Farnham's Freehold (32 page)

Hugh had admired it. “Uncle, but that’s a beautiful drawing! Your own work?”

The engineer shyly admitted that it was. Based on architect’s plans, you understand—but changes keep having to be added.

“Beautiful!” Hugh repeated. “It’s a shame there isn’t more than one copy.”

“Oh, plenty of copies, they wear out. Would you like one?”

“I would treasure it. Especially if the artist would inscribe it.” When the man hesitated, Hugh moved in fast and said, “May I suggest a wording? Here, I’ll write it out and you copy it.”

Hugh walked away with the print, inscribed:
To my dear Cousin Hugh, a fellow craftsman who appreciates beautiful work.

That night he showed it to Kitten. The child was awestruck. She had no concept of maps and was fascinated by the idea that it was possible to put down, just on a piece of paper, the long passages and twisty turns of her world. Hugh showed her how one went from his quarters to the ramp leading up to the executive servants’ dining room, where the servants’ main hall was, how the passage outside led, by two turns, to the garden. She confirmed the routes slowly, frowning in unaccustomed mental effort.

“You must live somewhere over here, Kitten. That is sluts’ quarters.”

“It is?”

“Yes. See if you can find where you live. I won’t show you, you know how. I’ll just sit back.”

“Oh. Uncle help me! Let me see. First, I have to come down this ramp—” She paused to think while Hugh kept his face impassive. She had confirmed what he had almost stopped suspecting; the child was a planted spy. “Then…this is the door?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I walk straight ahead past the slutmaster’s office, clear to the end, and I turn, and… I must live right
there!
” She clapped her hands and giggled.

“Your billet is across from your mess hall?”

“Yes.”

“Then you got it right, first time! That’s wonderful! Now let’s see what else you can figure out.”

For the next quarter hour she took him on a tour of sluts’ quarters—junior and senior common rooms, messes, virgins’ dormitory, bedwarmers’ sleep room, nursery, lying-in, children’s hall, service stalls, baths, playground door, garden door, offices, senior matron’s apartment, everything—and Hugh learned that Barbara was no longer billeted in lying-in. Kitten volunteered it.

“Barbara—you know, the savage slut you write to—she used to be there, and now she’s right
there.
”

“How can you tell? Those rooms all look alike.”

“
I
can tell. It’s the second one of the four-mother rooms on this side, when you walk away from the baths.”

Hugh noted with deep interest that a maintenance tunnel ran under the baths, with an access manhole in the passage Barbara’s room was on—and with even deeper interest that this seemed to connect with another that ran clear across the building. Could it be that here was a wide-open unguarded route between all three main areas of servants’ land? Surely not, as the lines seemed to show that any stud with initiative need only crawl a hundred yards to let himself into sluts’ quarters.

Yet it might be true—for how would any stud know where those tunnels led?

And why would a stud risk it if he guessed? With the ratio of intact males to breeding sluts about that of bulls to cows on a cattle ranch. And could thumbless hands handle the fastenings?

For that matter, could those trap doors be opened from below?

“You’re a fast learner, Kitten. Now try a part you don’t know as well. Figure out, on the drawing, how to get from our rooms here to my offices. And if you solve that one, here’s a harder one. What turns you would take and what ramp you would use if I told you to take a message to the Chief Domestic?”

She solved the first one after puzzling, the second she traced without hesitation.

At lunch next day, with Memtok at his elbow, Hugh called down the table to the engineer. “Pipes, old cousin! That beautiful drawing you gave me yesterday—Do you suppose one of your woodworkers could frame it for me? I’d like to hang it over my desk where people can admire it.”

The engineer flushed and grinned widely. “Certainly, Cousin Hugh! How about a nice piece of mahogany?”

“Perfect.” Hugh turned to his left. “Cousin Memtok, our cousin is wasted on pipes and plumbing; he’s an artist. As soon as I have it hung, you must stop by and see what I mean.”

“Glad to, cousin. When I find time. If I find time.”

More than a week passed with no word about Their Charity, nor about Joe—a week of no bridge, and no Barbara. At last, one day at lunch, Memtok said, “By the way, I had been meaning to tell you, the young Chosen Joseph has returned. Do you still want to see him?”

“Certainly. Is Their Charity also in residence?”

“No. Their Gracious sister believes that he may not return until after we go home. Ah, you must see that, cousin. Not a cottage like this. Great doings night and day—and this humble servant will be lucky to get three meals in peace all winter. Run, run, run, worry, worry, worry, problems popping right and left,” he said with unctuous satisfaction. “Be glad you’re a scholar.”

Word came a couple of hours later that Joe expected Hugh. He knew his way, having been to Joe’s guest rooms to help teach bridge to Chosen, so he went up alone.

Joe greeted him enthusiastically. “Come in, Hugh! Find a seat. No protocol, nobody here but us chickens. Wait till you hear what I’ve done. Boy, have I been busy! One shop ready to go as a pilot plant before Their Charity finished the wangling for the protection, all on the Q.T. But so organized that we were in production the day protection was granted. Not bad terms, either. Their Mercy takes half, Their Charity hangs onto half and floats the financing, and out of Their Charity’s half I’m cut in for ten percent and manage the company. Of course as we branch out and into other lines—the whole thing is called ‘Inspired Games’ and the charter is written to cover almost any fun you can have out of bed—as we branch out, I’ll need help and that’s a problem; I’m scared old Ponse is going to want to put some of his dull-witted relatives in. Hope not, there’s no place for nepotism when you’re trying to hold down costs. Probably best to train servants for it—cheaper in the long run, with the right sort. How about you, Hugh? Do you think you could swing the management of a factory? It’s a big job; I’ve got a hundred and seven people working already.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ve employed three times that many and never missed a payroll—and I once bossed two thousand skilled trades in the Seabees. But, Joe, I came up here with something on my mind.”

“Uh, all right, spill it. Then I want to show you the plans.”

“Joe, you know about Duke?”

“What about Duke?”

“Tempered. Didn’t you know?”

“Oh. Yes, I knew. Happened just about as I left. He’s not hurt, is he? Complications?”

“‘Hurt?’ Joe, he was
tempered
. You act as if he had merely had a tooth pulled. You knew? Did you try to stop it?”

“No.”

“In the name of God,
why not?
”

“Let me finish, can’t you? I don’t recall that you tried to stop it, either.”

“I never had the chance. I never knew.”

“Neither did I. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you keep jumping down my throat. I learned about it after it happened.”

“Oh. Sorry. I thought you meant you just stood by and let it happen.”

“Well, I didn’t. Don’t know what I could have done if I had known. Maybe asked Ponse to call you in first, I suppose. Wouldn’t have done any good, so I guess we were both better off not having to fret about it. Maybe all for the best. Now about our plans—If you’ll look at this schematic layout, you’ll see—”

“Joe!”

“Huh?”

“Can’t you see that I’m in no shape to talk about playing-card factories? Duke is my
son
.”

Joe folded up his plans. “I’m sorry, Hugh. Let’s talk, if it will make you feel better. Get it off your chest—I suppose you do feel bad about it. Looking at it from one angle.”

Joe listened, Hugh talked. Presently Joe shook his head. “Hugh, I can set your mind at rest on one point. Duke never did see the Lord Protector. So your advice to Duke—good advice, I think—could not have had anything to do with his being tempered.”

“I hope you’re right. I’d feel like cutting my throat if I knew it was my fault.”

“It’s not, so quit fretting.”

“I’ll try. Joe, whatever possessed Ponse to do it? He knew how we felt about it, from that time it almost happened through a misunderstanding. So why would he? I thought he was my friend.”

Joe looked embarrassed. “You really want to know?”

“I’ve got to know.”

“Well…you’re bound to find out. Grace did it.”

“
What?
Joe, you must be mistaken. Sure, Grace has her faults. But she wouldn’t have
that
done—to her own son.”

“Well, no, not exactly. I doubt if she knew what it was until after it was done. But just the same, she set it off. She’s been wheedling Ponse almost from the day we got here that she wanted her Dukie with her. She was lonesome. ‘Ponsie, I’m lonesome. Ponsie, you’re being mean to Gracie. Ponsie, I’m going to tickle you until you say Yes. Ponsie, why won’t you?’—all in that baby whine she uses. Hugh, I guess you didn’t see much of it—”

“None of it.”

“I would have wrung her neck. Ponse just ignored her, except when she tickled him. Then he would laugh and they would roll on the floor and he would tell her to shut up, and make her sit quiet for a while. Treated her just like one of the cats. Honest, I don’t think he ever—I mean, it doesn’t seem likely, from what I saw, that he was interested in her as a—”

“And I’m not interested. Didn’t anybody tell Grace what it would entail, for her to have her son with her?”

“Hugh, I don’t think so. It would never occur to Ponse that explanation was required…and certainly I never discussed it with her. She doesn’t like me, I take up too much of her Ponsie’s time.” Joe wrinkled his nose. “So I doubt if she knew. Of course she should have figured it out; anybody else would have. But, excuse me, since she’s your wife, but I’m not sure she’s bright enough.”

“And hopped up on Happiness, too—every time I caught sight of her. No, she’s not bright. But she’s not my wife, either. Barbara is my wife.”

“Well…legally speaking, a servant can’t have a wife.”

“I wasn’t speaking legally, I was speaking the truth. But even though Grace is no longer my wife, I’m somewhat comforted to know that she probably didn’t know what it would cost Duke.”

Joe looked thoughtful. “Hugh, I don’t think she did…but I don’t think she really cares, either…and I’m not sure that you can properly say that it cost Duke anything.”

“You might explain. Perhaps I’m dense.”

“Well, if Grace minds that Duke has been tempered, she doesn’t show it. She’s pleased as punch. And he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“You’ve seen them? Since?”

“Oh, yes. I had breakfast with Their Charity yesterday morning. They were there.”

“I thought Ponse was away?”

“He was back and now he’s gone out to the West Coast. Business. We’re really tearing into it. He was here only a couple of days. But he had this birthday present for Grace. Duke, I mean. Yes, I know it wasn’t her birthday, and anyhow birthdays aren’t anything nowadays; it’s nameday that counts. But she told Ponse she was about to have a birthday and kept wheedling him—and you know Ponse, indulgent with animals and kids. So he set it up as a surprise for her. The minute he was back, he made a present of Duke to her. Shucks, they’ve even got a room off Ponse’s private quarters; neither of them sleeps belowstairs, they live up here.”

“Okay, I don’t care where they sleep. You were telling me how Grace felt about it. And Duke.”

“Oh, yes. Can’t say just when she found out what had been done to Duke, all I can say is that she is so happy about it all that she was even cordial with me—telling me what a dear Ponsie was to arrange it and doesn’t Dukie look just
grand
? In his new clothes? Stuff like that. She’s got him dressed in the fancy livery the servants wear up here, not a robe like that you’re wearing. She’s even put jewelry on him. Ponse doesn’t mind. He’s an outright gift, a servant’s servant. I don’t think he does a lick of work, he’s just her pet. And she loves it that way.”

“But how about Duke?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you, Hugh; Duke hasn’t lost by it. He’s snug as a bug in a rug and he knows it. He was almost patronizing to me. You might have thought that I was the one wearing livery. With Grace in solid with the big boss and with her wound around his finger, Duke thinks he’s got it made. Well, he
has
, Hugh. And I didn’t mind his manner; I could see he was hopped on this tranquilizer you servants use.”

“You call it ‘got it made’ when a man is grabbed and drugged and tempered and then kept drugged so that he doesn’t
care
? Joe, I’m shocked.”

“Certainly I call it that! Hugh, put your prejudices aside and look at it rationally. Duke is happy. If you don’t believe it, let me take you in there and you talk to him. Talk to both of them. See for yourself.”

“No, I don’t think I could stomach it. I’ll concede that Duke is happy. I’m well aware that if you feed a man enough of that Happiness drug, he’ll be happy as a lark even if you cut off his arms and legs and then start on his head. But you can be that sort of ‘happy’ on morphine. Or heroin. Or opium. That doesn’t make it a good thing. It’s a tragedy.”

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic, Hugh. These things are all relative. Duke was certain to be tempered eventually. It’s not lawful for a servant as big as he is to be kept for stud, I’m sure you know that. So what difference does it make whether it’s done last week, or next year, or when Ponse dies? The only difference is that he is happy in a life of luxury, instead of hard manual labor in a mine, or a rice swamp, or such. He doesn’t know anything useful, he could never hope to rise very high. High for a servant, I mean.”

“Joe, do you know what you sound like? Like some white-supremacy apologist telling how well off the darkies used to be, a-sittin’ outside their cabins, a-strummin’ their banjoes, and singin’ spirituals.”