Thank you for the reviews so far, you are all very encouraging and I'm glad to know that you are intrigued...

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Mr Novak ran his hands through his dark locks in frustration, messing up the elegant style in a bout of indignation. He stormed up the main stairway, his posture hunched and breathing ragged. He passed Mr Fitzgerald on the landing, who was on his way to deliver papers to the butler.

"Mr Fitzgerald," he stated, instantly getting the attention of the scrawny man. Mr Novak remembered with growing annoyance an event from the morning, already knowing the outcome of his question he spoke to the man, "did you deliver that letter this morning as I requested...?"

The footman's face fell as he turned to face his master. "I- I am terribly sorry Mr Novak," he issued a low bow, praying that he would be forgiven for yet another mishap. "I have been running around since daybreak-"

"I did not ask for excuses." Mr Novak interrupted; the growing anger in his voice was more than apparent to the footman, who realised that this was probably indeed the last straw for the relations between him and the Novak household.

"I am deeply sorry master," he bowed even deeper, petrified that anything he said could dig him deeper into trouble.

"You have consistently managed to be a source of annoyance to my father and me. You are a shame to this household" he snarled, his voice getting louder and louder with every word, "being late and unorganised, a weak, scrawny, pathetic excuse for a footman. I don't know what Mr Godfrey was thinking in admitting you to service here, but he must have been out of his senses when he allowed it!"

"I am sorry sir, please forgive me!" Mr Fitzgerald pleaded, grasping his hands together in a feverous, desperate beg. Mr Novak rounded on him; all the second hand anger came pouring out like a tidal wave on the poor footman, whose forgetfulness would now cost him his job, and therefore his food, accommodation and security in an increasingly unstable world.

"Mr Fitzgerald, you will now be spending the rest of the year, and probably the remainder of your miserable life on the unemployment list!" he laughed, forcefully pushing the smaller man back into the wall, causing him to drop all the documents. "Tell all the other destitute beggars there that they will find no pity from me." He lifted his fist to hit the other man, who cowered into the wall.

"Hey, stop it!" Dean Winchester clenched the material of Mr Novak's fine silk waistcoat and pushed him away from the footman, he hastily stepped in-between them both, treading on the scattered documents with leather boots. His body began to burn with adrenaline as he faced Mr Novak, who looked so angry Dean could swear his blood was boiling beneath his usually pale skin.

"I suggest you leave, Mr Winchester, lest you want to lose your job as well!" he hissed through clenched teeth, a hint of panic in his tone. Mr Novak may be intellectually advanced but it didn't take a genius to know he was more likely to win against the footman, than he was against a man of equal strength. The shame of losing face to a servant in his own household was something he never wanted to experience.

"I don't care how much money you've got Mr Novak." Dean retorted, staring him down heatedly and not caring if he lost his job for standing up for what was right. "I don't care if you've got a thousand horses and all the houses in London. You remain the most vicious, conceited and abhorrent excuse for a gentleman I have ever had the displeasure of working for. No genuine gentleman would ever dream of attacking a servant." Dean spoke with conviction and quiet rage, his body tense and his eyes fixed unblinkingly onto the other man's.

Mr Novak was momentarily taken aback by the resolute confidence of the freckled man, expecting an apology and a hasty retreat instead of audacious insubordination. He quickly regained his senses however, and realised that he was being spoken to in such a way by a country stable hand that looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a hay stack.

"How dare you sir! I will not be addressed in such a way you vagrant!" he spat in disgust, closing the gap between them in an attempt to intimidate the other. He gripped the front of Dean's rough fibred jacket and brought his face close to his, grinding out his words with a voice rich with unrestrained contempt, "whatever ill-conceived judgement you may make of my character has no repercussion on my own beliefs Mr Winchester. Your worthless opinion matters to no one. Do you honestly believe that you will change anything by this foolhardy act of naivety? I thought you better than this."

Dean scowled at him, their eyes still glued to each other in a silent duel. The simmering testosterone and heat from the candles only added to the atmosphere of imminent battle.

"I only do what is right and honourable in the face of injustice and cruelty." He answered with as much conviction he could muster, remaining a sense of level-headedness despite the rage building within him. Dean was determined for him to see the fault of his actions even if he lost his job. He was sick of pompous fools. "Even if we are both to be out of employment at least I know that it was the conscientious path to take. As you have so plainly demonstrated to us both, you are the perpetrator of that injustice."

"The fool is an incompetent and lazy beggar! I did no wrong by my actions today!" He snapped, the gap between them closing further as their chests bumped against each other, still not relinquishing his hold on Dean's jacket. They were far too close for comfort; and Dean could not step back for fear of trampling the cowering footman, who was watching the argument from behind him, aghast.

"So to strike him like a vicious drunk is doing no wrong by your account?" Dean asked incredulously, using all his strength to push the man off him. Mr Novak kept his iron grip on his jacket however and the two stumbled backward together away from Mr Fitzgerald and into the middle of the landing.

The sounds of their continuing dispute could be heard from downstairs, and two servants were dispatched from the dining hall to check on what on earth was going on. By the time they had ascended the stairs, they were overwhelmed by the unbelievable sight that befell them.

The two fully grown men were wrestling on the carpeted floor, a rolling mass of brawling limbs and colourful cursing. Mr Novak delivered a punch to the side of Dean's face as hands came up to close around the dishevelled cravat on his neck.

"And you call yourself a gentleman?" Dean hissed in pain, trying to land a dirty kick in-between the man's legs.

"And you call yourself the deliverer of justice?!" He croaked out, trying to manoeuvre Dean as the two exchanged blows. They grappled viciously, rolling over and knocking over an antique vase. The two servants tried in vain to remove one from the other, but they were kicked away by the two who were so ardent in their aggression that they did not even notice they were there. Mr Fitzgerald hastily gathered his documents and moved to stand beside the on looking servants.

"Return to Cambridge you pompous bastard!"

"Once you go back to your pig farm hovel!"

"Should we go and get someone to help?" Mr Fitzgerald asked the other two with wide eyes, not knowing what to do in such a situation. As one of the servants ran to fetch help, the remaining two watched, enthralled by the once in a lifetime scene before them.

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"I will be sure they are relieved of their duty and are gone by tomorrow morning Sir," the housekeeper bowed and left, leaving the dishevelled Mr Novak in the empty room to brood and nurse his wounds.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hushed and unmoving as the adrenaline began to wear off. Clutching a cloth to his bleeding nose, he replayed their heated conversation and brawl in his mind over and over until the memories become distorted. The man couldn't help but reflect on what had been said against him when they had been delivered with such conviction in spite of his evident predominance.

Mr Novak had greatly over reacted to the incompetent servant – that much he could admit to. He could not however, admit to being "the most vicious, conceited and abhorrent excuse for a gentleman". Is this the genuine opinion of those who work for him? Or just of Mr Winchester?

After washing and preparing for bed, Mr Novak pushed aside the blue velvet curtains covering the nearest window. He moved forward so that he was behind the curtain, looking out onto the dark street below. Pushing the frame up, he took a deep breath of the night air and rested his arms on the window sill. Guilt washed over him in waves as he thought about Mr Winchester going about his last chores of the evening, unsure of where he would get his next meal.

The darkness blanketed much of the street below from him, but he knew that beggars and impoverished citizens of the city would be out on the streets, searching in vain with scrabbling hands for food or comfort. During his studies at school, they had often turned a blind eye at the increasing number of destitute people in the city; if they didn't see the poor then what did it matter? Socio-economic charts and statistics had bored him at the time, but he remembered being horrified at the amount of predicted poor that really were living in London. The thought of the valiant Mr Winchester becoming part of that dirty, desperate statistic unnerved him deeply, and filled his heart with a remorseful sense of shame.

He closed the window and moved back inside his room, illuminated by a single candle by his bedside. An ambience of melancholy fell in the darkened bedroom, sinking into Mr Novak's mind as he lay under the silken covers. The flickering candle illuminated the side of his face as he stared up at the ceiling with a pensive expression. The stillness of the room contrasted greatly to the steadily growing turmoil in the young man's mind. He anxiously thought over his decision of sacking the servants, as two sides of his conscience raged against each other. If he were to continue on with his choice, then a lifetime of guilt would weigh heavily upon him. He would never know if Mr Winchester and Mr Fitzgerald had survived in the cruel city after leaving his employment, they would both be lost to him. He would lose his honour.

His pride still held fast however, and to retract his orders would present him as a weak and uncertain man of the gentry. He thought of his friends from school, who had pitted their footmen against each other in races, often resulting in the poor men collapsing with exhaustion. He had thought it hilarious at the time. Putting personal ambition and pride far above the needs of a servant was the accepted norm for the aristocratic.

And you call yourself a gentleman?

Mr Novak's pride faltered somewhat upon recalling the harsh words of the stable hand. The other side of him argued that he was only doing what was right as a man of his position, by turning out two servants who had shown him great disrespect. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was being ridiculous.

It was his own fault that Mr Winchester was driven to disrespect him, and to be honest with himself, he admired his fortitude. As for Mr Fitzgerald, he was too rash and should have been merciful. He should retract his orders with honour and apologise for his behaviour. This way they would both be saved from an uncertain fate, and his conscience would be clear. The issue of Miss Kingslsey seemed dwarfed by this more pressing matter of regaining his honour, and so with haste Mr Novak reached the conclusion that something must be done to stop the housekeeper from turning the two out by morning.

Mr Novak sat bolt upright in bed. Breathing hard, he threw off the covers and took the chamber stick with the flickering flame into his hand. Hastily slipping on a dressing gown and slippers, he exited his bedroom and strode down the dark corridors of his home, his way being lit with the small glow of the candle. He walked with purpose to the butler's room, and knocked three times on the wooden door. He thought it inappropriate to head to the female servants quarters at night, dressed so scantily. The butler would pass on the message first thing tomorrow, and was a suitable alternative.

After a few moments, the door creaked open, and the tired looking man appeared in the door way holding his own candle up to his eyes to see who it was that woke him. On seeing that it was Mr Novak, he quickly straightened up.

"Mr Novak! What on earth is the matter sir?"

"Please convey the message to Mrs Foster that I have chosen not to relieve Mr Winchester and Mr Fitzgerald of their employment here. I wish for them to stay."

The butler searched his face, obviously a little taken aback at his determined expression and late-night revelation. "Of course sir, I shall inform her first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," he breathed in a voice heavy with relief, with that he departed, returning to his bedroom. Mr Novak was satisfied that he had done the right thing for the first time in a long while.