A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (16 page)

“Uh…yes, Miss. Right away, Miss.” Henry turned to Nurse. “Do
you have pencil and paper?”

Nurse fetched the pencil and paper but said, “Miss, didn’t
Baby Ann write a will just yesterday?”

“Yes,” Cora admitted, “but she’s changed her mind again.”
She nodded at the items Nurse held out to her and said, “Give those to Brindle.
Brindle is the secretary.”

Cora dictated the terms of Baby Ann’s will and Henry wrote
them down. He rather thought the job should have gone to Martin, whose
handwriting was much nicer, but he was a little afraid of being scolded again
if he made a wrong suggestion. After some discussion, the final will read:

I, Baby Ann Blackwell, leave all my earthly possessions
to my friend Minnow, except for my green dress, which goes to my faithful slave
Brindle. I want to be cremated in the fireplace.

There were no accommodations for Celery or any other dolls,
all of whom surely had weird names, too.

After Cora signed the will in a laborious round hand, all of
the big dolls except for the invalid Baby Ann made a celebratory visit to the
circus, sitting arrayed in a tipsy, tilting half-circle before the big top.
Cora preferred for Henry and Martin to merely observe the circus rather than
participate, and Henry was fine with this. When Cora required the presence of
the ringmaster and other circus denizens from within the dollhouse, Henry was happy
to hand them to her and then sit back and watch.

Martin stayed interested and full of questions, which
relieved Henry of a great deal of the need to be engaged. He stopped watching
Cora and the circus and instead watched Martin, admiring his profile and his
graceful hands; his mind was full of sense-memories of Martin’s body, its
solidity and warmth, the places where he was bony and the places where he was
giving and soft.

Nurse came and crouched down beside Henry. “Sir, it’s
nearing lunchtime. Do you want to take your meal up here with Little Miss? Or
will you be going downstairs? I only need to know so I can tell the kitchen.”

Henry found all this play, even as passive as it currently
was, to be very tiring, and he did not consult with Martin before deciding,
“We’ll go down. No need to inform the kitchen.”

Nurse smiled. “Very good, Sir. Little Miss’ games can be
quite exhausting, can’t they?”

“Do you do this every day?” Henry couldn’t imagine such a
thing.

“Oh, no, Sir. Little Miss plays very well on her own when
you’re not here. But playing with you big boys is a special occasion, and she
gets everything out of it that she can.”

By the time Paul came upstairs with a cart with Cora’s
lunch, they had moved on from the big top and were moving furniture around in
the dollhouse. Dollhouse Henry got out of bed and joined the ringmaster in the
parlor. Dollhouse Martin’s violin was placed beside him closely enough to
suggest playing and Martin hummed a waltz for the benefit of both Dollhouse
Cora and regular Cora.

When Martin finished his tune, Nurse interrupted their play.
“Our lunch is here, Miss, and it’s time for the boys to have their lunch, as
well,” Nurse said firmly. “You need to say your goodbyes, Miss.”

Cora stomped her foot petulantly. “Why can’t they eat with
us
,
Nurse?
Why
?”

“We didn’t arrange for it, Miss. There’s no food for the
boys today. Another day we’ll make arrangements with the kitchen.”

Henry did note that Nurse had committed him to a nursery
lunch sometime in the future, but supposed he could agree to this.

They said their goodbyes and Cora seemed resigned to their
leaving. No doubt she was hungry anyway, and didn’t wish to prolong their
farewells.

They went down the stairs side-by-side and Martin allowed
Henry to hold his hand for a moment before pulling away. Rather than going
straight down to the breakfast room, they detoured into Henry’s room and kissed
a few minutes.

“You’re so good with my sister,” Henry murmured, nipping at
Martin’s throat. He could shirk all of his brotherly obligations, and Martin
would make it up for him, and he would even enjoy doing it.

Martin laughed and pulled him close with a hand at his
waist. “That excites you, Henry?”

“It’s that you do it for me,” Henry explained. “You’re so
good to me, Martin.” He caught Martin’s mouth in another kiss and ran his hands
over his back and shoulders. He wanted his lunch, so he wouldn’t push to do
anything more now, but he was definitely looking forward to sex later.

“I love you, Henry, so of course I want to give you the best
service. But I’d play with your sister anyway. I think she’s so funny, don’t
you?”

“I don’t know if funny is the word I’d use. She’s got some
creepy ideas.”

“She’s imaginative and curious, Henry, that’s all.”

“You’re probably right. You know more about kids than I do.”
Henry brushed a few loose strands of hair back from Martin’s brow. “Hopefully,
she’ll grow out of it by the time she needs to find a husband.”

Martin laughed again. “Little Miss is going to be a handful
for some man, don’t you think?”

Henry rather thought that someone with Cora’s morbid
interests, intolerance of dissenting opinions, and unladylike assertiveness was
going to have a difficult time making a match in spite of her pretty face and
vast wealth, but he supposed “handful” covered it.

They went downstairs and halfway down Henry leaned close and
said in Martin’s ear, “By the way, I love you, too,” and was gratified when,
for once, Martin took
his
hand and gave it a furtive squeeze.

Being allowed to dance with girls, at last, was a milestone
for most of Henry’s friends. They’d been separated from the girls at age 12 and
had spent what most adults considered to be their particularly unmanageable
years with only female relatives and other boys for company. Most of Henry’s
classmates were burning with the desire to hold a girl’s hand or put an arm
about a girl’s waist, and to try for some degree of rapport during those
interludes when the music was not playing. Henry, of course, would have much
preferred to continue to dance with Martin. Throughout March and the first half
of April, he and Martin had been the star pupils, learning the steps with ease
and dancing them with lightness and grace. Some of Henry’s friends, Louis
included, were disgruntled over the praise Henry earned from Mr. Gill, but
other boys had asked for help with their own footwork and Henry felt quite
flattered by this acknowledgement of his skill.

On Tuesday, the boys stood at the south end of Mr. Gill’s
ballroom while the girls huddled together to the north. The slaves were
relegated to the boys’ and girls’ cloakrooms to wait for their masters to
finish the lesson. They could watch from the doorways if they wanted, of
course, and Henry looked for Martin but did not see him, and tried not to be
annoyed. He wanted Martin to watch him, but no doubt Martin was joking around
with Tom. Now that Tom was well again, his old passion for Martin seemed to
have been rekindled, and Henry did not like it.

Henry shook his head, trying to rid himself of his curdling
jealousy. Tom could desire Martin all he wanted and it would go nowhere. Henry
was just nervous about the girls, about being assigned a partner. All the boys
were.

“I want to dance with Abigail,” Louis said under his breath,
repeating it over and over. “I want to dance with Abigail.”

They’d be assigned partners based on class standings, in
part, but also on aesthetics: no tall girls with short boys, if possible.
Abigail was not tall, so Louis felt he had a chance. According to Albert,
Abigail was one of the best dancers in her class, but Louis felt he might be
paired with such a partner to balance out his own inadequacies. He had worked
very hard to improve, it was true, and perhaps with some positive result, but
he was still a terrible dancer.

“You know, since she’s my sister, Gill might not want her to
be in the same set as me,” Albert pointed out. “You might have had a better
chance if you’d tried to get assigned to a different set in the first place.”

“James told me Gill likes to put dark hair with light and
vice versa,” Louis said, ignoring Albert’s remark. “I could end up with her,
then, couldn’t I?”

“So could Henry,” Albert pointed out. “That seems more
likely to me, actually.”

Louis scowled and Henry flushed a furious red, not wanting
to be any part of his friend’s disappointment, and not wanting to be paired
with Abigail, who had made her interest in him increasingly plain over the last
month and a half. She was at the front of the group of girls, sashaying back
and forth across the ballroom arm-in-arm with a copper-haired friend and
casting frequent saucy glances at the massed boys. She was very pretty, and
Louis wasn’t the only boy who was hoping to be her partner.

Mr. Gill strode to the center of the room and clapped his
hands twice, very loudly. “Boys! Girls! Take your usual positions and we’ll go
from there.”

Abigail took up her position in the first couple of the
second set, and Henry breathed a sigh of relief. The girl at his side was a
petite brunette with large grey eyes who smiled up at him with friendly
interest, and he was able to smile back at her without blushing.

Mr. Gill walked around looking at the pairs and frowning,
starting at the far end of the ballroom. He pulled a girl from one set and put
her in another, and he did this over and over. Henry began to grow nervous. He
was happy with the brown-haired girl.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, bending to speak to her in a low
voice. “I’m Henry Blackwell. May I have your name?” If he knew her even a
little, maybe it would make it somehow harder for Mr. Gill to remove her.

“Ginevra Collingsworth,” she said, offering him her hand.
“How nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blackwell.” Henry bent over her hand
and she smiled. “We’ve all been hearing that you’re a good dancer, Mr.
Blackwell,” she continued. “You’re one of Mr. Gill’s favorites. I feel quite
fortunate.”

Henry was surprised. Mr. Gill never spoke to the boys about
the girls and their dancing skills. If Mr. Gill had favorites amongst the
girls, he’d never mentioned them. He blushed to think that Mr. Gill spoke of
him (and thus Martin) to anyone. “How nice to hear,” he said blandly. “I try my
best.”

Louis had a blonde partner called Millie Angstrom, not as
pretty as Abigail, perhaps, but still a pretty girl, yet he seemed barely able
to muster the energy to be civil to her. Tall Stephen was paired with a girl
with reddish curls. Albert’s partner looked like a Wilton—so much so that Henry
was sorely tempted to ask if she was perhaps related to him.

Mr. Gill got to the second set and frowned. Abigail stood
next to a blond boy. “That won’t do,” said Mr. Gill. “Miss DeWitt, come out.”
Abigail looked well-pleased. Henry felt dread in the pit of his stomach. Mr.
Gill glanced at the first set. “Miss Collingsworth,” he called, “come stand
next to Mr. Hemming here in Miss DeWitt’s place.”

Miss Collingsworth gave Henry a rueful smile. “Goodbye,” she
mouthed. She went to stand in the second set, and Henry had to admit it did
look better to have dark next to light.

Henry did his best to not react at all when Abigail was
placed at his side. Her desire for his attention pulled at him like claws, but
he tried to ignore it as long as possible. He was being rude, he knew it, but
he didn’t know what to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that
Louis was seething, being eaten up by jealousy, and Henry hated that his friend
was hurt. Henry would have happily switched blonde partners with Louis, but
Abigail knew the steps for the #1 couple, not the #4, and he knew that Mr. Gill
would not allow it. Now Albert was glaring at him; he couldn’t continue being
rude to his friend’s sister, after all.

“Miss DeWitt,” he said, giving her a little bow. “How nice
to see you again.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Blackwell. I hope you’re not
disappointed to have me for a partner instead of Miss Collingsworth. She’s a
very good dancer; I wouldn’t blame you in the least if you did prefer her.”

“No, nothing of the kind,” Henry attempted to reassure her.
“I’m a little distracted is all. I’m a bit nervous about the dancing today.”

“Why is that, Mr. Blackwell? We’ve all heard that you’re a
very good dancer. Is it that you’d rather dance with your slave instead?” She
laughed, as did the other girls in the set.

Henry felt the embarrassment heat his cheeks and wished
fervently that he would not blush.

Before Henry could answer, Abigail spoke again. “I’m sorry,
Mr. Blackwell. I shouldn’t tease! I’m a little nervous, too.” She didn’t seem
the least bit nervous, not about anything; she didn’t seem likely to have ever
been nervous in her life.

Mr. Gill switched Stephen’s partner for a girl at the other
end of the room, this one also with reddish hair but taller.

Henry dared a glance over to the door to the boys’ cloakroom
and saw Martin leaning against the door jamb observing the ballroom, Tom
looking over his shoulder and Peter at his side. Martin gave him a little
smile, nothing too noticeable, and he felt better immediately. After all, what
did he think Abigail would do? She wouldn’t try to kiss him. She wouldn’t grab
his cock, after all. She’d flirt and flirt and flirt, but Henry could deflect
all of that, couldn’t he?

“I think you’re the only one of my brother’s friends who
hasn’t been over to our house,” Abigail remarked. “Albert tells me you don’t
like to participate in those nasty parties that boys have. Is that so, Mr.
Blackwell?” She cocked her head, waiting for an answer.

“Er, yes, Miss DeWitt, that’s true.” He didn’t want to be
talking about swapping with any girl, much less this one.

“I’ll have to convince Albert to have a
nice
party,”
Abigail said. “One that you’d be willing to attend, where everyone would keep
their hands to themselves.” She said all of this with a sort of flirtatious
distaste that made Henry very anxious. She seemed oddly merry, as if she wanted
to make fun of him and seduce him all at once.

“That would be lovely,” Henry said blandly.

Mr. Gill was finally satisfied with the composition of his
sets and clapped his hands for attention. “Boys, girls, we’re ready to start.
We’ll run it through one time
adagio
, slowly, yes?” He clapped his hands
again. “All right. Mrs. Gill, if you please.” Mrs. Gill began to play at a very
sedate tempo.

Henry bowed to Abigail, who curtseyed in return. They waited
for their cue, then executed the steps for the waltz figure. Abigail was a
great deal shorter than Martin, so that was different, but she seemed serious
about performing her part correctly and Henry appreciated that. When they got
to the actual waltzing portion of the figure, she was easy to lead. She was
also fine for the polka and mazurka figures. If not for the downtimes where she
could tease and poke, he’d have been quite satisfied with her as a partner.

Louis didn’t seem to be getting along with his partner
terribly well. She was pointing at his feet and whispering at him urgently, and
that didn’t seem like it could mean anything good.

“Everything Mr. Gill said about you is true,” Abigail said,
reaching over to squeeze Henry’s hand for emphasis and startling him in the
process. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Mr. Blackwell.”

Henry blushed again. “Thank you, Miss DeWitt. It’s very kind
of you to say.” After a pause, he cleared his throat and added, “You are a fine
dancer, as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.” She gave him a little curtsey
and showed her dimple. She cocked her head and looked at him again, scrutinizing,
and Henry shrank under her sharp eye. “Do you know, Mr. Blackwell, I find it
quite astonishing that someone with your exemplary qualities should be so
bashful and reserved. A man such as yourself might be forgiven a few vanities.”

Henry did not know what to say to this. He was rendered
speechless. He looked helplessly toward the cloakroom door for reassurance, but
saw only the back of Martin’s head, Julian leaning to whisper in his ear.

“Perhaps I’ll make it my project to draw you out of your shell,”
she mused. “Albert has given me every reason to think it quite worth doing.”

Henry shook his head, not wanting her to do this at all.
“Surely Albert has overstated my charms. I’m quite ordinary—less than that,
really. I only like dancing a little, is all.”

Abigail laughed, a peal of bells drawing the attention of
boys in sets all around their own. Louis looked at them with unadulterated envy
and Henry felt bad for not wanting this girl’s attentions when Louis wanted
them so very much. “Your modesty is refreshing, Mr. Blackwell. So many boys are
so boastful!”

The first run-through had gone reasonably well for the group
as a whole, and very well for Henry’s set, despite Louis’ fairly terrible
performance. They were made to go through the piece in its entirety twice more
at regular tempo. Now that Henry wasn’t focusing all of his attention on Martin
and Martin’s enjoyment, he had the opportunity to look around and could see
that this dance really would make a pretty picture; the girls would be shown
off to good advantage and the goals of the dance would be achieved.

After class, the boys introduced themselves to all of the
girls in the set. Albert’s partner was definitely not a Wilton—her name was
Cecile Langford. Stephen’s partner was Lettie Stokes. Some of the boys tried to
linger with the girls in the ballroom but the Gills shooed them out into the
cloakrooms. Henry made his way through the crush to where Martin waited with
his street shoes.

“You looked very elegant, Sir,” Martin said with a smile.
“Is that Miss DeWitt who’s your partner, Sir?”

“Yes,” Henry said ruefully. “It is.”

Martin’s face betrayed no particular emotion. “She’s a good
dancer, isn’t she, Sir?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but knelt down and
removed Henry’s dancing pumps.

Louis didn’t even want to talk to Henry.

“Louis, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Louis snapped. “It’s not your fault,
Henry, I know that.” He did not act as if he knew this, however, sneering at
Henry and narrowing his eyes.

Albert came and stood between them. “So, Henry. Did my
sister invite you to our house yet?”

“Er, well…”

“Not that I mind you coming over, of course. You’re welcome
any time. But don’t let her bully you into it, all right? I know how bossy she
can be. She’s afraid our dad is going to marry her off to some paunchy
30-year-old and she’s determined to have some attention of her own choosing
before that comes to pass.” Albert paused, then added, “I wouldn’t be a girl
for anything. What she’s afraid of is exactly what’s going to happen to her.”