A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (29 page)

“What about you, Martin?” Louis asked. “Who don’t you get along with?”

“Well, Sir,
I
don’t like Alex,” Martin said. “I think he’s mean and a braggart.”

Louis laughed. “What would he say about you?”

Martin sniffed and put his nose in the air. “He thinks I’m stuck-up, Sir.” He seemed hurt then when the other three laughed, and Henry felt bad for having done so.

The omnibus arrived, and when they got on, there were so many women and little ones riding that all four of them had to stand in the aisle.

“What was it you were saying the other day?” Henry asked Martin. “Who else was it you didn’t like? The one who picks on Sam.”

Martin looked uncomfortable again. “It’s Davey, Sir. Mr. van Houten’s Davey.”

Peter grimaced. “Davey can be very unkind, Sir. He thinks he’s funny, but he’s not.”

Louis laughed. “Sounds like Philip, for that matter. Ha! How many masters and slaves have the same personalities, I wonder?”

“Not us,” Henry said, with a nod at Martin. “And not you, either, I don’t think.”

“You two get along all right, don’t you?” Louis asked, suddenly concerned, looking between Peter’s face and Martin’s. “You’re not just acting like everything’s all right to make us happy?”

“Of course not, Sir,” Peter scoffed. “I like Martin very much.” He flashed a smile at Martin, who smiled back, warm and sincere.

“We get along very well, Sir,” Martin assured him. “Most of us get along well enough, though, really.”

“I see you with Wendell’s slave all the time,” Louis said to Peter. “What’s his name again?”

“Ralph, Sir.”

“And you,” he said, nodding at Martin, “are always with Freddie’s slave.”

“That’s Tom, Sir.”

“Who else do you especially like?” Louis asked.

“Mr. DeWitt’s Stuart has been my friend my whole life, Sir,” Martin said, smiling happily. “I was very pleased to meet up with him again.”

“Well, of course, Will is also from Endymion, Sir,” Peter said. “And we were good friends there. But I get along really well with Tom, also, as well as Simon.”

“Oh, yes, Simon is very nice!” Martin said to Peter and then, recognizing all the participants in the conversation, added a hasty “Sirs.”

They got off at the stop nearest the Blackwell house and bid farewell to Louis and Peter at the Blackwell gate.

Upstairs, as Martin helped him change out of his school clothes, Henry said, “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable with those questions.”

“Sir?” Martin held up the waistcoat to Henry’s brown suit for him to put on.

“Asking Peter whether he disliked Alex and all that. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” Henry buttoned his waistcoat and smoothed it over his stomach.

Martin seemed flustered. “Oh, Sir, it’s perfectly fine. You needn’t ever apologize to me, you know.”

Henry also felt bad about laughing at Martin and tried to make up for it. “I don’t think you’re stuck up at all,” he said. “You’re very accomplished, and there’s nothing wrong with being proud of it.”

“Thank you, Sir. That’s very kind of you.”

Henry crossed to his desk, where his schoolbooks waited in a disorderly stack. He was dreading his Latin homework, and he felt that he’d much rather talk to Martin than struggle with translations.

“I like knowing more about you, you know. Who your friends are and all of that.” Henry offered this up shyly, not meeting Martin’s eyes. “Tom and Stuart and Peter and…Simon, was it?”

“Yes, Sir. Mr. Ross’ Simon, as well as Mr. Pettibone’s Sam. I also like Ralph quite a bit, Sir, though not as much as Peter does. They’re very close.”

“I’ve always wondered—even before I had you—what the slaves do in school all day.” He sat down on his desk chair, flipped open the cover of his Latin book, then flipped it closed again.

“Oh, well, we study the same things you study, Sir, so that we can help you with your homework. You should feel free to ask me for help if you need it. I’m a good student, Sir, I really am.” He looked at Henry expectantly and Henry blushed.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. “What else do you do?”

“We learn practical things, Sir, all variety of things. A lot of information to do with clothes, actually, Sir. How to remove stains, for instance. How to choose suiting and shirting fabrics. How to keep leather goods in fine condition. We also learn how to keep household accounts. You will surely have a large household staff when you’re grown, Sir, and I’m learning to manage people, as well, so that everything will run smoothly for you when we’re adults.”

Henry was burning to know if they received any further sex training, or if it was even discussed, but simply could not bring himself to ask. Surely, the school wouldn’t do this without asking permission from the masters, though! Henry couldn’t help being a little worried about it, nonetheless.

Martin nodded toward Henry’s stack of books. “Do you have homework, Sir? Maybe I can help.”

“No, no,” Henry assured him, reddening. “I can do it.” He couldn’t do it. He was never going to understand Latin, not ever.

“Well, Sir, please don’t hesitate to let me know if I can ever help. With anything really. I’m eager to be of service.” Martin was looking intently at Henry as he said this, and Henry felt his cheeks burn as he stared at his schoolbooks. He wanted to tell Martin to stop asking, to stop looking at him, to stop trying to help.

“Do you have homework?” Henry asked. “Or do you want to practice your violin or something? I don’t need you right now, so you can do whatever you want.”

“Oh. All right, Sir. I-I think I will play my violin, if you’re sure it won’t disturb you.”

“It’s not disturbing at all,” Henry said gruffly. “It’s beautiful.” He opened the Latin book again and stared unseeing at the text, going through the motions of studying.

“Oh. Well. Thank you, Sir.” Martin gave him a little bow and crossed the room, and a minute later Henry heard him tuning his instrument.

Once Martin had left the room, Henry gave up any pretense of doing his schoolwork. He crossed his forearms on top of the book, put his head down on his arms, and listened to the music pour forth, a flood of sound from Martin’s room. Martin was so eager to be useful, to help, but him being here just made things so much more difficult. It wasn’t his fault, of course; it was all Henry’s own doing. Martin was behaving just as he should.

Henry listened until Martin put his violin away and went downstairs for his dinner. With Martin gone, Henry locked himself in the bathroom and masturbated in a state of slight panic, fearful that Martin would somehow sense what he was doing, or that he would miss cleaning up some tell-tale droplet in his hurry. Once done, he arranged himself in what he believed to be an innocent-seeming posture, lounging on his bed with his legs crossed, and waited stiffly for Martin to return. The rest of his life was going to be so very, very long.

Over the rest of the week, Albert and Gordon came up with the idea for a baseball game, masters versus slaves. In the past, Henry and his friends had had no steady rivals, but instead loitered in the park near the ball field hoping for a similar group of boys to show up so that they would have someone to play against, but this masters versus slaves idea was much more efficient.

When the weekend came, Louis called to tell Henry what time to be at the field Saturday morning, then Joshua Brand called with the same information, and finally Albert called to ask Henry what time he’d been told. Henry was not used to getting so many phone calls and felt both beleaguered and popular. It put him in a better mood about the game, which he hadn’t been looking forward to with much enthusiasm to this point.

Henry played because Louis played. Louis and James were passionate about baseball, fanatically following the city’s Giants and their rivalry with the Superbas from across the river. Henry had been to a few Giants games at the Polo Grounds with the Briggs family and had always enjoyed himself, but that was as far as it went.

Saturday, Henry woke to Martin dressed in his sport suit: Norfolk jacket and knickers in a fine black tweed, very slave-appropriate but still nice, nicer than the plain black most of the other slaves would be wearing. He let himself be dressed in his brown check and then went down for breakfast.

Mother and Father were both in the breakfast room, though only Father acknowledged him; Mother did not appear aware of her surroundings and sat stirring her tea absently, her spoon making tiny clicks against the inside of the teacup. Martin brought Henry his coffee, a cinnamon sticky bun, five rashers of bacon, potato hash, two generous helpings of scrambled eggs, and pancakes with raspberry jam and syrup both. When he considered himself adequately fortified, he excused himself from the table and bade Billy get their bicycles out of the shed.

Henry shoved his glove inside his jacket and Martin did the same, and they rode the short distance to the Briggs house where they were joined by Louis and Peter. The four of them crossed into the park and rode up to the North Meadow ball fields. Gordon was there with his Julian, Albert with Stuart, Freddie with Tom, and Wendell with Ralph.

“Where are the rest?” Louis demanded. “We have to have at least ten you know!”

“Calm down,” Wendell told him. He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “They’ve got five more minutes before they’re late, and you know people are going to be late anyway, so just try to relax.”

“Josh has to come,” Gordon pointed out. “He’s got the bat and ball.”

Henry watched Martin with the other slaves. He stood talking with Tom and Julian, who Henry thought most beautiful among his friends’ slaves. Both had very white skin, Tom with long black hair and ice-green eyes, and blue-eyed Julian with white-blond hair, very straight, which Gordon’s father had forced him to cut. He was a very haughty-looking creature, never smiling, though he smiled now at Martin, revealing slightly wolfish fang teeth.

They were joined by Will, who had just arrived with Victor, and Henry bristled at the warmth of their greetings. Martin tossed his tail back over his shoulder and gave Will the full force of his smile, and Henry had to look away, full of ill feeling. He shouldn’t be jealous of slaves.

Joshua arrived with Miles, who was carrying the bat and ball. Charles and Robert showed up five minutes late with Simon and Dick, respectively.

“Who’s going to be umpire?” Louis asked. “Anyone going to volunteer, or do we have to draw straws?”

After some discussion and minor coercion, Victor allowed that he would be willing to be umpire. Will seemed quite disappointed as this meant he would be sitting the game out.

It was decided that the slaves would bat first. There was an argument, not too heated, between Joshua and Charles as to who would be pitcher, which Charles won on a coin toss. Wendell got to be catcher, as always, because he had the glove for it. Joshua settled for second base, Henry was put in left field, and Louis was shortstop. Gordon took up position at first base, Albert at third, Freddie at center field, and Robert at right. Expecting to break a sweat, Charles preemptively removed his jacket and left it where Will sat sulking in the grass.

Ralph was up first for the slaves. Henry knew him to be a fast runner, as Wendell had made him demonstrate on several occasions in the past. He proved to be a strong hitter, as well, sending the ball far into right field. Robert chased it down and threw it to Joshua at second, but by that time Ralph was on third. It was an inauspicious beginning for the masters. Martin was up second and Henry knew they were meant to be competing, but he still hoped Martin did well. He also hoped that Martin would not hit the ball in his direction because he didn’t want Martin to go out on his catch. Luckily, the ball came nowhere near left field, and Martin made it to first base without difficulties as Ralph made it all the way home.

The slaves proved overall solid players, all except for Simon, sixth in their batting lineup, who was out at first. Behind him, however, Miles hit a double, bringing Julian and Stuart home, for a total of five runs. Looking around the field, the masters seemed overall uneasy with the way things were going, lips pressed in judgmental lines, eyes narrowed. Henry had joked about this with Louis, but the slaves really were superior in this as in all other things.

Dick came up to bat, swung easy, and ran to first, sending Miles all the way in. Last in batting order, Tom stepped up to the plate, tossing his long black tail over his shoulder with a cocky grin. He hit the ball deep into left field and Henry had to run after it, which he had not really been expecting to have to do. He scooped it up off the ground and threw it towards home plate in time to put Dick out, but Tom was safe on second. Ralph was up again, sending Tom home and getting himself to second. It went on from there, the slaves making efficient hits and racking up runs, the masters unable to do much to stop them. Finally, Julian went out on a long fly, which Gordon sulked about in a very unattractive manner, but even this left the slaves with a daunting ten runs in just the first inning.

Pretty Tom had a hardened glint in his pale green eye as he stood on the pitcher’s mound, smiling grimly at Gordon. Tom’s first pitch was fast and inside and Gordon flinched back from it with an angry yell.