"There is a passion for hunting something deeply implanted in the human breast." 

― Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

Without realizing it, Harry had begun a new collection.

Unlike his coin collection, which was made up of objects similar in form and function from all over the world, this collection was made up of different objects from a single source.

Though he had thrown away his invitation to Warwick, he'd kept the envelope and its broken red seal. He'd kept the white flowers Louis tossed in his direction after he won the horse race. They'd wilted but Harry pressed their petals in a book to preserve them. He kept the book of hymns Louis bought for him at the bazaar, the note Louis slipped beneath his pillow, "dearest one," and the stamps that had once belonged to Louis' brother. He had even kept Achilles, Louis' first bittersweet gift.

It was in Harry's nature to collect. Objects were how he made sense of the world. In a panic he found himself wanting more. He wanted a piece of Louis' clothing, his lighter, a half-smoked French cigarette, a lock of hair...

He reached over to touch his lover's side of the bed but it was cool and empty. Louis was awake. He sat at the vanity with his legs crossed, white breeches tucked into black dress boots with brown leather tops. He already donned his hunting pinks. Harry wondered why these jackets were called "pinks" when they were scarlet. Only a gentleman member who had earned his colors was entitled to wear a scarlet jacket. It had gold buttons embossed with the hunt's emblem. Masters signified their position by wearing four buttons and a huntsman, like Louis, wore five. He looked so dashing Harry wanted to undo every one of those shiny well-earned buttons.

He sat up in bed and stretched, smacking his lips drowsily. "May I have a lock of your hair?"

"Whatever for?" The Duke's hands flew up to his head.

"My mother wears a lock of my father's hair."

"Your family is macabre," he said sharply.

"All the widows wear it nowadays."

"I'm alive, Harry!"

Louis rang for Harry's valet. He said they were going for a ride before the hunt. Harry threw himself down on the bed and kicked his legs petulantly. He was nowhere near ready to leave the sanctuary of their bedchamber.

"Come, Harry, the riverbank is where we shared our first kiss."

"This room is where we first made love!" he argued, clinging to the sheets.

Louis joined him on the bed to comfort him. Harry wrapped his arms around the Duke's neck, then scratched at his scarlet jacket like a cat begging to be let in.

Sensing his insecurity, Louis said, "Nothing will change when we step outside that door. I will love you out there as I did in here."

Harry acquiesced.

Charles dressed him in a black oxford hunting jacket with plain black buttons and black dress boots with garters. It wasn't mourning attire but proper etiquette for a gentleman who had not yet earned his colors. All that was missing was the helmet, a brimmed cap with black velvet covering. He tucked it beneath his arm.

He and Louis stepped outside the bedchamber and made their way down the staircase side-by-side as though Warwick now had two masters instead of one.

The men regarded them with suspicion.

Harry's starched collar itched and his palms were sweaty. Anxious as he was he could not seek out the comfort of his lover in the company of others.

Louis who had confronted the reality of his nature a long time ago, switched between worlds with ease, while Harry couldn't watch Louis speak without feeling that that soft pink mouth pressed against his own, couldn't look at his hand on the bannister without feeling it slide down his thigh.

Beardsley greeted them at the bottom of the staircase, fury concealed beneath a twitching mustache. As they went over the procedure for the hunt, Harry momentarily forgot himself and swept a loose strand of hair behind Louis' ear. Both men stopped speaking at once and stared at him.

When Beardsley left, Louis turned to Harry and said firmly, "You musn't do that."

Harry flushed with shame. "I thought you said your feelings for me wouldn't change."

"They haven't. But men like us need to be careful."

Harry kicked the air with his riding boot. "Oh, I see."

Louis softened. When no one was watching, he took Harry's hand and guided him into the darkened corridor that led to the powder room. Alone at last the Duke pressed him against the wall beside a gilded mirror. Harry drew his knee up boyishly.

"What am I going to do with you?" Louis tsked.

"Kiss me?" Harry suggested.

Louis shook his head and laughed. He leaned in to steal a kiss, but stopped when he spotted someone's reflection in the mirror.

Beth.

She was almost unrecognizable, wearing a navy hunting jacket and breeches, her curls twisted into a handsome chignon.

Louis sprang away from Harry and straightened his jacket. He noted the awkwardness between them and politely excused himself, reminding Harry to meet him by the stables for their ride.

He nodded.

Louis was no longer cross or jealous of Beth, but empathetic. He kissed her hand and left them.

She did not seem to know what to say. She wasn't a worldly girl and likely did not understand what she had just witnessed.

"You and the Duke have become good friends," she said quietly.

"We're... fond of each other, yes."

She twisted her riding crop in her small, gloved hands. "Will you still ride with me during the hunt?"

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "No one knows the hounds like you do."

Beth stepped toward him. It was so strange to see her in breeches, legs moving freely, unburdened by the heavy folds of a dress. She leaned in as Louis did and for a moment Harry thought the girl might kiss him. But this intimate posture was to tell him something in confidence.

"I'm worried about the hounds," she whispered. "Because the hunt was postponed they have been starved for two days. I visited the kennel early this morning. The beasts were mad. It wasn't safe for me or even the gamekeeper to step inside."

Harry did not know much about dogs but he remembered something Beth said the other day. "Perhaps it will make for a livelier hunt? Their sense of smell must be quite keen now." The hounds were starved in order to heighten their senses and more easily detect the fox's scent among the coverts. He glanced at the grandfather clock. "I'm terribly sorry, Beth, I must go and—"

"Meet the Duke."

"Yes."

For a moment he thought he saw a flash of understanding in her dark eyes. Impossible. A fifteen-year-old girl could not possibly conceive of love between two boys, could she?

♞

William was standing by the window in the parlor room when Sir Clarence's carriage pulled up to the manor.

The footman waited for a parish constable to step out, or for officers of the court to follow behind in their own carriage. Curiously, Clarence was alone. The gentleman's sleepless face was as grey as the early morning sky without a lick of sunlight upon it. 

He met Sir Clarence outside on the flagstone. "Are they going to arrest him?" the boy asked in hushed tones while taking his satchel.

Eyes darting wildly around the manor Clarence said, "Where is he?"

"The Duke? Why, he's gone for a ride to his favorite spot on the riverbank."

♞

Achilles veered off the path and into the brush, bucking at Harry's commands, while Bertie clomped obediently ahead.

Why couldn't he communicate with this animal? It mystified him. Louis said they simply had to hear each other's hearts, but his heart appeared to speak different a language.

Louis looked back and searched for them among the branches. "Perhaps it would be quicker if you walked."

"How droll," Harry quipped.

When they neared the riverbank they dismounted and tied the horses to two thick trees a few yards away from their spot.

Achilles rested his head on the back of Bertie's neck, grooming and nickering affectionately to his pasture mate before they were parted.

The mare put her ears back and blinked sweetly at him.

♞

Sir Clarence locked the library door behind them. He paced around the room, heels clicking against the polished floorboards with the haunting rhythm of a metronome.

The boy was panicking now. His bony legs shook like saplings. What if the court realized that the evidence had been falsified? What if Sir Clarence was going to prison? What if he was going to prison?

"Tell me, Sir, what did they say at the high court," he begged, wringing his hands. "Please!"

"Hush! I'm thinking."

Clarence stopped dead in his tracks. Some terrible idea had just occurred to him and his frown morphed into a toothy grimace.

"I need you to fetch two things for me, William." He hunched over the desk. "I need you to retrieve a piece of clothing worn by your master but not yet washed, and a hunting knife."

"Sir—"

"Go!"

♞

They unrolled the thick wool blanket. Though it was still autumn there were shades of winter in the frost-covered grass and branches. Harry would normally be cold but since the moment Louis deflowered him, his skin ran as hot as a kettle.

Louis, a sportsman, thrived outdoors. His blue eyes became clear as gemstones and his cheeks flushed with vigor. His hair appeared lighter in the sun and, windswept, fell romantically over his brow.

He lay supine on the blanket and watched the river, threading his fingers through the blades of grass. He seemed troubled. Harry smoothed the Duke's worry lines with his thumb, which made him smile.

Harry wondered if the Duke would invite him to stay the summer. They could swim nude in the river and make love all afternoon in the grass. He would wait to propose such a naughty plan. Perhaps he would write it in a letter, omitting the words "nude" and "make love" of course lest it fall into the wrong hands.

"There's something I would like to give you, Harry."

"You've decided to give me a lock of your hair after all? Splendid!"

Another piece for his collection, he thought excitedly! Harry considered showing Louis this new collection but supposed it childish and changed his mind. He needed to appear aloof and mysterious to maintain the Duke's interest. Louis was accustomed to sophisticated society men, not adolescent hobbyists.

Louis slipped a hand into his breast pocket. "It's not a lock of hair." He paused.

Why was he so vexed? It was making Harry vexed. What was in that pocket? A parting gift? Was this goodbye? The end of their tryst? He couldn't bear it. "Don't tell me it's over! I'll die!" Alas, so much for being aloof.

"Over?" He tossed his head with amusement. Then he took a deep breath. "As you know, the reason I visited Somerset four years ago was because my family died. Their lives ended but mine had only just begun because... that was when I met you. I never knew a moment so bright could be born from one so dark."

He removed the object from his pocket. Harry knew what it was from the way he held it in his hand. It was small but heavy as a heart.

"I pledge myself to you. Will you accept my pin?"

♞

William returned to the library with a long Paget hunting knife and the Duke's billowy white shirt, which he nicked from the maid's basket while she was laundering his sheets.

It was clear now that no officers were coming to Warwick.

"They aren't coming, are they, Sir?"

Turning the knife over in his hand, Sir Clarence relayed the news from the high court: they would not press charges.

The torn medical journal, and corresponding burnt pages doused in turpentine, was compelling evidence, but inexplicably not enough to convince the court to arrest someone of the Duke's stature and put him on trial for murder.

"I've seen the same prosecutors put an orphan in prison for theft because he had crumbs in his pocket," he seethed, "hang a shoemaker based on nothing more than hearsay." His voice teetered on the edge of madness. The court's decision confirmed every suspicion he'd ever harbored about the system and justified every rebellion against it. "The law has failed us, so we must make our own justice. It's the only solution. I should have seen it all along."

"We'll be hanged if they catch us!"

"For a just cause."

There were two parts to Clarence's plan as he described it. Both unthinkable. He wanted Louis to suffer for his crime. Only, it was the wrong crime. Louis was cruel but he was no murderer. William had made the whole thing up!

He cradled the shirt against his cheek. It smelled intoxicatingly of his master.

Clarence saw hesitation in the boy's dark eyes. He saw the twisted flame the boy nursed for his master despite all the ways he had wronged him. Clarence put a hand on his shoulder.

"It is natural for servant to love his master, he knows no better, but a master never loves his servant, for if he did, he could not bear to watch him degrade himself in servitude. Louis would not show you the mercy you are showing him now."

William clung fiercely to the shirt. "I simply can't!" He had to confess the truth about the medical journal.

But Clarence interrupted him. "You would side with your master over me? Let me ask you, would he side with you over his companion, the Duke of Somerset?"

The footman grew cold.

"Do you think he would ever choose a servant, however loyal, over his own kind?"

Clarence gently took the shirt from the boy's shaking hands.

William had pledged his heart, only to be cast out of his master's bed while a traitor, with fortune and fine clothes, had been let in. And like a loyal dog, William couldn't stop loving the Duke, no matter how many times he'd been kicked aside.

Perhaps Clarence was right. In the future there would be no rich and no poor, no servants or masters. But that future was not today. There was only one place where he and his master could be together and it wasn't in this life but the next.

Clarence held out the shirt and the hunting knife and asked William to choose.

William chose the knife.

♞

Harry picked up the pin from Louis' palm and repeated his words, "I pledge myself to you," voice echoing throughout the forest. There was no priest, no congregation, only sparrows tittering in the trees but he felt like he was in nature's cathedral with a choir singing behind him.

He had wished for this moment and at the same time did not dare wish for it in case it didn't come true.

Here it was, the crown jewel of all of his collections, his most prized possession. It wasn't valuable and it wasn't rare, thousands of boys who passed through the halls of Eton College possessed the exact same one, but this pin, slightly scuffled with a tiny dent on the fleur-de-lys, didn't belong to just any boy, it belonged to his boy, and that made it invaluable.

Louis was nervous, which Harry did not expect. Gone was the confident Duke that expertly guided Harry's urges in the bedchamber. Love was as new to Louis as it was to Harry. He tried not to prick Harry, while Harry tried not to cry.

As Louis fumbled with the pin on Harry's waistcoat, concealing it beneath the young Duke's hunting jacket, Harry held his wrist. "No, no, on my cravat."

Louis embraced him suddenly, overcome with emotion.

Hunting etiquette required men to wear a plain gold pin on their cravat. Harry knew it was poor form to wear the Eton crest but he didn't care. If he couldn't kiss his lover openly he would honor him with this symbol of their devotion.

♞

William made his way through the Warwick forest on foot, the knife in a leather sheath on his hip.

He shouldered through the pine trees and then he spotted them.

Achilles and Albertine.

He approached the stallion first. The beast's black nostrils flared dangerously. He had a notorious temper that all his handlers warned about, and immediately mistrusted the footman.

William stepped closer.

The stallion struck the ground with his heavy hoof.

"Don't be afraid 'ol boy. It's your chum, William. I've come to scratch your ear."

Achilles rose on his hind quarters.

William backed away nearly falling over. 

Then he turned to Albertine.

The mare was anxious. William opened his hand to her. She was wary but too obedient to refuse him. William stroked her snowy muzzle and behind her ear, the way he watched his master soothe her before a ride.

He gripped the handle of the knife.

It slid from its sheath with a quiet hiss.

♞

Harry tipped his head back and bared his throat.

Louis slid the pin's sharp gold bar through the silk cravat and closed the clasp.

♞

William placed the blade beneath the mare's mandible.

"That's it, girl. Come a little closer."

She was unfamiliar with the footman, but, trusting and sweet, bowed her head and submitted to his touch.

He slid the knife across her snowy white throat.

Her eyes went wide with panic but it was too late. The blade had pierced the jugular vein and blood spilled like a fountain down her soft fur and onto the dead leaves beneath her hooves. She wavered and collapsed heavily to the ground kicking and struggling for life.

The stallion let out a scream, yanking the reins that bound him to the tree.

♞

Harry's lips brushed Louis' to seal their pledge with a kiss, when he heard a scream from the forest. "Did you hear that?"

Louis stood and pulled Harry to his feet. "The horses. Something's wrong."

♞

"Calm," William hissed at the stallion, "Calm."

The beast would not calm down. William would have to stab its body where he could, incapacitate it instead of delivering a clean and quiet kill.

He lifted the blade above his head when suddenly the leather reins snapped. The stallion broke free and ran. No!

Behind him the footman could hear the two Dukes approaching from the brush and he too ran, back to the house to see if Sir Clarence had begun to carry out the second half of their plan.

♞

They noticed the blood first. It inched toward their boots in a large dark pool.

Louis fell to his knees when he saw her, hooves moving weakly in the loose earth. He took off his jacket and pressed it to her neck, trying to staunch the bleeding in vain.

She was already growing cold and Harry threw himself on top of her to keep her warm. "No, no, no," he cried. "This can't be happening! Who would do such a thing?"

He heard her large heart thudding slower and slower.

"Save her, Louis! Save her! Please!"

Louis held the mare's head in his lap, her dark eyes gazing up at him with terror. His jacket was soaked through with blood.

Her heart stopped.

In the distance Achilles neighed wildly. "Go to him!" Louis choked, still holding Bertie.

He couldn't bear to leave them but Achilles might have been injured too.

Harry scrambled to his feet and ran east as fast as he could, following the stallion's cries. The wind dried his tear-stained cheeks as he leapt over logs and fallen branches. All he could see was blood. All he could hear was Bertie's last heartbeat. He had saved her from death when she was still a carthorse and now death had come for her again and he could do nothing to stop it. He hated himself and whoever had done this.

He found the stallion in the middle of the forest, trembling behind a tree, too afraid to approach.

Though badly spooked, he didn't appear to be injured. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't realize how much he loved this animal until he thought he might be taken from him too.

Tentatively, the stallion clomped toward the young Duke, his large eyes knowing.

I wish I knew what you were thinking. I wish I knew what you saw. Who did this, Achilles? Who did this?

He was about to grab the broken reins when they heard a horn in the distance.

It was the huntsman's horn, though the hunt was not for another three hours.

He led Achilles toward a clearing where he could see the manor. The hounds were descending on the forest in a large hungry pack, their noses to the ground, heading west. Neither Beardsley the field master, nor Oscar the whipper-in, were leading them. Instead he saw Sir Clarence atop his dapple grey thoroughbred holding a white shirt.

The hounds had picked up a scent.

It took Harry a moment to realize that they weren't hunting the fox. 

Louis was their quarry.

A/N: RIP Albertine. You will be missed.

(I'm sorry! This was a necessary evil.)

To honor Bertie's memory I will switch from using ♞ to ♘ for section breaks.

So, the system is rigged to protect the rich and powerful just as Sir Clarence suspected. Now he's taken justice into his own hands... Whose actions were worse, Clarence who devised the plan or William who went along with it?

By some stroke of luck, while I was writing this chapter Timothée Chalamet, who I cast as William, appeared in this Gothic Victorian short for The New York Times Magazine. My evil son. 

https://youtu.be/lVYFfocu23Y