A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (17 page)

Billy also stared at Martin as if he’d grown a second head. “Really, Martin?” he echoed.

“I was interested,” Henry said in Martin’s defense. “I didn’t know anything about it before.”

“That’s because it’s just slave nonsense, Sir,” Billy said. “There’s no need to trouble masters with such things.”

Martin looked down at his empty cake plate and fidgeted with his fork. “You know I meant no harm. Mr. Blackwell won’t try to change the way we do things. He was just curious.”

“It’s true,” Henry insisted. “Please don’t be mad at Martin.”

“You should have more sense, Martin,” Billy said, as if Henry hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t keep secrets from Mr. Blackwell,” Martin said tensely, his mouth pressed in a tight line.

Henry turned to Arthur and appealed to him. “I thought it very artfully done,” he said. “Very skillfully made.”

A bit grudgingly, Arthur acknowledged the praise with a bow of his head. “I put care into it, Sir. I’m glad that it shows.”

“I think it’s nice what you slaves do for one another,” Henry said. “I only wish my friends and I did something as special.” Billy and Arthur and the other slaves who were listening in seemed a little mollified by Henry’s remarks.

Martin stood and collected their cake plates. “I’ll just get rid of these, Sir, and then we can go upstairs.” He looked upset, pale and tense.

“He was only answering my questions,” Henry said to the slaves in general. “If I ask, he has to answer.”

“Well, of course, Sir,” Billy said. “But certainly neither Mr. nor Mrs. Blackwell has ever asked such questions of
their
companions, Sir, so none of us were expecting it from you, either.” He paused a moment, then said, “It’s just a little embarrassing, Sir.”

“Why? It’s no stranger than anything else people believe.”

“Do you really think so, Sir?” Arthur asked. “Most masters think it primitive or childish.”

“Well, you know what my father thinks of religion,” Henry pointed out, “and I was raised to think the same. It’s not for me, but it plainly has value for other people. It makes more sense to me, honestly, to depend on your friendships than to depend on a god.”

The slaves seemed to appreciate this and relax a little, picking up their forks again and resuming their quiet conversations.

Martin came to stand behind Henry, his hands on the back of Henry’s chair, his knuckles brushing Henry’s shoulders. “Are you ready, Sir?” Strain was evident in his voice.

“I was just surprised, Martin,” Billy said. “I’m still your friend.”

“Me, too,” said Arthur, and a few other murmured voices joined the chorus.

“Yes, I’m ready.” Henry stood. “Thank you,” he said to the room at large. “Thank you for sharing your lunch with me.”

The slaves called out
Goodbye, Sir
and
You’re welcome, Sir
as he and Martin left the room.

Martin was quiet but clearly agitated as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

“Are you in trouble with the others?” Henry asked gently. “Do you think they’ll stay mad at you?”

Martin was clearly worried that they would, but only said, “I’m sure everything will be fine, Sir.”

In Henry’s room, Martin was restless, pacing the carpet. “Could we go somewhere, Sir? If you don’t mind, it would be nice to get out of the house.”

“Sure,” Henry told him. “Do you want to go to the arcade? There might be new peep show reels.”

“I’d like that very much, Sir,” Martin said, sounding very grateful indeed. “It would take my mind off of things, I think.”

Henry took a few dollars out of his tea tin and shoved them in his pocket and they went downstairs for their coats. Paul brought them out, black cashmere overcoats, nearly identical, and Martin helped Henry on with his, then Paul held Martin’s coat ready. Martin seemed shy with Paul, as if worried that Paul might have already heard of his transgression, but Paul was as friendly toward Martin as ever.

They left the house and crossed the street to the omnibus stop. The only other people waiting were a pair of female slaves who conversed in low tones, and Henry paid them no mind.

“I can tell you’re upset, Martin,” he began. “Please don’t pretend you’re not.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Martin said, eyes downcast and lips downturned. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s not trouble,” Henry insisted. “I’m concerned because I care about you, of course.”

“Sir…” Martin glanced toward the female slaves and gave a little shake of his head. “Discretion, Sir.”

With a little exasperated sigh, Henry stepped closer to Martin and spoke close to his ear. “I don’t like seeing you upset, Martin. I want to help.”

“There’s nothing to be done, Sir. I’m just embarrassed. They think I’m a silly child, and maybe they’re right.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I’m higher status than everyone but Mr. Tim and Miss Pearl, Sir, but I’m one of the babies, you see. Only Danny and Little Bob and Johnny are younger than me, and you don’t see
them
going around talking about our beliefs.”

The omnibus drew up to the stop and they boarded. There were enough passengers that Martin had to stand in the aisle, and by tacit agreement they did not continue their conversation during the ride downtown.

When they got off the omnibus and turned towards Union Square, Henry asked, “Are your beliefs supposed to be secret? It sounds like masters do know about them. I…I’m not the most observant fellow, so I guess I’m not surprised I never noticed anything, but my father knows, right?”

“They’re not
secret
, Sir,” Martin said, “but it’s not really done to volunteer information like I did with you. It’s just not
smart
, Sir. Simon tells me that Hetaeria is forbidden in the Ross household because Mrs. Ross thinks it un-Christian, but she only thinks that because some slave was stupid and told her more than she needed to know. I don’t want to be the stupid slave who gets Hetaeria banned from your house, Sir!”

“Hetter what?”

“Hetaeria. You know the word, Sir, just maybe not in this context.”

“It’s Latin?” Henry guessed.

“Yes, Sir.” Martin looked at Henry a moment, clearly expecting that Henry would recall what the term meant, but Henry did not have any idea and kept an embarrassed silence. Clearly surprised, Martin blinked, and then said, “Well, it means fellowship. It’s one of the names for what we do. It’s not un-Christian at all, Sir, at least I don’t think so. It doesn’t deny God or exalt devils or anything, Sir, really.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Henry reminded him. “I’m not interested in taking it away from you. I just wish you didn’t
need
it.”

“You asked if masters know and, yes, they do. Of course they do, Sir. Mr. Blackwell knows, undoubtedly. Your father is very shrewd and misses nothing.”

“Well, I’m surprised he hasn’t banned it already, then,” Henry said. “He doesn’t like religions much.”

“I don’t think it’s really a religion, as such, though, Sir. It’s not about gods at all. It’s about influence and energies. Plenty of slaves who practice Hetaeria consider themselves Christians. Most slaves are raised as Christians, after all. Your father isn’t as intolerant as all that, anyway, Sir. Mr. Blackwell might not like religions, but he allows his slaves to go to church on Sundays if they want.”

Henry had not known this. He had never thought to look to see who might be missing on a Sunday morning. “Are there a lot of churchgoers in our house?”

“No, Sir. Most in your house have adopted Mr. Blackwell’s attitude toward religion, though everyone practices Hetaeria, of course.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone in your house, and everyone in every house, Sir,” Martin affirmed. “I can’t imagine a slave not participating in it. It’d be like not participating in the
world
.”

“But there’s no scripture or anything? No preachers?”

“No, Sir. There are people who know more than others, of course; people who know about the meanings of things. Materials and colors and symbols, Sir; things like that. It changes all the time anyway; things are added, and there are different traditions from the different Houses. Actual religions and other practices have an impact, of course. For instance, astrology and fortune telling are all about influence, too, Sir, as are superstitions, so naturally we take meaning from those things, as well.”

They had reached the forecourt of the arcade building. Groups of boys stood around talking, most of them working-class boys, but there were a few boys who were, like Henry, accompanied by slaves. Henry was hesitant to enter the arcade with this conversation still unresolved. A group of boys nearby were passing around a cigarette and the smoke made Henry cough.

“Here,” Henry said, putting his hand on Martin’s elbow. “Let’s go stand over there by the wall, out of the smoke.”

“Don’t you want to go in, Sir?”

“Are we done talking about this? It’s very interesting, Martin. I want to know more about it.”

Martin began to look distressed again. “Everything I’m telling you, Sir, would just make everyone else more upset with me. I don’t know why I’m being so forthcoming, Sir, except I just…I just don’t want to have secrets from you.”

“If you need to keep some things to yourself to feel all right, Martin, then you should do that, okay? Even if I’m asking questions. You can just tell me it’s too much, all right?” Henry dared to put his hand on Martin’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Although Martin looked relieved, he also looked as though he did not intend to do any such thing. “If you’re asking, though, Sir…” He sighed. “I don’t really think I could see my way clear to denying you answers.”

“Don’t worry so much, please, Martin. I won’t try to stop your Hetter…Hetter…”

“Hetaeria, Sir.”

“Yes. I won’t try to stop it, I promise. My father knows about it, you said it yourself, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Henry wished he could touch Martin tenderly, cup his cheek or stroke his hair, but he settled for touching his shoulder again. “Do you want to go in?” He turned towards the door.

Martin hesitated a moment, looking as if he had something more he might like to say.

“Martin?” Henry turned to see him standing where he’d left him. “Martin, is there something else?”

“N-no, Sir.” Martin shook his head but looked uneasy, and Henry was not entirely convinced.

“Well, then, come on!”

“Yes, Sir.”

Henry got change for a dollar and they headed for the Mutoscopes. They watched reels of dancers—a ballroom full of waltzing couples, a girl in a skimpy costume, and a horse that did dressage—and a boxing match with a knock-out punch, stampeding cattle, a man doing trick shots on a billiard table, and a strongman flexing.

After viewing the strongman, Henry made way for Martin to watch it and leaned close to murmur, “What do you think of his body?”

“He’s certainly fit, Sir,” Martin said. “But a little…bulgy for my taste.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” His lips just brushed Martin’s ear. “I much prefer your build.”

Martin gave a low chuckle but leaned away and then moved to the next machine. “Do you want to watch this one, Sir?”

“You go ahead. I’ll watch it after.”

Henry followed Martin down the row of machines, occasionally viewing a peep show, but mostly just watching Martin. He seemed a little calmer now, away from the house. Henry thought that surely the other slaves would not hold it against him that he’d spoken to his master about Het—about their beliefs.

“Fancy meeting you here, Henry.”

Henry looked up and saw Victor approaching with a wide grin, Will right behind him.

“Philip and David are here, too,” Victor said. “They’re getting change. What are you doing, anyway? You’re just lounging around staring into space. Why aren’t you playing something?”

Henry felt his face grow hot. Martin raised his head from the Mutoscope machine, standing up straight at Henry’s side. “I just got a little bored,” Henry said. “We’ve been here awhile.”

Victor took in the whole row of peep shows with a sweep of his hand. “Any good ones? Anything racy?”

“I didn’t see anything especially good,” Henry said, though he did think the strongman in his tiny trunks had been a little compelling. Victor, however, would not share this opinion, he was quite certain of this. “Martin watched more of them than I did. Did you see anything good, Martin?”

“Nothing racy, Sir,” Martin reported, then corrected himself: “Oh, wait—maybe that dancing girl, Sir. Her costume was very revealing!”

“Which one was that?” Victor asked. “Show me.”

Henry stepped out of the way and let Martin point out the correct machine to Victor, who dropped in a penny and began to turn the crank.

Philip and David approached with their slaves at their backs. Henry liked David just fine, but merely tolerated Philip, and he knew that Martin actively disliked David’s Alex and could do without Philip’s Davey. Both boys greeted Henry, and he greeted them in kind. Martin stood chatting at Will’s side, ignoring Alex, who was whispering in Davey’s ear and cutting his eyes at Martin.

Martin was already upset today and feeling delicate. Henry checked his watch and decided they would leave soon, to get away from people they disliked and in plenty of time for Martin to get his dinner.

“Do you have to be somewhere?” Philip asked, nodding at Henry’s watch in his hand.

“Just checking,” Henry said. “I want to make sure Martin gets home in time for his meal, and I have a couple of errands to do before then.”

“But we just got here!” Philip said, an accusatory whine. “You have to stick around for a little bit, Henry.”

“A little longer,” Henry agreed grudgingly. He looked over at Martin talking to Will, and Martin was smiling at his friend, so perhaps he wasn’t terribly bothered by Alex or Davey at the moment. Henry thought for a moment of asking his friends what they knew about slave beliefs but decided to wait and ask Louis what he knew. Louis wouldn’t laugh at him for not knowing things, but Philip might.

Henry went around the room with his friends putting pennies into the strength testers. Henry was strongest on four out of six, Victor strongest on the other two. Henry looked over and saw that Martin and the other slaves were sticking coins into the gambling games, a good tactic for getting rid of a heavy pocketful of pennies—until Alex won a double handful of coins.