Camorra Chapter 3

Hurriedly changing his breeches and shirt for a clean pair, he made his way down towards the kitchen again. In the corridor, he passed Camorra in the corridor, who avoided his eyes and swept past without a word. As Benjamin turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of Camorra standing motionless, his fists balled at his sides, stopped in his tracks in the corridor. He was about to enquire of his master’s health, but before he could speak, Camorra shook his head to himself and strode into the Library.

Lunch was a quick affair, some cold meat sandwiched in wholesome fresh bread, washed down with a mug of steaming tea. Placing his crockery by the large sink, Benjamin made his way to the Library to meet his master.

In the Library, Camorra fumed to himself. Why in Hell’s name had he protected the boy so much? The boy was just a means to an end, not a blasted end in himself. As if displaying his talents were not dangerous enough, he’d then offered some revoltingly nonsensical explanation that not even a street urchin would believe. Fates, but he was a mess. He needed a damn drink. That was the problem, he decided. In that case, he’d soon solve it.

A knock at the door announced Benjamin’s presence, and Camorra bade him enter. The boy advanced somewhat hesitantly into his master’s presence, but Camorra blithely waved him to a chair. “Now, young man,” he said, as Benjamin made himself comfortable, “it seems to me that you’re going to require some sort of uniform to fit in with my household. I can’t have a butler that’s dressed like a commoner, now can I?” Moving smoothly over Benjamin’s attempts at pleasantries, he continued, “To that end, I have seen fit to make you an appointment with my personal tailor. I shall have my driver drop you off there this afternoon, where you will be measured and fitted for a pair of suits, some clothes more suited for your time off, a formal suit for special occasions, and a proper frock coat as well. Do not worry about the expense; I have an account with this tailor, so all monies are taken good care of. Now, be off with you, and I’ll see you at dinnertime. Meet me in the dining room at, shall we say – seven tonight.” Camorra stood, indicating to Benjamin he was dismissed, and the boy hurriedly scrambled to his feet, bowed slightly, and made for the door, stuttering garbled thanks as he did so. Smiling, his master patted him genially on the shoulder and sent him on his way.

With the boy dismissed, Camorra returned to his chair and turned his brain to the other problem. Sometime he was going to have to offer the boy the truth about the morning’s sight – at least, if he wanted any chance of Benjamin sticking around. It irked him still that he found himself caring quite so much whether or not the boy did remain, but he pushed that to the back of his mind. That, he decided, was a mental gymnastics session that could wait.

Leaving the library, he strolled through the corridors of his house. Looking out the window of the landing to the street below, he watched as tousled curls on long, lithe legs hurried down the steps to the waiting cab, a slight smile curling his lips as the horses moved off. Continuing his wanderings, he found himself outside the boy’s room. The young maid was inside, changing the bedlinen, and as he entered she curtsied and said hastily, “My apologies, Master Camorra sir; I’ll come and finish this later.” Putting his hand upon her shoulder, he shook his head: “It’s fine; I’m just meandering anyway.