A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (22 page)

He had the wherewithal to look occupied, book in hand, by the time Martin returned to ask his nightly question.

“Is there anything else I might do for you, Sir? Anything at all?” His hopeful expression, the hint of pleading.

Henry felt like he might explode. Every molecule of his being clamored for Martin, to touch and taste him. It was terrifying. Henry shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. “No, really. I’m fine. Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight, Sir.” Martin stood looking at him a few moments longer, long enough that Henry was made uncomfortable, before turning and retreating to his own room. Henry read awhile but Martin put out his lamp right away and, presumably, went to sleep. Henry was still awake when Martin got up later to use the toilet, but this time Martin didn’t bother to come see if Henry had changed his mind.

“Rise and shine, Sir.” Martin smiled down at him, the sunlight slanting in between the curtains bringing out the red in his hair. “I let you sleep a bit late this morning, Sir, since we don’t have any place we have to be.” He cocked his head and his smile widened. Not going to church seemed to agree with him.

“Thank you.” Henry sat up, careful to keep the blankets wadded in his lap to hide his morning erection.

“Mr. Tim tells me that my clothes should be delivered later today, Sir. I’m very excited about that, I must say!”

“That’s good news,” Henry said. “You’ll need your school uniform for Tuesday.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt for his slippers with his toes.

Martin rushed to put Henry’s slippers on his feet, his fingers warm and dry against Henry’s insteps and ankles.

Their morning routine was nearly that now: routine. Henry bathed, Martin brought him a towel, Henry shaved, and Martin dressed him. Henry decided to wear his favorite black-and-grey-checked suit and a necktie the color of egg yolk.

“You look very smart, Sir,” Martin said, his admiration evident in his gaze. “You’re quite fashionable.”

“Louis teases me about being a girl because of how I like stylish clothes,” Henry told him. “But I don’t think it’s girlish to want to look nice.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Sir, I don’t think Mr. Briggs is capable of wearing the sorts of clothes that look good on a tall, well-built man. You can wear anything, Sir.”

“So could you,” Henry pointed out. “If you weren’t a slave, you could be quite the dandy.”

Martin smiled. “It’s nice of you to think so, Sir. But I’m quite content to wear plain clothes, especially when they’re of such good quality.”

Father was at the breakfast table. He actually looked up and smiled as Henry entered the room, which in itself made Henry feel special. “Good morning to you, son,” he said, toasting Henry with his coffee cup.

Henry smiled in return, and sat in the chair Martin held for him. “Coffee, please,” he told Martin, and Martin went to the sideboard to get it. Emboldened by his father’s friendly manner, Henry asked, “Father, what are you doing with your day off?”

Father colored a bit behind his sandy whiskers. “I have an engagement this afternoon,” he said vaguely. Henry wondered immediately if this was a meeting with Mrs. Murdock and her little boy. Perhaps that explained Father’s good mood. It had the opposite effect on Henry’s spirits.

Martin brought his coffee, perfectly prepared, and gave Henry a warm smile. Why did he have to be so kind, so engaging? Why couldn’t he just let Henry be? Was Peter like this with Louis, always bright and interested? Henry was not interesting, and he knew it, so why must Martin treat him as if he were so?

He drank his coffee and it calmed him mentally while ratcheting up his kinetic energy. Martin was a good slave, the best, and there was no reason to fault him for doing his job. It was not Martin’s fault that Father loved his not-so-secret illicit family better than his legitimate one. Henry’s problems had certainly not been created by Martin.

Henry had Martin bring him plates of eggs Benedict, sausage, potato hash, and French toast with copious quantities of syrup and some fruit compote spooned on top. He drank two glasses of orange juice and ate both a currant scone and a savory one. While drinking a second cup of coffee, he again wondered what Martin was fed and resolved to remember to ask.

Mother came in with Pearl while Henry was in the middle of his first helping of French toast. Father seemed pleased to see her, which just made Henry that much more certain he would be seeing someone whose company he actually enjoyed later in the day. Mother drank a little weak tea and picked at a scone.

“Henry, darling,” she said, pointedly not including Father. “There are some ladies coming by to pray with me this morning. I was wondering if you’d like to join us?

Henry would
not
. Spiritualists—ugh! He realized he’d made a face and tried to rearrange his expression in a hurry, hoping Mother wouldn’t notice. “Thank you, Mother, but I have other plans,” he told her.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I thought you might,” she said sadly. Henry felt bad for disappointing her, but, really! He’d been made to attend the infrequent Spiritualist gatherings when he was younger, until Father realized what was going on and put a stop to it. Mother was forever trying to contact the children she’d lost and the ones who’d never even been born. It wasn’t even clear to Henry what she wanted with these dead babies, but the meetings were sad and macabre.

“I’m showing Martin around the park,” Henry said, suddenly inspired. He could use the walk after eating all that breakfast, in any case.

“Oh?” Mother motioned to Pearl, who took the laudanum bottle out of her dress pocket and added a swig to Mother’s tea. Father made a face, rolling his eyes, and went back to his newspaper.

“He’d never been before we rode our bikes the other day,” Henry told her. “But, you know, the park is a very big place. There’s a lot more to see.”

“I’ve never enjoyed the park,” Mother said, sounding sorry for herself. “Everyone else seems to get so much pleasure out of it; I wish I could appreciate its charm.”

Henry decided not to try to explain it to her. He had another inspiration. “Perhaps I’ll see what Nurse is doing with Cora today. We could take her to the carousel.” It had been quite awhile since he’d spent time with his sister outside of her infrequent after-dinner visits. She struck him as being a reasonably good girl, not too fussy, and if she and Nurse were there, obviously he’d not be alone with Martin, struggling to make conversation or, worse, not talking at all.

Henry made the climb up to the nursery on the third floor with Martin at his back. As it happened, Nurse had been planning on taking Cora to the park in any case, and she was quite amenable to going in company with the boys. Cora was beside herself with excitement, bouncing on her toes and twirling. She was always thrilled to see Henry, and she recalled meeting Martin the few days before in fond detail. She seemed to Henry so much more childish than Louis’ sister, Alice, who was only two years older, but she also seemed more likeable, cheerful and bright.

Nurse was very pleased to see Henry. He rarely thought to visit the nursery, and when Cora made her infrequent after-dinner appearances in the family parlor, Nurse did not linger to intrude upon the adults’ evening plans. Nurse had been his entire world for years. She had been bought for him in the days just before he was born, a mousy 15-year-old who loved babies. She had raised him with little interference from his parents until the age of 10, at which time he was taken from the nursery and ensconced in his big room, suddenly a miniature adult. He remembered being just little and very confused upon realizing that Nurse, font of love, wasn’t actually his mother; instead, Mother was the insensible woman draped in black who seemed to barely recognize him. Henry thought that anything about him that was good was a result of Nurse’s influence.

Together, they all went downstairs and out of the house. The summer’s heat was past and it was a pleasant fall day, sunny and bright. Cora held Nurse’s hand as they crossed the street, and took Martin’s as well, which Martin didn’t seem to mind. Henry thought it very nice of him to allow it.

Inside the park, Nurse wanted to be caught up on Henry’s life. Was it possible he hadn’t had a real conversation with her in years? He recalled sneaking tearfully back up to the nursery in the wee hours a few times after he’d been officially introduced into the adult world of the house, but once Father had put an end to those nighttime visits, he’d obediently steered clear of Cora and Nurse.

Nurse put her hand on Henry’s arm and Henry patted her hand, gave her fingers a squeeze. Nurse had loved him better than anyone.

“Well, you’ve met Martin, obviously,” Henry told her. “That’s the big news. And of course we go back to school on Tuesday.”

“You’ll see all your friends, Sir,” Nurse said happily. She seemed to derive great satisfaction from knowing Henry had a social life and hadn’t taken after his mother.

“As well as everyone I don’t like,” Henry said agreeably. “But it will be fun to see all the new slaves.”

“It’ll be a handsome group, Sir,” Nurse said confidently. “I do swear, companions are bred better-looking every year.” She nodded at Martin, who walked bent over a little, listening to Cora’s animated chatter. “Such a striking young man you’ve chosen, Sir! You make quite a pair.”

Henry blushed at the idea of him and Martin being a pair of anything.

They went first to the menagerie, as Cora liked to visit the bears. As it turned out, Martin had never seen a bear in the flesh before and was quite taken by the experience.

“It’s so different than I imagined, Sir,” he said. “I think I was picturing more of a…very large, stout dog, but it’s so much bigger! I thought they were drawn so large just to exaggerate, I really did!”

“You’d really never seen one?” Henry began to wonder what other sorts of mundane things Martin had missed out on by being born a slave.

“Only in drawings, Sir, and usually they’re drawn slavering and with their teeth showing.” Martin bared his teeth and made claws with his hands. He dropped his hands and said, “But it’s not really vicious, is it? Sort of lumbering and slow.”

“I think it could kill you fast enough if it wanted to.” Henry saw a pretzel vendor, said, “Stay here,” and walked over to get pretzels for them all.

Again, Martin was very excited. “I’ve never had one of these before, Sir,” Martin confided. “It’s delicious, isn’t it?”

It was fascinating, that Martin could be 16 years old and so smart and informed, yet have had so few ordinary experiences. Henry wanted to show him everything, let him experience everything. He grew shy just thinking of all the experiences he wanted to give to Martin and felt the color rise in his cheeks.

Cora grew tired of the bears, so they made their way through the menagerie. Martin had also never seen lions before, or tigers, or any other sort of animal that couldn’t be seen easily on a farm, and his delight was infectious. Along the way, Henry bought everyone lemonade, paper cones of peanuts and finally ice cream, which Nurse insisted that they sit down to eat. While Cora and Nurse sat on a bench with their strawberry ice cream, Henry and Martin stood before them eating chocolate and pistachio, respectively.

“You did have ice cream before, though?” Henry asked. “They at least gave you that, right?”

Martin laughed. “Yes, Sir. We had a churn and we were allowed to make it for special occasions. But I’ve never had this flavor before. It’s very good!”

It was interesting to Henry that Martin would ask for the thing he’d never tried before. It was not his own way at all. Henry thought a minute. “So it was a farm you grew up on, then?”

“Yes, Sir.” As Henry watched, Martin’s very pink tongue darted out to swipe a drop of melting cream from the corner of his mouth. “We had dairy cows and an apple orchard, and we grew potatoes. I worked on the farm until I got my mark, Sir, but once I started training as a companion, I didn’t work outside any more.”

It was hard to imagine elegant, mercurial Martin as a farm boy, milking a cow or digging up a potato, yet he apparently had done all of that at the same time he was becoming an exemplary student and learning the violin. Henry felt very lazy in comparison. He knew he wasn’t meant to, but he admired Martin.

Nurse, addressing herself to Martin, said, “At Demeter, we had chickens, so many chickens! Our House sold eggs in the city, and it was one of my jobs to collect them. I’d have to stick my hands underneath the hens and sometimes they’d peck.” To Cora, she said, “Miss, hold still,” and dabbed at her face with a handkerchief.

Henry had never thought about where the slaves came from, beyond the showrooms down at the auction hall. They obviously weren’t raised there, but it had never really occurred to him that they had to be from
somewhere
, someplace with a lot of room. Anymore, most slaves were bred, not sold into slavery by their families, so it had to be a place with accommodations for large numbers of people ranging in age from infancy to young adulthood. In thinking about it, he supposed a large farm was the best place for it.

While Henry contemplated slaving operations and ate his ice cream, Martin and Nurse continued to chat about their farm childhoods. When Martin spoke to Nurse, he called her Esther, which Henry had known was her name, but he thought it sounded peculiar when, for him, she was so embodied by “Nurse.”