It took two weeks before Jackdaw would even allow Griffin to go anywhere near Lord Carridon’s guests, and though they would arrive only one or two at a time and stay just a short while, they seemed to flow through the house on a regular basis. It was difficult to train farmhands’ fingers, which were clumsy and used to wielding tools and hauling bales, into hands which could present food carefully or place cutlery in precisely the right order and at the right angle; it was even more difficult to train a mind which had never witnessed these things into being able to learn them, but there at least Griffin had the advantage of having been taught how to act like a gentleman in some small ways by Ilona. He could pass for someone who had lived in a noble house so long as he remembered to mind his words, rather than talking like the field boy that he really was.

During this time, it was not just how to lay the table that he learned from Jackdaw’s tuition. He learned to straighten his back when he walked and not to slouch when he stood, in order to appear more like those noble guests who would come to Lord Carridon’s table from the gold or silver classes. He learned to polish silver and to carry plates as though he were in a fancy restaurant, and how to serve guests and in which order they should see preference. He learned, most strangely of all, how to give other servants orders; it seemed that as one of Lord Carridon’s personal pets he was higher in the hierarchy than most of the others who worked in the house, and they had to do his bidding. The washerwomen had to obey him when he handed them clothes to be washed, the cooks had to hurry if he told them to prepare their master a late supper, and even the grooms would scramble to action when he told them to get the horses out for a late afternoon ride around the city.

Still, he was not invited on any of these trips, and he had to remain in the shadows as much as he possibly could whenever a visitor was in the house. There was no risk of his head swelling up here; he knew his place, and he was reminded of it every time that Lord Carridon’s appetites called him into the study or the master bedroom.

In some ways, Jackdaw was a good teacher – Griffin learned well, and quickly – but he was also quick to irritation, and he had little patience. If Griffin did not get it right the first time, he would scold him and would rush onwards, not waiting to show him again or help him get it right. He would also snap from time to time, something which Griffin had to learn not to take seriously – but when he got something perfectly right, then Jackdaw would grin at him and tell him that he was wonderful. Whether this knife edge personality – which could have him slipping off into joy or exasperation at any moment – was something that he had always had, or something that had developed thanks to Lord Carridon’s perfectionism, was not clear.

Still, in a strange way, he began to like the other servant. There was little time during the day when they were not engaged in performing one duty or another, whether it was serving dinner, cleaning up around the house, or being summoned to one of Lord Carridon’s rooms in order to serve in another way. Griffin was used to working long days, however, and the conditions here for the most part were better than what he was used to, with far less in the way of heavy manual labour; and when the sun went down, Lord Carridon would for the most part retire to his own company or to spend the night out somewhere in the town, and the Griffin and Jackdaw sometimes stole half an hour or so to talk quietly together before getting their rest. In those times, Griffin began to understand more of Jackdaw’s character; he was not all that he seemed, that was clear, and running below the surface was a current of strong emotions which seemed to overwhelm him at times. He was highly strung, and for a servant that was a difficult thing to be – particularly in a household like this.

They seemed to get along and fall into some manner of routine in those first two weeks after Griffin accepted the position that he was now in, and Jackdaw had been right when he said that it would be easier if he did not try to resist. While he may not have enjoyed the work that he had to carry out, he could at least get by without injury and without hunger if he did as he was told, which had not always been the case at the Breckenridge estate. The only disruption to that routine was the arrival of yet another important guest, who seemed set to stay for a few days, and who had Jackdaw throwing his hands up to his head in panic as soon as his arrival was announced.

“Lord Sheffley,” he gasped, as soon as Carridon had swept out of the room after brusquely informing them to prepare to receive his guest. “We’ve our work cut out for us now, Griffin my lad. He’s a stickler and no doubt about it. Everything must be perfect or he’ll raise complaints, and then it’s your back or mine for the cane before he’s satisfied.”

“He is a cruel man?” Griffin asked, having to bend a little to try and catch Jackdaw’s expression under the arms that were wrapped around his head.

“Not cruel, but fastidious,” Jackdaw replied, shuddering as if in recollection of something that he would rather forget. “Last time it was a smear on the outside of his wine glass. He sent it back to be cleaned again and asked the Master to ensure that someone was punished for it. Come on, we’d better begin with preparing his room and work our way out from there.”

They started to clean in tandem, laying out new sheets on a magnificent four poster bed in one of the largest rooms in the house, and sweeping and dusting every inch of the floor and the furniture. Fresh flowers were fetched from the market to ensure that the room would be fragrant, and a new stack of logs was arranged just so in the fireplace to be lit if the Lord desired it. They opened the windows for a few hours to air out the room but then closed them again so that it would not be too draughty, and the insides of the drawers were cleaned out so that there would be no complaints when the Lord unloaded some belongings into them. Then it was time to prepare the rooms for servants who were to accompany him – though this took less careful consideration – and finally to sweep through all of the rooms that he might visit, straightening them up in any way imaginable.

Griffin and Jackdaw stood alongside the head groom and the guards who kept the gates as the carriage bearing Lord Sheffley swept into the courtyard, an extravagant affair in bright white with black detailing, and a family crest on the door which resembled a spaniel sitting up to beg. Two white stallions were followed by two black at the head of the carriage, finely looked after beasts with glossy coats and shining leather harnesses. Lord Carridon stood a few paces in front of his servants, and when the nobleman descended from the steps which one of his servants opened for him, the two men leapt toward one another with smiles and handshakes.

Lord Milton Alexander Sheffley was not as tall as Lord Carridon, and though he was only a few years older he was certainly far closer to being considered stout. It was clear that he did not put as much stake in his physical strength or appearance, though he was well turned out in a finely-made frock coat and pressed trousers, as befitted a gentleman of the silver band. His hair was dark brown and showed a slight curl, and as he took off his top hat a few loose locks lay pressed to his forehead where the brim of his hat had formed them, though for the most part it was neatly tied back into a ponytail that matched that of Lord Carridon. He had a rounder face and one that seemed more prone to laughter, though there was something in the keen glance of his eyes that belied a sharp mind and perhaps an even sharper tongue. He was a businessman through and through, and his appraising stare seemed almost to measure Griffin’s worth before the two Lords had made their way into the house, trailed by various servants carrying boxes and chests.

Jackdaw whispered something in his ear about helping to carry a few things, and then disappeared back into the house after their Master so that he could serve anything that he or the new guest requested right away. Griffin made his way over to the carriage, where he found another servant unloading the last three sturdy black and white painted boxes from the storage space at the back of the vehicle. He took two of them stacked on top of one another and hefted them in his arms, and the other servant looked up in surprise at his strength.

“Are you alright with those?” he asked, his voice doubtful. He was dressed in a spotless uniform that seemed to match the general scheme of Lord Sheffley and his retinue – white trousers and jacket, black shoes and stockings, and a black shirt inside it all. His hair was gelled back against his head with some kind of slick substance, as if to hold it neatly and permanently in place, and there was not so much as a shoelace out of place or a wrinkle in his clothing.

“I’ll be fine,” Griffin said, smiling. “I used to work in the fields out on an estate.”

The other servant looked at him with even more doubt, but took the final box with what seemed like considerable effort and followed him into the house. They walked in silence until they reached the room which had been prepared and set their loads down, the other man huffing with the effort which was required to carry his so that talking was out of the question. For his part, Griffin felt strange to be around others again. He almost felt as though he did not know who he was any more, with this new identity and a new setting and new ways in which he was supposed to act.

Jackdaw bustled into the room after them and tugged on Griffin’s sleeve urgently. “Leave the others to sort those things out now Grif, we’ve got to get ready to serve in the dining room. They want to eat early.”

Griffin nodded and followed him out, glancing behind at the three servants who had come along with Lord Sheffley and who were already hard at work trying to unpack all of their Lord’s belongings into the drawers and the wardrobe of the room. It seemed astounding that a man might need to bring so much with him just to stay for a few days, not to mention needing a retinue of three to help him – but it was as it was, and being not from the city himself he did not really know whether what he was seeing was so unusual.

The rest of the day passed in hectic activity. Griffin nervously served alongside Jackdaw at both the lunch and the dinner which the two men ate together, before heading out to some venue in the city where they would drink until the early hours of the morning. Then at last it seemed that there was time to take a break from fetching this or carrying that, and the five of them sat down to eat together in the servant’s kitchen.

Alongside Jackdaw and Griffin, there were Thought, the man who Griffin had helped at the carriage; Silence, who was as quiet as his name suggested; and Patience, a man in his thirties who had evidently been serving Lord Sheffley for most of his life. They sat down to a quiet meal of bread and stew, made by the kitchen staff, who tended to eat after everyone else was done; there was a hierarchy here even amongst the servants, and Griffin still felt almost bewildered to find that he was not at the bottom of it. They made small talk for a little while, mostly powered by Jackdaw, Patience, and Thought, while Silence and Griffin simply listened along.

“It’s unusual, though, to find someone like you here,” Thought said, calling back Griffin’s attention as he realised that it was him the man was speaking to. “With your background, it’s not common to find your way into this sort of work.”

“Background?” Jackdaw asked, looking between them quickly. All of a sudden there was something tense in his manner.

“Well, yes, being a field hand,” Thought replied. “Certainly, I’ve never heard of someone being able to change their identity band to become a manservant like us after getting stuck with manual labour.”

Jackdaw glared at Griffin, and he realised then that he probably should not have opened his mouth. Of course – how stupid of him! If he had a new identity, then he was supposed to be someone else, not still the Griffin that had run away from the fields.

“He was sent to the fields for punishment, that’s all,” Jackdaw said, waving a hand dismissively. “He never changed his band. That would be impossible, I should think.”

Thought seemed to accept the explanation, but Silence gave Griffin a rather hard look which made him uncomfortable to his core. The conversation moved on to other subjects, and before long they had all finished eating, moving to clear up after themselves and get on with their last preparations of the evening.

When the other three were gone, Jackdaw seized Griffin by the arm to stop him from going out after them, pulling him back to hiss into his ear. “You idiot!” he said. “Do you realise what kind of danger you might be in if they realise who you are? You think your old Lord won’t want you back for punishment if you’re found?”

“I’m sorry,” Griffin whispered back, feeling utterly stupid. “I didn’t think.”

“If you aren’t going to think, in future, don’t talk either,” Jackdaw replied, shaking his head reprovingly.