A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (15 page)

“Nothing that good,” he admitted.

The exit lobby had tables set up for each act, and the
performers were right there, close enough to touch, serving as advertisements
for the cabinet cards they were selling. As they shuffled from the auditorium
with the rest of their friends, Henry craned his neck in search of the
two-headed girl. There she was, standing demurely behind a stern-faced lady who
was offering signed photos for twenty-five cents apiece.

Henry elbowed Martin and said, “I’ll get you a photo,” then
pushed through the crowd to get in line. Martin stuck by his side, vibrating
with excitement.

When they got to the front of the line, Henry caught the eye
of one of the twins—despite her billing, she really was two girls, he
supposed—who smiled at him, and he smiled back and blushed. He paid his quarter
and received his photo and turned to leave, but Martin wasn’t ready to go.

“You both play so beautifully, Miss,” Martin said. “I’ve
never seen anything like it.”

The twin on the left laughed, and the twin on the right
said, “I don’t imagine you have!”

The stern-faced lady scowled at Martin and said, “Next,
please!”

Several others of their group had wanted photos, and the
lines were long. When at last everyone had the souvenirs they required, the
group made haste back to Gill’s and hurried into their dancing shoes in the
empty cloakroom. When they entered the ballroom, all the other boys and their
slaves were in position and waiting on them, and Mr. Gill was furious. Mr.
Gill’s rage was cold, exacting and disdainful, and none of the Algonquin boys
wished to experience its like again. For the first time, Mr. Gill had nothing
kind to say about Henry and Martin’s dancing at the end of the lesson, and
Henry definitely missed the praise.

“We can’t be late again.” Henry said emphatically. Martin,
who was tying his boots, looked up at him and Henry said, “No matter what.”

“Of course not, Sir. It was very embarrassing.”

“I didn’t get to talk to Abigail
and
I got in
trouble,” Louis complained. “Whose stupid idea was that, anyway?”

Henry thought it had been Louis’ idea to go to the museum,
actually, but refrained from saying so.

There was little talking at the omnibus stop. All of the
boys felt surly and blameful in the aftermath of their very public shaming.
They had been sneered at by the boys from all the other schools, and Henry, at
least, felt very conscious of Algonquin’s reputation as a dummy school. They
had looked stupid and laughable, and it could not happen again.

On Thursday, the boys went to the ice cream parlor and
loitered in front of the dancing school, and when the girls left their lesson,
the boys were there to greet them and flirt. Abigail found Henry and made him
uncomfortable with her saucy talk and teasing, and Louis did his best to get a
favorable return on his considerable investment in her, though without notable
success.

It was the last lesson they would dance with their slaves.
Henry was, of course, unhappy about coming to the end of his partnership with
Martin, but at pains to keep this to himself. None of the others were unhappy
about it; rather, they were all eager to dance with girls. Henry felt very
emotional when they completed the final waltz figure with its maypole-circling
motif, and he held onto Martin’s hand as long as he dared before finally
letting go so that he could join in with everyone else in applauding themselves
for all they had accomplished thus far.

Persistent rain on Saturday morning meant that Henry would
not be cycling with his friends as planned, even though he and Martin had
optimistically dressed in their tweed sporting costumes before breakfast. Louis
called to cancel while they were eating, leaving Henry with hours to fill.

They could not return to Henry’s rooms without getting in
the way of the maids, and although Henry certainly had every right to get in
the way of the maids, he meant to avoid doing so for Martin’s sake; Martin
would not think well of him if he was inconsiderate. Henry sulked about the
cycling and drank a second cup of coffee, but cheered up when Martin sat down
beside him with his own coffee.

“What shall we do with the day, Sir?” Martin smiled at him
and slid his foot across the carpet to bump Henry’s, and Henry thrilled a
little at the small intimacy.

“Dunno,” Henry said. “Do you have any ideas?”

Martin thought a moment. “We could visit your sister, Sir.
She’s shut inside because of the rain, too.”

Martin was certainly very fond of Cora—as well he might be,
seeing as how she adored him—and Henry found he enjoyed her company, more or
less, though he wasn’t entirely comfortable with her fixation on Martin and did
regret a little that she no longer worshipped him as she previously had. Left
to his own devices, Henry might have gone to the library in search of salacious
books (he imagined there had to be some in the thousands of volumes his father
had bought), or gone and taken a nap in one of the unused bedrooms. But if
Martin wanted to go to the nursery, Henry would go with him.

“Get me another muffin, will you? And then we’ll go
upstairs.”

Up on the third floor, Nurse was delighted to see them. “Oh,
Sir, Little Miss will be so pleased!”

“Martin! Henry!” Cora got up from her half-eaten breakfast
and ran to hug them both. “Why are you dressed like that?” she asked, frowning
at their knickers and tall socks.

“We were supposed to go cycling,” Henry explained, “but it’s
raining too hard.”

“Are you here to play with me?” Cora’s voice went up to
squeaky heights, so excited was she by the prospect.

“Finish your breakfast, please, Miss,” Nurse said. “You can
play after you’ve eaten.”

Cora turned and headed back to her table, tugging Martin
along by the hand. “I’m having French toast,” she said. “Did you have French
toast today, Martin?”

“No, Miss, but your brother did.”

“Why didn’t you have any, Martin?”

“The slaves didn’t have French toast, Miss. We had pancakes
and eggs and bacon.”

“
Why
didn’t you have French toast?” Cora sat down on
her low chair, put her napkin on her lap, and picked up her fork.

Martin lowered himself to sit on the floor near her, in good
conversational position. “I’m not sure, Miss, but I think it’s easier to make
pancakes, and Cook is required to make breakfast for a great number of slaves.”

“But Nurse had French toast…” Cora mused.

“I had French toast because I eat what you eat, Miss,” Nurse
told her. “I always eat what you eat, Miss. Had you never noticed?”

“Oh,” Cora said. “I suppose you do.” She thought about it a
moment and gave Nurse a broad, warm smile, before turning to Martin. “Do you
want some of my French toast? It’s very delicious.”

“No thank you, Miss. I’ve eaten a great deal this morning
already.”

Henry stood where Cora had left him, a few feet inside the
nursery door, eating his muffin and trying not to get crumbs on the floor.
Nurse came to his side and squeezed his arm.

“How are your dancing lessons, Sir?”

“Next week we dance with the girls,” Henry said, scowling,
before he remembered himself and hurriedly tried to look as though he was eager
to dance with girls, but Nurse did not seem fooled.

“Has Martin been a good practice partner, Sir?”

Henry flushed. “He’s been lovely.” He ate the last bite of
his muffin and licked a crumb from his fingertip.

“Somehow I thought he would be, Sir,” Nurse mused. “I think
you did so well for yourself in choosing him.”

“Er, yes,” Henry agreed, blushing an even more flagrant red.
He was quite sure Nurse knew all about him, knew what he was like and what he
wanted, and she probably even knew he was in love with Martin. He felt certain,
however, that Nurse would always protect him to the best of her ability, and
that she wanted him to be happy above all.

Cora got up from the table, her plate clean, and held out
her hand to Martin. Martin unfolded himself upright and took Cora’s hand and
was led deeper into the room, toward the windows. The cabinet house sat toward
the right-hand side of the room, the tent for the wooden circus was set up
directly beneath the windows, and noseless, wigless Baby Ann and her motley
coven were sprawled in a circle toward the left-hand wall.

Cora turned and beckoned Henry forward. “Come on, Henry.
Come play with us.”

Henry went somewhat hesitantly. “What are we playing, then?”
Henry hated how suspicious he sounded. He determined that he would be a good
sport and engage in Cora’s games. He thought it would be all right if Martin
was, in fact, a better big brother, but he couldn’t let Martin be
that
much better.

“Come see, Henry!” Cora was bouncing on her toes, pointing
at the interior of the dollhouse.

Martin knelt at Cora’s side and Henry stood, leaning over
her, while she reacquainted them with the goings-on in the nursery.
Arrangements in the dollhouse had become yet more chaotic. Honey the bear was
still holding court in the kitchen, but the parlor had been taken over by the
ringmaster, lion tamer and two clowns. The dollhouse mother and father had been
relegated to the attic nursery, where they sprawled face-down on the floor.
Dollhouse Henry and Dollhouse Martin lay abed, and it was possible they hadn’t
shifted at all since Henry had last seen them. Dollhouse Cora sat in a kitchen
chair beside the bed, the tilt of her stiff little body making her seem keenly
interested in whatever the male dolls were up to. Henry’s hands itched to
remove the sister doll from the room, but he knew Martin wouldn’t approve of
his interference and so kept his hands to himself.

The dollhouse baby, usually left ignored in its cradle, had
been moved to the circus tent, where it rode in a howdah on the back of the
elephant.

Martin touched the baby’s tiny bisque fist with his
fingertip. “Does the baby have a name yet, Miss?”

Cora shook her head emphatically. “No,” she said. “It won’t
get a name until I’m sure it’s going to live.”

Henry was shocked by this. Where did she get these ideas? He
turned to Nurse, mouth agape, wanting answers.

“
I
don’t know, Sir,” Nurse murmured with a shrug.
“She must have heard something like that at school.”

The circus tent was set up with both tightrope and trapeze
and the acrobats were in position. The lion and tiger were both posed on
barrels and ready to do tricks, but of course the lion tamer was relaxing in
the dollhouse, so they were clearly in for a wait. A monkey dressed in a red
felt fez and vest held a hoop for a white poodle to jump through. The third
clown stood on a chair with a bucket on his head. All of  the rest of the
animals were lined up around the tent, and something about their positioning
made Henry believe they had the figures inside the tent trapped and were going
to attack at any moment.

Baby Ann was apparently very ill.

“I think she might die,” Cora said, not sounding terribly
upset at the prospect. “Look, Henry, she’s lost her fingers.” Baby Ann’s hand
was indeed missing several fingers, though she still had her thumb. “She’s a
leper
!”
Cora said in a stage whisper.

“Goodness, Miss!” Martin said. “How terrible!”

“Where did you hear about lepers?” Henry asked, sounding
more accusatory than he’d intended. “Who’s telling you about such things?”

Cora immediately became defensive. “That
is
what
happens to lepers, Henry. Their noses and fingers fall off.” She clutched Baby
Ann protectively to her chest and gave Henry a haughty look.

“Maybe so, but it’s not something little girls are supposed
to know about.”

“Why?”

Henry didn’t know why, actually. “It’s not ladylike,” he
suggested, knowing this was a poor argument.

“It’s just
facts
, Henry. Ladies can know
facts
.”
Cora’s disdain for Henry’s delicate sensibilities was very apparent.

Cora put Baby Ann back down on the floor and picked up
Brindle, whose black ringlets were matted and dull, whose pink silk dress was
wrinkled and torn. “You be Brindle.” She thrust Brindle toward Henry, and the
doll’s big blue eyes seemed to carry a wordless plea for mercy, for an end to
her suffering. Henry meekly took the doll and absently smoothed her hair.

“Martin can be Minnow,” she decided. Minnow was, Henry
recalled, the “bad” doll. Minnow had a brown wig that was still curled and
reasonably neat, but she wore only a chemise and her feet were bare. Henry felt
quite sure that her ball-jointed body would look much better covered with a
dress, but did not think his suggestion would be well-received.

“How well do Baby Ann and Minnow get along these days,
Miss?” Martin tidied Minnow’s ringlets, wrapping them around his finger, each
in turn.

Cora thought about this a minute. “Well,” she said slowly,
“now that Baby Ann will probably die, Minnow feels very bad about how mean
she’s been. She feels a great deal of
remorse
.” Cora said this in such a
way that Henry felt sure it had been given to her as a vocabulary word in
recent days.

“It’s good that Minnow’s had a change of heart while Baby
Ann is still alive, isn’t it, Miss? That way they can become friends before
they have to say goodbye.”

“I think it’s good, too.” Cora gave an emphatic nod of her
head and poked at Baby Ann with the toe of her boot. “Do you know how I’ll know
when she’s dead?” she asked, head cocked.

Henry was too shocked to respond, but Martin said, “No,
Miss. How will you know?” And then, before Cora could answer, he asked, “May I
find a dress for Minnow, Miss? I think she’d like to be dressed to visit Baby
Ann on her sickbed.”

“All right, Martin. You can do that.” Cora dropped to her
knees and picked up Baby Ann and gazed lovingly at her cracked face. She ran
her fingertip along the crack and explained, “I’ll know she’s dead when her
head falls to pieces.”

“What?” Henry blurted, horrified. Was it normal for a little
girl to be so casually morbid?

“Nurse says it might happen,” Cora assured him. “This is
such a big crack, Henry. It might split her whole head in two.”

Henry shot Nurse a baleful glare, and then immediately felt
bad for doing so. What did he expect Nurse to do with a child like this? A
ghoulish, willful girl who was rough with her toys.

Martin was dressing Minnow in a brown plaid dress with a
wide lace collar. “What do you think of this dress, Miss?”

Cora looked for a moment as if she wanted to protest this
pairing of doll and garment. “That’s Celery’s dress,” she said, frowning. She
brightened then, saying, “But it’s all right for Minnow to wear it this time, I
think.”

“How do you come up with names for your dolls?” Henry asked,
slowly lowering himself to the floor. “They’re…unusual.”

Cora seemed baffled by this remark. “But Ann is a regular
name,” she insisted. “There are
two
Anns in my class at school.”

Henry wanted to point out that there were certainly no
little girls named Brindle at Cora’s school, no Celerys or Minnows, but kept it
to himself.

There was a tête-a-tête between Minnow and Baby Ann, and all
that was required of Brindle during their long visit was the delivery of
pretend tea and pretend cakes. Henry kept one ear attuned to the conversation
between Martin and his sister, but most of his attention went to the miniature
circus, which was in much better condition to this point than he would have
anticipated, considering how rough Cora was with her dolls. He did what he
could to make the line of animals seem less menacing, nudging pieces into
slightly different positions and changing their poses.

“Brindle! Where
are
you, Brindle?”

Henry snapped back to attention, guiltily placing the zebra
he held back into line.

“I’m here, Ma’am,” Henry hurried to reply in his terrible
excuse for a girl voice, thrusting Brindle forward. “What might I do for you,
Ma’am?”

Somewhat more contemptuously than Henry thought the
situation warranted, Cora informed him that, “Baby Ann is still a
Miss
,
Henry. She’s not
Ma’am
.”

“Of course, Miss. What may I do for you, Miss.”

In her sepulchral Baby Ann voice, Cora said, “I need a
pencil and paper, Brindle. I need to write my will before I die.”