensible enough to make Volt rethink his. Eddie had a habit of saying things that sounded obvious until Volt realized he had never thought of them before.

He crossed the meadow before the bridge that led to the cottage, pleased by the prospect of another afternoon with Eddie, moved especially by the fact that Eddie never seemed to want anything from him at all.

“Good afternoon, Eddie! An utterly willing body, reporting for duty!”

Volt waved from the bridge, looking at Eddie, who was crouched on the embankment. He made his way over there.

Eddie briefly looked to the side to try to hide a blush before responding. He waved back at Volt, and stood up to walk with him to their little al fresco lunch set up.

Their third lunch together was a cold summer salad with boiled eggs. Eddie set the bread and strawberries to the side.

“Your little blue friend is not dining with us today.”

“Yeah.” Eddie smirked, “Think he’s busy.”

Volt polished off a few strawberries with tea. Eddie glanced at him.

“Do you mind if I feed the chickens first, before we work?” He added, “I just wasn’t able to this morning.”

“Not at all. Could I come with you? I would love to see them.” Volt added, “I suppose they are technically estate tenants. Perhaps I should start charging them a lease…”

He huffed a sarcastic laugh, “Maybe they can pay for the estate’s telegraph bill.”

“I don’t know about that,” Eddie snickered, “They’re pretty rowdy and don’t like obeying authority.”

He led Volt to the other side of the cottage, a little ways away, where a coop was bounded by a fence. “You’ll soon see.”

Eddie hopped up the fence while Volt stood watch on the other side. Three chickens excitedly gathered around Eddie—he trailed a bunch of feed on the ground, and they dutifully pecked at it. They followed at his heels after they were done, milling about Eddie as he went in the coop to collect the eggs. “They always lay more eggs than I could ever eat.” He piled them in his wicker basket. “I’ve just about gotten sick of them, honestly.”

One chicken tried to… nose Eddie’s leg.

“Stop that.” He tried to shake it off. He glanced at Volt, “So now you see why I had eggs to give you.”

The chickens faithfully followed Eddie around as he swept their coop and tidied the ground. He looked at them in slight annoyance, “See what I mean? No respect for authority.”

Eddie rounded out his tasks and hopped out the fence, basket full of eggs in tow. “Anyway, that’s it.” They started walking back to the cottage.

“Eddie, they… they clearly like you.”

“A little needy if you ask me,” Eddie scoffed. Volt smiled at this strange man beside him. “Well, what are their names?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t named them?” Volt sounded genuinely surprised.

“Why would I…”

“Well, that seems to me half the fun in keeping animals.”

Eddie snorted a laugh, “Tell you what, you name them.”

“Alright. I’ll have a think and get back to you.”

They walked along the bank after Eddie deposited the basket in the cottage.

On the ground, the hot summer sun created intermittent dry patches where the canopy parted overhead. The dry tufts of grass rustled like newspaper under their boots. “Like I said, the work isn’t too complicated usually. At least, not until maintenance comes around again next month.” Eddie glanced at Volt, who was holding their hatchet and mallet.

“We just need to replace a few rotten stakes near where we were yesterday.” He shifted the blocks of wood he was cradling in his arms, “Maybe three or four? If I were to guess.”

He taught Volt how to know which wooden stakes had rotted and now needed to be pulled out. They sharpened the new stakes with the hatchet. Volt drove them in the soil with the mallet, swinging with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. Eddie chuckled softly.

“You’re enjoying that a little too much.”

“Well. This part’s rather satisfying.” Volt grinned.

On the way back, Eddie explained how the stakes stopped the river from beginning a chain of events that could eventually flood a few acres. By the end, Volt was completely invested in what was at stake with his new stakes.

They parted in the pale sunshine of the afternoon.

“I shall see you in the house in an hour, Eddie.”

Over the course of the next hour, it occurred to Eddie that what he felt about Volt this morning did not diminish in the slightest. He feared the looming threat of his own emotions, the necessity of restraint it could entail. He changed his shirt and packed some eggs to distract himself.

Eddie brought the new crate of eggs to the house when he came for dinner.

“Can’t I help you with the food?” He felt useless just standing around.

“Oh, out of the question, I’m afraid,” Volt said hospitably. “You’re currently a guest here.”

Eddie looked around the breakfast room. He started walking toward the staff kitchen, “Surely I—“ Volt gracefully blocked his path.

“Eddison, please.” Volt waved a hand, “If you insist, you can get the fire going instead.”

Eddie crossed the room to the brick fireplace, crouching to adjust the iron andirons before attending to a small log fire. He watched it burn, watched the fire dance around it.

Just being here, in this house, with Volt a few feet away… he sighed, shaking his head mirthlessly. He’d have to just find a way to be with Volt.

Maybe the warm amorous hum he now felt around him could be managed somehow. What he was feeling shouldn’t be Volt’s problem, at any rate.

He put the screen in place before getting up—he decided he’d bring some firewood logs for the house tomorrow.

Volt sauntered into the room and laid the silver—they had scrambled eggs and beef sandwiches with a bottle of Chablis. For pudding, he set out strawberries and cream. Eddie looked out the window—into the terrace, into the gardens—and watched a man pack up a gardening toolbox, put his hat on, and leave by the side gate.

He looked to Volt, raising his eyebrows. "There's a gardener now."

"Yes. His name is Abel.”

"You finally admitted defeat?"

"I prefer to think of it as… an enlightened delegation," Volt said. “He leases one of the smallholdings. We… arrived at an arrangement. He'll tend the gardens behind the house twice a week, after his own workday is finished, and in return I reduce his rent by half.” Eddie nodded.

After a moment, Volt added, “And, well… there was just an enormous amount of landscaping to do.”

Eddie smirked, “I didn’t say anything else. I was just asking.”

Volt flushed, “Oh do shut up, Eddie.”

They fell into a familiar rhythm over the course of that next week: lunch in Eddie’s cottage, light work, dinner in the house, lighter conversation. Their meals came to serve three purposes—to assuage a growing feeling of loneliness neither had noticed, to report silly little nothings, and to finish off the two crates of strawberries.

—

The mornings Volt now spent sifting through estate correspondence—this morning the estate office dropped off two wedding invites, five membership proposals from London clubs, a reply from Sotheby’s, and three telegrams from people who were hoping he’d come down to London for the weekend to grace their parties (or else, reading between the lines, be invited to Breaker Hall for a weekend). It was now mid-June; there would now be a number of dinner parties one could attend every evening.

Last year, when he returned to London after his father’s death, he went to any that struck his fancy, flitting through two or three every night. People tended to offer their condolences by offering him more accommodations than they normally would—he even lazed one weekend away in Venice in someone’s palazzo, without having paid for anything at all, with a personal valet being assigned to him as soon as he entered the piano nobile.

It was a different price he was paid—strange luxuries given in order that he could continue playing the part of the Volt they had come to love.

It all took on a different meaning when Volt learned—from the family solicitors, a few weeks into the summer—of the massive bank overdraft his father left behind.

He suddenly had an image of a strange future where his sociability could now be auctioned off—beneath every luxury extended to him that summer lay the same implication: his presence could become something that could be bought.

He imagined it could easily become a murky business for him, friendships where he could be exploited. He hated the prospect instantly, and vowed never to accept those kinds of invitations ever again.

The only party he felt obligated to host came in the last week of July. It was a most splendid last supper paid for by the final dividends that were paid into his account, before the solicitors started divesting of the estate securities in order to begin paying off the bank and settling the inheritance taxes.

His absence and retreat into Breaker Hall had for now made him a desirable social commodity—everyone wanted to be the one to be able to get Volt to finally come down to London for the season.

Volt knew it was only a matter of time before the invites and the (persistent—desperate, really) interest dwindled, if people were not extended invitations to stay in the estate. Being a lord in the country was bound lose its luster, and would gradually be replaced by an image of an eccentric reclusive aristocrat, if he stopped going to the city. But Volt wasn’t bothered—the very nature of the fickleness of society meant that a reintroduction to it shouldn’t prove so difficult.

The London clubs were for now out of the question—there would be no banker’s orders for their subscriptions, at any rate.

This summer was proving to be an inversion of the one before—then he could opt to stay in for pleasure, now he could not risk going out. He drafted a reply to Sotheby’s and rang the estate office to pick up his one post. Then he decided he’d had enough of it for the day.

He got up to head to Eddie’s.

A week ago, he had eagerly awaited the prospect of the estate finally being sold. Now, the idea of having to attend any party at all had become a threat to the growing leisure of his afternoons in the forest.

For lunch, Eddie had made them a cottage pie.

“By the way, I believe the estate office has processed the roof repair invoice.”

“That was quick. I’m sure the Hanks liked that. Not everyone pays them right away.”

“Yes—I know my father liked to let invoices languish for months.”

Eddie looked at him. Volt continued, “I’d rather things were done a little differently.” Eddie nodded and smiled. “Always room for improvement.”

—

On another sunny Friday, Volt abandoned the idea of tying his hair altogether—many a length of ribbon and cord had been quietly claimed by the river.

His shirts were still always neatly pressed, his waistcoats still always properly fastened, but he had, since that second day of maintenance, continued to do away with his collars, his ties.

The ribbon just seemed the final thing to fall away.

In its stead, Volt developed a new habit of shaking out his hair and running a hand through it. His nimble fingers, which used to be occupied with securing his hair, were now relegated to gently tucking errant loose strands.

Once, Volt felt Eddie’s eyes on him as he did it. “Is there something on it?”

Eddie blinked. “On…?”

“My hair?”

Eddie realized that he’d been looking. “I—no.”

“Oh, alright.”

And so, Eddie discovered, to his irritation, that he now had to look away.

—

The work they did in the ensuing days was never as involved as those first two days of maintenance.

But to Volt, who was never going to be forced to adopt a profession, and would also otherwise not be forced to adapt a purpose, the work gave him some much needed reason to commit himself to something worthwhile.

On a cloudless Tuesday, Eddie led him north, past that first bend, to show him the newest bridge on the property. It had been installed two years ago, above an area where the river widened slightly.

This was where Eddie once saw a heron leaping into the river in the night. It swooped in for a moment, presumably to jab at fish in the waters. That it was fishing near midnight was surprising—but it simply did what it wanted. Then it was gone, flapping its wings, flying away. Eddie never saw that bird again—it appeared, then left just as unexpectedly, beholden to no one.

He looked to Volt, the anecdote on the tip of his tongue.

Instead he said, “This part of the river widens to form one of the fish-ponds.”

He smiled as Volt peered into the water, his hands loosely clasped behind him.

Volt gazed delightedly at the small fish. “Quite amusing.”

They watched the fish move in slow circles. Volt found it all rather humorous, how they were both just standing about, watching fish from a distance. After a while, he joked, “This is fish, n’est-ce pas?”

Eddie scoffed, “Évidemment.”

Volt turned to him, “Your French sounds marvelous!”

Eddie flushed red at once, caught off guard. He looked to the side, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

At last he rolled his eyes, “I was just humoring you.” He walked quickly to the other side of the bridge.

It seemed to Volt that handling compliments was the only thing Eddie was even mildly incompetent at—he blushed profusely then mumbled or walked away, wanting the moment to end as soon as possible. It was an unconscious self-effacement that Volt was utterly charmed by.

Unbeknownst to Eddie, Volt had started to make a little game out of it—his goal was now to make every blush last as long as possible.

Later, as they were separating brushwood into various piles, Volt asked Eddie something.

“Don’t you get lonely here?”

Eddie tensed, “…what do you mean?”

“It’s just… don’t you miss being with people?”

“Not when most people can be a pain in the ass.”

“Well, even they can be exciting. I suppose I’m just not used to the idea of living in solitude for days on end.”

“As opposed to… what? A dinner party where everyone is pretending?”

“Well, people can only really pretend to an extent…”

“But the posturing is still there.” Eddie raised an eyebrow.

"People can't pretend forever."

"Long enough."

"Sometimes pretending is simply being polite."

"Sometimes."

“But… you don’t mind being alone?”

"Not especially."

"I think I would,” Volt conceded.

"Yeah.” Eddie put a pile of branches to the side. “You'd hate it. You’d miss being surrounded by people. People who like that you’re a lord."

“No, that’s not—” Volt faltered.

Eddie laughed. "Volt. You'd last three days."

Volt said through a growing flush, “I don’t like being fawned over.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

Volt parked the wheelbarrow, raising an eyebrow of his own. "You don't believe me."

"I think you like having people’s attention." He chuckled, “I’m not criticizing you. Most people do.”

Not criticizing, sure—judging, which was worse. “Not attention.” Volt hesitated. "Not… not exactly, you know."

Eddie looked up. Waited.

"I like… conversation.” Volt glanced at Eddie. “Despite—"

“I think—” Volt paused, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “I know that people are often malicious, Eddie. I’m not naïve.”

Eddie gave him a teasing smile, “Didn’t say you were…”

Volt rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You’re not very fun when you’re interrogating people. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Eddie grinned, “And why do you feel interrogated?”

“You see?” Volt gestured exasperatedly, “Just incorrigible. Oh, I would love for a jury to see this.”

Eddie handed him the handsaw. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”

They separated the branches in silence.

Volt glanced at Eddie. “I can almost hear you thinking still.”

Eddie simply raised his eyebrows.

Volt fought back a smile. He wasn’t very successful. “Stop that.”

—

That Friday, they got to work measuring the water levels near a levee. It had been exactly two weeks of Volt showing up day after day. It was starting to puzzle Eddie; he assumed his enthusiasm would die down once the novelty of the work did—why does he keep showing up?

“You keep coming back.” Eddie walked to where Volt was making marks on a stake, “You’re not getting bored of this?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Volt glanced up at him.

“You don’t seem to be bothered about going here, just watching.”

“Well that was what I said, wasn’t it? That I would like to be your apprentice?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted to learn—”

“And you mistrust that?”

“No, I…”

“No use lying about it, is there, Eddison?” Volt’s voice was icy.

Eddie blushed profusely. “I guess not. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

Volt sighed, “There’s not much for me to do around here, you know. It may seem absurd to you, but I have no desire to bark orders at servants.”

Volt handed him the roll of string.

“It would do you well to believe I like spending time with you. Maybe then it would finally make sense.”

Eddie’s face was red for a very long while.

—

The next day, Volt came to the cottage later than usual; Eddie was in the middle of setting out lunch. “My apologies, Eddie. I didn’t realize my morning would run so late.”

He had come from the parsonage to deliver a few documents to Father Errol, who didn’t fail to remind him about Sunday service the following day, and who this time alluded to the fact that although the roof had been fixed more than two weeks ago, there had not been a visit from Lord Breaker himself to his tenant.

“Are you religious at all, Eddie?”

“I… not really,” Eddie relented.

“Good. I’m an agnostic myself. I would hate for anyone else to have any reason to like the vicar. He’s quite the piece of work.”

Eddie smirked. “You seem fond of him.”

Volt looked at him in slight frustration, “Oh, don’t start. Not today.” But he allowed himself a tiny smile, his shoulders falling a little.

He walked over to the garden table where Eddie was laying out the food. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to serve dinner, as I apparently must pay a personal visit to a tenant.” He sat down, and thanked Eddie as he passed the cheese.

“So.” He looked up at Eddie, “What are we doing today?”

“We just need to turn an oak plank into stakes.”

“That’s it?”

Eddie smiled, “Why, did you want more work? I don’t.”

Volt let out a small chuckle. “I’m here for whatever you need help with.” He turned his gaze to the river. In a softer voice, “Like I said.”

Eddie watched how the running water carried some loose pebbles.

“I know.”

He looked at Volt. “Tea?”

While they finished their cups of tea, Eddie’s hair fell to the center of his forehead, and Volt had the impulse to brush it away—he quickly checked it; it would be improper to do that—instead, he told Eddie his hair had fallen.

“Your hair is…”

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Eddie swept it with the back of his hand—half of it fell back down.

“Of course,” Volt replied. He still felt a vague itch to brush it away.

Instead, he turned to face Eddie and edged a little closer. “Now, Eddie, tell me something honestly.”

Eddie glanced at him, “Hmm?”

“Do you promise to indulge me?”

Eddie smirked. Why the mystery? “Yeah, sure. What.”

“What surprised you most about England?”

That’s what he wanted to ask?

“I…” Eddie huffed a chuckle. “Let me think.”

“I don’t know. That not everyone was as repressed as the novels implied.”

Volt raised his eyebrows in bemusement. That’s what he thought?

“Ah, yes. It turned out we were still abounding with humanity?”

“I mean some people can still be pretty haughty...” He cast a sidelong glance at Volt.

Volt rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you could finally be serious.”

—

Much later, as they worked on splitting a piece of oak, a drop of sweat beaded at the side of Eddie’s forehead, and Volt absently watched it travel down the side of his face—his hold on the plank slipped a little, but he thankfully quickly recovered.

They finished early that day—Volt walked back to the house for a change of clothes and a simple early dinner, consisting mainly of mash and the last of the strawberries from Eddie, before heading to Mrs. Stella's cottage.

He walked south of the house, further south still than the churchyard, toward the tenant housing on the corner of the property. Volt had the passing thought that this part of the estate could almost pass for a miniature village. There weren’t many occupants now—half the houses were vacant. The tenants that remained either had relatives nearby, or were living out their last few decades in the country—none of the remaining occupants still worked for the estate, at any rate.

There were only just about enough parishioners in this corner of Buckinghamshire to justify keeping the vicarage on the estate at all. Volt took a longer route to deliberately avoid walking in front of the parsonage—his day had been sufficiently ruined by one run-in with Father Errol.

Mrs. Stella showed him in when he arrived. He inspected the recently fixed roof near the dining room.

“Yes, there were three lovely young men here. All named Hank. Isn’t that such a funny coincidence? They couldn’t look more different, though.” She sat at the dining table. “They bought two strawberry crates each. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes, yes.” Volt glanced at the last remaining crates. “They were recommended by Eddie.”

“Oh yes, the son of that groundskeeper. Nobody knew he had a family, you know, Mr. Watts. But that Mr. Eddie—nice man, keeps to himself.”

Volt nodded politely.

“Would you like to purchase a crate, Lord Breaker?”

“I…” He hesitated a little, before finally deciding, “Would you be able to bill the estate office?”

“Certainly! That would give me something to do tomorrow.”

She gave him a sheet of paper, and he wrote a quick note with a small signature at the bottom, authorizing her to pick up two pounds.

He handed it to her, and she smiled pleasantly at Volt.

“Just like your mother.” She said. “You were always so pretty.”

Volt smiled tersely. Mrs. Stella didn’t let up.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re pretending to be shy about this?” She looked him up and down, at the suit he meticulously chose, at the neatness of the knot of his tie, at the tidy manner with which he had tied his hair back.

“I don’t believe for one second that you don’t know it.”

“You’ve grown into a strapping young man, as far as I can see. And I’m not blind yet, dear.”

On the way out, Volt scraped himself on her iron gate. It hit the healing bruise on his hip—he almost dropped the crate of strawberries. He covered up a wince.

“Did you need to have this gate seen to as well?”

“No, dear, it works perfectly fine.”

“Very well. I shall be seeing you, Mrs. Stella.”

“Right you are. Good evening, Lord Breaker.”

“Good evening.”

—

Later at night, while undressing for the day, Volt noticed that the gate did indeed impress a shallow abrasion on his skin. He rummaged for the small jar of salve from Eddie.

Unscrewing the metal cap filled the room with a sharp lavender scent that smelled vaguely like him. Or the inside of his cottage. Volt could hardly remember which.

He applied a thin layer and massaged it into his skin, sighing at the strange warmth that spread from the point of contact.

He felt himself relax at the sensation, lingering where his hand brushed across the side of his hip.

As it absorbed into his skin, the scent again permeated his senses—he applied a thicker layer to the surrounding area, his fingers running along taut muscle as he eased into the feeling.

And because he was already there, he made a pass between his thighs.

He ran a thumb slowly along the shaft, thinking idly of the day. But remembering the day made him remember only Eddie—soon he was half hard, recalling the bead of sweat, the lavender reminding him of how Eddie usually smelled.

His wrapped his fingers around his cock, hissing at how sensitive he felt.

Before long, he was hard, attempting to master an overwhelming erection while thinking of Eddie Eddie Eddie, masturbating with an urgency he didn’t want to dwell on.

He stroked himself to the fantasy of licking the bead of sweat off Eddie’s skin, and he came as quickly as his erection had appeared—his chest heaving, a deafening rush in his ears.

Then he gave in to an impulse, did something he had never done before.

He ran a finger across his abdomen, tasted himself.

As he did, he imagined it was Eddie’s come.

As he swallowed, he imagined he was swallowing Eddie’s.

He imagined tasting, swallowing, in a dirty conclusion to servicing him—on his knees, giving him pleasure.

His cock twitched a little at that.

And so he touched himself again.

He squeezed the swelling of his cock with his hand.

He let out a loud wanton moan, the sound echoing sharply in the wood paneled room.

He imagined he was moaning for Eddie. He imagined Eddie liking it, praising him for it.

The images in his mind of being the one to make Eddie come, of being the one to maybe touch him, taste him, the pleasure of these images cut through the pain of sensitivity—and immediately he was hard again, using his own come to ease his fist.

He came a second time, whimpering breathlessly, again to the image of Eddie’s sweat, of the desire to lick it off his face—imagining that he could lick the sweat off other parts of his body, too.

He was a panting mess by the end of it, collapsing on the bed, boneless and relaxed like never before, staring a hole into the sculpted moulding of the bedroom ceiling. He drifted off to a light sleep, fingers sticky with his own come.

He came to to the sound of the clock striking midnight—he got up, cleaned off his stomach, and feverishly washed his hands.

He prepared a bath, hotter than he normally preferred.

As he waited, he decided to try to think nothing of it—he stepped into the bath and cleaned up with a hastiness, scrubbing harder than necessary, as though he could scrub away the deviance of coming twice in a row to a man he was meeting tomorrow morning.

He put all articles of clothing in the hamper and rushed to put on clean sleepwear.

He decided it didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t let it.

He paced around the room, looked out the window, stared hard at the lake in the distance.

By the time he came back to bed, by the time he pulled the sheets over his body, he had already been deceiving himself for an hour.

—

The next morning (around the time of the Sunday service neither of them even remembered), Volt found himself to be more on edge than usual.

He was noticing everything—even things that weren’t supposed to matter, like the way Eddie rolled his sleeves to his elbows before beginning to work, or how his hair fell across his forehead whenever he bent over the bank.

“You okay?” Eddie asked.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

Eddie hesitated. “Well, you seem a little… tired.”

“Ah, well, that’s just because I wasn’t able get a lot of sleep last night.” Volt flashed him a smile for good measure.

The sensation of sharp pain turning swiftly into pleasure when he stroked himself to hardness not long after coming the first time.

“Various… matters with the estate.”

The image of his come smeared across his stomach—the absolute filth of sitting in it as he lay boneless for however long until the clock struck midnight.

“… as you know.” Volt continued. “Anyway!”

They again got to work as usual.

—

see ya next week pookies who knows what could happen!

Period/chapter notes:

piano nobile - The main floor of an Italian palazzo, containing the grand reception and living rooms. It literally means ‘noble floor’ and is found on the first floor, which in Europe is the floor above the ground floor/street-level floor

n’est-ce pas - is it not?

évidemment - obviously

Estate tenants - British country estates often had a mix of farmland, cottages, and smallholdings leased to local residents. Abel here is growing his own produce (like what he ended up doing post-realization) while leasing part of the estate's land. Mrs. Stella leases only her cottage; her late husband probably worked for Breaker Hall before his death, which allows her to remain as a tenant

Unconventional tenant contracts in 1921 - After WWI, many estates faced serious financial strain - for these estates, mutually beneficial tenant agreements were a way to creatively cut costs; not all estates did it like this specifically, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary for an arrangement with someone like Abel to have been possible

Tenant housing in a declining estate - Many country estates lost servants, workers, and tenants after the war because of rapidly changing economic conditions, migration to cities, and the generally rising costs of maintaining an estate. By the early 1920s, it was pretty common for estate villages to have vacant houses

Parsonages and vicars - A parsonage was the residence provided for the vicar serving a local parish. On landed estates, the church, churchyard, and parsonage were often located within the estate itself - historically, the Church of England and the landed gentry had a close relationship, and vicars felt perfectly entitled to remind local lords of their religious duties

Estate correspondence - It was pretty normal for a country house to receive a steady stream of letters, telegrams, invitations, bills, legal correspondence, club notices, etc. Much of an aristocrat's day really could be spent answering correspondence. In here, the estate office mentioned in Chapter 5 delivers Volt’s letters every morning

London clubs - Gentlemen's clubs were important social institutions for the upper classes. Membership was selective (with the club’s members often putting to a vote who they would be inviting) and often had expensive annual subscriptions

Banker’s order - An instruction to a bank to pay x amount to an institution every month (this was before direct debit systems)

Sotheby’s - After WWI, as a result of the breaking up of Britain’s huge country estates, Sotheby’s began to receive commissions to auction the contents of many country houses. By the 1920s, they began dealing more in art and antiquities than ever before, and pioneered the sale of these objects d’art on the estate premises themselves. Here, Volt was probably replying to inquiries about the art and furniture in the house

2 pounds for a strawberry crate - Volt was intentionally overpaying for that one crate; the currency conversion is: 1 pound (£1) = 20 shillings (20s); from Eddie’s purchase (2) and the Hanks’ purchase (6), Volt paid her for the 4 remaining crates on the table while taking just the one

Date everything notes:

Day One, Friday

On a sunny Friday morning, a week later, Eddie drove to the house, as agreed.

A few days ago, he received a call from the Hanks, letting him know they’d be dropping by for a roof job in the estate, and could talk about what he was hiring them for in August—We’re so excited to finally meet you tomorrow! Come grab a pint with us after we’re done!

The small town just outside the estate, near the tenant housing, can hardly be called that—town really was generous; the nearest town in this part of Buckinghamshire was actually ten miles away.

It was, more than anything, a quaint outpost in the English countryside. The most activity it saw was during Easter and Christmas, where a few stalls were set up over the course of a weekend. It had two single-story buildings: one that housed a small post office and two businesses (the estate office containing a grand total of one clerk, and a general merchant who seemed capable of procuring nearly anything if given sufficient notice), and a pub.

As they sat down with their pints (one of the Hanks had an Irish mother, and was delighted at being able to order a Guinness, never mind that he’d never set foot in Ireland himself), Eddie found himself on the receiving end of having to answer questions about Volt. Eddie had talked about him more times than he ever had over the course of a week.

“Tony told us Father Errol told him that he had white hair.”

“Like, some sort of wizard?”

“Is that true, Eddie? He’s an old man?”

Eddie traced the line of condensation on his glass, “No, no, I think it’s some hereditary thing. He’s twenty-one, I think.” Think? He knew. Why did he lie?

“Well, I think that’s pretty unique,” Hank said, taking a sip of his Guinness.

“I wish we could have met him today.”

“Maybe he was busy.”

Then they asked Eddie about the thing he needed them to do in August soon after, and that was that. By the end, one Hank had multiplied into three for the two-day river maintenance job.

Eddie parked the motorcar in the driveway, and knocked at the front door. No one answered. He knocked again after a few minutes. Still no answer.

Eddie rounded the house, past the long hedgerow, until he got to the small gate that led to the back terrace, which overlooked and led to the gardens. He pushed it open. He saw Volt bent over a wooden garden gate on the other side, and called out to him.

“Eddie! I’ve just been fixing something up here. I’ve bumped my hip on this god forsaken gate more times than I can count. At this rate the bruise might just turn permanent.” Eddie made his way over. Volt was trying to screw a new hinge in place. One of the top hinges holding the gate together had rusted impressively.

“Good God, is it always this warm before noon?” he said, irritated, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his silk shirt.

Eddie’s gaze fell to his exposed chest. “Yes, it stays this way until three.” He tried his best not to look. “In… in the summer.”

He failed, but Volt was thankfully more occupied by the hinge.

Eddie watched him fiddle with the tools. “You could have had someone else do this in ten minutes.”

“Yes. I know.” Volt paused and held the tool still. “It seemed unnecessary.”

“You’re using the wrong screwdriver.”

Volt flushed. “I…” He seemed to take a moment to compose himself before speaking again. “Would you be so kind as to show me which?” Eddie smiled. “It’s the one at the bottom of your little pile.”

As Volt finally made some much needed headway on this very pressing task, it struck Eddie that he was trying. Even through the possibility of embarrassment, of any snide remark that could come from anyone passing by, could easily come from Eddie. He noticed the small patch of the garden that Volt had evidently been trying to tend to. He bent over—Volt was trying to rid the roses of weeds…?

Volt approached him. “Ah yes, of course you would know how badly I’m going about that.”

“No no, it’s pretty easy. Here, let me show you.” He rolled his sleeves up, and showed Volt the easier way to pull the weeds without disturbing the roots of the rose bushes.

Volt observed him. “You do that with such care.”

“All things deserve care,” Eddie said, getting up.

Volt stared at the loose earth beside his feet before turning to Eddie.

He gave Eddie a slightly apologetic smile as he set his tools down, “Could you possibly wait for me? I’ll be out front in a bit, I just need to change. My apologies.”

“Not a problem.”

Out front, Volt emerged from the house, hair neatly tied back, wearing a fresh white shirt with a stiff starched collar and a silk tie that perfectly matched his black waistcoat. He had on Eddie’s spare boots. Eddie started the engine. “We have a long day ahead of us. I hope that isn’t too much for you.”

“Like I said, at your disposal.” Volt grinned. “What is on your list?”

“Well, I first want to show you how the river tries to split along the banks, then show you which parts we have to work on today and tomorrow. It will make more sense when you see how the levees are set up.”

Volt nodded—he had absolutely no idea how one would go about setting up a levee.

They passed by the narrow road leading to the estate grove. “Those oranges will ripen in a few days.” Eddie said in passing. “Usually they’re picked with a net. You know, so they can be checked for ripeness first.” Eddie continued, “And then they can all get picked before they start falling on the ground.”

“I see,” Volt said, craning his neck toward the trees receding in the distance. Would that net be in the toolshed or elsewhere? “And the lemons… they’re checked for ripeness the same way as well?” Lemons would be good for tea.

“Yep.” Eddie changed gears as they entered the forest.

“I believe the Hanks went down here a few days ago to take care of the tenant’s roof. I’ve had the invoice filed for their work.”

“That was quick. I’ll tell them.” Eddie glanced at him, “They’ll like that.”

Volt gave him a small smile, “It may also please you to know that I’ve made the first draft of the title. I sent it over yesterday to the solicitors, so they could look it over. I believe they’ll send someone to come down next week to ratify it.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Oh, thank you.” Volt had been busy.

“Well, I didn’t want it to languish before your trip abroad.”

They approached the fork in the road.

Volt didn’t know how else to say it, so he just did. “Your father was interred here.” He glanced at Eddie.

“Yes.”

“That’s why, when my father offered you the land, you…”

“Yes.”

Volt nodded. He said no more.

They reached the cottage. Eddie parked the car.

—

Eddie led Volt toward where they were the week before, by the stone dam, where the old break had dried up, where the river kept stubbornly trying to return to a long-abandoned channel, like it wanted to occupy both paths at once.

“Right. So we’ll just continue from last Friday.” They made their way down the embankment. “The main source of the flooding was this—the river wants to braid and split into little channels in the estate, causing flooding all over.” He continued, “And it’s not… we have to persuade it, month after month, to keep making the same choice. Redirect the flow to one main course, so it doesn’t disturb other parts of the land.”

Volt smiled, “You speak as though the river were an antagonist to contend with.”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, chuckling faintly. “I mean… it does feel that way sometimes. But I like to think of it as helping the river. Working with it.”

“I see.” They walked together along the shallow edge of the water, a little ways past the shore.

“And what—” “So we—”

“My apologies. Please,” Volt conceded, smiling apologetically.

Eddie continued, “We have to do two things, today and tomorrow. Reinforce one of the bends, just north of here, and repair a levee down south, where the trees for felling are. I’ll explain everything when we get to them.”

Around them the leaves in the trees stirred in the morning wind. The dense foliage of the birches along the well-trodden path suddenly cast everything into shade. Eddie gazed up to their branches at the clear sky beyond. It all seemed to him pregnant with some immense idea.

Or perhaps it was simply summer.

Volt looked up, too. “How lovely. All the trees are budding.”

Eddie smiled, “Yeah.”

For a moment, the light flowed from their branches, and the wind blew, all frill and no apparent purpose.

“Right. So anyway, those are the two things. But it doesn’t really matter which one gets done first.”

“Let’s do the more complex project first.”

That’s what Eddie would have done. “Yeah, I agree.”

They carried the materials toward the bend.

“Right, these should do. We’ll work on setting it up after lunch. You hungry?”

—

They took a little lunch in Eddie’s cottage—Volt had no idea what to expect, but Eddie produced a respectable lunch. The food was as practical as him, at any rate—in fact, could even be qualified as positively scrumptious to a starving man, which Volt suddenly realized he was. On the dining table was a spread: sourdough bread, a wedge of cheddar, slices of cold ham, and a jar of marmalade. Tea was brewed while they ate.

He finished off his plate sooner than he would have thought polite, but Eddie didn’t seem to mind (or care). Volt had a second helping of the marmalade, which tasted almost like the one they served at his favorite café in Cambridge—he stood up as he finished it off, and walked toward the bookshelf in the adjoining sitting room.

“May I?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Volt idly went through the volumes on the shelf. One of the books caught his eye—it had a modest Bradel binding in green cloth, with a red shagreen panel for the title. He pulled it off the shelf. A pencil was wedged in the poor book.

Volt raised his eyebrows. “You know French.”

“Barely. Just enough to read. I learned it in college. Seemed a shame to forget it.”

Barely? ‘Barely’ does not read Stendhal in the original, thought Volt.

“And you’re reading Le Rouge et le Noir because…?”

“Well, because I’d already read it in English.”

“I see. Of course.” He looked at Eddie. “Well! What do you think of it?”

“What do you mean?”

"Well... Julien Sorel."

"He's an idiot."

"An idiot?" Volt had never thought that before.

"A brilliant idiot, maybe. Still an idiot."

"I think he's fascinating. Ambition as performance, performance as ambition…” Volt gestured vaguely in the air.

"Well yeah, but he's also exhausting."

"What do you really think, then?"

"That Madame de Rênal deserved better."

Volt stared at him. "That's your interpretation?"

"It's not an interpretation. It’s what I think."

"It absolutely is."

"I read the book. She deserved better."

Volt paused for a second, a pensive look on his face. “You’re right, of course.”

Eddie felt he was maybe too dismissive. “But I mean… I do like it.” He smiled at Volt.

Volt smiled back. “Well.” He put the volume back on the shelf.

Eddie started putting away the implements on the table. He passed a glance at Volt. “You mentioned a scrape from the garden gate?”

Eddie showed Volt to a small oak worktable in the guest room. Really no more than a repurposed writing desk, it held amber bottles, folded muslin, corks, a brass balance scarcely wider than Volt's hand, and a porcelain mortar stained faintly from use. A small leather notebook rested beside a pen and some ink. Above it, bottles, jars, and vials stood in orderly rows like tiny soldiers—they were plainly labelled in a neat hand (Glycerin, Witch Hazel, Lanolin, Boric Acid, Burn Ointment, Liniment No. 2, Liniment #8…), with a name and a military-style date (somehow Volt assumed Eddie would have carelessly bad handwriting).

Volt did not know what to think.

“When… in the military hospital, during the war, there was something we used for abrasions.” Eddie pulled one of the small jars and handed it to Volt.

Volt shot up his eyebrows in surprise, “What’s this?”

“Just a salve. Helps keep the skin from drying out. Usually heals cleaner that way.”

The entire set up, like the parts of the cottage that Volt had seen, was kept clean, with a fastidiousness that somehow both made complete sense and was a little surprising—evidently, Eddie’s standards (the extent of which Volt was only discovering) extended to how he liked to keep house.

Volt did not know where to start. He looked at Eddie questioningly.

"Nothing exciting. Medical supply.”

“Medical supply?”

Eddie blushed slightly before explaining further, “It’s just… a few things I learned when I was in service.” At Volt’s quizzical expression, he added, “I… prepared ointments. Antiseptics. Liniments. Mostly made sure hospitals had what they needed.”

There was a brief silence. “They’re… good for everyday use.”

Volt turned his attention to the shelf. “Huh. I… see.” He picked up a vial, inspecting the label.

“What’s… rose?”

“Yes, that one’s rose water,” Eddie said. “Adds hydration to emollients. Like a… moisturizer. For dry skin in the winter and things like that.”

Volt smelled it—he was transported back to that small room in the V&A, with Amir kneeling in front of him. He realized, for a split second, in one of those strange coups d’oeil, that he was starting to feel a similar sort of curiosity about Eddie.

He put the vial back immediately.

“Yes, this… this scent reminded me of something. M-my apologies.”

For a moment, Volt’s breath caught in his chest. He forced himself to regard Eddie with an almost cynical detachment.

Eddie, in turn, pretended that Volt wasn’t just staring at him, unable to speak. He busied himself with tidying the sitting room, and left Volt to prod around the rest of the set up.

He didn’t make any fuss of it—just walked out like he needed something in the other room. Volt was relieved by the grace Eddie extended—he felt slightly moved at how this stranger, by all accounts, was determined not to be awful to him.

Volt put the jar in his pocket, persuading himself to move on, to shake it off, to smile with ease.

Instead, his gaze drifted back to Eddie, moving quietly about the room.

He allowed himself a moment before he spoke again.

“I’m beginning to think there’s nothing you can’t do,” he joked, closing the door behind him.

Eddie blushed profusely.

Aha, Volt thought, he blushes when complimented directly—when he wants to pretend not to care!

“Right. Shall we, Eddie?” He said pleasantly—Eddie looked up and nodded.

—

They continued on to the first bend in the river, north of the cottage.

“So what we’re going to do here is just strengthen an outside bend,” Eddie explained, glancing back at Volt every so often. “Water erodes the hardest on those parts of the river. Outside the curves. That bank there?” He pointed to the other side. “It’s been retreating a few inches the last few months.”

They crossed the river.

On the bank was an oak stake, marked with lines. Eddie bent down to inspect it. “I’ve been marking the water level for a few months.” He looked up at Volt. “This is where we need to build a small barrier.”

Eddie began driving rows of timber stakes into the soil while Volt disappeared into the surrounding woodland in search of brushwood. He stood at a distance from Eddie, gathering thin branches and twigs. Eddie could identify him almost entirely from that pale streak of hair moving in the sunlight.

Eddie drove the last two stakes in the mud.

Across the bank, to Volt, he looked so self-possessed, rolling his sleeves as he made measurements. It struck Volt that Eddie looked so harmonious with the forest, this land that Volt technically owned but still looked so clumsy against—but he said he’d help, so Volt rolled his sleeves up, too.

After a while, he felt the knot of his tie digging slightly into the hollow of his throat, so he loosened that, too, and walked to where Eddie was, a pile of branches in his arms.

“You said you measure these points in the river manually, every month?”

“Yeah.” Eddie started to weave the branches between the stakes. He looked up, “Why?”

“That… that doesn’t bother you?”

Why would it?

“No, why would it?”

“It just seems to be… the kind of work for someone with the patience of a saint.” Eddie heard the wonder slipping into Volt’s voice.

He chuckled, “I’m no saint, Volt.”

“Well, you understand what I mean.”

“There’s really no other way to do it.” Volt handed him the spirit level. “The changes have to be measured over time.”

“I see. You thought of that, too?”

“The… measuring over time?”

“Yes.”

Eddie nodded, “I did.”

Volt rested on one leg, watching Eddie wrangle the last few branches in place. “Fascinating.”

“I…” Eddie briefly turned a rather pretty shade of pink. “Sure.”

Volt smirked, satisfied with himself. He thought it might be fun to figure out how to make that blush appear for longer next time.

He helped Eddie pile some earth and stone around the base of the structure, packing everything firmly where the woven branches would catch the silt. Things were easier to understand now, now that Eddie was showing him how it all worked. He was starting to know what to look for and why.

The repair was soon done, and they walked back to the house after cleaning up. On the driveway, they parted in the golden light of the early evening.

“Good evening, Eddie.”

“Good evening.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll drop by around the same time.”

—

Day Two, Saturday

The next morning, Volt was out the door as soon as Eddie put the motorcar in park.

He opened the passenger door and hopped in. Eddie’s gaze fell below his throat. He wasn’t wearing a collar today, nor a tie. Volt looked down.

“Oh, I know. It was just bothering me all of yesterday.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, you didn’t have to. I was already feeling rather self-conscious about it.”

“It… looks good.”

“Oh, Eddie. You don’t have to patronize me.” Volt chuckled. “Shall we?”

But he wasn’t trying to. It did look good. Eddie started the engine.

Volt glanced at the backseat. “Why do you have two crates of strawberries?”

“Mrs. Stella, the widow the Hanks did the roof for? Some grocer goaded her into buying a dozen crates. Told her they were scarce this summer. She’s convinced she’ll be able to sell all of them before the next shipment arrives.” Eddie made the turn toward the forest. “Ten shillings each crate.”

“Well, won’t buying it just encourage the fraudulent scheme?”

“Was I supposed to just let her sit with a dozen crates?”

“Well, yes. To discourage her believing that grocer,” replied Volt.

Eddie glanced at Volt, “That seems unfair.”

“Yes, but your buying it will be proof that there is a market for it,” Volt raised his eyebrows, “And will essentially ensure it happens again.”

“Hmm.” Eddie said, turning it over. They sat pondering it.

“Of course, we don’t know the disposition of that grocer to be sure what will happen,” Volt relented.

“True.”

“For now you have a load of berries.”

“Do you want some?”

“Oh yes, absolutely.” Volt chuckled. “Thank you.”

As they neared the cottage, Eddie had the passing thought that the drive had gone by unusually quickly. They got out the car, and started piling on some materials in a wheelbarrow.

After a needlessly heated disagreement over who ought to push the wheelbarrow, Volt was able to convince Eddie to let him push it. Eddie grumbled slightly before relenting. He explained what they needed to do as they walked south of the cottage.

“There’s a section of the levee that needs to be raised, beside the part of the forest where we cut trees.” He looked back at Volt. Volt made a big show of demonstrating just how much he was enjoying pushing the wheelbarrow.

Eddie rolled his eyes and continued, “A levee keeps the land behind it from flooding. Mostly packed earth. We'll reinforce the weak places with sandbags.” He stopped at a clearing with multiple stumps of trees. “It prevents flooding, so these trees can actually be cut. Otherwise the ground stays too wet. You can't really work here.”

Volt parked the wheelbarrow with a flourish. Eddie had to fight a smile.

“Anyway. We’ll measure it to know how much material we need. Then fortify it after lunch.”

They crouched beside the embankment, drove stakes into the mud, and stretched a few lines across the channel.

As Volt secured the string on the other side, Eddie measured the distance from the taut string to the crest of the levee every few yards. As he did, Eddie watched the sparse clouds moving idly by. Every day in the forest he saw or heard something new. After the war, Eddie thought of maybe traveling for a few years—he wanted to look, to listen, to lose himself in the world. In a wholly unexpected way, the greenwood had given him just that.

He wasn’t stupid—he knew he had done the estate a service by stabilizing the marshes, but he did genuinely think it was not the most impressive nor challenging thing one could ever do. At first, he felt only a benign pleasure in ‘solving the flooding’—after all, this was land somebody else owned, and Eddie was never in the habit of deferring to someone that way.

But as the birds came to roost, as the trees stirred in the wind, the idea of ownership suddenly lost its meaning—how can someone really own the earth?

He was pulled out of his reverie by Volt approaching his side of the bank.

Volt’s hair had fallen around his shoulders; he had lost his ribbon. Eddie observed how the breeze kept loosening the strands tucked behind his ears.

“My ribbon slipped and fell in the water.” Volt rolled his eyes in affected exasperation.

Eddie realized yesterday was actually the first time he’d seen it tied back—he remembered Volt’s hair was loose around his shoulders, too, when they first met. It subtly changed his appearance. Tied back, his face was more visible, his expressions easier to read. But he seemed to be more at ease with it down.

“Is it difficult to tie it?” He was curious.

“Not really. More difficult to hold one’s tongue when people have the audacity to say his lordship ought to have it cut.” He walked across the bank to where Eddie was. “I mean, really, I’d prefer people just talk about it behind my back.”

Eddie smiled. “I’m sure I have a roll of cord somewhere. It’s no ribbon, but…”

“I can hardly mind that.” They walked back to the cottage. “Thank you.”

Volt tucked his hair behind his ear, and looked sheepishly at Eddie, “I would love to eat first, though, if you don’t mind.”

They took lunch outside this time, at Volt’s suggestion. Eddie moved a small garden table in front of a stone bench. They sat side by side eating the same food as yesterday, with the welcome addition of the strawberries.

“I must say, there’s something indulgent about eating strawberries from a large crate like this.” Volt said, looking out into the river. The river was flooded with sunlight, this glittered light dancing across the water. He spotted a small bird, its feathers a lovely shade of iridescent blue.

Turning to Eddie, he said, “Ah, what a lovely bird that is.”

“That little guy hangs around this part of the river until sunset.”

“You’ve befriended the fauna in the forest, I see.”

“No, I…” Eddie flushed, ”I just notice them after a while.”

“There’s no need to be shy, Eddie.” Volt grinned with ease. “You must introduce me to all your friends.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Finish your tea.” He got up.

He fetched a black braided cord for Volt’s hair, watched him tie it. His fingers made surprisingly quick work of it.

Volt glanced at Eddie, realizing he was being watched. “It… it started turning white when I was eighteen.”

Eddie looked away—he hadn’t meant to look so long.

He nodded. “I’ll start putting the bags of sand in the wheelbarrow.”

They added fresh earth to the settled sections of the levee, packing it firmly, following the careful markers they had placed in the morning, building each section according to the different heights of the stakes.

On the other side of the bank, Eddie got to work shifting the last bags of sand, his torso slightly straining as he lifted the bags onto his shoulder. Volt ambled across the bank to help him, and Eddie tamped the fresh earth flat with the back of his shovel.

The final part of their workday was soon over.

“Eddie, I think it would only be proper that I return your hospitality. Would you care for dinner in the house?”

Eddie agreed.

“Lovely. I shall see you in an hour.”

—

Volt let Eddie into the house.

They passed through a large dining hall, which had a paneled ceiling with a molded rosette at its center—from it hung a fairly elaborate crystal chandelier that had been converted to electricity.

Volt huffed a sarcastic chuckle, “I’m afraid we won’t be dining here.” Eddie glanced at the intricate tapestries on the walls.

“I believe you may have still met my father’s butler, and his valet, and the staff that worked the grounds, but I’m afraid I’ve made the decision not to hire any staff.” He led Eddie toward the breakfast room, where they sat a week ago. “Apart from the housekeeper who goes here twice a week.”

Eddie looked out the window. The room had an unobstructed view of the stone terrace, and the gardens below. It all looked quite different at night—the gardens had this almost mystical quality.

Volt started laying the table for two. “I usually manage rather well.” He set their silver down. “My college steward would certainly be proud of me,” he joked. He disappeared into the adjoining small kitchen, which, until a week ago, was only ever used by staff for their meals.

He reappeared into the room, carrying a silver platter.

"It's hardly ambitious. I can reliably roast a chicken and avoid poisoning myself, but that’s about it.” If he accidentally poisoned Eddie, at least, he’ll simply have poisoned himself, too.

They sat down to eat—dinner consisted of chicken and potatoes; Volt filled Eddie’s cup with wine.

"This is good,” Eddie said.

"Oh, Eddie. You don't have to say that. The estate isn’t paying you anymore." Volt smiled at his little joke—he can certainly be sure now that Eddie isn’t sitting here with him because of his money.

"No, I mean it,” Eddie said emphatically.

"Well." Volt suddenly became very interested in his potatoes. “Thank you.”

They polished off a few of the strawberries Eddie brought, then retired to the drawing room.

“Thank you for dinner,” said Eddie.

Volt smiled graciously, and prepared a crystal decanter with whiskey and two glasses. He poured a glass for Eddie.

They stared out the large drawing room window.

“How come you never stayed here?” Eddie asked.

Volt smiled at Eddie. “Well, it didn’t happen all at once.” He took a sip of the whiskey.

“My father started to take me out hunting here, in the estate grounds, before I went up to Eton. I thought it all this beastly business, but I proved to be rather a natural at it, unfortunately.” He took another sip. “He thought that aptitude might be enough for me to take interest in the estate naturally, but unfortunately for him, it did the opposite. I always thought it rather uncivilized, hunting.

“During the holidays I did all I could to stay in London and not come down here. He had all these parties he was invited to, and I started to convince him that good aristocrats attended them. Now that,” Volt grinned, “I proved to be good at as well. Though this time, I quite enjoyed it.”

He continued, “He let me spend the holidays in London as long as I wished then, because he found himself better liked by his peers because they liked his son. Toward the end, he also liked that he didn’t even have to attend any parties at all to get the goodwill. It was enough I was there.”

Truthfully, in those first few seasons in London, Volt was taken aback by the power of his beauty, at how he was easily invited everywhere, and how everyone seemed to do whatever he hoped them to do, without him having lifted anything so much as a finger. It tended to bore him now, even annoyed him sometimes to find he still cared, but at the time, he was young, and it seemed a shame to not test how far it could take him. The realization that it was something he could be good at came much later.

“He gave me a handsome allowance, too, whenever I was in the city, even after he’d completely absconded here. He insisted I give a few parties in the London house myself, since I went to so many of them in other people’s homes—It’s only polite, son.”

But after a while, even having a girl over in the empty house seemed rote. So did most of the entertainment London offered.

“Of course, if I’d known the estate was on the verge of bankruptcy I would have happily lived like a pauper.” Volt chuckled sardonically, “But he was never a very popular lord, and he liked having a taste of it through me.”

Eddie smirked, “That’s one way to buy someone.”

“Well,” Volt laughed, “as you can see, Eddie, I tend to fetch a steep price.”

Eddie smiled at him, amused.

He finished the rest of his whiskey. “Thanks.” Volt collected both their glasses to be put away.

With a glimmer in his eye, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, he came back to the room with a velvet box. Eddie shot him a questioning look.

“Do you take cigars?” Volt asked. Eddie smiled and nodded. Volt handed him one, leaned close to light it for him, then lit one for himself. “There we go.”

Volt stared outside.

“The War… changed him. My father. Not that he wasn’t like how you probably knew him, make no mistake. Instead it had… exacerbated certain proclivities. I think he was waiting for the world to go back to 1914 somehow. I don’t know.” Volt took a drag. “He was less apt to be kind after my mother died, that’s certain.”

“No, I get it. The war brought out something different in everyone.” Eddie tapped at his cigar. A small pile of ashes collected on the travertine tray.

“I was in Eton when it broke out. So many Old Boys enlisted… I think it made them feel useful. Gave them a sort of purpose. Of course, plenty didn’t come back.”

“They were immortalized in the school paper.” Volt scoffed. “Right beside the callbacks for the debate society. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Eddie smiled wryly. “Well, the world does tend to go on.”

They watched the wind blow through the line of trees in the distance.

“What did you…” Volt started again, “How did you come to replace your father here? You have a car, you clearly didn’t need the pittance my father offered his staff.”

Eddie continued to stare out the window. He took a drag before speaking.

“My father volunteered to enlist when the war broke out here. My parents were already separated, and I think he missed England after living in Albany for twenty years.” He glanced at Volt, “that’s where I’m from.” Volt nodded in acknowledgement.

He continued, “One day I got a letter that he was out here, and that he was sick. The crazy thing was he could barely put that on paper.” Eddie shook his head, “I think he was maybe embarrassed that he ended up having to ask for help.”

Eddie rolled the cigar between his fingers.

“Your father just assumed I was here to cover for him. And… I don’t know, I think after the war, being here seemed a nice change of scenery, at first. Then your father offered the land, and I knew my father was dying, would probably be buried here, so I said yes.”

Volt briefly looked at him, “That was quite noble of you.”

Eddie laughed, “Barely. It seemed the decent thing to do.”

They were quiet for a moment. It was Volt who broke the silence.

“So what happens after two days of maintenance?” Volt asked.

“Well, I monitor the banks, see how any improvements are taking, make any adjustments.” Eddie chuckled. “Honestly, I prefer doing the actual work in those two days. Makes it much easier to see if it’s working.”

“I see.” Volt exhaled. “So tomorrow, for example, what would you be doing? Could I possibly watch you work?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “You don’t need my permission, you know. You still own the land right now.”

“Well yes, but I need to sort of apprentice here as I barely know that side of the property.” A wry smile.

Eddie breathed out a plume of smoke. “Apprentice… here. In the land you own.” Eddie looked at him with mirth.

“In the land I…” Volt smirked. “Yes, Eddie, in the land I own.” Volt glanced at him, smiling. “You understand what I mean.”

“Well, I usually monitor the banks. Or continue constructing materials. Not as involved as the past two days.”

“Well, I’ll shadow you, then.” Volt’s eyes sparkled at his bright idea. “Would you mind that terribly? Take me on as your apprentice?”

“Or your dedicated squire, if you prefer that. My lord.” Volt laughed at his own joke.

Eddie looked to his left to hide a growing blush. “Yeah, I… yeah, sure.”

Volt extinguished the last of his cigar.

Eddie did, too.

“Well, dear Eddie, that settles it, then!”

Volt flashed him a dazzling grin.

“You know what, this time I shall come to you.”

—

Much later, in the humid air of the night, Eddie woke in a cold sweat, blearily roused from a dream.

In his dream Volt took on a hundred forms: with his hair tied back, with it loose around his shoulders, face pensive, smiling, eager, teasing. The look on Volt’s face when he asked to be taken on as an apprentice. The little smiles he gave Eddie in the drawing room, so unguarded, so full of unexpected sincerity. His voice drifted faintly through it all—brilliant... dear Eddie—a strange siren song.

Then came the memory of Volt's chest from yesterday, clouding his thoughts. He palmed the front of his pants, stared at the ceiling.

God fucking damn it.

—

nobody talk to eddie he’s busy falling in love or whatever this is

Period/chapter notes:

coups d’oeil - literally "stroke of the eye"; a sudden understanding of the big picture in a single glance/moment

college steward - college staff (in a dorm) responsible for students' rooms, meals, etc

Public school boys in WWI - Enlisting for the war in 1914 was certainly not required (unlike WW2), but a lot of English boys did see it for something far more noble than it really was: this chance to play at something heroic or contribute to The Cause, this worldview of course being reinforced by their elite education

‘Public’ school in the context of the UK - Private school everywhere else; a public school in Britain is a private boarding school

The London Season - the annual social season, when aristocratic and wealthy families went to London for balls, dinners, court presentations, theatre, races - all the social rituals surrounding marriage and society

“I can hardly mind that.” They walked back to the cottage. “Thank you.”

Volt tucked his hair behind his ear and looked sheepishly at Eddie, “I would love to eat first, though, if you don’t mind.”

They took lunch outside this time, at Volt’s suggestion. Eddie moved a small garden table in front of a stone bench. They sat side by side eating the same food as yesterday, with the welcome addition of the strawberries.

“I must say, there’s something indulgent about eating strawberries from a large crate like this.” Volt said, looking out into the river. The river was flooded with sunlight, this glittered light dancing in the waters. He spotted a small bird, its feathers a lovely shade of iridescent blue.

Turning to Eddie, he said, “Ah, what a lovely bird that is.”

“That little guy hangs around this part of the river until sunset.”

“You’ve befriended the fauna in the forest, I see.”

“No, I…” Eddie flushed, ”I just notice them after a while.”

“There’s no need to be shy, Eddie.” Volt grinned with ease. “You must introduce me to all your friends.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Finish your tea.” He got up.

He fetched a black braided cord for Volt’s hair, watched him tie it. His fingers made surprisingly quick work of it.

Volt glanced at Eddie, realizing he was being watched. “It… it started turning white when I was eighteen.”

Eddie looked away—he hadn’t meant to look so long.

—

His fingers wrap around his sleek, heavy cock, the soap easing the motions of his hand.

You watch him coax his cock to life, entranced, until he suddenly turns around, leaving you to stare at his ass. Volt turns his back to you to rinse himself, letting the water drum down his shoulders for a considerable amount of time before finally stepping out in a towel.

It was times like these you felt a little helpless around him. You shake your head fondly, then busy yourself with removing the towel on your head.

He walks up and leans close to where you are across the counter, his finger toying with the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down, letting it fall to the floor, humming low as you sighed.

“Such a tease…”

“Well, didn’t you want me to put on a little show?”

You smile, turning to him, and undo his towel, letting that fall to the floor as well.

You slide your hand between his legs, and start stroking his cock and balls. He huffs out a pleased moan, “My sweet spark…”

Your hand travels up his chest, fingers lingering there before they brush across a nipple. Volt’s hands close around your hips, and your ass hits the top of the counter.

You laugh into a kiss, spreading your legs wide apart. Volt steps between them, his hard cock poking against your inner thigh. “Thought you wanted it slow.” He grins, “What made you think that, darling?”

He slides a finger up your hole, and you moan, “Volt, Volt…”

“My lovely live wire, already so wet for me.” He slips two fingers in, and starts easing them in and out. You groan, your brows knitting as you briefly close your eyes in pleasure. “Did you like my little show?”

“Yes, yes…” You grasp at his cock, leading it to your hole, wanting him inside, now. “Just fuck me-“

He grins, pleased, and finally presses the head of his cock against your hole. His cock slides easily inside. He cries out a low groan against your mouth, “Mm, spark-“

You close the distance, your tongues caught in a little dance - his hands travel to your lower back, squeezing just above your ass, and you wrap your legs tighter around him. He brings your hips closer, and starts to fuck you.

The slight curve of his cock presses the head against your walls, in a delicious drag that makes you shudder in his arms.

“Fuck, Volt-“

You moan against his neck, your cheek resting on his shoulder, mouthing below his pulse. You wrap your arms loosely around him, feeling the heat of his skin against yours, whimpering, “F-faster-“

He brings you closer, fingers pressing on your lower back, your ass hanging off the edge of the counter, his hips snapping into yours, over and over, driving the length of his cock inside you in an increasing rhythm-

“My good little spark…”

You press your heel to his ass, wanting him closer, deeper, just buried inside, god-

“Yes, yes Volt-“

He brings his thumb to your lower lip, and you close your mouth around it, sucking softly. He takes it out and reaches down to press the thumb on your clit, making slow circles as he fucks harder into you.

You tighten around him, and he groans against your neck, sucking softly, his cock a delicious drag, his thumb pressing faster, around and around-

Then he bites into your neck, and your mouth goes slack, “Fuck Volt fuck-“

You come in a helpless moan, shaking against Volt, gushing around his cock, hands grasping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He laps at the mark he just made on your neck, and you clutch at his damp hair, pulling a little.

Your hips continue undulating forwards as you ride your orgasm out, trying to meet the length of his hard cock.

In a haze of unfocused pleasure, you lean close to him and run your tongue up his jaw and along his ear, these sloppy little kisses, licking your way up, collecting the little droplets of water still on his skin.

His hips buck forward, “Oh amp, amp-“

He grunts into your neck as he comes inside you, fingers digging into your ass while his other hand scrambles to hold onto the edge of the counter. You feel him deep inside, warm - oh he was always so warm…

Volt captures your lower lip between his own and you kiss him softly, the two of you panting into each other’s mouths. His left hand gently rubs the back of your head, and you sigh into the kiss.

You feel him soften inside you, and he starts to move his hips, slowly pulling out. You press the heel of your foot against the back of his thigh to stop him.

“Not yet… want you to… stay inside.”

He laughs against your mouth, “Of course, my darling.” He runs his hands up and down your sides, and you kiss a smile to the corner of his lips.

"Well... Julien Sorel."

"He's an idiot."

"An idiot?" Volt had never thought that before.

"A brilliant idiot, maybe. Still an idiot."

"I think he's fascinating. Ambition as performance, performance as ambition…” Volt gestured vaguely in the air.

"Well yeah, but he's also exhausting."

"What do you really think, then?"

"That Madame de Rênal deserved better."

Volt stared at him. "That's your interpretation?"

"It's not an interpretation. It’s what I think."

"It absolutely is."

"I read the book. She deserved better."

Volt paused for a second, a pensive look on his face. “You’re right, of course.”

Eddie felt he was maybe too dismissive. “But I mean… I do like it.” He smiled at Volt.

But he noticed that despite all these warnings, there was always somebody in the solicitor’s office who approved all his father’s requests to take out more money—a Mr. Keith. Over time, his father took to writing to him directly, and the money was always wired faster than it usually was if it had gone through all the correct channels. Writing to Mr. Keith requesting the release of more cash from the trust seemed to somehow allow his father to bypass lawyers and estate managers.

He closed the ledgers and went through the will.

He pored over the details of the stipulation in an effort to understand the legal jargon himself. Volt hated not being privy to something, and so spent the remainder of the morning learning about all the possible ways to split the property line—he decided to implement the simplest, cleanest solution. He resolved to carry the task out as soon as possible.

He was so absorbed he almost didn’t notice the time, and had to rush to the chapel.

On his way there, he pondered how best to go about this insolvency business. After the inheritance taxes—death duties sounded so passé, Volt thought—were paid earlier in the year, the ledgers still showed an overdraft of a few thousand pounds, which was not… horrible. There were families, he knew, with overdrafts of a few hundred thousand pounds or more; that usually forced them to sell their houses. However, the estate had no real income anymore, and simply living in the house would force him into further debt.

He considered his options. The obvious solution would be to simply sell the estate to the highest bidder—he’d grown fond of the London house; there was no question of selling that. But Volt found a stubbornness in him to treat it like an impossible puzzle, unless of course it really turned out there was no way to save it. He’d have to have the house appraised, at any rate. Thankfully he wasn’t attached to it.

He reached the small garden of the estate churchyard, which contained the chapel, the estate cemetery, and the mausoleum.

The mausoleum was built for the family in much the same Georgian style as the house, though the surrounding ironwork came later—these ornate Victorian gates and fences.

He crossed the churchyard and went up the steps of the marble structure—this absurd temple-like thing, really—and pushed open the wrought iron gate with some difficulty, the metal making a creaking sound. It resisted slightly, and didn’t open fully; Volt had to walk on his side to enter.

He went down the steps, and descended into a cool stone chamber housing the subterranean crypt containing the burial vaults. Around him, lining the perimeter of the room, were rows of oak coffins in various states of wear, installed on stone-lined brick recesses in the walls.

Behind him, a voice echoed slightly against the walls, “I considered having that gate seen to.”

Volt didn’t turn around, “It still works.”

A staid figure in black vestments stepped into view. “Yes, but so do many things that are not attended to.”

“Father Errol.”

“Lord Breaker.”

Father Errol followed Volt’s gaze, to the newest coffin installed in a brick niche.

“You were here last year, for the service.”

“I was,” Volt replied.

“And then you left.”

Volt’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t recall that being prohibited.”

“No,” the vicar said. “Merely… convenient.”

Volt let the silence sit between them.

Father Errol broke it, “I called upon you to request approval for a few things in the parish.”

“Yes, I saw those requests this morning. The estate office does a good job of promptly forwarding all the relevant paperwork to me. Rest assured, they will be approved.”

“Good. There are also some issues the tenants have had for some time. As you may have seen, Mrs. Stella’s roof still needs fixing. She’s the widow living in the stone cottage at the end of the road, in case you don’t remember.”

“Yes, I recall. I intend to approve that as well.” Volt finally looked at him. “I wasn’t aware seeing to those parts of the estate were part of your duties as vicar.”

“They’re not, but one has a way of observing them when one lives here full time. Your father was always aware of them because he remained here, where he was required.”

“Yes, but being aware of them and taking action are not the same things. Didn’t he tend to let the tenant requests languish for months?”

“Still, as lord, he was always present here.”

“Being present doesn’t always equate to good estate management.”

"No. But good estate management rarely occurs in one's absence.”

Volt didn’t reply. The vicar’s eyes lingered on the coffin. He changed the subject.

"The service is still said every Sunday."

"I'm aware."

"Your father never missed one."

"My father also nearly bankrupted the estate."

"Those are unrelated matters,” the vicar said.

"Are they?" Volt pressed.

"Entirely."

"I disagree."

Father Errol didn’t relent.

“Sunday service is still at ten in the morning. As you've been away a long time, Lord Breaker, perhaps you’ve forgotten.”

“I wasn’t aware attendance was required.”

“Only if one intends to go to Heaven.”

Volt turned his gaze elsewhere. This was getting ridiculous.

Father Errol turned his gaze to the other side of the wall, idly reading the brass plates of the coffins.

"Mrs. Stella’s roof will be pleased to learn it finally has your attention.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You approve everything very promptly.”

“I should hope so.”

“The question,” Father Errol said, “is whether you’ll still be approving things next year.”

Volt’s jaw tightened.

“Well, Father. I’m here now, aren’t I?” A trace of sarcasm slipped into his voice.

“Yes,” Father Errol replied. “But for how long?”

“What duration would satisfy you.”

“As lord to the estate?” The vicar folded his hands. “I should think forever would be suitable.” He looked at Volt. "One day there will be another Lord Breaker."

Volt immediately replied. "That seems a little premature."

"The family line rarely consults one's personal preferences.”

Volt’s lips pressed into a tight line.

He said nothing more, and started to make his way toward where he came.

—

He walked back to the house in a huff, taking out the tie in his hair in frustration. He stomped as he neared the driveway. How dare the vicar imply that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand the estate. He didn’t know anything. Just a lonely, self-righteous old—

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Eddie in the driveway, by his car, looking at Volt. Did he see all that? Great, thought Volt, who else was going to see him like this today?

He rearranged his features into a pleasant smile. “Eddison, thank you for dropping by.” He forced himself to slow his stride, sauntering to the front driveway.

—

Eddie had watched Volt storm into the driveway from where he stood beside his car. He emerged from the line of trees that led to the chapel and mausoleum visibly irritated, stomping on the gravel, taking out the tie in his hair in frustration, running his hands through his long white hair as it blew in the wind. His jaw was set in a tight line. Eddie watched as the emotion on his face immediately schooled itself into something pleasant once he took sight of Eddie waiting. Eddie had a passing curiosity about what it was that he talked about with the vicar that ruined his morning.

“After lunch, like we agreed.”

Volt flashed him a dazzling smile. “Yes, yes. Shall we?”

They stepped into the house, went to the drawing room. Volt picked up the ledger on top of the pile on the desk, which had a bundle of papers inserted under the cover.

“Would you mind terribly if we brought this to the breakfast room? I haven’t eaten today, and you of course are welcome to the small spread there.” Volt smiled at Eddie, a tiny show of polite self-deprecation.

He set a place for Eddie, and they sat down. Volt had two poached eggs and a muffin.

“Do you take tea?”

Eddie nodded, and Volt filled his cup.

“This is oolong, grown in Darjeeling.”

Eddie was amused. Volt seemed to genuinely enjoy playing host, even down to filling Eddie’s cup himself.

He took a sip, and raised his eyebrows in delighted surprise, “This is delicious.”

“Oh, isn’t it just? It’s my one indulgence. Please, help yourself to the scones, I really would not be able to finish them all.”

Eddie ate one. Volt noticed that he had impeccable table manners, slicing and buttering with nary a fallen crumb in sight.

“I’m guessing I’m talking to a university man?” This was the first question Volt rehearsed this morning.

Eddie put down the scone. “Yes, I went. Before the war. Union College.”

“Union College? And where would that be?”

“Schenectady. In New York.”

“I see. Not Harvard, then?”

Volt found himself no closer to placing this man. Educated, certainly. Yet somehow that only made the puzzle more confusing. Truthfully, it was starting to drive him mad. And he owned that car. Now he was really being driven to oblivion.

Eddie observed a small knit form between Volt’s eyebrows. He wanted to roll his eyes—these upper class types only ever knew one thing. It wasn’t a wonder their estates had solvency problems. He said, a little sardonically, more biting than he usually liked sounding, “No, sir, not Harvard.”

“Oh, not sir either, please don’t call me that.” Volt faltered a little. “It’s just Volt, really.” He couldn’t help the light flush that crawled up his neck.

“No, Volt, not Harvard.”

Somehow that seemed worse.

Volt tried again, “And what… and what did you study there?”

“Natural sciences.”

“Oh, how amazing!” Eddie blinked; now Volt seemed sincere in his admiration. “I read English and so know nothing about that field.” A little self-deprecating, even.

“Did you… serve in the War?” This was the second question he rehearsed.

Eddie neatly dabbed at his mouth with the napkin. “Yes, I served in the war. For about a year.”

“I see. I was… in boarding school at the time.” Volt realized he had nothing to contribute to that. He changed the subject.

“I read through the stipulation yesterday evening.” And all of this morning. “There was a clause I wanted to ask you about.”

He had read through the stipulation, and noticed one detail the solicitors never seemed to dwell on: that the transfer was contingent on Eddie maintaining the solution indefinitely.

“The stipulation was contingent on two things—I know I already unwittingly abused the second, by being away, but the first… I confess I don’t understand how it came to be. The indefinite maintenance.”

“Well, it’s just that. I guess the land will continue to be mine for as long as the river is maintained.”

Volt was stunned. Suddenly it became clear to Volt that this estate could be a noose for other people, too.

“But that’s absurd. Nothing should be contingent on an eternal responsibility. Eddison, you… you were okay with this?”

“Yes, I had lawyers look into it before I signed.”

Volt wanted to laugh—what a tragic comedy this was turning out to be. Leave it to his father to have finally found the one person able to solve a century-old problem and to have proceeded to desperately try to make sure that person not leave. What was even more absurd was that in his father’s conviction that the estate remain in the family, he had invariably done the opposite: give part of it away. He saw now that his father thought that he had done right by the barony.

Volt fell silent.

He said in a quieter voice, "I think partitioning off the land crossed his mind because of the inheritance taxes. The death duties. He became rather obsessed with them toward the end. I think he knew the estate wouldn’t be able to maintain it anymore.”

“I figured as much.”

“You did?”

“He mentioned something about taxes and there being nothing left for you afterward.”

Volt flushed. It was embarrassing for someone else to know how insolvent the estate was.

“But it’s probably worse for you, right?” Eddie took a sip. “You didn’t ask for this responsibility.”

Volt looked at him. “I… yes.” He tried to recover. “But that’s… that doesn’t matter.”

They were silent for a little bit, until Volt spoke. “I think… it’s useless to pretend that I’m not out of my depth here.” He clenched his jaw, but decided to finally swallow his pride.

“Would it be strange if I asked you how it all works? The… invention you put in the river? Or would it be a sort of contraption?” The unsaid thing, of course, being: I have no idea what I’m talking about.

Eddie gave him a small smile. “I think it would be much easier for me to show you.”

—

They get ready to leave the house. Volt passed the large gilt mirror in the foyer. He put on his overcoat, and adjusted his tie, his waistcoat, smoothed his hair. Eddie watched as he stared at his reflection, lingered on it, then abruptly looked away.

“Well, let the tour commence.” He directed his gaze to Eddie and gave him an indulgent smile.

“We can drive there. I’ll show you the way to the greenwood, then we can walk the way back to the house.”

“Great! I am at your disposal.”

He glanced at Volt’s Oxfords, “That won’t be the best choice to walk with.” He hesitated, a decision passing through his face. He walked to the trunk of the car, and pulled out a pair of green Hunter boots. “Here, see if these fit.”

They fit perfectly. Volt quickly went back inside the house to deposit his shoes by the entrance, and shut the door.

Eddie opened the passenger’s seat door for him, and walked to the other side. “Thank you,” Volt said. Eddie walked to the left hand side, and started the engine after putting on a pair of driving gloves.

Volt’s eyes fell on them—they were of a fine sheepskin leather in a lovely copper colour, with what seemed to be a cashmere lining. He had an impulse to ask Eddie where he bought them, if they were dyed or naturally coloured, but he bit his tongue.

They finally exited the driveway.

“We make a left here—this is the road that leads to the eastern part of the land.” Eddie glanced at him. Volt nodded. They continued on, until they reached a bridge. “There are four bridges that go over the river now. There was a small one we added two years ago up north, that made maintenance easier. This is the southern-most bridge. Still as you might remember.”

“Yes, yes,” said Volt, his eyes following a small flock of birds picking at the bank, “my nanny used to tell me this bridge turned naughty children into animals.”

Eddie chuckled suddenly. “Wait, what?”

“Her clever way of making sure I never cross it and get lost in the forest…” Volt smiled, “But please, continue.”

“Right.” Eddie smiled faintly. “We keep the trees to our right. The cottage is on the right side after this fork.”

They passed a line of oaks and pines that gave way to beech trees, only beech trees now. The cottage came suddenly into view—it seemed to Volt to have appeared out of thin air. Eddie put the motorcar in park, and they got out.

Finally, Volt couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lovely gloves.”

“Hmm? Oh, thanks.” Eddie pocketed them quickly.

“We… can begin with a walk through the woods around the cottage, just on the edge of the forest. That’s where the river begins to show if the solutions are taking. He glanced at Volt, “where the change begins.” Volt nodded.

They walked away from the cottage. “I’ll show you how it works, then we follow up the stream until we get to the bridge. Then we’ll make our way back to the house.”

Volt met his gaze. “Sounds lovely. Please, lead the way.”

They walked for a little bit until they reached a part of the river not far from the cottage. “Okay, it’s here. You see where the water is splashing there?”

They walked along the bank, their boots crunching on the fallen leaves. Volt followed, long strides closing the distance between them. He observed where the water was repeatedly striking a small dam composed of large stones.

“Yes.”

Eddie walked closer toward the water. He pointed, “The river seems to want to split there. This is the first intervention we introduced, this dam.”

He glanced at Volt, who was making his way closer to the water, too.

“That was an old break that dried up. The flooding originated there, I think. In some ways the river still wants to go back to how it was, before it split to this larger channel.”

They walked along the bank, “The main thing is to make sure that on any point the river might want to split again, an intervention is put in place. Something to block it. It’s a little stubborn—it still wants to split because we blocked that large break.”

Volt smiled at him, how funny, treating the river like an unruly child.

Eddie pointed out the different interventions along the bank—reinforcements of all different kinds, made of wood or stone. Finally, Volt understood. It was not… a contraption. Or an invention.

“You… created an entirely new river system.”

Eddie chuckled, “So that’s why it was easier to show you.”

"This… this is extraordinary."

"Not really."

"You solved a problem that existed for a long time."

"Well, sure, but the river was practically telling me what it wanted."

“You solved a century-old problem. That’s really not nothing.” Volt glanced at him. Since Eddie was now privy to the insolvency he might as well know how little the estate now had. “I saw how that drained the trust when I went through the ledgers this morning.”

He also noticed that Eddie kept saying we when he plainly meant I. We introduced the solution. We fixed it. Volt was suddenly quite certain this had been a one-man operation.

“So you… you did all this.”

Eddie nodded. “It’s all connected.”

Volt was stunned.

“This estate does not deserve you, Eddis—.” Volt caught himself. “Eddie.”

Eddie blushed. “Really not that hard once you know what the land is trying to do.”

Oh, an easy blush? Volt looked at him, raising his eyebrows a little, slightly amused. Ah—we all had our weaknesses, after all. This man had a shyness Volt could deal with.

“And the indefinite maintenance is to… check if the river still wants to… split, along the banks?”

Eddie nodded. “Monthly maintenance. To prevent the river splitting, breaking. I check for it once a month. Next one is next week.”

His eyebrows shot up. What funny luck. He was beginning to suspect that Breaker Hall had flourished in spite of its owners rather than because of them. His father didn’t always take proper care of it, and was always more absorbed by the idea of owning it, of being in a family that always had.

But it occurred to Volt now that what he inherited was the sort of place that could hardly be spoiled by being left alone. In fact, it was because Eddie knew when not to intervene that the land had flourished.

“Your scheduled monthly maintenance is in a week, you said? Might I be here for that? I can’t promise you competence but I can promise my complete attention. And an extra set of hands.”

“I mean, that’s good enough.” In truth, Eddie was somewhat relieved Volt even wanted to know about this. “And I can’t promise to be the best teacher… but I’ll try.”

“Oh if you were brilliant enough to think of this, something tells me you’d be good at that as well.” He said it to poke and prod at that shyness, but Volt found that he did actually mean it.

Eddie blushed again, a deeper flush that stayed atop his cheeks this time.

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

Volt found himself very pleased by that.

They crossed the bridge and began to make their way back to the house.

“I’ll drop by next Friday, then.”

Volt grinned. “Splendid. I shall make myself available.”

“Okay. You can keep those boots in the meantime.”

They finally reached the house. Volt asked him something before bounding the steps.

“Eddie, would you know of somebody who may be capable of fixing a roof?”

—

The following morning Volt roused with a renewed purpose, and walked the lengths of the halls in the house.

He catalogued all the furniture in the shut up rooms, made an extensive list, and drafted a letter to a consultant at Sotheby’s.

He walked around and marked the architectural plans to match the sites of urgent repair as he saw them.

He drafted an official estate letter to the solicitors, to launch a formal enquiry to have the house appraised.

And finally, some days later, he demarcated the wing he would be residing in, this small group of connected apartments for his personal use—he felt like some kind of lonely royal pensioner in some huge unused castle in the process.

And as he did, it occurred to him that this was a house that encouraged its inhabitants’ view of themselves—it was surprisingly easy to build a nonsensical sense of importance when looking at the ancestral portraits on the walls, these oil renditions of people one had never met.

When he finally headed to his own bedroom at the end of the day, his own step, in the empty house, seemed loud and sonorous—the carpets had been rolled up in most of the state apartments, and his feet roused a melancholy echo in the halls.

Two days later, at the crack of dawn, Volt visited the mausoleum again. This time he knew it was too early for Father Errol to be around.

Beside the marble tablet inscription, above the crypt, he deposited a small bouquet he had picked from the garden before leaving the house. Volt ran his fingers along the marble surface.

“It’s a year today, father. You have certainly left an interesting legacy.”

He sighed—his father’s love always felt like an investment, something to be given on the condition that there would be a return later.

As he exited the mausoleum, he looked around the adjoining cemetery. And there, underneath a greenwood tree, a new gravestone gave him pause. There was a small vase with a few stems of roses—they could not have been a week old. He leaned in to read the inscription.

… Watts — Died 18 March 1920

—

now why did i fall in love with volt while writing this chapter? just diabolical……oh eddie you will be fighting for your life beating the blushing like a whore allegations henceforth mwah

see u next week for chapter 5 xox

Period notes:

Inheritance taxes/death duties - Death duties are taxes imposed before all assets are passed down to heirs. It was a colloquial term in the 1920s and did actually drain a lot of aristocratic trusts at the time. I thought Volt might find the slang passé - they’re legally known as estate or inheritance taxes.