Chapter 6. The Midnight Adventure

Benedict finally retreated into his room at nine in the evening, half an hour later than planned. Which is why his valet offered him his evening cup of tea later than usual, threatening to disrupt Benedict and Vivienne's plan to sneak out of the mansion. Benedict politely declined the tea and sent John to rest, anxiously glancing at the clock.

Victor would await him by the stables in twenty minutes, but that already seemed unrealistic since Percy and the guests appeared to stay in the Swan parlor much longer than he expected. Had they already retired to their bedrooms? He didn't know, but he didn't hear Percy return.

He paced his room, listening intently for any sounds from the corridor. Were they still playing cards? Or had Percy sneaked out to visit Beatrice instead? Benedict dismissed the thought immediately. Percy would never do that.

Benedict threw a robe over his clothes as a precaution in case he encountered anyone on his way out. He chose not to take a candle with him to avoid drawing attention and, if needed, conceal himself in the darkness.

Five minutes before the appointed time, he left his room and stepped into the pitch-black corridor. His heart was pounding in his chest, partly from excitement and partly from the fear of being discovered. His room was on the third floor, alongside his family"s rooms, so he tried to move quietly down the corridor. It was empty, and the house was silent—suspiciously so.

As Benedict descended the grand stairs, he listened intently for any sounds. He reached the gallery on the second floor and glanced down the dark corridor towards Victor's room. He couldn't see anything, and it seemed the light in Victor's room was already out. Benedict wondered if he had managed to slip out or not.

Soon, he reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the ground floor. The light in the vestibule was out, so he navigated by memory, careful not to bump into furniture or knock over an antique vase.

In the middle of the room, he halted, a flicker of anxiety creeping in. Had he heard something? Were the guests still in the Swan Parlor? If so, they could emerge at any moment. For a second, he just stood there, then blinked and strode across the room towards the wardrobe to the left of the main entrance. Despite his eyes having adjusted to the darkness, he could barely see anything. He would have to rely on touch to find his coat.

But just as he reached out to open the wardrobe doors, he abruptly bumped into something. Or rather someone.

"Lord!" It was Victor. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Likewise," Benedict hissed, his heart pounding in his throat. "I think they're still in the parlor, so let's get out of here before someone comes out."

They retrieved their coats from the wardrobe, opened the heavy front doors, and slipped out of the mansion.

Outside, everything was covered in a thick layer of snow, reaching up to their calves. The storm had ceased, but snowflakes continued to fall. The moonlight reflected off the snow, illuminating the driveway and the gardens as though it were still daytime.

Both Victor and Benedict stood unmoving on the porch, taking in the beautiful scene before them. Seconds passed. Finally, the cold brought Benedict back to reality, and he quickly put on his coat. Victor followed suit.

Benedict looked at him, feeling a surge of emotions swirling inside. He hoped these feelings would fade; hoped he felt this way because Victor had blurred the gender lines. He hoped he had fallen in love with Vivienne—who was a woman, or at least appeared to be. That would be only natural.

But now, as he gazed upon Victor"s face, devoid of makeup or wigs, a jolt of electricity coursed through him with full force. His heart fluttered desperately in his chest, not out of fear of being discovered or engaging in something forbidden, but because he realized, with clarity for the first time, that he was in love.

"Stop staring at me," Victor muttered, shooting him a side glance. "Let"s go."

They tried to keep quiet as they led a horse out of the stables. Benedict picked Lucky—the same black horse he always used for hunting, and since Victor couldn"t ride on his own, he had to sit behind Benedict.

"Wrap your arms around me, or you"ll fall," Benedict said, guiding the horse across the driveway and into the gardens.

"I think someone's watching us," Victor said slowly, unease in his voice.

"What?" Benedict frowned, looking back over his shoulder. "Where?"

"In the window."

"Which floor?" Benedict wondered if Percy might have heard them leave.

"Second," Victor said.

Not Percy, then.

"I don't see anything. Are you sure it"s not just a shadow or something?"

"I don"t know."

As soon as they were far enough from the mansion, Benedict urged the horse into a canter and felt Victor's arms wrap around his waist. A few minutes later, they left the Blackmoor Manor behind.

"Maybe it was Charlotte," Victor said pensively as they rode along a quiet tree-lined avenue. It was almost pleasantly warm, with no wind to disturb them. "She didn"t want me to leave without her."

"I think she hates me," Benedict said.

Victor chuckled.

"What?" Benedict raised an eyebrow. "Do you disagree?"

"Oh no, she does hate you." Victor smirked. "She"s convinced you"re using me and doubts you"ll hold up your end of the deal."

"Are you talking about the money for the cabaret?"

"Yes."

"I will keep my word."

"That"s what I told her."

"Good."

They rode in silence for several more minutes. Eventually, Benedict decided to ask something that had been on his mind for some time now, "How long have you known that you were…different?"

"What do you mean?" Victor said carefully. He seemed taken aback by the question. "Are you talking about my drag or me being queer?"

"The latter."

"Oh, that one's easy." There was a note of defiance in his voice. "I"m attracted to men. Sexually."

"All men?" Benedict asked, instantly realizing the stupidity of his question.

"Certainly not." Victor sounded offended. "Have you seen them? Most of them are insufferable morons."

It was Benedict's turn to laugh. "I don't disagree."

For a few moments, there was silence again. This time, it was Victor who broke it. "So, what's going on between you and your brother?"

Benedict frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Aren't brothers supposed to be close?"

Benedict scoffed. "We were…until our father died."

Victor remained silent, encouraging him to elaborate.

"You know how it goes," Benedict shrugged. "We were struck by grief. Things just happened. At one point, Percy accused me of neglecting the family, of not doing enough for them. But the truth is, I was the one who took on my father's estate responsibilities while Percy did next to nothing." Benedict sighed. Even as he spoke these words out loud, he couldn"t shake the feeling that all of this sounded immature.

"How long ago was it?"

"A year ago."

"And you still hate each other?"

"Well, hate is a strong word. Despise is more accurate."

"It's obvious that it hurts both of you."

Benedict looked over his shoulder.

Victor raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It's Percy who keeps tormenting me for no reason, not the other way around," Benedict said with annoyance. It irked him that nobody ever held Percy accountable; the blame always fell on the two of them, even though Percy had started the whole argument in the first place. "He just won"t leave me alone. If it were up to me, I"d have stopped talking to him altogether by now."

"From what I can see, you're equally tormenting each other. Let me guess, daddy loved you more than your brother?"

"No, actually, it was the other way around."

"Really?" Surprise tinged Victor's voice. "I thought the eldest sons are usually the favourites. Well, that explains a lot, then."

"Shut up," Benedict scoffed, then glanced over his shoulder again. "What do you mean—explains a lot?"

"Nothing."

Benedict felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. "I wasn't jealous of Percy if that's what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything," Victor said innocently.

For a couple of minutes, they rode in silence. Then Victor asked, "What was your relationship with your father like?"

Benedict shrugged. "I don't know. Normal. He prepared me to become the next head of the estate after Grandfather Henry and him."

"So why do you say that he loved your brother more than you?"

There was silence again as they turned onto a snow-covered road that led into the city. The horse slowed down, its hooves sinking deep into the snow. Snowflakes fell on their heads, some dissolving instantly, others nestling in their hair unmelted, like white pearls.

Finally, Benedict said, "Whatever I did, he was never pleased with me. But he unconditionally loved Percy and never asked anything of him. For him, Percy was perfect just as he was, but I could never measure up."

"Being the eldest son comes with certain expectations."

"And I failed to meet them." Benedict couldn't mask the bitterness in his voice. "I couldn"t fit into the role the way my father expected me to. I tried really hard, but it seemed the harder I did, the worse he treated me. He was like a hound, scenting my insecurities." Voicing these thoughts for the first time in his life, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. He had never shared this with anyone before.

He gave his horse a gentle nudge, and they started picking up the pace again.

"I don't get it," Victor said, his grip tightening around Benedict's waist, "so, you don't want to be the heir to the Blackmoor estate?"

"I do," Benedict said without hesitation. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind whipping past them. "Maybe that"s the reason. I want to prove that I can do it."

"To whom? Isn't your father dead?"

"To myself. And to my family."

"But why prove anything to anyone?"

Benedict fell silent. He didn't have the answer.

After a long pause, Victor continued, "I still don't understand why you and your brother hate each other."

"Despise."

"Fine. So?"

Benedict exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. "That"s a question for him, not me."

***

It took them an hour to reach the city. It was warmer here, and the snow quickly melted away, water shining as it trickled along the road.

They stepped into The Shiny Clam, their faces reddened by the frost, their clothes wet and chilly to the touch. The cabaret was buzzing with people, a stark contrast to the desolate streets outside. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. It stirred a forgotten memory, and Benedict felt a twinge in his chest at the possibility of running into Charlie Bellinger tonight.

Amidst the clamor, the musicians played a song. On the stage, a woman—who, Benedict realized, must have been a drag queen—mesmerized the audience with her dance while gradually shedding her attire.

"Don"t break your neck," Victor scoffed, taking Benedict by the elbow and leading him through the crowd backstage. "First time seeing a naked woman?"

Benedict rolled his eyes. "She"s not fully naked. And I think it"s a he."

Victor gave him a look of newfound respect. "Ah, you"re finally catching on."

They found refuge from the noise behind the door that led to the dressing rooms. In the corridor, another strong mixture of perfumes hit their noses.

"Lady Night is already here," Victor said, sniffing the air. "And Death La Goon. She's performing right before me."

"So, what"s your act tonight?" Benedict asked, still feeling the echo of the clamor in his ears. "Singing or stripping?"

Victor shot him a look that managed to be both unimpressed and amused. "For your information, my act is a fire show."

"A fire show?" Benedict raised his eyebrows. "What"s that exactly?"

"You"ve seen it before."

"When?"

"The first time you came."

Benedict frowned. "I don"t recall."

Victor smirked. "Maybe you were a bit tipsy. Anyway, you"ll see," he added mysteriously.

Just then, one of the dressing room doors swung open, and a tall olive-skinned drag queen emerged.

"Viv!" she exclaimed as soon as she noticed Victor. "Haven"t seen you in a while. Where have you been?" Taller even than Benedict, she towered over them in the narrow corridor.

"I only missed one day," Victor said, his tone tinged with offense. "Any news from the owner?"

"What news can there be?" the drag queen shrugged. "He wants money." Then, turning her attention to Benedict as if noticing him for the first time, she said, "Wow…What do we have here?"

"This is my…acquaintance," Victor said, casting a brief glance at Benedict, who acknowledged the drag queen with a quick nod.

"Does your acquaintance have a name?" the drag queen asked, her voice dripping with amusement.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Death?" Victor interjected before Benedict could respond. "My show is in an hour, so we're a bit hurried."

"Oh, someone's being territorial," Death La Goon remarked with a twist of her lips. "Allright then. See you, sweetheart." She winked at them and moved towards the door at the end of the corridor. Reaching for the handle, she turned, gave Benedict a once-over, and said, "Quite the catch, by the way." And with that, she was gone.

Tonight, Victor"s dressing room was even more cluttered than before, with standing hangers laden with pieces of fabric, lace, and underwear.

"You can sit," Victor said casually, removing his coat.

"There's not much to sit on," Benedict said, looking around the room.

The only available seat was a stool in front of the vanity. Victor glanced around, too, then threw some dresses off a chair that was hidden underneath. Before Benedict could sit, Victor began to remove the rest of his clothing—his hunting suit, underpants, and boots.

Benedict turned away abruptly, feeling his face heat up. "You"re not shy about anything, are you?" he asked incredulously.

There was a pause.

"Should I be?" Victor said with surprise. Then added, "Pass me the robe, please."

Benedict had to look at him. Victor stood in front of him, reaching for the robe that hung behind Benedict. Stood completely naked, without any hint of embarrassment.

"The robe," Victor repeated, making a beckoning gesture with his hand.

Handing him the robe, Benedict found himself tilting his head up to meet Victor"s gaze.

"First time seeing a naked man, too, I presume?" Victor teased.

Benedict felt his ears burn. What was wrong with him?

"Save a little something for the wedding night, would you?" Benedict said, handing him the robe. He was suddenly so flustered that he felt very warm.

"Oh, I have something much better for the occasion," Victor said innocently, putting on the robe. "You should take your off coat by the way. You're dripping."

Benedict looked down at the wool, shiny with droplets of water. Then began to take off the coat, realizing he had forgotten about the robe underneath.

Unlike Victor's simpler robe, Benedict"s was crafted from luxurious velour, adorned with golden embroidery on the right chest pocket that spelled out "B.B."

Victor, now seated in front of the vanity, makeup brush in hand, gave Benedict an intense look. "Nice robe, Bibi. Planning on painting?"

"No thanks," Benedict said, taking the robe off and settling back down. "I'm not really into that stuff."

"What are you into, then?" Victor pondered aloud. "I've been around you enough, yet I still can't pin it down."

"Books," Benedict said with a shrug. "Chess. Astronomy."

"Unfortunately, we're fresh out of books here. Hope you can survive a few hours without them."

"I'll stay here and wait for you."

Victor laughed dismissively. "What, and stare at the wall like a lost puppy while I'm out? Don't be silly. You're going to watch the show. It's not going to turn you queer."

"It's not—" Benedict started, then sighed. "I just don't see myself mingling with the drunks and the…" He paused, searching for the right word.

"Weirdos?" Victor suggested, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Well, your friend might be here. Charlie something. Is he a weirdo, too? He's one of our usuals."

Benedict frowned. "Usuals?"

"What, you didn"t know?"

Benedict fell silent for a moment, his mind racing. "Wait, is he?.."

"Queer?" Victor finished, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "How would I know? That"s something you"d have to ask him."

Benedict nodded, lost in thought. Charlie Bellinger had never done anything outright to suggest he was queer, but now, reflecting on it, Benedict realized Bellinger always referred to his wife in terms of obligation rather than affection. And before her, he had never shown interest in women. Moreover, he was the one who brought Benedict to this place, which turned out to be a drag cabaret.

Benedict considered whether Charlie Bellinger"s queerness might have been apparent to others, given his father"s inexplicable disapproval of him. His father never said anything directly, but he had often warned Benedict against spending too much time with the guy.

Benedict felt a tug of emptiness in his chest. Was his father worried he might also be queer? Or did he see similarities between Benedict and Charlie?

Lost in thought for the next hour, Benedict watched Victor apply his makeup in silence. When he was finished, Victor stood and faced him.

"You look miserable. You can go home if you want."

Benedict looked up. "No, I'm fine."

Victor crossed his arms. "Don't say you're upset just because your friend might be queer. We get plenty of male guests who aren't."

"You do?"

"Not really. But he could be the first." With that, Victor turned to sift through a heap of dresses on the floor.

"I'm not…It doesn't bother me if he's queer," Benedict said after a pause. "It's just…It's a long story."

Victor briefly glanced at him, silent, then looked around the room before walking over to the vanity. He retrieved a bottle of wine hidden behind it and handed it to Benedict.

"Drink up. You look like you need it."

Benedict accepted the bottle silently. It was already open and half-empty, with the cork sticking out.

"Do you often drink before you go on stage?" he said, watching Victor as he began to dress.

Victor slipped off his robe in one swift motion, and Benedict"s heartbeat quickened. With his back to Benedict, Victor donned a pair of underpants and pantyhose.

"Of course not," he said. "I'm doing a fire show, it could be dangerous. But I wouldn"t mind a drink afterwards if you"re buying."

"I can do you one better," Benedict said, pulling the cork and taking a sip. The wine was warm and sour, certainly cheaper than what he was accustomed to but nonetheless satisfying. "When we return to Blackmoor, I can take you to our wine cellar. We have some nice wines there. I'm sure our butler won't mind."

Victor looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "I can't believe my eyes. Mr. Blackmoor breaking the rules! What happened to you?"

Benedict shrugged. "I think you might be rubbing off on me."

***

When Victor fully transformed into Vivienne, Benedict accompanied her out of the dressing room. Vivienne then joined other drag queens in the wings while Benedict returned to the bustling cabaret hall. It was packed to the brim, with patrons not only occupying tables but also standing around them. Benedict found a spot near the stage, surrounded by a diverse array of individuals—young and old, eccentric and unassuming.

"Vivienne will be out soon," Benedict overheard one drag queen say to another.

"It"s starting, it"s starting!" exclaimed her friend as soon as the musicians began their drumbeat.

The audience was now entirely focused on the stage. The next moment, a violin joined the harmony. Benedict watched as a rope descended from the ceiling, swaying in the center of the stage. Then, a slender figure emerged on top of the rope, right under the ceiling. A murmur of awe swept through the room.

The figure glided elegantly down the rope, coming to a stop midway. She detached one hand from the rope, and from that hand, flames burst out. The audience gasped in amazement.

Benedict recognized Vivienne, who had just dressed before him: her long blonde braid, white corseted bodysuit and gloved hands were unmistakable. Vivienne released her other hand, and flames burst forth from it as well. Now clinging to the rope solely with her legs, Vivienne arched her back, extending her flaming hands outward like wings. A mix of fear and excitement sent Benedict"s heart racing.

The music intensified, and Vivienne, still flaming and arched, released one of her legs from the rope, now holding on with just the other. Then, fluttering her fiery wings, Vivienne swiftly slid down the rope to its very end, leaving a trail of orange flames behind. Benedict's heart seemed to stop for a moment. But then Vivienne extinguished the fire with a swift movement of her hands and jumped onto the stage.

The audience erupted into applause. Benedict felt his head spinning from either the adrenaline or the sour wine he"d had in the dressing room. Maybe both.

Meanwhile, Vivienne grabbed two torches from the stage and began juggling them. At first, they were unlit, but then she breathed on each, and the torches ignited instantly, their flames a cool blue. She continued to toss them into the air and catch them, creating a circle of blue light. The audience watched her, mesmerized.

After a few moments, Vivienne extinguished the blue fire, too. Then, she picked up a hoop that lay on the stage floor with the tips of her toes and started to spin it on her leg. She slid her second leg into the hoop and began twirling it around her torso. Benedict knew that fire would soon follow.

And it did. But first, the hoop traveled up Vivienne's body to her arm, where she spun it effortlessly, making her way back to the rope. She climbed it, using only her legs and one hand while the other hand continued to spin the hoop. Once in the middle of the rope again, Vivienne moved the spinning hoop to her outstretched leg, where it ignited into a yellow flame. The audience gasped.

Vivienne twisted around the rope, the fiery hoop illuminating her flexible body. Watching her, Benedict felt all his prior prejudices against drag queens vanish.

This was art.

***

"You were amazing."

"Thanks, Night."

"Better than ever."

"It was pretty much the same routine."

"I've never seen anything like it. We've made a lot of money today, all thanks to you."

"It's not a big deal."

"It is, Viv."

They had returned to the dressing room after the show; the vanity was cluttered with flowers brought to Vivienne by her fans. Victor had returned to his off-stage self and was now wiping away makeup with a damp towel. Night, Victor"s friend, who had followed them to the dressing room after the performance, leaned against the wall, focused solely on Victor while ignoring Benedict, who sat by the wall to the right. For twenty minutes, Benedict silently watched their exchange, sensing Night was trying to ask Victor out for a drink but seemed to hesitate, possibly because Benedict was there.

"So," Night began again, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are your plans for tonight?" Tall and dark-haired, he stood wearing a vest that revealed his hairy and muscular chest.

"At two in the morning?" Victor's lips twisted into a smile. "I think I'll just go to sleep."

"And what about tomorrow?"

Victor shrugged. "Day off. I'll probably just take a bath and read a book."

For a moment, Night seemed to hesitate, then leaned closer to Victor, partly shielding him from Benedict.

"Want to stay at my place tonight?" Night asked in a hushed tone. "It's late, and my place is just around the corner."

"I can't." Victor shot Benedict a pointed look, which prompted Night to finally notice the other man as if he had just remembered he was there.

"Hello there," Night said to Benedict, the greeting dripping with disdain. "And you are?.."

Benedict stood and offered a curt nod. "Benedict Blackmoor."

Night"s brow creased briefly at the formality before his eyes flicked towards Victor. Turning back to Benedict, he echoed, "Blackmoor. Sounds rather posh. Your stage name, I take it?"

"I'm not a drag queen." Benedict sat again, crossing his arms across his chest.

His tone was reserved, but he couldn"t deny the dislike simmering inside him for this man. Benedict resented the way Night"s eyes had shamelessly roamed over Victor as he changed clothes. The way Night loomed over him now, acting as if he held some unearned claim of possession over Victor—who seemed blissfully unaware of the offense.

For a tense moment, silence hung awkwardly between them.

"Are you expecting something?" Night broke it, at last, his tone edged.

"No," Benedict replied coolly. He didn"t feel the need to explain further; he owed this man nothing.

Night"s expression soured at Benedict"s nonchalant demeanor. His intense stare bored into Benedict for several long seconds before he turned towards Victor, his eyes silently seeking validation. Finding none, Night finally said, "So, when shall I see you again?"

Victor offered another dismissive shrug and a faint smile. "Likely tomorrow. Good night, Night."

Though clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Night recognized the conversation was over. He nodded, quickly kissed Victor on the cheek, and left the room without looking at Benedict.

Once the door closed behind Night, silence settled over the room again. Victor put on his shoes and coat, then looked at Benedict. "You"re awfully quiet. Didn"t enjoy the performance?"

Benedict lifted his head. "No, I did. I"m impressed, actually."

A smirk played across Victor"s lips as he glanced in the mirror. "You don"t sound very impressed."

He genuinely was—impressed by the sheer artistry of Victor"s act, by the throngs of fans that came to see the show, by the audience"s reaction. But more than anything, he was struck by this whole other world that had existed unbeknownst to him, yet felt so strangely exciting.

He felt a tugging emptiness in his chest, observing how effortlessly Victor blended into both worlds, belonging to both, while he himself belonged to neither.

"I'm just tired," Benedict said. "We should go back to Blackmoor. What time is it?"

"It must be after one," Victor said, picking up a bag and throwing a final glance around the room. "I'm ready. We can go."

When they stepped out into the moonlit night, the snow was falling again, but instead of melting, it was now covering the ground like a thick white carpet. Benedict breathed in the icy air and felt it prickle his lungs. He blinked, sensing that something wasn"t right. He looked around the deserted alley.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened. His heart sunk in his chest as he breathed out, "Where"s the horse?"