Think of England

There was a lot of noise during the lunch, and Curtis focused on the interactions around him, observing the group of villa guests like a mirror.

Lambton set his sights on Mrs Grayling.There was no doubt about it; yet his flirtations were not subtle, and his language even more vulgar.Curtis would not be able to swallow this breath if he was Grayling, but that idiot himself has long been fascinated by Mrs. Armstrong.James Armstrong and Holt maintained a healthy rivalry for the favor of Miss Carus.With a kind smile on her face, she shared her favor with the two, but she couldn't see that she had the slightest affection for any of them.Is she good at acting, or does she simply not like this pair of young men?After all, even Curtis began to feel that these two were not polite.Da Silva was conversing, God knows what, with the ailing Mrs Lambton.Curtis tried not to pay attention to him.He always felt that the other party's mouth looked a little red and swollen.

The rain stopped midway through their meal, and after a few cups of coffee and a few cigarettes, Mrs. Armstrong formed a limestone cave tour.Curtis, who was in urgent need of physical exercise, also joined them; Da Silva was naturally not among them.He undoubtedly had other plans.Before lunch, Curtis finds a night light and his forgotten top in his closet. He has no idea when Da Silva retrieved them and smuggled them back to their original owners, but it proves that The other party's ability to work.It was a relief, because Curtis had completely forgotten that he had left them behind.

Holt and Armstrong skillfully surrounded Miss Carus from both sides, and the route was far away from the crowd, so Curtis walked beside Miss Morton almost the whole time.But the journey was not boring. It turned out that she was not just Miss Carruth's girlfriend: she was Patricia Morton, who had won gold in the National Women's Shooting Competition for three consecutive years. One of Curtis's happiest episodes since his return from South Africa.

They walked slowly across the open and dark fields, passing the gentle hills that circled the Pennines. The conversation continued to revolve around target and game shooting. There was an argument over whether the pigeon or the pheasant was better as a flying target.But it turns out that Miss Morton, who looks lively, is very likable. Although she is not sweet, she is heroic. She is far-sighted, practical and talkative.To be honest, if Curtis was thinking about who to marry, she would be the ideal one.But even after the good-natured trip, he didn't feel compelled to bring that day closer.

Curtis had no intention of falling in love with Miss Morton, and the other party's eyes did not linger on him at all. She discussed guns with him like a sensible woman, while keeping an eye on Miss Carus's whereabouts.In the end Curtis concluded that a new friendship attracted him more than a brief villa anecdote.

Mrs. Armstrong stopped them all at the stony slope. "We've arrived at the entrance of the limestone cave. I hope you're all ready to stretch out your hands and climb for a short distance. No one here is afraid of the dark, right?" Everyone laughed, only Mrs. Lambton let out a nervous cry.Mrs Armstrong smiled: "Perhaps gentlemen can lend a hand to the lady?"

Holt quickly grabbed Miss Carus.Mrs. Armstrong cast a sympathetic smile at her stepson, "James, come help mamma." Mr. Lambton took Mrs. Grayling's arm and made her giggle with an intimate bit of ear, Mr. Grayling I had to reach out to Mrs. Lambton.Curtis looked at Miss Morton.

"Don't even think about it," she told him.

"No offense. If the route is too rough, I may still need your help."

The trail wasn't too difficult, though, and his legs weren't that bad.The entrance to the limestone cave is spacious, and kerosene lamps are hung outside for tourists to use.James and Mrs. Armstrong went in first, and she almost slipped on the smooth stone. He put his arm firmly around her waist and shouted: "Be careful, Mom!" Water dripped from the ceiling onto his head.

"It's pretty dangerous," muttered Miss Morton. "Do you know what else we'll meet after?"

"Well, limestone caves are etched by rainwater seeping into the ground, so we should be able to see some special natural stone carvings."

They descended through the first tunnel, which was steep and slippery despite the hewn stone steps.The humidity here is cold, the air is thin, and the light source is reflected on the damp tawny stone wall, making the surface of the wall look like lumps of raised meat.

"It's like being in a dragon's esophagus," Miss Carus yelled backwards, her voice distorted after echoing between the damp stone walls.In front of her were the Armstrong mother and son, followed by Mr. Grayling and Mrs. Lambton, then Curtis and Miss Morton.

"Oh!"

"What's the matter, Fern?" cried Miss Morton. "Fern!"

Mrs. Lambton in front of them stopped suddenly and cried out.

"Go ahead, please," said Miss Morton. "Oh. Oh my God, look at that."

Although Curtis had seen many caves, this one was quite spectacular.Numerous stone tips protrude from the ceiling of the cave like sharp teeth, and some protrude from the ground, like huge candles dripping with tears.The Armstrong mother and son, who were familiar with the environment, placed their kerosene lamps in the most suitable position to illuminate the cave, and the shadows jumped and flickered. Mrs. Lambton exclaimed and shrank into Mr. Grayling's arms.

"Well, it's interesting." Miss Morton looked around. "Can we walk around?"

"Please enjoy your visit," said Mrs. Armstrong. "The tunnel chambers here are as intricate as a beehive at the bottom of the mountain, but most of them are too narrow to go deep. Don't squeeze in and you won't get lost. If your kerosene lamp is out —” At this moment Mrs. Lambton wailed, “please stay where you are and call for help. Without lighting equipment, it is easy to get lost in the depths of the earth.”

The crowd scattered in all directions.Curtis no longer had to bear the responsibility of taking care of the lady, so he curiously walked deeper along a slightly wider tunnel, and arrived at the stone room at the end.The walls here are snow white in contrast to the tawny tone of the main cave.He walked slowly along the edge, watching the ripples on the wall, imagining how old this magical masterpiece must be.There was a small artificial stone wall at the bottom of the stone room. He glanced in and found that the stone wall surrounded a hole nearly six feet wide. The hole was nearly a perfect circle, and the hole was pitch black.

He held up the night lamp to shine down, and there was nothing there, which made people feel uneasy.He tentatively threw a small stone down, but did not hear the sound of it landing.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

"Spectacular, isn't it?" Holt entered alone. "Watch that hole. It's a horrible little trap. You don't want to fall."

Curtis stood up straight, "I don't know how deep it is down here."

"No one knows. They tried to detect by hanging the rope with the kerosene lamp, but every time the rope was not enough to reach the bottom of the cave. This is a sinkhole. The bottomless abyss, straight to the center of the earth." He said happily in it.

"My God." Curtis stared into the abyss for a while longer, "Did Armstrong snatch Miss Carus away from you?"

"It was her bulldog who snatched you." Holt pursed his lips tightly, pretending to be serious about Miss Morton.Curtis had no patience for this attitude; a gentleman should not describe a woman that way.He glanced at Holt with disapproval, and continued to visit the strangely shaped stone walls.

But Holt didn't seem to take his cue. "I have a serious question for you. What do you think of the episode with our Hebrew friend this morning?"

"He defeated you openly, what else is there to say?"

"Oh, come on. He's a pro, can't you tell? Have you ever seen a gentleman play like that?"

Curtis had never seen it.If da Silva isn't a professional hooker, it's not because of a lack of skills or an excess of moral sense.He was clearly not a gentleman.Holt was right about this.

But Curtis couldn't agree with him.

"He's a good player," he defended, "and he doesn't play for the money. I can't find a reason to vilify him. He may not be our kind, but he's not a villain either."

"He's a Jew."

"It's true, but so what? We're fighting over billiards, not religious debates."

Seeing that Curtis couldn't understand, Huot shook his head. "You are a soldier, you must want to defend your home and country."

"You see Da Silva as an enemy?"

"His entire race is our enemy." Holt obviously noticed the confusion on Curtis's face, and he continued to explain, "This country is in ruins, and people with low morals are disintegrating us from within. Ours The king indulges in pleasure, and is surrounded by men who wait and see the wind. Honest Englishmen are depressed, and no one cares about those who support the backbone of the empire. Those who should lead by example are either indulging in sensual places or living in clouds , empty talk about sensibility; people with a little bit of morality are considered out of date. Well, if Da Silva is the representative of modern times, I would rather be out of time. I always thought you felt the same as me.”

"I have no objection to His Majesty's behavior, and I'm not familiar with the people around him," Curtis replied bluntly, "As for the other parts, I dare say you have your own reasons." It is true, and perhaps echoed, but now these words sound utterly empty. "However—"

"But what? You wouldn't be on the same side as that kind of person, would you?" Holt waved at the crowd scattered in the cave, "Those who blindly pursue pleasure and self-indulgence, and don't care about their motherland at all, I think Let's see how they fare."

"What happened?" Curtis didn't like the emotion in Holt's eyes, he looked like a political or religious fanatic.

"Oh, these days will not last. This country is going to ruin, take my advice. Other powers are rising, whose ideas are stronger and purer, whose people are ready to fight and plunder. If we don’t join them now, we’ll be fighting each other before long. But whichever side we choose, we’ll have to get rid of these parasites that are eating up our country.”

Curtis had heard this argument several times, but none of the people who talked about it to him had actually worn a military uniform.He had always been a patient man, but since Jacob Stahl's return he had trouble with unrealistic visionaries.He responded sarcastically, "Yeah, it's on point. So when there's a conflict, are you going to fight? Or, if you're so motivated, why don't you join the army now?"

Even in the dim light of the kerosene lamp, he could see that Holt's cheeks had darkened. "There's more than one way for a man to serve his country."

Curtis thought of da Silva's unrewarding work in secret, that he was serving his country when others talked about it.He felt his mutilated hand half clenched into a fist. "Yes, there is more than one. There are many ways for a man to serve his God."

Holt's nostrils flapped in anger. "Well, Armstrong said you got close to that guy, and if you prefer to hang out with Jews and southern Europeans, I think that's your right."

Curtis turned and left.The light source in his hand moved quickly along the cave wall, illuminating the undulating smooth stones, and wonderful shapes emerged one by one from the darkness, and these beauties passed by him.A man's murmur and a woman's chuckle came from another aisle, and the sound disappeared at the entrance of the white stone room.He didn't look back.

In fact, he would rather have Da Silva as his companion than Holt.He would like to see the surprise on the other person's face, and would like to hear what kind of works such a magnificent scenery can make a poet write.He would want to explain how the topography of the limestone cave was formed, because da Silva presumably had no expertise in this area.He wants to know what impact these weird time sculptures will have, and change the imagination of the other party to create the shadow of the fish pond.He felt that Da Silva would enjoy it, and that his joy would be real and interesting.

When he returned, Miss Morton and Miss Carruth were leaning on a boulder in the main cave, admiring the view from the ceiling.Mrs. Lambton and Mr. Grayling stood together studying the stone wall in silence, with an air of estrangement between them.He approached the two ladies, and as he approached Miss Morton frowned at her companion.

She said firmly, "Don't talk too much, Fern."

"Oh, Pat, don't be so serious." Miss Carus pouted, "Mr. Curtis, I really want to know, are the caves in that great book—are they all real? Is it like this cave?"

Curtis is often called upon to corroborate a few bizarre details of Uncle Henry's diamond mining trips that made him rich and famous 25 years ago, and which his fellow expeditioners later wrote about in this illustrated travelogue. "Yes, it's all true. There is a very similar cave in the local area. The dead kings of the past generations were placed by the aborigines at the stone table inside, just where the limestone was eroded and dripped, so they all turned into human bodies in the end. stalagmite."

Miss Carruth was shaking with excitement, and Miss Morton glanced at him. "Are you sure it's true? It sounds unrealistic, and it's too dramatic."

"Mr. Quatermain [1] does like to go for theatrical effects," Curtis admitted, "and that's what made the book a hit. But my uncle is a man of credit."

At this moment Lambton returned from a side road, and Mrs. Grayling let him support her, blushing a little.Miss Morton clicked her tongue very slightly.James and Mrs. Armstrong then came out from the direction of the white chamber, Holt behind them.The group of them then set off down the mountain, across the swamp, and returned to Bigholm for afternoon tea.

***

Curtis was getting dressed for dinner when the door knocked.If it was Wesley, the servant who forced the service outside the door... "Who?" He responded unwelcomingly.

"Good night," da Silva muttered as he slipped through the door.

"Oh," Curtis said, "Hello."

"It's unlikely, but just in case someone is watching us from behind the mirror, let's just assume my official reason for being here is a collar button."

Curtis handed out one. "Go ahead. Any progress?"

"I have a plan for tonight." Da Silva stuffed the collar button into his pocket. "Knead your leg a few more times and pretend your knee is getting worse, okay? I think we can send you back tomorrow on the grounds of a doctor's visit. Just say the cave trip is really not a wise thing to do, you're overworked. "

"It's a good idea, but---leave tomorrow?"

"The sooner you see Wiese, the better."

"Of course." Curtis swallowed.He naturally wanted to leave this villa full of tricks, and this group of noble men and charming ladies.He naturally knew that he had a heavy responsibility and had to bring out key information.only……

Da Silva continued: "You ask him to send a telegram to remind me that reinforcements are on the way, and he will know what to write."

"no problem."

"Are you okay? You look like a Viking who got hit in the head without a helmet."

"I'm fine." Seeing Da Silva frown, Curtis forced a smile. "Really, just a little annoying, that's all. Had a bad chat with Holt earlier."

Da Silva raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything good he can say?"

"There's nothing good to say about you anyway. How can you put up with that?"

"When the other party can't do anything, I will also retort. What did he say that made you so angry?"

"Oh, nothing worth repeating. Anyway, I will cooperate with your excuse and prepare for tomorrow."

"That's good." Da Silva stopped hesitantly when he came to the door.His well-manicured hair was combed back, and his clothes were impeccably elegant, with cuff buttons with rich petals, but the unbuttoned collar was loose, revealing the hollow of his neck, and Curtis could not remove it look.He wanted to see da Silva undressed, disheveled and defenseless.He could almost imagine how strong it would be to tear off the white shirt of the other party, let the buttons pop off one by one, revealing the pierced nipples, and then put his face against the smooth skin.This desire, coming from nowhere, was so strong that it almost took his breath away.

"Do you need help?" Da Silva asked, and at that moment Curtis couldn't understand what help he was referring to.

"You mean the collar button? No need, I can do it myself." As soon as the words came out, Curtis cursed himself in his heart.Of course he could do it, and of course he didn't need those nimble fingers to wrap around his neck and slide down his chest, but...

"Are you sure?" Da Silva's eyes stopped on him, and his voice was a little breathless.Curtis's mouth was dry.

"This, uh..." He was speechless, but he held out a hand to Da Silva, the collar button resting in it.The other party glanced quickly, then looked at him again.

Da Silva picked up the collar button from his palm and stepped forward.His movements were very light, and the distance was very close, so close that Curtis seemed to be able to feel the warmth from the opponent's slender body.He raised his hand to Curtis's neck, lifted his chin with his knuckles, then slid the back of his fingers very slowly down his neck, passed his Adam's apple, and stopped at the edge of the neckline.

Da Silva raised his hand to fasten the collar button, one of his fingers stretched into the collar, and gently hooked forward, Curtis could only helplessly lean over.

"Well," Dasilva's warm breath hit his skin, "I should probably apologize."

"For what?" Curtis reluctantly asked.

"I've frustrated you." Da Silva's fingertips touched his new-born baby. "What happened earlier was just a small accident, and I didn't intend to make you angry."

"I'm not angry." Curtis said, feeling the skin of his throat move against Da Silva's fingers.

"I think a little bit." Da Silva's lips curved into a mysterious smile, "I only hope that your anger is out of dissatisfaction."

Curtis swallowed heavily.Da Silva frowned, suddenly looking a little annoyed. "Forgive me, I'm not here to rehash the past." Dexterously, but businesslike, he wraps his collar button and starched collar around Curtis's neck. "Solemnly declare, I don't want you to worry about me. Trust me, there's no need."

"I won't. Wait." Curtis stretched out his hand when Da Silva was about to leave, and he didn't even know what he was going to do when he touched Da Silva's shoulder.Da Silva stopped, eyes fixed on him, unnervingly still. "Can I help you? Reciprocity?"

Da Silva hesitated. "Please let me help you." Curtis had already used his most casual tone, but it didn't sound natural at all.

Da Silva's lips parted, and then he smiled. "Greatful."

He took out the collar button from the suit pocket with two dexterous fingers, and placed it on Curtis's open palm, then raised his face and stared at Curtis, whose mouth was so close.Curtis held his breath.If he leans forward now--

He'd never kissed any man in his life, and the drama in the library didn't count because it wasn't his will and it was over almost before it started.For him to move closer and put his lips on another man's mouth...it's unimaginable, at least he's never done it.Masturbating a man is just out of physical needs, but kissing a man like a lover—that is an irreversible step, and just thinking about it makes my heart jump.

But he wants to.He wanted to kiss Da Silva, to know how he tasted, how his lips felt.He wondered if da Silva kissed other men.

Da Silva was still watching him, waiting quietly.Curtis's restrained throat was tight, he pulled up his collar, and indulged his fingers to touch the other's warm skin.He could feel Dasilva's carotid pulse.

"You are very careful," Dasilva murmured, "It's interesting."

"Where's the fun?" Curtis pushed the collar button through the buttonhole, and was especially aware of the ugly shape of his mutilated right hand under the leather.

"With your Viking physique," Da Silva glanced up and down his body. "And that domineering but pleasing military posture, I was expecting you to—let's say, rampage, conquer me with brute force. Instead, you slipped in, bit by bit, so careful and gentle, I almost didn't feel it to your penetration—"

Curtis slipped his hand holding the collar button, and the second half jumped out from between his fingers and landed on the ground.He looked at Da Silva, tongue gaping, who looked up at him mischievously from behind his long, black eyelashes.

"You are really..." Curtis said.

"Sorry," he was about to say, when Da Silva held up his hand to stop him. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. You—well, you're so funny, you understand."

"I still want to see you again," Curtis blurted out.

"See me?" Da Silva raised a well-shaped eyebrow.Curtis was sure that the other party had trimmed it, but he didn't care anymore.Those eyebrows are beautiful.Da Silva is beautiful, and standing very close, Curtis felt a throbbing pain in his heart, he could have stretched out his hand and pulled him into his arms──

"You know what I mean." He took a deep breath, "I want to pay you back."

Da Silva's eyes were wide, his lips were parted, and now Curtis was sure he could put them on the mouth that was so tantalizing that Da Silva would meet him if he took the first step. .He swallowed. "Do you—do you think anyone is watching us right now?"

"God, I hope not."

"Then—"

"No." Da Silva grinned. "That's a—pleasant offer, honey, I don't know how to accept it, but I really don't want to remind you that you're not gay, are you?"

At this moment, Curtis didn't care.He cares more about other things. "Why don't you leave that to me to worry about?"

"Oh my God, I can't wish for it." Da Silva's eyes were so dark, ridiculously deep, and intoxicating. Curtis might not know how to do this, but he couldn't mistake the desire in those eyes.

"In that case—" He took a few steps forward, but Da Silva backed away.

"I'd love to, but, believe it or not, I still have some noble sentiments." The corners of his mouth curled up. "You have to go to London tomorrow to negotiate with your uncle. That's a gentleman's duty. I also have work to do tonight. And the dinner bell has already rung, call of duty." Before Curtis could speak Turning around, Curtis could only watch him leave the room.

He took a deep breath, bent down with difficulty to pick up the discarded collar button, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his palms.

He's going back to London tomorrow.He would tell Sir Morris everything, at least most of the truth.He'll make sure that reinforcements are on the way—help from professionally moving, able-bodied men.There's only so much he can do.

He will never see Da Silva again.

He could go to him, of course.He can be found among the bohemians, poets, painters, sculptors, artists.He could find him in clubs where men danced with men.He could go to the dark alleys of the East End and look for the locksmith's son among the dark faces in the crowded shops.

But after finding him?

Regardless of race, class, taste or intelligence, they have nothing in common.Velvet coats and poetry readings were as distant to him as shooting competitions and military life were to Da Silva, and Curtis had never been intimate with bohemians.

No, their friendship cannot and should not last.

However... the fact is that he likes that man.It wasn't just their relationship - whatever it was - that attracted him to pursue it.He likes the other's sense of humor, quick wit, and single-mindedness.I like the other person's mouth, those dexterous fingers, and the burning desire for him in those black eyes...

stop.You have a mission.he said to himself.focus on work.Da Silva isn't sitting next door thinking about you.

The fault is that he imagined that picture.In a split second he had pictured da Silva, naked and with disheveled hair, lying on the bed with bleary eyes, soothing himself with one hand.He cut off the thought roughly.

It took him several minutes to fasten the cuff buttons.His hands were shaking all the time.

[1] Allan Quatermain, a character in "King Solomon's Treasure", like Curtis's uncle Sir Henry, these characters are borrowed by the author to pay tribute to this book.