A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (32 page)

“Look at this one, Sir,” Martin said as he pointed to a little pastoral painting. “Such a beautiful sky. You can almost smell the grass, can’t you?”

“Uh, sure,” Henry said uncertainly, barely seeing the painting. He had been aware for a few minutes now that all of the other masters had separated from their slaves, the slaves congregating in one part of the gallery and the masters in another, though still close enough to call to the slaves if they were needed. He was being conspicuous standing here at Martin’s side.

Tom appeared at Martin’s other elbow. “Hello, Martin. Sir.” He bobbed a bow at Henry as he squeezed Martin’s arm. “What are you looking at?”

“This one reminds me of Ganymede,” Martin said to his friend. “There’s a field that’s just like this, only it’s full of cows.”

Louis was suddenly at Henry’s side, nudging him impatiently. “What are you doing? Are you actually looking at the art?” Louis scoffed at this idea. “C’mon. There’re some naked paintings on the other side.”

Martin turned to smile at Henry. “I’ll see you at lunch, then, Sir?”

“Yes, of course.” Henry let himself be led away, turning back to note how Tom eagerly took his place at Martin’s side.

The naked paintings were of mostly of nymphs and Henry was uninterested in unclothed nymphs, but he made the appropriate noises along with the other boys. Although it would have been better to have Martin with him, as well, Henry was relieved to have his friends’ clowning and chatter to distract him from the cacophony of art, all the competing priorities. As the familiar chaos calmed him, he began to notice things about the paintings, things he liked. A lot of these nymphs had Martin’s coloring, very pale with red-tinged hair, and Henry imagined what Martin would look like as rendered by various of these artists, long and sleek and hard where the nymphs were rounded and soft. None of the naked people in the paintings had pubic hair, and instead of cocks there were artful folds of drapery or leafy branches; Henry imagined Martin without pubic hair, imagined his robustly pink cock rendered ideally with invisible brush strokes, so perfect he could almost taste it.

Louis nudged him hard. “What
are
you thinking about?”

“Huh?” Henry quickly arranged his face in a neutral expression, though that didn’t stop him from blushing.

“You had this weird look on your face,” Louis said. “Something’s up with you today.”

“I-I’m just…” Henry was at a loss. “There are a lot of naked people in these pictures, is all.”

Louis laughed and gave him a friendly shove, and then Freddie and Wendell and Albert came to see what he was laughing about, and Dr. Foster shushed them all.

Henry stayed with his friends, paying attention to their remarks and jokes, but maintained a certain awareness of Martin, of where he was in the gallery space and who he was with. Tom was never far from Martin’s side, of course. Martin stayed close to Simon and also Sam, who was looking very much the worse for wear, with grey skin and sunken eyes, seeming easily startled and frightened of everything. Henry felt guilty looking at him, knowing that he’d failed Sam and Martin both.

Adam Pettibone, looking hale and hearty, as always, stood with his little group near a painting of a dark-haired Ariadne nude on her side on the ground, her torso twisted so that her breasts were aimed skyward, and nothing but a tiny bit of gauzy drapery covered her crotch. Her pose was sensual and inviting enough that even Henry recognized that this was an arousing image. As Henry watched, Adam got into a shoving match with Joshua and Philip over who should have the prime viewing spot in front of the painting. Dr. Foster shouted at all of them and stood with his arms crossed and his back to the painting, blocking the view for all.

At noon they were herded down to the basement and given sandwiches in one of the art school classrooms. Boys lounged in their chairs, and slaves leaned on the chair backs or perched on the edges of the tables. There was a party atmosphere, everyone talking with their mouths full and laughing uproariously. Mr. Pitkin tried in vain to quiet the room and Dr. Foster gave his fellow teacher such a withering look that Henry felt sorry for the man.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Henry asked Martin in a low voice. “Do you like the art?”

Martin crouched down beside Henry’s chair and looked up at him. “Oh, yes, Sir, I do.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in paintings.” Henry stuffed the last corner of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed, letting Martin take the paper sandwich wrapper and soiled napkin from his hand.

“It’s never come up before, Sir,” Martin pointed out. “You know, I’ve wondered, Sir…”

“Wondered what?”

“I’ve wondered why your father doesn’t collect art, Sir. Most gentlemen of your class do collect some sort of art, after all.”

“I don’t think he knows anything about it,” Henry said. “Maybe he doesn’t know what to choose.”

Martin seemed to consider this. “When you have your own household, Sir, might you give some serious attention to paintings?”

“Is that what you want? For me to collect art?”

Martin ducked his head to hide his face, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have asked, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry!” Henry raised his hand to touch Martin’s cheek but remembered where he was and who he was with and settled for giving him a stiff pat on the shoulder. Leaning close, he said, “If you want paintings, we’ll have paintings, of course. You’ll have to help pick them.”

“You’d let me, Sir?” Martin was clearly made very happy by this idea.

“I definitely would,” Henry affirmed. “Whatever you want, Martin.” Martin met his eyes and they looked at one another a long, thrilling moment, and Henry thought again of Martin inserted into a painting, colored like a nymph, no artful drapery to hide his cock.

Tom came and cast a shadow over them. “Excuse me, Sir,” he said. “But Mr. Pitkin wants us to clean up now, if that’s all right.” He offered Martin his hand and Martin took it, smiling ruefully at Henry as he was pulled to his feet.

Dr. Foster herded the young masters out of the way while the slaves picked up sandwich wrappers and put dishes and napkins back into the school’s hampers. Ralph, Will, Stuart and Alex were sent out to the omnibus with the hampers, supervised by one of the slaves’ teachers. The rest of the boys were led upstairs to the sculpture galleries.

“No touching!” Dr. Foster admonished them. “No touching and no roughhousing.”

There were breasts everywhere, marble and bronze, rounded and conical, and every size from doll-like to larger-than-life. Besides Dr. Foster and Mr. Pitkin, there were museum guards in the galleries, but they couldn’t be looking everywhere at once, and boys made each other laugh by tweaking these stone and metal nipples at every opportunity.

The few male statues were notable for their surprisingly small genitalia.

“Do you think men in olden times had smaller cocks?” Louis asked, looking doubtfully at a baby-sized penis on a full-grown figure.

“This isn’t even an old statue,” Henry pointed out. “It’s not even fifty years old. Cocks haven’t changed that much in fifty years, I don’t think.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw David dreamily caress a life-sized marble breast and almost immediately heard Dr. Foster say, “
Mr. Maxwell
,” descending upon David in the company of an irate museum guard.

From the opposite direction, their attention was drawn by gleeful snickering. They turned to see Charles and Gordon directing Tom and Martin into the pose of a nearby statue with Tom curled on the floor on his side and Martin poised over him, crouching a little, both looking quite nervous.

“Like this, Sir?” Martin asked, lifting his foot and putting it gingerly on Tom’s arm.

“Reach down toward his head a little more,” Charles said. “And you, Tom, wrap your leg around the back of his calf, there, see?”

“Martin, you need to hunch over more,” Gordon said. “You’re standing up too straight.”

Freddie watched the others boss Tom around unbothered, but Henry didn’t appreciate that Martin had been roped into this game at all.

Henry strode forward, frowning and prepared to be quite angry. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Everyone wants to see them together, you know,” Gordon said, and there were more snickers and affirmative nods all around. “With you being so stingy, I’m guessing this is as close as we’re going to get!” All the boys laughed.

“Ha, ha,” Henry said, unamused. “Martin, come here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Martin took his foot off Tom’s shoulder and stepped free of Tom’s bent leg.

“What’s going on here? Why is your slave on the floor, Mr. Caldwell?” Dr. Foster sounded quite fed-up.

“He slipped, sir,” Freddie explained. “Martin was just helping him up.”

Martin quickly offered Tom his hand and pulled him to his feet, then hurried to Henry’s side .

Dr. Foster pressed his lips tightly together, obviously irritated and disbelieving the slip-and-fall scenario. “If you can’t manage to act like adults, you can sit in the omnibus until it’s time to leave,” he warned. “Mr. Maxwell has already been sent down. Which is Mr. Maxwell’s slave? You’ll need to go down, as well.” Alex stepped forward, looking embarrassed for David, and Mr. Pitkin came to escort him out of the gallery.

The boys were somewhat subdued for the rest of their time in the sculpture galleries. Henry remained annoyed at the others for involving Martin in their nonsense, and he resented that they thought him stingy for not sharing his slave. He kept Martin with him, not caring what the others were doing, not caring if his behavior seemed odd.

“You don’t have to do what they say, you know,” Henry murmured. “I’ve told you before, Martin.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I thought it was harmless.”

Henry didn’t like to admit it, but this was true. After all, no one had shoved a cock in Martin’s mouth. It had just been some innocuous tableau. “Well, you still didn’t have to do it,” he said again. “Any time one of the others is telling you to do things, come to me, all right?”

So everyone wanted to see Martin and Tom together? Henry blushed to think of it; if he was honest, he wanted to see it, too, but he didn’t want anyone
else
to see it, and it seemed that he’d have to let at least Freddie in on it, and the idea was absolutely unacceptable.

Dr. Foster and Mr. Pitkin gathered them together and led them into the antiquities galleries. Henry was tired and bored, but he tried to seem interested for Martin’s benefit; he did not want Martin to realize what a dullard he was, how unmoved by art and the pageant of human history. Martin seemed quite interested in every descriptive placard, every potsherd and fragment.

All of the boys were tired, masters and slaves alike. Philip, Joshua and Gordon were all banished to the omnibus for horsing around and jostling a vitrine. Louis was scolded for sitting on the floor to rest. Eventually, all the boys gave up any pretense of looking at art and simply stood slumped in straggling groups waiting for the clock to run out on their Museum Day.

“Very well,” Dr. Foster said, looking at their exhausted faces with twenty minutes remaining. “Let’s get your coats and go back to the omnibuses, shall we?”

Martin brought Henry his coat and helped him put it on, settling it over his shoulders with little pats. “I’ll see you back at school, then, Sir.” He went to the slaves’ omnibus and Henry boarded with his friends.

“You know, we didn’t mean anything by it,” Gordon said, leaning forward to speak into Henry’s ear. “Making Martin pose. It was all in fun.”

“It’s fine,” Henry told him, although of course it was not, but he wouldn’t profit by throwing a tantrum.

It felt good to sit, and Henry closed his eyes and half-dozed for the length of the ride downtown to school. They arrived after their slaves, who were waiting in the cloakroom with their book bags.

They were all quiet on their walk to the omnibus stop. Louis kept yawning, his jaw popping so loudly that everyone could hear it.

As they stood waiting, Henry made an effort, turning to ask Martin and Peter, “Did you two enjoy the museum?”

“I did at first, Sir,” Peter said, “but I was a little bored by the end. All those little pottery fragments!”

Martin had showed no signs of being bored while at the museum, but indicated otherwise now. “I was tired, too, Sir. I was ready to go home at least an hour before we left.”

“Why can’t we have a Menagerie Day?” Louis said in a complaining tone. “Everyone likes the menagerie all right.”

“Animals are educational,” Henry said by way of agreement.

Freddie, Wendell, Albert and Philip arrived at the omnibus stop a minute later with their slaves trailing behind, but for once all the slaves remained with their masters, too exhausted to chatter with one another. The omnibus pulled up at last and they all crowded to get aboard, eager to secure seats. Henry and Louis slumped together in their seat, Martin and Peter in the aisle. Freddie and Wendell sat behind them and now Tom took the opportunity to lean close and whisper to Martin but Henry was too tired to feel the least pang of jealousy.

At their stop, the boys staggered from the omnibus, waving vague goodbyes to their friends. “Say, Henry, I hope you have a good Thanksgiving,” Louis said at the Blackwell gate. “Is your family eating together?”

Henry shrugged. “My father has plans elsewhere. I don’t know about my mother. I’ll find out tomorrow, I guess.”

“I’ve got my whole family for dinner plus Susannah’s stupid fiancé,” Louis said. “He’s such a bore, Henry! Even his slave is boring! Not that I even
like
Susannah, but she still deserves someone more interesting than this fellow!”

“Maybe he has qualities that you just don’t appreciate,” Henry suggested.

“What?” Louis asked. “Like a big cock? Ha! Susannah would have no way of knowing anyway.” He turned and began to walk away. “See you later, Henry. Maybe we’ll do something this weekend?”

“See you,” Henry echoed. “Call me up, all right?”

As Peter and Martin called out their goodbyes, Louis waved without turning around, and Henry and Martin went in the gate.

Upstairs, they stripped down to their underwear and curled up together on Henry’s bed to nap until it was time for Martin’s dinner. While Martin was gone, Henry slept again and dreamed that his cock had shrunk to statuary dimensions and he was terrified for Martin to see it in its diminished state.