A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (9 page)

Henry was amazed. “How did you know that?”

She laughed. “Is no magic. He has calluses on fingers.”

Henry blushed, embarrassed by his lack of insight.

“You are left-handed, Martin?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“I guessed. Left-handed people are artists,” she claimed. “Are you good musician?”

“I-I…”

“He is,” Henry told her. “He's wonderful.”

She smiled at Henry. To Martin, she said, “You have good relationship viz your master, I tink.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” Martin turned his head to quickly meet Henry's eyes, his smile very fond.

Madame Ersebet traced a line on Martin's palm with a long, pointed red nail. “I vill read your palm now, okay? Zis is heart line. Tells me how many loves you vill have. See how it curves? Zat means you are very sensitive, emotional person, but also very physical—a passionate person.” She turned his hand toward the candlelight. “I see many romances, but you don't love so easily, do you?”

“No, Ma'am.”

She traced another line, swooping across Martin's palm. “Now, zis, zis is your head line. Tells me about your intellectual powers. Again, is curved line. Means you are creative and romantic, but also curious. I tink you are smart boy, Martin!

“Now, zis is interesting!” She drew her nail down Martin's palm once, then a second time. “Double lifeline! Means you have guardian angel, or maybe soul mate. Very lucky for you, I tink.”

She let go of Martin's hand and picked up her deck of cards. They were narrower than regular playing cards, with an ornately-patterned back. She gave them a shuffle and placed them on the table in front of Martin. “Cut ze deck!” Martin did as he'd been told. “Take top card now,” she said. “Represents you.”

Martin turned it over. “Knight of Cups, Ma'am. Is that good?”

“Is vat is. Again, passionate person, charming and beautiful, but can be extreme, yes?” She flicked her gaze up to Henry and asked him. “Yes?”

Henry blushed and nodded, cleared his throat and said, “Yes.”

“Intense person, eager and helpful. Good for slave, I tink.”

She began laying the cards out on the table, giving each a moment's careful thought before laying down the next. “Vell! Okay! Zis card—” she slid a card aside and put her pointed nail on the one she meant—“is reversed. Tells me you have troubles, zat all hope is lost, but I do not see zat now when I look at you. Maybe is in past?”

Martin said, “I
was
troubled until quite recently, Ma'am, but things have improved very much!”

“Zen zat is it,” she said decisively. “I vill tell you, Martin, reading cards for slave is difficult. Is too entwined with fate of master, decisions made by master zat slave vould not make on his own.” She glanced at Henry with a look of faint disdain, and Henry felt a little offended.

“Cards say you vill have many struggles, many contradictions, but zis card—” again, she pointed with a red nail—“tells me you vill do your best to make good choices. Cannot say same for zose around you.” Again, the baleful glance at Henry. “You vill feel despair, you vill be miserable, it vill be hard road, but take heart! Zis card—” she tapped it three times with her nail—“says it vill all turn out all right. Catastrophe avoided! New life and happiness!” She patted Martin's arm. “Is good slave fortune,” she tried to assure him. “Most slave fortunes
very
bad, no happy ending.”

“Th-thank you, Ma'am. It was very interesting.” He sounded upset, and Henry wanted to see his expression, wanted him to turn around. Martin pushed the chair back and stood, then faced Henry. He looked pinched and pale behind his mask.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Sir. I-I'm just a little superstitious. I'm easily shaken by such things.”

Madame Ersebet looked up at them with a hint of friendly impatience in her expression. “Okay, young master! Your turn!”

“I don't have to do it,” Henry said to Martin. “If you'd rather just go.”

“No, Sir, I want to hear what she has to say about you.”

Henry sat.

“Vat is your name, young man?”

“Henry.”

“All right, Henry. Show me your hands.”

Henry put his hands on the table and Madame Ersebet looked at them critically a moment. “You're right-handed,” she decided.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But how did you know?”

“Most people are right-handed,” she said airily, seeming to imply that Henry was ordinary, whereas Martin was special. Even though Henry also thought this was the case, it seemed impertinent for some gypsy to suggest it.

She picked up Henry's right hand and felt the flesh and bones as she had done with Martin, then turned it over to look at the palm.

“Here is heart line. Is deep and straight—means you're jealous type, yes?”

Henry blushed at this and nodded.

“You vill have one great love,” she pronounced. “Is very clear. See here, zis line?” She pointed at a crease on the side of his hand. “Zat is your love!” She gave Henry's hand a squeeze. “Don't let jealousy spoil your love, Henry. Zat is my advice for you.”

She turned his palm toward the candlelight.

“Hmm. Head line not so strong in you. See how is wavy, not deep? Maybe you have trouble in school?” She cocked her head to the side, questioning, and seemed to expect a response.

Blushing again, Henry admitted, “I don't get the best grades.”

“Is because you can't concentrate. Not practical person. But is okay because you have Martin to help, yes?”

“Yes,” Henry said grudgingly. He had expected this to be a lot more lighthearted and fun.

“Finally, life line. Yours is interesting, also. Long and deep, vich is good, but here is break—” she poked it with her nail, which hurt—“vich means someting interesting vill happen. Maybe bad ting, but you vill be fine, live on.”

She shuffled the cards a few times and put the deck on the table. “Cut cards, please!” Henry did so. “Take top card. Represents you.”

Henry laid the card on the table. “Page of Cups. What does that mean?”

“Means you are lover. Playful and romantic and kind. Good type for master, I tink. Good for slave, anyway!” She laid out the rest of the cards as she had done for Martin. “You have better cards. Vatever is coming, you vill have easier time of it than slave. At heart, you have love zat sustains you.” She glanced up at Martin and Henry blushed at her assumptions. “Here,” she said, pointing, “is strife and sadness, but here—” pointing again—“is you making big decision. Is good for you to do it! You vill learn from experience!”

“So I make the right decision, then?”

“Cards say no,” she said cheerfully, “but it's good zat you
decide
, yes?”

Henry did not think this was good at all and merely blinked at her.

“Eventually, it vill vork out for you, Henry. Be happy! You learn from bad decision and gain understanding. Important lessons learned. So zere you go!” She gathered the cards back together and shuffled them.

Henry got up slowly. “Thank you.” He didn't feel terribly thankful, though.

Madame Ersebet reached out with her red nail and tapped a little brass pot sitting beside her crystal ball. “Is not just for decoration. Is for tips.”

“Oh. All right.” In a daze, Henry dug in his pockets for money, coming up with three pennies and a wrinkled dollar. He didn't know which to give her, so just put it all in the brass pot. “Thank you,” he said again, and walked out of the tent with Martin right behind him.

They walked right past Louis and Peter without even thinking to stop to discuss their experience. “It's fake anyway,” Henry said. “She's probably not even a real gypsy.”

“I'm sure you're right, Sir.” Martin did not sound sure; he sounded worried.

“I want more punch,” Henry announced, and Martin did not try to convince him he shouldn't have it.

They skulked in the reception room, furtively eating cupcakes and sandwiches and washing them down with punch. All the sugar made Henry feel a little better, less unsettled.

“Didn't you think that was going to be more fun?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Martin agreed. “It was more of a scary Halloween thing, wasn't it?”

Henry peered into the ballroom. Over in the corner, his friends were all mixed in with James' friends and Henry didn't want to go anywhere near James if he could help it. He didn't trust James not to mess with Martin regardless of what he'd said earlier. He'd known James for twelve years, and James had always been profoundly self-interested and amoral, even as a little boy. That hadn't bothered Henry much before, had even seemed exciting, but now that he had something he cared deeply about, James seemed a threat.

He remembered something Martin had said in the gypsy's tent. “Martin, you told her that you'd been troubled. What were you so troubled about?”

“Oh, Sir.” Martin stepped in and put his lips close to Henry's ear. “I don't think we should discuss it here.”

“But you'll tell me?”

“Of course, Sir. When we're at home.”

Will, Tom and Stuart entered the reception room with punch cups in hand.

“Oh, hello, Sir. Hello, Martin.” Tom smiled and held his punch cups out to be filled, one for his master Freddie and one for himself. “Are you having a nice time, Sir?”

Henry shrugged. “The fortune teller wasn't what I expected.”

“Really, Sir?” Tom asked politely, though he didn't actually sound terribly interested in an answer.

“You should have Mr. Caldwell take you,” Martin urged. “I want to know what she tells other slaves.”

“You had your fortune told, too?” Tom looked surprised and darted a glance at Henry.

“Yes. Please do it, Tom, if Mr. Caldwell will let you.”

“I'll ask him.” He held up his filled punch cups. “I have to take this to Mr. Caldwell. I'll find you later, if I can.” He turned to Henry and said, “Goodbye, Sir.”

Henry gave him a tight nod and watched as he turned on his heel and hurried back into the ballroom. Stuart and Will also had their cups filled and spoke to Martin about his fortune-telling experience, Martin encouraging the others to ask their masters to let them have readings.

Full of food for the time being, and feeling a little pleasantly drunk, Henry decided to quit the reception room and venture out into the ballroom with Martin on his heels. He stood on the sidelines and watched, sipping his punch. It had been awhile since Henry had last danced; he had always enjoyed it and was good at it, but there were few opportunities for young people to practice the skills outside of lessons. One of Henry's most treasured childhood memories was of watching dancers in his family’s ballroom and he was reminded of that here, watching the costumed adults spin past.

“Have you ever been to a dance like this?” he asked Martin. “Men and women, I mean.”

“No, Sir. Only the boys’ dances at Ganymede.”

“I’ve only been to one, sort of,” Henry told him in a confiding tone, feeling quite loquacious. “There was a ball at our house when I was 7. As far as I know, that was the only party my parents ever had. I don’t remember what it was for, maybe just because my father likes parties. I didn’t even know what a ball was, of course, and Nurse tried to explain it to me, about the music and the dancing, and then took me downstairs to see my parents all dressed up.

“Mother was quite beautiful back then, and she wore this dark red dress cut really low across her shoulders. My father wasn’t as fat then as he is now, but he was still pretty big. Even so, he looked very distinguished in his tailcoat. All the slaves were dressed up, too, of course; the men in collared shirts and black ties and the women in black dresses.

“Uncle Reggie arrived while I was with my parents, and my mother was immediately in a better mood. I was thrilled to see him, too, of course, and he immediately apologized for not bringing me a present. He said he hadn’t expected to see me, and my father cut in and said that I wasn’t
supposed
to be downstairs and gave Nurse a look, so she hurried me back up to the nursery.

“I was so upset. I wanted to see the dancing, and I wanted to see Uncle Reggie, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t. I cried and cried—like a baby, really—until I finally I cried myself to sleep.”

“Poor you, Sir,” Martin said, his voice intimate and soothing.

“Later, I was woken up by some noise in the nursery, and I was frightened, but it was just Reggie tripping over my rocking horse. He said, ‘It’s only me, little prince, come to take you to the ball.’ That’s what he always called me—little prince.” Henry colored a little admitting this.

“That’s sweet, Sir,” Martin said, smiling and touching his arm just briefly.

“He came over to my bed and got down so we were at eye level and he was
so
drunk, but somehow still so elegant, and I just worshipped him. I thought he was the absolute best. He asked me if I wanted to go downstairs to see the ball, and I did. Nurse tried to reason with him, but he pulled rank, and of course there was nothing she could do but let me go.

“We went downstairs and the music was getting louder and louder with each step. Downstairs, there were all these dressed-up people in the hall. I could tell that some of them thought it was cute that there was a little kid wandering around in his pajamas, but most people just ignored me.

“I’d never seen the ballroom before, because why would I have? Honestly, I think there are still rooms in our house that I’ve never been inside. It’s just way too big. Anyway, Reggie led me up to the doorway and stopped me right outside, and told me this was as far as I could go. I looked in, and it was like something out of a dream, with the crystal lights and glittering mirrors, all the colors of the women’s dresses swirling together, and the men so elegant in black and white. The music made me want to dance, but I did my best to keep still because I knew better than to draw attention to myself.

“Reggie was standing there with me, with his hand on my shoulder, and I could have happily stayed there for hours, watching this amazing party with my favorite person, but Timothy came over after just a few minutes and told Reggie that I had to go back upstairs, Father’s orders, and that Father had to talk to him right away. Reggie might have argued with Nurse, but he wasn’t about to argue with Timothy.”