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“My Lord," Hedge said, "Forgive my boldness, but I appear to have been misinformed as to the severity of your privations. Do you have no other suit?”

As, "yes, but Peaches is wearing it," would hardly have gone down well, he said, “I fear not.”

Hedge nodded gravely, and reached into his coat pocket. Recalling the loaded pistol of yesterday, Edward tried not to flinch. Instead, from one of God knew how many pockets, he drew out a tailor’s measuring string, a scrap of paper and a piece of pencil lead. “If you would be so good, my Lord?”

Edward stuck out his arms, feeling like a prize scarecrow as Hedge took the swiftest set of measurements that Edward had ever seen done. Beside him, he could hear Peaches shifting impatiently, and he couldn’t miss the odd condemning flash of gaze that Hedge sent in her direction. 

“Can I be of any assistance, sir?” she said after a bit, in what Edward was just remembering counted as an abominable accent.

“I do not,” said Hedge, looking at her grubby fingers and half-shorn head in the way that your favourite schoolmaster might look at you when he discovered that you had decided to follow a life of dissipation rather than reading Greek at ‘varsity, “believe that will be necessary.”

“Ah, yes,” said Edward. “Hedge, this is my man, Peach…” Oh, christ.

“Yes, sir.” said Peaches. “Henry Peach.” 

Edward closed his eyes as Peaches executed one of her execrable bows. Clearly something about Hedge’s assassinating look convinced her she had done something wrong. Edward didn’t know whether to kiss her or clip her around the ear. 

“Your man, sir?”

“Yes,” said Edward, trying not to grit his teeth. “A little rough around the edges, but a thoroughly good lad.”

“As you say, my Lord.” 

It was always a bad sign when they said that. 

Hedge finished taking his measurements, secreted the materials into one of his voluminous pockets, and seemed to come to some kind of management decision.

 “My Lord, if your man could show me your trunk, I shall carry it down to the carriage.”

“There’s just the bag, Mr Hedge” said Peaches, speaking out of turn again. “And I can carry that.”

Hedge did not flinch, but given how expressive his eyebrows were, he might as well have done. It appeared the pair of them had just been fitted for the doghouse. “That will not be necessary, Peach. Now, the Forthenby estate will be quite happy to settle wages until the end of the quarter, in lieu of notice…”

“Now just hang on a bally minute -”

Hedge bowed. “At present, Forthenby has a full compliment of footmen, valets and improvers, my Lord. They are all the best class of lad, for I have trained them myself. As to your body servant, you shall, of course, inherit Turning, who was your late Uncle’s valet.”

And a right horror I’d wager, if he were too frail to take to the briny with his Lord and Master. 

“That’s all very well, Hedge, but Peach knows me. He knows my ways. A gent sets rather some store by such things.”

Hedge gave Peaches a look that convicted her of grand larceny. “Perhaps we can find some role for your,” and he didn’t cough, but he gave the little kind of pause that let you know a lesser man would have done so, “gentleman, my Lord. The kitchen staff may require some assistance, or perhaps in the stables.”

No, you bloody don’t, Edward thought, and was about to open his mouth to say it, to ask Hedge just who was whose steward in this situation, but instead, Edward felt a smile come upon his own face. Not his usual smile, either, nor was it a natural, or even comfortable one. No, it was, in fact, the kind of smile that Dickie Thornton might have worn.

Edward said, “A word in private, if you would, Hedge.”

 Come on, Peaches. Get the hint. 

She bowed, less flamboyantly than before, and managed a, “My Lord,” that aimed for discretion but struck mumble. Enough late-night sprees had taught her to slink out of the door and close it with almost-servile quietness. 

With her gone, Edward did not attempt do what Teddy would have done, namely try to make Hedge laugh. He suspected that was entirely beyond the reach of man’s ambition. Instead, he used the kind of cold eye that the Prefects gave you when you were walking a fine line between a thrashing and the chance of escape.

He said, “You appear to have some objection to my man, Hedge.”

Hedge said nothing, but it was a respectful sort of nothing.

“Well?”

“I’m sure he is very capable, my Lord.”

“That is somewhat faint praise, Hedge.”

“Whatever his accomplishments, my Lord, I have hardly had the opportunity to observe them.”

“No. Indeed, you’ve barely had time to form an opinion at all.”

Hedge looked gruff and dignified. It was not so much insolence as defiance. Edward fought the temptation to punch the supercilious prig in the face.

“Yet on this slight acquaintance, you feel it fitting to dismiss my man? Without my approval, or consent?”

“I am the steward of Forthenby, my Lord. Such matters are my responsibility.”

“So, you are willing to condemn him, despite admitting that you have no experience of his virtues and abilities?”

Hedge was having none of it. He stood upright and silent.

“Well, man?” said Edward, letting the act slip a little.

“If I may speak with candour, my Lord?”

“Naturally.”

“Henry Peach, virtuous as he might be, has neither the training nor the mettle to be body servant to the Earl of Forthenby.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, my Lord. While he may have been an acceptable, mayhap even exemplary, man to a gentleman in your previous situation,” Hedge’s eyes flickered, unconvinced, “it is not fitting for him to accompany you to your seat at Forthenby.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry, my Lord.”

“Is that your entire piece, Hedge?” He kept his voice cold and clipped.

Hedge seemed a touch flummoxed, as if he had expected immediate capitulation. “It is, my Lord.”

“Very fitting. And I value your opinion on such matters, naturally.” Before the blighter could nod, he added, “However, I do not consent to his dismissal.” Hedge opened his mouth, but Edward spoke across him. “There remains, I’m afraid, the question of loyalty.”

“Loyalty, my Lord?”

“Yes, Hedge. Would you not say that it was an important, nay, vital quality in a servant? Yourself, for example. Are you loyal to the Forthenby estate?”

“Why, yes, my Lord.”

“And in return for such loyalty, a gentleman should always behave with honour towards those in his employ. Indeed, in our own way, those of my class must be loyal to our men. Would you not agree, Hedge?” Edward fought the urge to touch the sore patch on his ear where the cut was splitting open again, kept his hands behind his back the way they had taught him to at school. 

“My Lord, I… ”

“Come now, Hedge. You’ve been my dear Uncle’s steward for… for how long?”

“Thirty-two years, my Lord. Since my predecessor’s death.” 

“And in that time, you have no doubt seen much of the habits and manners of gentlemen.” Edward spoke soft and reasonable, the way Dickie had done when he was laying his snares.

“Yes, my Lord. That is to say -”

“As such, would you not say that loyalty was one of the qualities that a gentleman should possess? That, if one is to make any claim to decency, nobility, or honour, then not only must one be loyal to one’s friends and betters, but one should recognise the worth and devotion of those who serve? As, for instance, my Uncle did with you.”

Hedge blinked. “It is indeed an admirable quality, my Lord.” 

“Quite.” Edward's voice was all coldness again, however weak his legs felt, however madly his heart was beating at him, or the way the brandy hangover was starting to nag around his frontal lobes. Still, he had Dickie as his tutor in this, and that fellow could be as warm as an icicle even when he was clearly twitching to fuck you bloody. 

There was even a kind of pleasure to be had in it. 

“Yet you expect me to abandon my man with nothing other than a quarter’s wages between himself and penury.”

Hedge had the grace to look a little ashamed. “If he is so capable a servant as you suggest, he should be able to find appropriate employment without too much difficulty, my Lord.”

Of all the the mealy mouthed swine.

“Are you familiar with the circumstances of my father’s death, Hedge?”