Free The First of July by Elizabeth Speller

only the old men were left. A big strong chap like you.” He punched Benedict affably on the upper arm. “And I couldn’t have you stealing Agnes from under my nose. Anyway, it wouldn’t be for long. We’d take the King’s shilling. We could always join a military band if the Gloucesters don’t want us. Or the artillery, as we can do math.” He beamed. “What a shock it would be for Father.”
    Was a war inevitable? Benedict had never thought so back in Gloucester, which carried on more or less as it had since Roman times; but in London, where the decisions were made, he sensed a tension and an anticipation that he did not recognize.
    He slept poorly that night.
    On the following afternoon they were expected at the Royal College of Organists, but for now they could explore London on as fine a summer’s day as any visitor could hope for. Benedict thought he might go to Hertford House. It was open to the public, and he had read that it had fine instruments on display. Theo was already at breakfast, looking happy and rested. He was sitting with his back to the window, his hair metallic in the light and the tiny hairs on his hands red-gold as he spread butter on his toast.
    Theo said, his mouth half full, “Look. We need to go shopping. I need to get something for Agnes that she couldn’t possibly get in Gloucester and that will impress upon her what a sophisticated suitor I am.”
    Benedict’s own plans faded away. Theo’s ideas, once broached, always seemed so much more insistent than his own. “London’s a big place.”
    “Well, I thought Mayfair or Knightsbridge, but the best stores are all in Regent Street, Novello says.” He looked up as if momentarily nervous that Benedict would say no. “We could take a tram or a bus to Piccadilly Circus. Novello told me how to get there. And then we could look around and then walk past the shops. It’s a nice day,” he added, as if Benedict might not have noticed. “And we’ll easily be back for this afternoon’s little musical outing.” He made a face.
    Benedict wondered if he could find something to buy for Lettie. It would have to be a small something, but then so, presumably, would whatever Theo bought for Agnes.
    The interior of the bus smelled of sweat, hair oil, and tobacco. A fat man, who got on the bus just before them, took up the whole of the last double seat, staring outward defiantly. They hung on the rail, swaying as the bus made its way between horses, carts, and motorcars. There was a young man in a boater standing next to Benedict. In the crush, his outer thigh was pressed against Benedict’s. When a woman and child pushed past to get off the bus, he turned slightly and caught Benedict’s eye. Though Benedict turned away and looked over his shoulder at the other passengers, the stranger’s eyes never left him; he could feel it. They were still on him when he looked back. And now, unmistakably, the stranger’s groin was against Benedict’s hip, and Benedict was sure he was aroused; the man moved a little and rhythmically. He swallowed and knew he was blushing, looked across at Theo, wishing he could catch his eye. The young man must have seen his confusion, yet he made no attempt to move away, and every movement of the bus made Benedict more aware of this other figure, this unknown man, so intimately close.
    Finally Theo looked up and mouthed “Next stop.” But even as he felt relief and prepared to get off, Benedict realized that the man’s knuckles were against his hip, moving his fingers gently and watching his face for any reaction. The bus stopped, Benedict pushed past, burning with shame, and yet, despite himself, excited. He felt almost sick with it as he stood on the pavement waiting urgently for Theo, who jumped off the step to join him. He watched in dread, in case the stranger stepped down too.
    “You all right?” Theo asked.
    The bus was pulling away and Benedict thought he could see the man, watching him still. He pulled down