Upstairs, Downstairs, Out the Back Door

[stbattenberg]

Sebastian St. Battenberg was still unmarried at age 30, a fact that his mother bemoaned at least once a week, and more often than that if there was company in the house. His considerably older brother had landed himself a suitable wife at 25, and now had produced no less than four children, firmly entrenching himself as the favored son. Not that the younger brother ever stood a chance. The only thing he'd ever really been good at was sport, and while that was perfectly acceptable for a boy in his teens, it was no longer the done thing for a man his age. So Sebastian was left as the useless younger son, and only his father seemed willing to give him some responsibility around the estate. It was all going to go to Edmund in the end, of course.

But without a family to attend to, or more taxing responsibilities at home, Sebastian was often left at ends. And he was generally the one who took up residence in their London home during the season, bringing his valet, Alfred, with him, and attended only by the man he had known since he was a child, and a housekeeper/cook. Sebastian was very fond of Alfred, but also found him a bit stodgy. He never came out drinking with his master, no matter how many times Sebastian asked, and often went to bed far earlier than Sebastian, despite the fact that he was only a few years older. He supposed his valet didn't sleep very well, because despite this, the man often seemed tired during the day. Not that it was ever obvious, but Sebastian knew him well enough, after all these years.

The valet didn't have a wife or children, either, but Sebastian had always vaguely assumed that Alfred was married to his work. It certainly never occurred to him that the man might harbor the same secret he himself had. Not long into his mid-teens, Sebastian had come to the realization that he didn't have any romantic interest in girls whatsoever. It had taken more years than that to come to terms with it, but despite his mother's pushing, he had never agreed to marry any of the numerous, suitable young women he had been introduced to. The fact was, Sebastian liked a few of them, and to take away their opportunity to marry someone who could love them and give them children seemed cruel and dishonorable. He might never be able to admit the truth to his family, but he wasn't going to damn anyone else, either.

It was however, only within the last few years that Sebastian had discovered he didn't simply have to content himself to a life of celibacy. While there were certain no prospects in the village back home (or at least none that he knew of), London was a different story altogether. And it was in the molly house, the taverns in the rougher parts of town, that Sebastian could be free. If the brief affairs (sometimes, more often than not, really) were motivated by some financial gain for the other party, the big man didn't mind. Perhaps he might long for something different, but even this was more than he'd ever expected to have, and Sebastian was, after all, a cheerful sort at heart. He'd make the best of what he was given.

Tonight, though, he wasn't feeling even the slightest lack. He'd just seen a new play in one of the smaller West End theaters, a bombastic, vibrant production that he'd thoroughly enjoyed. Sebastian was no great patron of the arts, but he did love a good story, with lots of fighting and declaiming and death and the right people winning out in the end. He had cheered the loudest throughout the whole thing, and now he was talking to anyone in the tavern who would listen about what a fantastic show it was, causing multiple men who thought they might land an ox in their beds tonight to reconsider.

"And that blond fellow! What a showman! I haven't seen him before, but that voice!" Sebastian gushed to the barman, who simply placed another glass of whiskey in front of the excitable man indulgently.

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[inforapound]

Life with the Saint Battenburgs had always been good to him. He knows this. Very few boys had known what their future would hold for them, but Alfred had known at a very young age what he was supposed to do for the rest of his life. He was to serve the Saint Battenburgs as he father had done, and his father's father before him. The Pennyworths had been in the employ of the family since nearly the beginning. To be a servant was a stable life. It was an honor. It was as high in the social strata as the Pennyworths could ever hope to reach. And his employers weren't at all unkind. The elders were a bit set in their ways but the younger was quite a bit different.

Growing up next to Sebastian, being his friend,as much as was allowed for his status, it was all he could ask for. Who would want more. A stable job as the valet, a future as headbutler to a wealthy household. What more was there?

Only there was more. Being a servant, always at the beck and call of another, it wasn't what he wanted. Not since his childhood years starring in the church's passion plays. He'd dreamed of being an actor. But instead, he'd been trapped as a glorified personal assistant to a far too friendly far too much trouble far too good-looking man.

London during the season had been his freedom. He is certain that Sebastian noticed it somewhat, the slightest excitement when they're to make the move for the social season to London. He can work during the day and then turn in early, having seen Sebastian off to wherever it is he gets off to and then creep out to West End.

At first, it'd been small roles in tiny theatres. But after a few years, he'd become a lead. The theatres and the actors guilds were always happy to see the man back for the season. They knew him. Every night on the stage was given everything he had. Ever night he acts like it'll be his last night on stage. He pours his heart and soul into every line. For a few hours, he can live his dreams, trodding the boards, sweating under the heat of the limelights.

Tonight might very well have been his last. He'd recognized the bombastic lummox bellows and cheers in the crowd that night. His heart had dropped into his stomach. He could only hope he'd not be recognized. That the bright lights and the lemon he'd put in his hair to bring his dirty blond to bright golden would be enough. The confrontation he feared never came and finally he could relax into his other, freer life.

Sebastian in the crowd might be one thing. Sebastian in this particular pub... He hadn't known. He'd not even expected that the man he helped dress and shave and bathe and a million other things would have such predilictions. He makes to turn around but the barkeep has already noticed him.

He can see how the man points him out to Sebastian and likely even mentions his usual drink. He can't help but smile just a little. Thaddeus Crane has never had to buy a drink in his very short life. There's always a gentleman willing. More than willing. He might as well. He's always thought his master handsome and perhaps the man is merely here for the atmosphere. It is, after all, so different from the dull high society socials that they must attend.

Putting on his best smile, he glides forward, through the crowd to the bar. It's like he's dancing his way over, avoiding touches he hasn't welcomed yet to lean lazily, nonchalantly, against the bar, utterly relaxed and confident in himself. He's a far cry from the stiffly regimental valet.

"Gin Fizz and..." Laughing grey-blues sweep over Sebastian. "Whatever he's having."