"Do you come here often?" Andy shouted over the noise in the bar.

"Not nowadays," Thomas said. "I used to."

Andy nodded. "With Jimmy?"

"You promised not to mention Jimmy."

"Sorry," Andy said.

The barkeep slid two two foaming glasses of beer towards them. As Andy followed Thomas to a corner table, he shouted after him, "It's just that I hear so much about him, but none of it tells me much at all, you know, just mysterious glances and laughter. I want to know who he was, and I want to hear it from you."

They sat down together.

"Why me?"

"You two were close, weren't you?"

Thomas felt sick to his stomach. "Please stop talking."

Andy took a deep gulp from his drink, foam sliding down his chin. He sputtered and wiped at his collar with one hand.

"Not used to somethin' so strong, Andy?"

Andy frowned at him. "'Course I am."

"Doesn't look it."

Andy put his glass to his lips again and chugged. He finished half of the drink before setting it down and wiping his mouth clean. His lips were wet and pink. "You look at me like I'm a child, Thomas."

"You are." Thomas leaned back in his chair.

"I'm twenty-two."

"And at your age, I was just a footman, too. Didn't know much of life."

"I know, but I've had a different life from you, Thomas. I've seen things you haven't seen."

Thomas snorted. "I doubt that."

"I'm a London boy." Andy made the words sound lascivious. "I could show parts of the city you've never seen."

If Thomas corrected him again, he knew he would be offering far too much information about himself to a boy that, all things being equal, knew him very little. "Look, Andy," Thomas leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "The less you know about Jimmy, the better."

Andy nodded. "I'll stop asking, I promise."

Thomas picked up his beer in his right hand. The glass was slick, and when he tried to steady it with his left, it slipped from his fingers and broke on the floor.

Thomas shook off his wet hands and sneered at the broken glass.

"Here," Andy slid his drink across the table. "Have some of mine."

Thomas shook his head.

"Anybody else at the house come here at all?" Andy asked. "I remember Mr. Branson saying he did. When times were tough."

"Well he's Irish. You know what they're like." Thomas snorted. "You should've seen his drunkard brother."

"Thomas! That's not a nice thing to say."

"I'm not a nice man, Andy."

Andy pulled the drink back across the table and drank it in silence.