A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (25 page)

He got down on his knees to wipe up every bit of semen off the tiles, paranoid that the maids would find an errant drop and know what he’d done, what state of mind he’d been in when he’d done it.

He felt a bit better, less crazy. He washed his hands and examined his face in the mirror. His eyes looked a little wild, feral. He examined his face critically. Martin had said he was very handsome, but did he mean anything by it? What good was being handsome unless it meant something to someone who mattered to him—unless it meant something to Martin?

He went downstairs and called Louis on the telephone, but Louis couldn’t talk long. With the Briggs nurse at the park, it had been left to the older children to watch the younger ones. With James at college and Susannah out with her fiancé, that left Louis in charge, Robbie challenging his authority, Teddy in open rebellion, Alice in hysterics, and Edward in tears. Mr. and Mrs. Briggs were shut up in their suite and in any case were the option of last resort; for Louis to go to his parents would be admitting defeat, and Louis was nothing if not a fighter.

“I think I’m going to deputize Robbie,” Louis said confidentially, his breath rasping in Henry’s ear. “Make him feel important and let him handle Teddy.” In a more normal tone, he said, “Say, if
you’d
come over here, I’ll bet Alice would behave. She’s madly in love with you, you know.” In the background, Henry could hear Alice’s girlish shrieks of dismay.

Henry wanted nothing to do with little Alice. “I should look at the Latin book,” he said.

“We could sneak some liquor,” Louis offered. “I found where James hides his cigarettes.”

“No thanks. I just wanted to see how you were getting on today. I should study.”

“Suit yourself. I’d better go, then. Edward’s bleeding.”

There were no signs of Father or Mother anywhere. Henry suspected his father had taken a cab to visit Mrs. Murdock, and he hadn’t expected he would see his mother anyway. He wandered the halls of his great, empty house, peering into the unused parlors, the ballroom, the library, even taking a brief look into his father’s study, redolent of cigars. He went downstairs with a vaguely guilty air, afraid of being caught. He wasn’t actually forbidden from visiting the service areas of the house, but it wasn’t really something that was done, masters going below stairs without reason.

He went down the back stairs into a broad hallway. The kitchen slaves had their rooms down here, but Henry had no interest in intruding on their privacy. There were windows looking in from the hall to the big kitchen, which was white and sparkling, and Henry realized that the slaves would have had to clean up the kitchen and do all the dishes before they left for the park. He wondered if it had been just Cook and the scullery maids doing the work, or if the other maids had helped them with all the mess.

The Blackwells had a refrigerator, a special room bigger than Henry’s bathroom, that kept the food cold, as well as a massive gas stove; these weren’t things that every family had, Henry knew, but he couldn’t conceive of how people might live without them. There was a dumbwaiter in the kitchen big enough to take an entire meal upstairs to the butler’s pantry at once, and Henry played with it a moment, making it go up and then down, but it was just an elevator, after all, and not terribly exciting.

Further in, the slaves had a large mess room off of the kitchen and Henry walked around the long table, running his hand over the backs of the chairs, wondering where Martin sat. There was an upright piano in the corner and he wondered who might play. He wondered if the slaves’ meals were more jovial than the dinners upstairs; he imagined they would have to be. Was Martin happier when he was with the rest of the slaves than he was in Henry’s company? It wouldn’t surprise him. Were any of the maids pretty enough to interest Martin? Henry couldn’t picture their faces clearly. Henry didn’t like the idea at all, but it seemed inevitable that someone as attractive as Martin would garner interest from female slaves all over the neighborhood. So long as his romances didn’t interfere with his service, Henry could have no say in the matter; Father did not believe in policing every aspect of his slaves’ lives, and he wouldn’t allow Henry to be controlling, either.

There was a double line of service bells for all the different rooms of the house on the wall of the slaves’ mess room, silver bells and tiny lightbulbs for each. As far as Henry knew, no one ever used the bells; he’d never used the bell in his own room. With so many slaves and so few masters, it seemed like there had always been someone near at hand whenever Henry had needed something. The Blackwells had an unusual number of slaves, especially for such a small family, though the size of the house did dictate a large staff just to keep it clean and functional. The Briggses, with nine people in their family, had far fewer slaves and a house half the size, but with plenty of room for all of them.

Henry wasn’t terribly familiar with all the slaves of his house, and now that he had Martin, he realized that perhaps he should be. It suddenly seemed rude to have someone looking after his dirty underwear and socks and not be sure of her name. Henry crept down the hall to Randolph’s tidy office and looked for some sort of list, eventually finding a ledger where Randolph apparently kept track of days off that had all the slaves’ names matched with their positions. There were twenty-seven names in total and, as for his dirty underwear, there were two laundresses: Mary, the head laundress, whom Martin had mentioned several times, and Sally, the under-laundress. At the top of the hierarchy were the three companions, Timothy, Pearl and Martin, with Martin’s name in fresher ink; followed by Randolph the butler; Dora the housekeeper; and Paul and Billy, the matching pair of footmen. In the stables, they had Old Bob and Jack, the coachmen; Jerry and Arthur, the grooms; and Little Bob and Danny, the stable boys. Upstairs maids were Katie, Delia and Peggy; downstairs maids were Lucy, Ruth and Ellen. Cook’s name was, as Martin had recently informed him, Alberta, and the scullery maids were Ruby and Vida. The gardener was Pat, Nurse’s given name was Esther, and, of course, little Johnny was the errand boy. Henry was pleased to realize that he knew many of these names, though he didn’t necessarily know which faces went with them. He was less sure of the maids than he probably ought to be, but at least he had known they had a maid called Delia, even if he hadn’t been entirely sure which part of the house she belonged in.

Henry wandered out into the hall, peeked into the laundry, and made his way back to the main floor, just in time for the slaves’ return from the park via the side door. Henry hurried up the stairs, a wave of boisterous voices at his back. It was nearly two o’clock and he was hungry. He sat at his desk with his Latin book open in front of him, a pencil in his hand, pretending to make sense of the imperfect active indicative of
amō
, to love. I was loving:
amābam
. You were loving:
amābas
. It seemed important to look as though he were busy when Martin returned.

It took longer than Henry had hoped for Martin to come upstairs, perhaps half an hour. When Martin finally tapped on the door, Henry’s mood had soured somewhat, and he was convinced that Martin did indeed prefer the company of the other slaves to his own.

“Come in,” he called, surly and prepared to be displeased. “You don’t need to knock, you know.”

But when he saw Martin, all that blew away like clouds, like nothing. Martin smiled at him and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Hello, Sir,” he said warmly. “Cook will have something for you to eat soon.”

“Did you have a nice picnic?”

“Oh, yes, Sir, it was lovely. I saw Peter and Patrick and met so many new people.”

“Did you see Cora, too?”

“Yes, Sir. We ate our lunch together, actually. She’s a good girl, don’t you think? And very funny, too!”

Henry felt jealous of his baby sister, which even he thought ridiculous. “I miss going to the picnic,” he admitted. “It was always a lot of fun.”

Martin’s brow furrowed with concern. “If you wanted to go, Sir, all you had to do was say so, I’m sure. I would have been very happy to have had your company.”

“No, it wouldn’t be fair of me to go,” Henry told him. “You all deserve time to yourselves every now and then.”

“I don’t need time to myself, Sir,” Martin said firmly. “I’m used to being around people always. Time by myself just seems lonely.” He looked a bit melancholy as he finished saying this, but then forced a smile. “You’re more self-contained, aren’t you, Sir? You don’t need company.”

Henry didn’t know if this was true or not. “I
like
company,” he insisted. “I’m used to being alone, is all.”

“Well, Sir, please don’t let me intrude.” Martin gave him a bashful, fond smile. “When you need me to leave you alone, please don’t be shy about telling me so. Otherwise, I’ll always be at your side, whether you want me there or not.”

Henry blushed. He didn’t know what to say, both wanting Martin always at hand and wanting distance between them. If he could only become comfortable with him!

Henry said nothing, and now Martin looked embarrassed. “Do you want to go down to eat something, Sir? Or shall I leave you alone for a bit?”

“We can go down,” Henry told him, standing up hurriedly and knocking into his chair. “Are you still hungry?”

“I won’t pass up food, Sir,” Martin said agreeably.

After lunch, they played poker in a square of sunlight on Henry’s bedroom floor. Henry was losing slowly, enjoying Martin’s company without feeling the need to say much of anything.

“I have a flush, Sir,” Martin said, laying his cards down.

Henry frowned and put his hand down on the carpet: three nines. “That was a good hand for me,” he sighed.

“You lose, Sir,” Martin said cheerfully, collecting his pennies from the pot.

“Are there going to be fireworks tonight?” Henry asked. “There always have been before.”

“Yes, Sir. I understand that everyone will gather in the park after dark to set them off.”

“Did you want to go?”

It seemed clear that Martin had hoped he might. “I…I don’t know, Sir. What would you like me to do?”

“Do you think I could go, too? It’s not like the picnic where everyone’s talking and relaxing together and a master would stand out. Do you think I’d make anyone uncomfortable if I was just watching the fireworks?” Henry desperately wanted Martin to say it would be all right.

“Oh, Sir!” Martin’s voice was all kindness. “I think it would be perfectly fine, I really do.” He dealt them new cards and added, “I can ask Mr. Tim if you’d like.”

“No, that’s all right.” Henry didn’t want Timothy telling him he couldn’t do it, to leave the slaves alone. “I’ll just go.”

They played cards until Martin went down for his dinner. Martin offered to stay with Henry, claiming he was still full from sharing Henry’s very late lunch, but Henry insisted that he go, not so much for Martin’s sake, but so the rest of the slaves wouldn’t think Henry was being selfish, taking up Martin’s time on a day when slaves were traditionally given their freedom.

Henry read while Martin was gone, and when Martin returned, he had news. “Your father isn’t coming home for dinner, Sir, and your mother isn’t coming down, so Mr. Tim has suggested you eat simply, either in the breakfast room or even on a tray here, if you’d like. We can make our way to the park when you’ve eaten, if you’d still like to go.”

“I still want to go,” Henry assured him. “I guess I’ll come down to the breakfast room. If I eat up here, it’ll be like I’m sick or being punished.”

“Let me just go tell Cook, Sir. I’ll be up to get you directly.”

Cook sent up picnic food, Saratoga potatoes and cold chicken, and Henry preferred it to the usual elaborate, Frenchified meals served to his parents. He finished off his meal with slices of both cherry and lemon meringue pies.

“Is this what you ate today?” he asked Martin.

“Yes, Sir.” Martin smiled, remembering. “I thought it very tasty.”

“It was delicious.” Henry pushed back from the table feeling very satisfied. “Are we heading to the park now?”

The slaves were going in a group, so Henry had to wait while they assembled. Nurse was staying behind with Cora. Randolph and Timothy were staying behind, as well, as was Pearl, of course, but all who were going were ebullient and talkative. The maids all gave Henry sidelong glances, but no one questioned his right to participate. They left by the side door and straggled up the street, then across the road to the park. Old Bob and Billy carried boxes containing the Blackwell contributions to the pyrotechnic display, and Johnny and Little Bob danced circles around them, exacting promises that they be allowed to light the majority of the family’s fireworks.

As they drew closer to the playground, the crowds thickened. The atmosphere was festive but relaxed, the slaves seeming to Henry overall cheerful and contented. Martin was close by his side, their shoulders occasionally bumping.

“Have you been in the park at night before, Sir?”

Henry shook his head. “No. It’s not supposed to be safe. But tonight, with all these people around, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I like the park, Sir. It reminds me of the farm a bit.”

“Are you homesick?” Henry wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

“Not exactly. This is where I want to be now, Sir. With you.”

Henry felt his cheeks grow hot and was glad of the dark.

As they moved deeper into the park, away from the gaslights and into the playfield, Henry began to hear the pop and sputter of firecrackers, and they could see flashes of light, gouts of colored sparks arcing up above the heads of the crowd.

As they moved through the throng, the Blackwell slaves greeted acquaintances, occasionally breaking away from the group to linger with a friend. Old Bob seemed to be looking for someone, finally greeting another grizzled fellow effusively, and Henry gathered that this was the coachman for the Blackwell’s nearest neighbors, the Slatterys. To Henry’s surprise, the Blackwell slaves and the Slattery slaves seemed all quite close and fond of one another. The Slatterys were a lady and gentleman in their forties, childless, perfectly nice, but never of the least interest to Henry, yet their household was evidently hand in glove with his own. He felt like he had learned a great deal about his slaves today.