A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (12 page)

Henry actually wasn’t sure, though the prospect bothered him less than it did Martin. “All she told us, really, was that things will happen that we won’t like, but that’s what life is like anyway, isn’t it?” He swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard and watched as Martin removed his own boots.

“It did scare me, Sir,” Martin admitted. “Her telling me that I’d be miserable! I don’t want to be miserable!”

“Well, it sounded sort of like she thinks
I’m
going to make you miserable,” Henry pointed out. “How do you think that makes
me
feel?”

Martin got up on the bed and sat at Henry’s side. He put his head on Henry’s shoulder. “Not good, I imagine, Sir. But I’m sure she’s wrong. We’re so happy
now
, aren’t we, Sir? If you ever do anything to make me unhappy, I’m sure it will be because I deserve it. I’m sure it will be my fault.”

He said this with such conviction that Henry was taken aback. Henry wasn’t a malicious person, nor was he deliberately unkind, but he still managed to hurt people all the time. It seemed very likely that he could hurt Martin without Martin deserving it in the least. “That’s not true,” he insisted. “I don’t like to admit it, but it could happen that I might be unkind just out of thoughtlessness. That wouldn’t mean you deserved it.”

“But don’t slaves usually get what they deserve, Sir?”

“What?” Henry was flabbergasted. Even to Henry this seemed a simplistic view.

“If a slave gives good service, Sir, he’s rewarded with a satisfied master, and if he holds back, then everyone suffers.”

“I don’t know about that,” Henry said. “What about Joshua’s chambermaid? Did she give bad service? Is she getting what she
deserves
?”

Martin frowned and shook his head. “Maybe there was some way for her to get out of the situation, Sir, and she didn’t take it. If she
wanted
to have sex with Mr. Brand, well, she should have known better.”

“Do you
really
think that, Martin?” Henry was appalled. “I know how afraid you are of being whipped. Do you believe this girl deserves to be punished?”

Martin looked down at his hands in his lap, seeming to choose his words carefully. “That girl’s situation is very unfair, Sir. She’s being punished whether she was willing or not, and it makes me sick to think of it. It makes me feel better to think perhaps she was being stupid and willful; that this is a result of something she
did
, rather than something that was
done to
her.”

When Henry looked baffled, Martin continued, saying, “If she wanted to have sex with Mr. Brand, then she broke the rules and she deserves her punishment: it’s
fair
. If Mr. Brand ordered her to do it against her will she deserves pity and not a whipping, Sir, but a whipping is what she’ll get, and it will be so
un
fair! No matter what, she suffers, and it’s all because Mr. Brand wants what he wants. In her place, I’d much rather be punished for
doing
something, making a choice, than be punished for someone else’s decisions. I’d rather be punished
fairly
, Sir. I’d rather think that everyone actually deserves their punishments, or else I start to question everything.”

“Is that how other slaves feel, too?”

“I don’t really know, Sir. Some do. Some want to be angry with masters, but I don’t see the point of that. It doesn’t matter if a master is a bad one, after all, Sir; it’s still the slave’s job to make him happy.”

Had Joshua even considered the possible consequences to the chambermaid when he’d taken her to his bed? Henry thought that he hadn’t, because surely no one would want to put another human being at such risk for the sake of an orgasm—a goal easily achieved with the help of his companion, after all.

“Is Joshua a bad master, then?” Henry thought that maybe he was.

“Do you really want my opinion, Sir?” When Henry nodded, Martin continued. “He was careless and thoughtless, and cruel, too. But he is good to Miles, and Miles fiercely defends Mr. Brand to all of his friends and will not hear a bad word said about him.” Martin thought about it a moment and added, “I truly believe that Mr. Brand would never do anything to harm Miles, but this girl was different. I don’t think it occurred to him to take her situation into consideration, Sir, and now she’s going to pay for his selfishness.”

Henry was taken aback by this criticism, though he agreed with it; he was simply surprised that Martin would dare voice it.

Martin said his next words with great conviction. “If…if I’m ever punished, Sir…if I’m ever whipped, I want it to be because of something I’ve actually done. I want it to be
fair
. Will you promise me that, please?”

Henry shook his head, denying the possibility outright. “I won’t ever see you punished, Martin, even if you
do
do something wrong. I can’t bear the thought of anyone harming you.” He thought of the perfect stretch of Martin’s white back, and then thought of it marred and bloody and shuddered.

“Mr. Tim does tell me that no household slave has ever been punished, Sir.” Martin seemed to take comfort in this fact.

“Huh. I didn’t know,” Henry admitted, “but it doesn’t surprise me. I think my father is a pretty kind master, after all.”

“We all want to do a good job for him, Sir,” Martin agreed.

“I’ve seen slaves whipped, though,” Henry admitted. “A couple of years ago, right before James went to college, he took me and Louis downtown to see punishments carried out. He said we had to see it to understand.” Henry paused, not liking his memories. “It was the worst thing I’d ever seen, worse than I’d imagined. The most horrible part was the screaming. I didn’t want to look weak in front of James, and neither did Louis, so we stuck it out until James got bored and took us for sodas.” Henry looked at Martin, who was tense and pale listening to Henry’s recollections. “I understand why you’re afraid of punishment,” Henry told him. “It’s terrible.”

“I’ve never seen it, Sir,” Martin admitted. “They brought around a man with a horribly scarred back to scare us all, but we didn’t have to see a punishment carried out. But it’s one of my biggest fears. I’m afraid of the pain, of course, but I think the shame would be worse, the shame of having done wrong. I dream about it all the time—though less often since I’ve shared a bed with you, Sir, so thank you for that!” He smiled tentatively at Henry, dispelling a little of the dark mood.

“What else are you afraid of? Maybe I can help you with other things, too.”

Martin looked uneasy. “Well, Sir, it seems like pressing my luck to talk about such things.”

“I do know you’re afraid I could die,” Henry said.

Martin winced a little and said, “Yes, Sir, I’m very afraid of that.”

“You have to understand that I don’t want to die, either,” Henry said gently. “I’m not actively courting death, Martin. I want to be alive, with you.
For
you, even.”

Martin smiled tremulously. “That makes me very happy, Sir.”

“What else?” Henry asked, giving him a little nudge.

“Really, Sir, most of my fears are very foolish, I know this.”

“Just tell me, please, Martin. Stop stalling.”

Clearly uncomfortable, Martin sighed and said, “I’m a little afraid of being cursed, Sir.”

“Cursed? Who would curse you?” To Henry, this seemed like a fear out of a fairytale, not something for a twentieth-century city boy to dwell on.

“Another slave might, Sir.” Martin looked down at his hands in his lap, clearly embarrassed by this admission.

Was Martin joking? “Another boy can’t put a curse on you, Martin. You know this, don’t you?”

Humiliated, Martin said, “I
told
you my fears were foolish, Sir!”

“I don’t mean to belittle you, Martin, honestly, but I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“Slaves believe things that masters don’t, Sir.” Martin shrugged, a bit defensive. “Another boy might not be able to curse
you
, but that doesn’t mean another slave can’t curse
me
. Our lives are different, after all. We’re raised believing different things.”

“Can’t I protect you from curses, then? Can’t I just…I don’t know, not
allow
curses to take effect?” Henry didn’t know quite how he might protect Martin from a supernatural attack, but judging from the expression on Martin’s face, this suggestion was not a good one.

“I’m glad that you’d be willing to try, Sir,” Martin said, diplomatic and dismissive, giving Henry’s hand a squeeze.

“Well, is there anyone who you actually think might curse you?”

Martin frowned. “Just Alex, Sir. He’s the only one I don’t get along with, really.”

“Has he threatened you? Threatened to curse you, or threatened you in other ways?”

“No, Sir,” Martin admitted.

“Would it help if I talked to David? Told him that Alex can’t take any action against you without there being trouble for him, too?”

“Oh, no, Sir! Please don’t do that! I would be so embarrassed, and Alex would be sure to do something then!” Martin dug his fingers into Henry’s arm, his eyes beseeching. “Please, Sir, forget I said anything.”

“Is there anything you can do to protect against curses, then? What’s to keep you all from cursing each other all the time, anyway?”

“I-I have good luck charms, Sir,” Martin admitted. “Talismans. Things my friends have given me. If you have enough luck, a curse will roll right off your back.”

“Good luck charms? Like what? Show me.”

Martin went into his room and Henry heard him opening a drawer. He came back with a few small objects in his cupped hand. “These are some of the best ones from my friends, Sir. This is from Peter.” He pointed at a flat, round rock that had a black-and-yellow-striped bee painted on its surface with just a few deft strokes.

“Why a bee?”

“Bees are important to slaves, Sir. They’re industrious and work together, just like slaves do. The colors have meaning, too. Yellow is the color of happiness, and black helps undo curses.”

“Did Peter paint this?” Henry touched it gingerly with a fingertip, unsure if he should be touching it at all. It seemed very nicely done, neat and attractive.

“I think several of the Briggs slaves sat down of an evening and painted them together, Sir, so Peter must have contributed, at the very least.”

“What else do you have?” Henry leaned closer, peering into Martin’s palm. “What’s this?” He pointed at an acorn painted in blue and white stripes.

“Acorns are for luck, Sir. Blue is for friendship and protection, and white is also for protection. This is from Tom.”

“Who made the little doll?” Henry poked at a tiny figure made of bundled and tied straw.

“That’s from Arthur, Sir. Stable slaves always have straw, of course. Straw is for prosperity and growth. If you look closely, Henry, you can see that there are cloves and a bay leaf tied into the body; those are protective, and the doll itself is a protector.”

The final talisman was a small hand-shaped lozenge of iron with an eye stamped in the center of the palm. “This is a hamsa, Sir. It’s protective, of course, and Simon bought it for me. It’s better if you can make things, but the Rosses don’t approve of their slaves’ so-called ‘heathen practices’ so Simon had to buy his tokens.”

“Do you make things for people, too?”

“Well, shortly after I came to live here, Sir, there was a week when we all painted protection stones after dinner. We’d hurry and eat and then paint for ten or fifteen minutes, and at the end of the week I had talismans to share with all my friends. All of the slaves here have been so kind to me, helping me out like that.”

“You never told me about this.”

“I-I didn’t think it was necessary, Sir. It was just a slave matter.”

“No, it’s fine,” Henry said. “I’m just surprised that all this was going on under my nose and I had no idea.”

“I really wasn’t trying to hide it from you, Sir. It’s just…masters don’t believe the things we believe. I didn’t want to bother you with slave nonsense.”

Henry examined the little doll. “This little straw man is the best one, I think. These are all so nicely made, aren’t they? Am I right in thinking you can’t just make them or buy them for yourself?”

“Yes, Sir, that’s right. They have to be given to you. Your protection comes from your community, of course, from your friends, and you have to have good relationships or no one will give you talismans. The power is in the relationship, you see, and the token is just a reminder of that friendship.”

“So all the slaves have these collections of talismans and tokens?”

“Oh, certainly, Sir. Not all of them are as fancy as these, of course.”

“All the slaves do this? Timothy and Pearl, too?”

Martin blinked, confused. “Well, certainly, Sir. Of course they do.”

Henry considered this a minute. Timothy and Pearl didn’t strike him as particularly silly or superstitious, but perhaps appearances were deceiving.

“Did you have them at Ganymede, too?”

“Yes, Sir, but we were required to leave them behind when we went to auction. Our old relationships were severed, you see, so we would have to start over with new friends and fresh luck.”

Henry thought back over their entire conversation. “So, this poor chambermaid,” he said. “What about her luck?”

“Maybe someone cursed her, Sir. Maybe she was an inconstant friend and her luck ebbed away. Maybe it’s all just silliness and superstition, and she never had any protection in the first place.” Martin shrugged sadly and poked at the talismans on his palm.

“I do I wish you didn’t feel the need for all of this,” Henry told him. “Please believe me: I’ll always protect you Martin. I’ll keep you safe no matter what.”

“I appreciate that so much, Sir, but please don’t be hurt if I want to keep my talismans anyway. They give me a great deal of comfort and they’re harmless, don’t you think?”

“I’m not going to take anything away from you,” Henry assured him. “But, over time, I hope you’ll come to rely on me and not a bunch of painted rocks, as pretty as they are.” He leaned over and kissed Martin tenderly, and after a moment’s hesitation, Martin responded in kind.