the.newly.freed

Written by Snail for StMaur-RP

[thenewlyfreed]

        Deepak Gupta ♦ 24 ♦ Valet ♦ Clevedon Court

Memories of bruises. Phantom pain. Nightmares of a time unsafe. Waking with cold sweat and barely shaking them all day. Jumping at doors closed too suddenly, at cups slipping from fingers, at sudden laughter. Trembling when you know you are watched, terrified to make a mistake. Looking into kind eyes and feeling nothing but doubt. Soon. Soon the past must become your present again.

Introducing Deepak Gupta, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍

Skeleton -- Biography -- Pinterest

[thenewlyfreed]

ira-vaisman​:

Manchester - 17th of July, 1904

Deep-packing,

You mock me when you inquire about the Summer warmth in Manchester, aren’t you? It’s been raining ever since I’ve come back. I doubt I’ll ever see the sun again. Once I come back to St Maur, I’ll be as pale as Lady Bernadette. 

Anything is happening in tailor dressing rooms. But not amongst the Upper Classes. Don’t you know? They need goose-feathered beds and Mozart playing in the background to be at ease. That is why they only play Strauss at weddings, lest the fine gentlemen confuse the dance floor for their bed chambers. 

It won’t take long. St Maur Castle is too big to only have one footman. Can you imagine? Tending to an Earl with only two white gloves present? Poor Mr Jameson, degraded to waiting at his white age. Honestly, maybe I go find a good first footman here in Manchester and send him straight to St Maur, just so he can demote Zahir back to second footman again. 

You’re wrong on no accounts. If the Cider Factory is up and running again, the East End of St Maur Town would change completely. I’d return and not recognise it. Poor Lady Cynthia. She won’t have any reason to think herself grand anymore, with all her charities obsolete… 

Trust me, I enjoy the idea of your face waiting for me every morning just as little. It is the most scary experience of my life, and my sister agrees. The more I tell her about you, the more she demands to speak to you, without doubt to scold you for your remarkable wild nature. Be prepared, best pack iron caps into your trousers for safety. This doesn’t bode well.

Christabel Pankhurst is one Lady Emily’s daughter, yes, but the old witch is hardly what you could consider modern. Her daughter though quite gets it, though she was very adamant about the fact that our protest in London should not have turned into a riot. Peace loving people, they are, or as I like to call them, too white and too privileged. It was still very fruitful. I was introduced to some members of what they abbreviate to call the labour party here, and to my surprise (and perhaps to some disappointment as well) they were rather cordial and eager to hear my ideas. Scary stuff.

Ira

PS. Flaming dog excrement attached to letter. No euphemism needed for this.

[thenewlyfreed]

dinah-stmaur·:

♣ ♣ ♣

Dinah waited to nod to Deepak’s words. It was not that he thought him a liar, but she knew that sometimes people may gloss over things they feel too small to be worth reporting. She had done so herself in the past, and so waited for a few moments longer in case Deepak wanted to retract his words, or maybe add something else. When none came, she nodded then, smiling at him. “Well, know, that in the future I will always be ready to listen if any problem arises,” she said, hoping it would be enough for him to know there was, indeed, a sympathetic ear ready to listen to him.

She almost pouted at the idea of Deepak having to leave, but she had no right to keep him from his work even if they didn’t need to court Fred’s favour in letting Deepak go for their little trip to Manchester. Dinah shook her head. “No,  thank you,” she said, rising from her seat. “And thank you, again, for coming to see how I am. It is really comforting to know someone else is missing him as I do,” she added, for it was truly a gift not to feel lonely. “I hope we can stay in touch even once we go back to St Maur, too.” Right now it was easy to meet, living in the same house, and Dinah could whisk him away without anyone objecting—she didn’t know if she could do the same once the both of them were back in the country.

Lady Dinah’s offer was kind. It was just. It was the sort of offer Ira would make, though without such polite words, or such a polite and pretty smile. Yes, they were well suited. Deepak gave her a grateful little smile and a dip of his head, glad that he had her offer of help. If nothing else, he could rely on her. She had proven herself more than willing to wade into the middle of a conflict before, after all.

She stood, and so he stood also. Deepak smoothed his hair back behind his ears, nodding with a soft expression upon his face. “I’m glad I could help, even if it was only in a little way,” he replied, silently realising that he felt very much the same. There was comfort in shared loss, and it was a comfort Deepak wasn’t used to. There had been no one to share in the loss of his mother, other than the half-sibling he didn’t know and didn’t find. “I hope so too, milady, if you will not be too busy once the Season is over.”

[thenewlyfreed]

zahir-qureshi·:

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir’s gaze never left Deepak’s figure, and his expression never gave way to worry. Not even when there was a cry coming from Deepak as the ball had probably landed wrong. Still, to the valet’s credit, he had hold on to the ball and not let it go. It was only then that his expression changed. One corner of his lips rose into a lopsided smile, a little smirk that was reflected in his gaze.

He walked back to Deepak, without rushing until the distance between them was close enough that they wouldn’t have to shout to talk to one another. “Are you injured?” he asked, with no fret. Again, he did not looked concerned the way someone who cared would, the way Ira, for example, would, but it was not disinterested either. “It shouldn’t be too serious, but let’s get it checked out.” Again, he spoke with an authoritative tone that came to him all too easily.

“I’m fine,” Deepak replied, stubbornly. Now that the pain had had time to spread the throb had changed, catching upon a nerve like a broken nail might a loose thread, tugging just enough to cut sharply through the centre of his palm. Nothing he couldn’t shake off. He hoped. “‘Just caught them, they’re fine.” No longer cradling his hand to his chest, he let the bandaged little finger, strapped to his ring finger, stand out stark and white.

He didn’t want Qureshi’s approval. He didn’t care for it. Like a youth who was rejected the offer of a dance, Deepak decided that Qureshi’s respect was beneath him. But- but...

He couldn’t deny the relief at seeing no scorn in his eye, hearing no insult from his tongue. Nor could he deny the uneasy surprise at Qureshi’s apparent, verbalised concern. “I’m good to play,” Deepak added after a beat of silence, and the pain changed again, softening into an ache that, whilst nasty, was not debilitating.

[thenewlyfreed]

ira-vaisman·:

Manchester - 11th of July, 1904

Deepak,

the sheer intimacy between a tailor and his client. I wonder why the Upper Classes do not all have affairs with their tailor, who, contrary to me, can see him on a regular basis. Let it be known that nothing came of it. Divorce papers handed in already. 

Entirely unrelated of course, bless you for giving me context on who Lucille is or I might not have remembered. All I can say to that is that I sure hope that their child is due in no less than nine months. 

Very sorry to hear about Qureshi, generally but also in response to what you write. I plan on being perfectly civil if ever I am to visit St Maur again but let it be known that I shall gloat with no restraint should he be serving my soup. Do you reckon they will hire a second footman soon?

Far more important than any prince, what came of Freddy and his search for the Old Cider Factory owner? I heard something about the Forester brothers doing a switcheroo regarding its future and I am as puzzled as I am intrigued. Mostly I want to know whether I have reason to give them a stern talking-to regarding worker safety, though.

Stupid girl for going against her family’s wishes or stupid girl for choosing the Baron’s son, out of all choices possible? You know I have never really met him and so I am blinded by your description of him. You also know that I am an intensely critical thinker and thus believe every word you say foolishly.

Mother has framed your photograph now. It happened against my will and all I can say is that I am glad it is in the living room and not on my bedside. Lilach – whom I have passed your regards on to – regards it with grave fury regularly. I can still return it if you wish but not without unleashing Mother’s fury upon you. Let it be known that I warned you. 

Ira

RE: PS: No cudgels, not even in the euphemistic sense of the word. Mostly women. Angry, though. Was fun. Scared, too, in a fun way. Heard of Christabel Pankhurst? 

☞☞☞☞☞☞

S. Maur - 13th of July, 1904

To Ira

Who says the upper classes don’t go on and bugger their tailors? Anything could be happening in that dressing room, you know. Or don’t know. Either way. Glad I won’t have to report to Lady D. that you were stolen away by a man and his needle. Also glad to report to you that I gave Lucille a panicked look and she confirmed the child can’t be yours. Congratulations on your continued non-fatherhood.

I’m very disappointed to hear that you’re going to act all civilised now that you’d only be visiting St. Maur and not living here. From the way Lady D. let you plant one on her in costume, I reckon she’d be disappointed, too. I think I heard things about general promotion within the ranks? No new job postings on the noticeboard in town, either way. Perhaps they’ll bring over one of the lads from London.

As you well know, I’m sworn to keep my Lord Frederick’s business a secret, and not let the details of it out to just anyone who asks. So of course I can tell you he got the deed to get speccy Forester out of some trouble, and that it’s up to him whether it gets bought now or not. Maybe wait until the deed is actually in a Forester name to start giving them a talking to. I’m sure the young one would still bend over backwards (or forwards) for a letter from you, but the speccy one seems flighty, bet you’d scare him off and then there’d be no workers to keep safe. If the Old Cider Factory does get back up and running though I bet this place would change quick. You’d need something like fifty workers, surely, and that means about fifty families, and that means far more than just fifty new mouths to feed. Maybe that bloke at the fish shop would finally move all of his haddock, and the pilchards wouldn’t end up bubbling into rot at the end of the pier anymore.

Glad to hear you take my words in such confidence. In which case, let me take the opportunity to tell you you’re a stand-up bloke, you’re going to do well, and the correct way to congratulate a newly wed baron’s son to a duke’s daughter is to send them a box of flaming dog excrement.

Please pass on my greetings to your family, and my thanks to your mother and sister for treating my photograph so kindly. Please do not pass on how very strange hearing that there is any sort of display of my face made me feel. I don’t know whether to be touched, or concerned. I was hoping you’d put it in a locket and hold it close to your heart, always, but alas, I suppose I shall settle for the lovely gaze of your sister, instead.

Is Christabel Pankhurst related to the one whose name begins with an E? I forget the name, the one going for women to vote and all that? Good to see you supporting them, if so. Always knew you for a sensible one. The fact that Lord A. can vote but Lady F. and Lady D. cannot gets me wound right up. Remember to say you and I should have a pop too, though, no matter our wealth or lack. Hope your fun level is more than your scared level, and hope the real cudgels stay away. Euphemistic ones might be alright, depending where they’re going.

Summer weather is getting warm here. Is Manchester still feeling the Northern chill?

Deepak

P.S.: Had to ask Lord Frederick what the hell the word ‘euphemistic’ was, couldn’t work out how to say it. He was a good sport about it, thankfully. Didn’t laugh when I first asked him what an ‘ee-yup-hemi-stick cudgel’ was. Don’t worry, I copied the word out for him, he’s not under the impression you married and divorced your tailor, nor considering buggering his tailor himself.

[thenewlyfreed]

dinah-stmaur·:

♣ ♣ ♣

Dinah smiled at Deepak’ suggestion. She gave him a nod as a little giggle escaped her lips, and she looked at him with a mixture of shyness and cheekiness. “It does, indeed,” she said, in agreement. It was so true that a little sigh followed, wistful.

She was almost to a mind to assure Mister Qureshi’s promotion only because it would anger Ira. A  little childish act of pettiness. But in the end, she did not really want to do something like that. Not when it seemed Ira was not the only one with negative feelings about it. Dinah wasn’t sure how things were between Deepak and Zahir Qureshi—she was tempted to ask, be direct about it, but she did not know if she should—but she would not brush his request aside. “You know, if there were ever problems between you, or any of the Clevedon staff and ours, you can tell me,” she offered, though she knew it was probably was a hard offer to accept. Her expression was serious, and there was a little tinge of worry in her eyes. “Especially if there is some misconduct of any sort. But yes,” she gave him a firm nod, “of course. I think the least I can do is to ask Cynthia if we can make changes to the staff quarters. You are a valet. It would be fair to give you a more private room, anyway, I believe.” She added a smile at that. “So, you may have some reason to celebrate, too, despite all.”

It would be all wrong to pull Lady Dinah into the mess of inter-servant politics, and it would be even worse to give Qureshi reason to sneer. Deepak shook his head. “No misconduct, and no reason to worry, milady,” he reported, possibly falsely, but as far as he was aware a little verbal bullying wasn’t misconduct. He bowed his head towards her with thanks, shortly afterwards. “Despite all,” he echoed, voice filled with a dry sort of humour, and a bone-tiredness that spoke of the time he had spent shaking with emotion in the dark, cool kitchen that morning.

“I should probably return to my duties now,” Deepak said once a moment had passed. He scooched back towards the edge of his seat, having slowly settled into it throughout their conversation. “Especially if I want Lord Frederick to be of a mind to consider granting me leave any time soon. Is there anything else I can do for you, before I go?” As if, really, Lady Dinah hadn’t been the one to do things for him. As if, really, she had been the one blindsided by Ira’s leaving.

[thenewlyfreed]

alexander-of-sandringham·:

Gratitude, punishment or mercy, if those were the options, Alexander did not understand the gesture as such. He blinked, tilted his head to the side, then folded his hands behind his back. “It is, then?” 

Of course the Prince would not take action and make his own decision on Deepak’s innocence. Of course he would require a servant to serve all the way to the end; not just to place the plate in front of him, but hold the spoon up to his mouth. Deepak stared at the man’s pretty white cricket shoes in the stubby grass. He would have to apologise, later. To Lady Dinah. To Ira. To himself.

“It is,” he answered.

[thenewlyfreed]

soleil-timide·:

.

At his question, Florence nodded. “Yes. I confessed my fears to Alastair before making my debut, and he promised that I need not marry this year,” she clarified. “I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, if there would be any suitors at all. If I dedicate myself the way I ought to, I might be able to marry after the next season.” Best to get it over with, she thought though there would be no reason to burden Deepak with her silly fears any more than she already had.

She nodded eagerly at his answer. Naively, the youngest Talbot was quite pleased to hear that Deepak wasn’t ready to leave St. Maur. “I hope you would grant me the honor of writing to you, if you were to seek another place to live,” Florence said quietly, not realizing the pain that St. Maur inflicted on Deepak. It was interesting to hear his explanation. Florence wanted to ask about his childhood, ask what it had been like in Bristol. She was fairly sure Deepak would answer her questions, but would he want to? Would memories of his past and his childhood bring him pain? It was simply too great a risk to take. “I am very glad to know that you will be in St. Maur for a while yet,” she continued with a soft smile. Tynthesfield without Deepak’s kindness was very bleak indeed, though Florence could never say as much. Not when he was somewhere better, safer, He deserved a happy life and so much more.

Deepak still wouldn’t trust Lord Alastair as far as he could throw him, but he could hardly say that to Lady Florence. Nor could he promise her that should her eldest brother go back on his promise, Deepak would be there to fight for her – the Lieutenant General had already proven himself unintimidatable, and a far better fighter than his father had been. All he could do for her Ladyship was not understandingly, a small frown upon his face.

Something about her wording made him uncomfortable, made him shift in his seat and hide his face in his tea. She deserved suitors. Lady Florence deserved the admiring and respectful eye of every man in each room she entered. Deepak had long known that – from the moment she began to turn from bud to blossom, when they were still under the same roof, and he was still a sapling himself. But if they made her uncomfortable, if Lady Florence saw their advances as a chore and not a pleasure… well, then she deserved to enter a room without a single eye at all, and to be as comfortable and leisurely as she pleased.

Deepak caught a milky droplet with his tongue, sucking at his lips and staring at the tea in his cup for a second before he gathered the courage to speak, to step over the much-crossed line which sat between them: servant and served. “I hope you dedicate yourself only to your happiness, or rather to what is in your best interests,” he said, raising his eyes from his cup to find her own, strikingly blue and yet never cold. “You’re worth more than first come and first served.”

It would certainly be a rare sight for most postmen, to see the Indian name of a servant, addressed by a Lady’s hand, but it would be a sight Deepak would be willing to grant them, indeed. The little anxiety he had been holding in his palms melted away in the face of Florence’s quiet offer. “I would, milady. Of course I would. And I’d hope that you’d marry a good man, who would let me do the same when you go to live with him,” he replied with a small and soft smile of his own. It was a strange thing for a Lady to write to a once-employee, it was a worrying thing for the same in exchange. A husband wouldn’t necessarily have to be the jealous type to refuse that sort of thing.

Deepak was glad, also. Glad that he still had a home, despite it all. Glad that he had Clevedon Court, that he had Lord Frederick, Mrs Hudson, Ira, and yes, Lady Florence, too. His smile grew a little, became deeper in its corners, and warmer in his eyes. “Selfishly, I’m glad you’ll be there another year, too,” he said in return.

[thenewlyfreed]

dinah-stmaur·:

♣ ♣ ♣

Dinah had been thought to keep her hands folded on her lap, delicately one over the other, and never to fidget with them. She had never been the most brilliant student in such matters. Her fingers hooked against each other, twisting, wrangling all so slightly in a show of nervousness. She wanted Ira’s brother to like her as much as she wanted his sister to do. And when Deepak’s approval came, with such a wonderful and understandable condition, her fingers stilled and relaxed. A breath escaped her lips into a soft sigh of relief and there was once again a smile on her face. “I will do my upmost best,” she said, with a nod.

Her smiled widened when Deepak expressed his willingness to go with Manchester with her to go visit Ira. It only sobered up when he spoke about the blow his relationship with Fred had taken after the protests. “I understand. And as much as I feel I could board a train right this instant, I think we should both make him miss us for awhile, too,” she added, a little cheekily. Though, in truth, it would feel just as much a punishment for herself than for Ira. “Oh?” Deepak’s question took her a little aback. She had not exactly been thinking to the consequences for the household over Ira’s resignation, only in terms of her missing him, her father and her younger sister being a little sad and her older sister far too pleased. “I.. believe so, yes,” she said, after giving it a moment thought. “Our Mr Qureshi has been working a long time with us, and as far as I know he has never caused any problem. Papa might not like him as much as he liked Ira, but.. I think it’d be good for the role to fall on a familiar face.” Yes, indeed, her father disliked change. Now, more than ever. “Why do you ask? Is.. there a problem? Would you want to suggest someone else for the position?”

Deepak couldn’t help but be struck by the reversal of roles between them in this matter. How many times had he seen servants nervously squirming before their employer, the Lords and Ladies, as they await their approval? Too many. And now, it was the opposite. He was the giver of permission, or approval, and Lady Dinah was the anxiety-bitten requester. Deepak didn’t like it at all.

He gave a soft hum and a huff of laughter as she cheered, sobered, and then cheekily suggested giving Ira a taste of his own medicine. Yes, Deepak agreed, he too felt as if he could sprint to the nearest station, but he would not. Let Ira miss them for a bit. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” he suggested, and wondered if such was even possible for the three of them.

Well, shit. Looks like Qureshi was going to be damn fucking unbearable, then. Deepa schooled his face into something less openly contemptuous; the bickering of servants was not something Lady Dinah was to be concerned with. It was a struggle, but he just about managed it. “Ira will hate that,” he said, with a tiny drip of dry humour evident in his voice. “It’s not my place to meddle in the affairs of St. Maur’s servants. I’m sure Mister Qureshi will be exceptionally pleased to know the position is his. Only…” Could Deepak make a request like that, one so bold, one so large? “I would greatly appreciate it if there was a respective re-shuffling of sleeping arrangements, as a result. I understand this is not your position, but Mrs. Luison’s- I… I just don’t believe I will sleep well in that dormitory now that Ira is gone and Qu- Mister Qureshi has reason to be up all night celebrating.”

[thenewlyfreed]

zahir-qureshi·:

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir’s thoughts were all for the game. He was still annoyed to have lost a player because of Ira terrible timing in resigning, while being far too happy that he was playing this game as first footman of the St Maur household instead of that of a mere second footman. But maybe he was not left only with crude men and laughable players. Whatever it was that Deepak felt towards him it could possible channeled in his game, and then they could win. Part of him knew he should probably let the Lords win, instead, to court favour, but his pride would not allow him to do so. He wanted to win. He was exactly the kind of man that set a goal and went for it, no matter the cost. Hadn’t he done that so far? Had it not given him the position he know held? Though, he still hated to admit that he should’ve been the one to oust Ira to make it a perfect victory. But there were still the others.. that little conman that passed himself as a valet, and that quipster of a butler.

It was with those hidden frustration that he got hold of the ball. Zahir had no desire to torment Deepak right now. What he wanted, what he needed, was to make sure exactly what kind of player they had at their disposal. So he readied himself, and threw the ball to assess Deepak’s ability on a fielding team. His throw held force to it, but it wasn’t aimed to any vital spot but its trajectory was done so it would mimicking a hit ball.

His face held a severe expression, but for once devoid of contempt or judgement—for now.

The ball sailed, Deepak watched it, lunged, and-

It hit against his strapped fingers just before it bounced against the heels of his palms. The flare of pain was brutal, so red-hot it was purple and violet, shuddering all the way up his arm, through his core and out his feet. Deepak was only aware he’d cried out when the sound echoed through the park, slicing through the polite mumble of conversation at the field’s edges.

He didn’t let go, though.

Sucking in air through his grit teeth, he held up the ball with his left, uninjured hand, tucking the other close to his chest as the pain throbbed, throbbed, throbbed, each time less painful until it was almost a comfort. If there was anything Deepak could do, it was withstand pain. He jutted his chin out stubbornly. I dare you, it said. Say I’m not fit, say I’m not good enough, I dare you, I dare you, I dare you.

[weltenwellen]

Anaïs Nin, Fire: From “A Journal of Love”: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934–1937

[thenewlyfreed]

alexander-of-sandringham·:

“Now how can you say two such contradicting notions in one speech?” Alexander asked, brows still pulled together in this manner of concern, confusion and slight disapproval. “You name many men, two of which I have met myself and have found most agreeable, neither of them the sort to give Lady Dinah any ideas of a romantic relations. If these are the men you lead your examples with, I have to doubt your observations, I’m afraid. Knowing men, people, by their Christian names, speaks of her virtue to see beyond the masks presented in a formal setting. It speaks of wishing to be true and generous with her affections, and I see no flaws in that.” 

He did not realise that he spoke of her the way he had build himself to be. “Now, as I do not wish to scold, not the least because that would be wrong of me seeing how I asked you to provide such information and I would rather choose to be grateful, I will add only one more thing: If she does indeed give her heart away as readily as you insinuate, then I am happy that she has given it to me at last. For I will care for it and never let the flame be doused. I even inquired about this to her father, whether the heavy duties and at times exhausting responsibility of a royal life will suit her, will not take away her unfettered nature and ability to see poetry wherever she goes, and he assured me that as long as she is loved, she will face all hardship. So next to making it my duty to protect her from hardship, I vow to love her, and keep her soul light with growing greens and flowing oceans forever.” 

That was his speech, spoken with barely any pathos or emphasis, letting his neutral but never quiet, never overheard voice simply carry the importance of those words. Just as he’d been taught. Just as he’d been made believed would always work. “So tell me again. To worry for my heart equals doubting the faithfulness of her. So is that what you imply, or is it not?” 

They were contradicting notions, they were, but it was better – to Deepak’s knowledge – to create a wide and non-specific sense of unease, than to name, blame, and incite to shame. Deepak was in between a rock and a hard place, or perhaps between a Wall and a Prince. Frustrated, but more than that scared, he turned very still, and very quiet.

He’d not missed the scold within the Prince’s tone. He’d not missed the stern turn of his brow. He’d not missed that he had made a misstep, and caused some level of offence, and he’d certainly not missed that he was a valet, speaking to a Prince.

Perhaps an insult to the Prince’s poetic skill, Deepak heard next to none of his speech. His ears picked up only the most important of words. Grateful. Insinuate. To me. Father. Royal. Poetry. Loved. Hardship. Doubting. Is that what you imply, or is it not?

There was silence. Deepak didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. Silently, he bowed, deeply. Deeper. Until he could only see the grass and Alexander’s shoes. Either it would be accepted as an apology, or refused as an admittance of fault. Either he would be punished, or he would not. Either he would be grateful for mercy, or he would not.

[thenewlyfreed]

soleil-timide·:

Florence’s own smile was gentle. Trust Deepak to allow her to prattle on about silly things without making her feel silly or small. Some would argue that this wasn’t an indulgence, that of course he ought to agree, and perhaps he was doing out of obligation. Still, it was incredibly kind of him. His question had her brows furrowing for just a moment. “I think I am,” she admitted. “I was very afraid..especially afraid of marrying someone. I still am, but it helps not having to rush into anything. And it is nice to be able to be able to do a little more, venture where children are not allowed,” she explained. If she were to visit Dinah, it would be most appropriate now. Though Florence couldn’t imagine Dinah ever waving her away for fear of how she might be seen.

Her friend was quite fearless in that respect.

“I hope you do not think less of me for it, but I do find myself missing St. Maur,” Florence admitted after a moment. “There is so much to the city, it is quite overwhelming. May I ask, which do you prefer?” The youngest Talbot looked to Deepak, hoping that perhaps he might grant her this small clue. Already she was thinking on how to thank him for his gift, and a sketch seemed natural enough. It would not be a fine gift, worth something of value, but it would be from her heart.

It was hardly surprising to hear that Lady Florence harboured fears over marriage, especially considering the state of that between her parents. Deepak dug the horn of the teacup’s handle into his thumb, rubbing the porcelain gently as he gave a small, sympathetic nod. “Your brothers are being fair?” he asked, hoping that he had correctly interpreted her comment regarding not being rushed into a wedding. Deepak didn’t trust either of them as far as he could throw them, but he hoped they had learned the horrid lessons their father had accidentally impressed upon them all: men could be disgusting and cruel creatures, and women should avoid those men or else shall end in the same manner as their mother.

There was very little Lady Florence did which made Deepak think less of her. In fact, he tended to think better of her with each passing moment. That she missed her home was only natural, and something he understood deeply. London was big, and bustling, and noisy. It had its own stinking, coal-smoke breath, its own murky thames-water blood, its own crooked pimlico teeth and stubby park-grass hair. Compared to St. Maur – little, petite, controlled St. Maur – London was a beast. Yet Deepak did love it.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, unafraid to admit to the vulnerable process of decision making. “I’m not quite sure. London reminds me a lot of being a boy, only it’s so much bigger than Bristol. But I’m not yet done with St. Maur: I don’t think I could leave there.” Not yet, not yet. St. Maur still stuck in him like a blade left in a stab wound; to remove it would mean certain death by bleeding out.

[thenewlyfreed]

ira-vaisman·:

Manchester – 5th of July, 1904

Deepak, 

I have bought a suit. Tailored. I have no doubts that I was pricked on purpose several times by the tailor in response to my very plain and well-mannered conversation. I think I’m in love. 

The suit arrived today, I put it on and now I have to face the simple fact that no matter what I’ll wear, you’ll always look more handsome than me. Wretched me. Showed Lilach the photograph as well. She responded with a polite compliment. The cause has officially been lost, she is repulsed by you, no doubt. 

My mother insists I ask if you are eating well. Please do not respond. You may tell me however with shade of gloating Zahir’s face has become. I have very little doubts about my decision, but the idea that I made him first footman drives me mad. Also do tell me who of the other bastards have returned by now and if that horrid Felton girl has officially become a Talbot now. If not, tell me when the wedding is, I will come to interrupt it by pretending we had an affair, just to keep a new family from moving ba     in a hope she’ll think twice about becoming a St Maurian. Trust me, you do not want to meet her. 

Up yours twice, 

Ira

PS Got a meeting tonight. Not of importance. 

☞☞☞☞☞☞

7th of July, 1904

To the most well dressed Ira,

Your flattery will get you nowhere. Send a photograph you cur, or I will forever doubt your story. I wasn’t going to count a tailor in the tally of your seductions, but as he pricked you a full several times, I suppose I will have to. Speaking of which, I forgot to tell you but just before leaving London I ran into that Lucille lass from the dance hall. She’s married now, and apparently that girl you went with is engaged to be and is in the pudding club, too. Gert wild.

Qureshi is almost impossible to be around. I can forgive you for leaving in pursuit of a greener, redder future (socialists like red, right?), but not for giving him reason to be a boss-about. The prick has been issuing orders left, right, centre. Even to me. Glad to be back in Clevedon, away from him. Much prefer his brother.

Pretty much all returned, now. Castle is maybe expecting a visitor of importance according to the gossip. Think it might be the Prince. Will keep you informed, of course, but expect to be given guidance on how exactly to safeguard Lady D. in your absence.

Felton and Talbot due to tie the knot in August, to everyone’s horror. Apparently her family still disapproves, so it will be a small, poor affair. Stupid girl. I’ve been avoiding the prick she’s goopy-eyed for, but the gossip is all on how surprisingly romantic he is. Not surprising, to me: you don’t catch flies without honey. Who knows, maybe she’ll be more horrid than the rest of them, and defeat B. T. for us all. Just hope Lady F. doesn’t get hit in the crossfire.

R.E. P.S. : Better not have brought more cudgels your way. Not there to nurse you back to health, and I’m sure your mother would be a far more intrusive nanny than I. By the way, let her know I ate your serving every meal in London and no longer fit my trousers.

As with your dear tailor, I think it’s up yours three times now,

Deepak

P.S. Pass my regards to your family, especially to Lilach

[thenewlyfreed]

alexander-of-sandringham·:

Without hesitation, without doubt, yes without even losing the sight of the sun, Alexander said: “Yes. Beyond any happiness I have known until today.” Was it not in the nature of a poet to think love the cure for all ailments? For all spleen? Did a flower doubt the effects of the sun on its own growth?

But then Mr Gupta went on, and Alexander’s brows pulled together over his nose. “Pardon?!” he asked – not with anger at the offence, but more something akin to horror. A moment later Mr Gupta humbled himself again, and for its duration Alexander’s nerves were appeared. It was a short moment, a short duration. “You grieve me, my friend,” he said, turned towards him now. “Has she said anything to you? Near you?” 

She was meant to be making Ira happy. Right? And Ira was meant to be making her happy. Again, second-hand betrayal mde Deepak’s mouth taste of ash and bile. He must speak with Lady Dinah, and quickly, it seemed. The Earl might have insisted the Prince not rush, and the Prince may be enjoying his courtship for now, but he was a man, and Deepak knew the tastes and wants of men intimately. He had been raised in the belly of their Paradise of flesh, and forged in the firepit of one man’s greed. It wouldn’t be long before Alexander would want for more than Courtship among their classes allowed. Deepak believed that with the entirety of his heart.

Alexander, Prince, Poet, Man, turned to Deepak, and Deepak dropped his gaze again. The fear and upset within his tone was palpable, sensate, and being so finely attuned to such emotions Deepak couldn’t help but feel them vibrate through him, and echo back.

“Forgive me,” he said again, “I do not mean to worry or upset you. I simply know that Lady Dainah is the romantic sort – no doubt that is what draws you to her, as a poet yourself. She is affectionate with many. Reverend Father Valentin Talbot, for example, and my own Lord Frederick Conway. With the two of them she is on a first name basis.” And Ira, she had kissed Ira, over and over, and they had been so entwined at the Masquerade Ball Deepak wouldn’t have been surprised if she had found the wall’s hole, or whatever the joke had been. “And then there is also Doctor Zachariah Forester, and the brother Mister Ebenezer Forester, too. Please do not misunderstand – I am not trying to cast doubt on her person. Truly, Alexander I am not.” Deepak dared a look to the man’s face again, for in that he spoke true. Lady Dinah was good, she was kind, she was soft, romantic, passionate. She didn’t deserve to be judged for those traits by cruel and intolerant society. But she was meant to be those things for Ira. “She is a good, kind, and- and wonderful Lady. I simply worry for your heart.”

Deepak wished he could let Ira know that, too.

[thenewlyfreed]

dinah-stmaur·:

♣ ♣ ♣

“Oh, yes, scandal,” Dinah said, with a little annoyed note in her voice and a sigh. It wasn’t Deepak’s fault, and she wasn’t annoyed at him. Not at all. She was annoyed with society for considering her reputation so fragile and thing that a gust of wind was enough to sweep it all away. Her frustration was born out of the constrictions that society put upon her, and not from Deepak’s genuine worry over hers and Ira’s futures.

His following words made her shy again, but she smiled brightly and fondly at that. It was a nice thought, and one she was grateful for him to have. “Thank you,” she said, with just as much shyness as the one that made it possible for her eyes to meet his, but with no less sincerity in her words for it. “You say it’s not your place, but.. ah, maybe it’s wrong… but I think of you like part of Ira’s family.. and I would wish to have all of his family approval,” she admitted, and it felt the most daring admission she had made in her life.

“Oh! Yes, yes,” she said, nodding, “though there is no fixed date, yet. But he did mention introducing us to his sister, Lilach, and since there were no explicit objections to us visiting… I am getting ready for us to go to Manchester in the not-so-distant future.” She was determinate. She knew that she would end up missing him more than she already did—and he had only gone a few hours now!—so for her own sanity she needed to know they will soon see each other again. “So, don’t worry if you think right now Fred, I mean Lord Conway, can’t spare you. We can work to convince him and make sure everything is taken care of while we are away when we go.”

She laughed softly at Deepak’s words. Not mocking them, but warmed and made happy by them instead. “We are a lucky trio, to have each other.”

Oh. Happiness squirmed its worming way up Deepak’s spine, flooding over his chest and cheeks and pulling the both of them tight. Part of Ira’s family. Deepak, part of Ira’s family. What a thought. What a wonderful, wonderful thought. A family. After so long, a family. The sharp edge of loneliness sliced that happiness open, and it bled out as quick as it had come. He’d found a brother, and the brother was gone.

Deepak bit the end of his tongue hard enough to swell into a hard lump. “As long as you make him happy, you’ll have it,” he said honestly. In the end, it still wasn’t Deepak’s place, even if he was Ira’s brother in all but blood. But it was his place to care for Ira, and to wish him only the best in life and in love. If Dinah was the best, then Deepak would approve, indeed.

Us. Had Ira spoken to Dinah about him, then? Made plans for the future, before Deepak even knew there was a future in which they would be apart? That made him both regain a little of that blood-weak happiness, and sting all over again with the pain of his ignorance.

“I’d be honoured to go, milady,” Deepak replied with a small smile. “I do not know how soon I may be available, I’m still regaining some of My Honourable Lord’s trust after the events of last month, but as soon as it is safe for me to go, I have no doubt that young Mister Qureshi, Clevedon’s First Footman, will be capable of filling my boots.” In saying such, Deepak had a sudden realisation and his stomach gave a lurch. Even his face, which had been open and honest, gave a sudden twist of distaste. “Am I right in guessing Ira’s disappearance means that Zahir Qureshi will take his position?” he asked, with clear apprehension. Oh, he would be damn fucking unbearable if it were true.

[thenewlyfreed]

zahir-qureshi·:

♣ ♣ ♣

Zahir stood his ground even even as he received nothing from Deepak in terms of words or a facial expression, and kept his own expression full of a judgemental look that was meant as a clear challenge to the valet to do anything. Either follow his request to show him a throw, or react in some way. Maybe a hiss would do him good. But more importantly, it would break that blank expression that so many Lords would call the perfect expression for their valet or butler.

“At least you can catch,” he said, with a little ‘tsk’ sound, and then followed with his direct and demanding gaze every little movement that Deepak made. It was then that he noticed the little cracks in what was otherwise an seemingly emotionless face. If it was good or bad, it was hard to say. Zahir should have to care, and he was set on not caring much for Deepak. But he did care about the game. He did not want to be made a laughingstock because his team was made of people who did not know how to play.

But Deepak’s throw had not been bad, and it had much more strength behind it than what he had thought him capable of. “Good,” he said, this time there was no ‘tsk’ sound, no mocking note, no contempt in it. It was simply that, good.

“See to throw like that again while you are on the pitch,” he said, again with that slightly commanding tone. As if he had elected himself to captain of the team. “Get ready to catch. Remember to do it with both hands,” he said, and left to go recover the ball that Deepak had just thrown so he could throw it back to him.

Good. Deepak didn’t know what he had wanted from proving his worth. Praise? Respect? He should have known better than to expect either of those from Qureshi. The sour milk formed into curd, and as the man issued what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than an order, the stink of it finally pulled Deepak’s face into the expression he’d been hiding; disgust. Contempt. He aimed it squarely at Qureshi’s back as he marched across the field and towards the ball. What a prick. What’s more – what an uppity prick. St Maur Castle was a greater house than Clevedon Court and Tynthesfield Manor, but Deepak was still a valet. He didn’t take orders from footmen, first or not.

When Qureshi reached the ball, Deepak had wrestled his face back into something far less openly hateful, though that anger was still clearly present. Now came the far less pleasant part of this impromptu practice. Bracing himself, Deepak placed his inner wrists together. His strapped fingers stuck out awkwardly from his right hand, still not yet fully healed and best to keep away from any flying, hard objects. Still, Deepak wasn’t going to give Qureshi a reason to slip back from the neutral, contempt-less ‘good’ and back into mockery and sneers. He awaited the throw.