*
The scotch from the raven emblazoned black bottle was sharp, smoky, and the best he’d ever tasted. Melrose had insisted on pouring him one upon returning to his lounge after dinner. The meal had been pleasant and shared in companionable silence with Schell. Buford was absent and the other members of the Hunt had already eaten, apparently unwilling to wait for the duelists to return. Pierce was glad he had run into the duel, allowing him to finally meet some of the other residents of the Manor. Watching Melrose add another log to the fire, Pierce asked what he knew of the two men he had just encountered.
“Not very much I’m afraid,” he replied honestly. “The Colonel is American, from Georgia as you must have discovered. He was rich, though not aristocratic, I should say. However he either lost it all or was about to lose it before he was recruited here. It was due to a war he fought in, one which I believe his side was losing. I imagine that is why he’s so temperamental and quick to anger.”
“Still upset over the past, believes he was cheated, can’t take revenge on those responsible…”
“Just so sir. However the German master…”
“Schell?”
“Yes sir, Schell,” continued Melrose, “he has a very similar past as the Colonel, but is very different.”
“I had noticed.”
“He is also from a rich family, although with slightly better lineage. He was also involved in a war, but not as a soldier I think. Again on the losing side, but he seems to have accepted it and his place at the Manor. He was the newest member before you arrived.”
“Not a soldier, but he served in a war?”
“From what I understand sir.”
“Has everyone here been recruited under the same circumstances? From the losing side of a war?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not entirely sure. What are you driving at sir?”
“I’m still trying to figure out why I’m here. I have no special talents, skills, or knowledge I’m aware of. So maybe I should look at it from another angle, the method in which I was brought here.”
“You were not a willing recruit I take it?”
“Not at all,” he snorted, “I was attacked, concussed, drugged, poisoned, drugged again, and then forcibly brought here. Meanwhile the others I’ve met seem to have been eager to join from what you’ve said.”
“As far as I know sir.”
“Exactly, they recruit members when they are vulnerable and see no other alternative. I on the other hand had no such problem. Why was I different…” he trailed off staring at the fire, his fingers drumming along the side of the crystal tumbler of scotch.
After a few minutes Melrose bent down to check if his charge had drifted off to sleep. He was incredibly still and unblinking.
“He said I was early,” whispered Pierce, fully coherent. Due to his training Melrose straightened back up smoothly, despite being surprised.
“Early, sir?”
“That’s what Drummond said when we first met. He said I was tapped early. I took it to mean he hadn’t been waiting long or something like that. But what if he didn’t mean that?”
“You mean that you were recruited too soon?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said, quickly getting up from his seat and rushing into his dressing room. The sound of clothes and drawers being rummaged through emanated through the door, soon followed by Pierce. He held a white piece of paper that appeared to be an envelope.
“What is that sir?” enquired Melrose, now totally engrossed in the discussion.
“It’s the envelope that contained my invitation to the recruitment meeting. I wasn’t sure if I still had it, but it was wedged in the inside pocket of my old jacket.” He enthusiastically thrusted it towards Melrose’s incomprehensible face. “What does it say? Read it.”
“Sir?”
“It’s addressed to Commandant Pierce.”
“Yes, I see that. But that’s your name. I don’t see how…”
“That’s not my name,” responded Pierce with exasperation to Melrose’s quizzical look. “I have never been called Commandant in my entire life. I’ve only ever heard the word commandant a handful of times.”
“Perhaps it is a case of mistaken identity?” offered Melrose weakly.
“Impossible. During the interview, Drummond had a file on me. It had information on me, my parents, my childhood…” He flopped back down into his chair and stared at the envelope. He reached for his glass of scotch to try and slow his mind and organize his thoughts.
“How did they, I presume we’re dealing with more than one individual, recruit you early? I’m not entirely familiar with the process, but the Master of the Manor is very deliberate with the selection. There is much to be considered when dealing with changes to Time.”
“The how is commonplace! A file moved from one pile to another, a slip of paper changing hands. But the why, that is where the heart of this lies. Why was I recruited early and to what purpose? Who stands to gain from my early appearance?” Now that he had finally stated aloud the questions that had been rebounding within his head, Pierce was able to think more clearly. “You may be right Melrose. We might have to look at the how in order to reach the why. Who can tell us about the recruiting process? If we can find out what’s involved, we may be able to see who could have influenced the outcome. And that person should know why I’m here early.”
“There might be a problem with obtaining that information,” replied Melrose. “I assume that this must be looked into with the utmost discretion?”
“Of course. Apart from you, I don’t trust anyone here” As he said this, Pierce watched Melrose straighten in pride.
“You may have complete confidence in me sir.”
“I felt as much and truly believe it,” replied Pierce feeling somewhat abashed. “So who else we can trust with this task? Is there anyone that can tell us what’s entailed with recruitment?”
“Drummond cannot be trusted, nor his assistant,” counted off Melrose on his fingers. “The Master of the Manor has locked himself away for the past few weeks. Then there’s the Master of the Hunt, Dr. Cleaver. However I would caution making any inquiries directly to either of them.”
“You have a good sense of judgment Melrose.” Sensing his valet’s confusion, Pierce explained the meeting at the Fish and the Feather, and the bits that he had been able to overhear. Melrose had a sudden crestfallen look on his face during the explanation. Pierce attributed it to his valet’s disappointment in his ungentlemanly eavesdropping. Like Cleaver, he had found that the servants and residents of the island seemed to be stuck in the Victorian age. The technology, sensibilities, and pace of life from the bygone era seemed the norm here.
“I know I should have acted more appropriately…” he offered with an upheld hand.
“You mistake my reaction sir,” Melrose interrupted. “I would never question your actions or motives, unless you were in the wrong sir.”
“I’m glad to hear it, especially that last proviso.”
“The problem sir is that Cleaver was meeting with Jane.”
“I agree with you. I was shocked and disappointed as well. She seemed so nice...”
“I have always found that to be true.”
“And I thought from our first brief encounters that she was interested in me. That I intrigued her.”
“Naturally.”
“But to find out she’s actually trying to spy on me, well it’s disappointing.”
“I agree sir.”
“So why did you look disappointed when I mentioned her meeting with Cleaver?”
“Because she was the other person I could think of to help us.”