all over the house, etched in shadows, woven in spiderwebs, and finally outlined on the walls in blood. I had taken this to be a hint.
" Randolph, Lord Caldwell," I said, walking towards it. Feximal came to stand at my side. He smelled faintly of an odd spice that I could not place. "My ancestor of some two centuries."
" The story, as you know it, please?" Feximal contemplated the picture with a frown in his fine dark eyes. The man in the painting looked back with a faint smile. He was a handsome chap, with green eyes rather like my own, but a much more assured, aristocratic demeanour, wearing the curled white periwig adopted by gentlemen in those bygone days.
" I can't vouch for the truth of this," I began. "It's family history, and not the kind that's preserved in the books. What I've heard is that Randolph here was a degenerate of the most unrepentant kind."
" Meaning?"
" He had a fondness for men." I glanced over. Feximal didn't look shocked, or disgusted, or even very surprised. "He apparently spread his attentions widely, from the stableboys to the butler, from his tenants to his neighbours. He seems to have been indiscriminate."
Feximal looked again at the portrait. His gaze was assessing.
It is a strange phenomenon that men of my tastes often have a knack for sensing when another man shares those tastes. Without signals, hints or touches, one can often simply tell . I possess that knack. It had prevented me being assaulted or arrested on many occasions, and now I felt the slightest bat-squeak of awareness and it struck me that the stern, mysterious, powerful Mr. Feximal and I might possibly have something in common.
Not that I would have pressed the issue, alone in a haunted house with a ghost-hunter. But still.
Feximal was still looking at the portrait. "What sort of man was he? Is he said to have forced his attentions on the unwilling?"
" Not that I know," I was pleased to report. "He was not a brute, to my knowledge. Simply a man of decided inclination, applied widely and enthusiastically."
Feximal 's mouth twitched. I wondered what he would look like when he laughed. If he laughed.
" He met a violent end," I went on. "It seems that he was in bed with someone -- a man -- when he was shot to death. The murderer was never caught or tried, because of the possible scandal, I suppose. Whether it was a spurned lover, a current lover that he had yet to spurn, his own wife, a neighbour's wife..."
Feximal held a hand up. "I grasp the point. Did he have decent burial?"
" I suspect it would have been hurried. He was taken in the act, and the law was even less kind then than it is now."
" You sound sympathetic."
" Of course I am. The poor fellow was murdered."
" I find most of my clients lose their powers of empathy when the screaming starts."
I shrugged. I had a fellow feeling for the deceased Lord Caldwell, but it seemed something of a risk to say so. "I don't suppose he wants to be here any more than I want him here."
The dark eyes turned to me with clear approval. "You are quite right. If I can find a way to free him, it is as much in his interest as yours." Feximal peered at the portrait again. "If you don't mind going over it once more, the symptoms of the haunting include--?"
" The bleeding walls, of course. That's happened several times now. Screams at night. And other noises."
" What sorts of noises?"
" Moans. Lots of moans."
" Of pain?"
" Er, no, not precisely." I felt myself blush.
" Then of what nature?" Feximal asked.
" Of pleasure."
" A man's pleasure?"
" Precisely," I said, and wondered if he might speculate how closely I was acquainted with the sound of men's pleasure.
He didn 't seem to, instead looking away to assess the room. "I see."
"Mr. Feximal, do you think you can deal with this?" I asked. "I have no knowledge of what you do or how you do it. Can you make it -- him -- go away?"
He turned back to me then, his eyes rather stern under the heavy brows. I felt a decided quiver
" Randolph, Lord Caldwell," I said, walking towards it. Feximal came to stand at my side. He smelled faintly of an odd spice that I could not place. "My ancestor of some two centuries."
" The story, as you know it, please?" Feximal contemplated the picture with a frown in his fine dark eyes. The man in the painting looked back with a faint smile. He was a handsome chap, with green eyes rather like my own, but a much more assured, aristocratic demeanour, wearing the curled white periwig adopted by gentlemen in those bygone days.
" I can't vouch for the truth of this," I began. "It's family history, and not the kind that's preserved in the books. What I've heard is that Randolph here was a degenerate of the most unrepentant kind."
" Meaning?"
" He had a fondness for men." I glanced over. Feximal didn't look shocked, or disgusted, or even very surprised. "He apparently spread his attentions widely, from the stableboys to the butler, from his tenants to his neighbours. He seems to have been indiscriminate."
Feximal looked again at the portrait. His gaze was assessing.
It is a strange phenomenon that men of my tastes often have a knack for sensing when another man shares those tastes. Without signals, hints or touches, one can often simply tell . I possess that knack. It had prevented me being assaulted or arrested on many occasions, and now I felt the slightest bat-squeak of awareness and it struck me that the stern, mysterious, powerful Mr. Feximal and I might possibly have something in common.
Not that I would have pressed the issue, alone in a haunted house with a ghost-hunter. But still.
Feximal was still looking at the portrait. "What sort of man was he? Is he said to have forced his attentions on the unwilling?"
" Not that I know," I was pleased to report. "He was not a brute, to my knowledge. Simply a man of decided inclination, applied widely and enthusiastically."
Feximal 's mouth twitched. I wondered what he would look like when he laughed. If he laughed.
" He met a violent end," I went on. "It seems that he was in bed with someone -- a man -- when he was shot to death. The murderer was never caught or tried, because of the possible scandal, I suppose. Whether it was a spurned lover, a current lover that he had yet to spurn, his own wife, a neighbour's wife..."
Feximal held a hand up. "I grasp the point. Did he have decent burial?"
" I suspect it would have been hurried. He was taken in the act, and the law was even less kind then than it is now."
" You sound sympathetic."
" Of course I am. The poor fellow was murdered."
" I find most of my clients lose their powers of empathy when the screaming starts."
I shrugged. I had a fellow feeling for the deceased Lord Caldwell, but it seemed something of a risk to say so. "I don't suppose he wants to be here any more than I want him here."
The dark eyes turned to me with clear approval. "You are quite right. If I can find a way to free him, it is as much in his interest as yours." Feximal peered at the portrait again. "If you don't mind going over it once more, the symptoms of the haunting include--?"
" The bleeding walls, of course. That's happened several times now. Screams at night. And other noises."
" What sorts of noises?"
" Moans. Lots of moans."
" Of pain?"
" Er, no, not precisely." I felt myself blush.
" Then of what nature?" Feximal asked.
" Of pleasure."
" A man's pleasure?"
" Precisely," I said, and wondered if he might speculate how closely I was acquainted with the sound of men's pleasure.
He didn 't seem to, instead looking away to assess the room. "I see."
"Mr. Feximal, do you think you can deal with this?" I asked. "I have no knowledge of what you do or how you do it. Can you make it -- him -- go away?"
He turned back to me then, his eyes rather stern under the heavy brows. I felt a decided quiver
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