A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (58 page)

“Please do, darling,” Mother said.

Father said, “Go on, then,” as if he wanted to get this over
with as soon as possible.

Henry smiled encouragingly and gave him a nod.

He started with a dance tune, probably not a difficult piece
for a musician as skilled as he was, but played with impressive color and
verve. Mother and Pearl were both plainly delighted, and Henry was not
surprised by their reaction. Father, however, blinked, shook his head in consternation,
and put down the letters he was reading. He slowly lifted his gaze and gave his
attention to Martin’s playing, plainly surprised that he felt compelled to do
so. At the end of the piece, the ladies applauded enthusiastically, Henry and
Timothy with vigor; Father joined in a little late with a very deliberate,
ponderous clapping, looking quite bemused.

“You’re a pleasant surprise, I must say,” Father told him.
“I suppose the lessons are worthwhile after all.”

Martin smiled. “I appreciate them very much, Sir, I really
do.” He raised his bow. “I’ve prepared a few lively pieces, Sirs, Ma’am, and
one that’s more serious, if that’s all right.”

“Oh, darling, whatever you want to play will be lovely, I’m
sure.” Mother leaned against Pearl, but not in the way she used to, as if she
were half-dead and powerless. Now she leaned against Pearl and clutched her arm
in giddy excitement, full of affection. She was girlish and spirited and eager
to hear the music, and it gladdened Henry’s heart to know Martin was appreciated.

Father tapped his toe for the length of the second tune.
Before the third, Mother bemoaned the lack of room to dance and threatened to
make Henry partner her, though Father and Timothy and Pearl convinced her it
would be too disruptive to move all the furniture to make way. During the
fourth, shuffling footsteps were audible from the hall, and at the end of the
piece Father sent Timothy to tell the slaves who’d gathered there that they
could come inside to listen. Martin played seven tunes in total before the
serious piece, and Henry watched with a full heart, enraptured and full of
pride. He wouldn’t have dared to hope his parents would have such a happy,
appropriate response to the music.

Although it was no foot-tapper, the serious piece was lively
and lilting and showed off Martin’s ability to play both quickly and precisely,
and to produce music with character. In Henry’s opinion, it was lovely, but it
could not compare to the
chaconne
; however, perhaps it wasn’t fair to
make the comparison. Martin bowed while all assembled applauded and showered
him with accolades, masters and slaves alike.

Mother got up from the settee and Pearl hurried to arrange a
shawl around her shoulders. She went to Martin and put a hand on his arm.

“Darling,” she said, “That was just lovely. Would you play
for me every week? Is that reasonable to ask?”

Martin was flushed again, clearly pleased. “It’s quite
reasonable, Ma’am. I’d be happy to do it, if my master is in agreement.”

Mother turned to Henry. “Surely you’ll indulge your old
mother, darling.”

Henry laughed. “Yes, I’d be fine with that.”

“Your playing was simply captivating, darling. I’m quite
overcome!”

“Thank you for the compliment, Ma’am. I’m happy I could
entertain you.”

“Goodness, I’m so excited I’m practically dizzy!” Mother
said, swaying on her feet.

“You should sit, Ma’am,” Pearl suggested.

“Let me help you, Ma’am.” Martin held violin and bow in his
left hand, and took Mother’s arm with the right, easing her down onto the
settee. She was tremulous and out of breath, and Henry was concerned. Mother’s
mood was so improved in recent months that it was easy to forget her physical
health was not what it should be.

As Martin put his violin in its case, he gave Henry a shy
smile that caused Henry to draw a sharp, hopeful breath. Martin clicked the
latches and put the case on the floor behind Henry’s chair before assuming his
place.

“Should I read, Ma’am?” Pearl held up
Lord Pelham’s
Companion
.

“Ah,” Father said, seeming pleased. “Pelham!”

“Yes, you’d better, darling,” Mother told her. “Mr.
Blackwell will be cross if you don’t.”

Father harrumphed at this, but did not deny it, and Pearl
opened the book and began to read.

Henry did not care one whit for Pelham and didn’t even try
to pay attention. He still did not know what he would do when given leave to go
to his room, but knew he would do
something
. He was very nearly aquiver
with emotion and longing. He thought he could smell vetiver and once again
fought against the urge to turn in his chair, to peer past the wing and reach
out his hand in hopes Martin would welcome his touch.

“Henry! Stop fidgeting!”

Henry cowered under Father’s admonition and immediately
sought to obey, arranging himself in a sedate pose and flushing crimson.

The chapter seemed especially long,
unnecessarily
long. Stupid Pelham was being hustled by a shyster, and of course his sensible
slave had to intervene to keep him from signing away his fortune. Everyone else
found it amusing—even Martin snickered from time to time—but Henry could not
shake the suspicion that the book had been chosen to mock him, and stubbornly
refused to laugh at even the most humorous passages.

After the reading, Mother seemed especially worn out by all
the excitement—though in good spirits—and limped weakly from the room on Pearl’s
arm. Father stood and stretched and gave a satisfied grunt. He looked at Henry,
then Martin. “You’re a talented lad,” Father said, obviously addressing Martin.
“It’ll be a pleasure to have you play for us again.”

“I’m very pleased to do it, Sir,” Martin assured him. “If
there are any pieces you’d particularly like to hear, Sir, I’d be glad to learn
them.”

“Do you know the rest of the Caprices?” Father asked. Henry
did not know what he was talking about.

“I know most of them, Sir. Someday I hope to be able to play
them all.”

“Play us a different one next week, then.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be glad to.” He bounced a little on his toes
as he said it, his excitement obvious and, in Henry’s estimation, charming.

“Come along, old man,” Father said to Timothy with resounding
fondness. To Henry he said, “Goodnight, son,” and strode from the room.

Martin bent and picked up his violin case and then smiled at
Henry. “Are you ready, Sir?”

Henry blushed and ducked his head, hiding a shy, foolish
smile. “Yes, let’s go.”

Martin had been walking behind Henry for over a month now,
but tonight he walked down the hall at Henry’s side, and although their
shoulders did not touch, they were close.

In a low voice, Henry asked, “What are Caprices? What’s
Father talking about?”

“They’re a set of
études
, Sir, which are pieces that
help musicians improve particular skills.”

They reached Henry’s door and Martin put his hand on the
knob.

“How does my father know about them?” Henry was genuinely
baffled.

Martin opened the door and stood so that Henry could pass.
“Well, your father does go to a great many concerts, Sir. I imagine he’s
familiar with a wide variety of classical pieces.”

Despite father’s opera-going and theater attendance, Henry
never thought of his rough-hewn father as particularly cultured. Perhaps Mrs.
Murdock’s influence made him take an interest in such things.

Inside his room, Henry became shy and reticent, hanging back
near the door while Martin went into his room to put away his violin.

“Sir? Shall I put you in your pajamas now?”

“Oh, sure.” Henry went to stand before the wardrobe and let
himself be undressed.

“Did you enjoy that, Sir?”

“Your playing, you mean? Yes, I loved it.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Sir. I know I was playing for your
mother, but I only wanted to please you.”

Henry burned a furious crimson upon hearing this statement
and stuttered out, “W-well, you did. Please me, I mean.”

“That’s good news, Sir, it truly is.” Martin gave Henry an
absolutely enchanting smile that made him go weak in the knees, and then crossed
to the bed and turned back the bedding, making it ready. “I’ll just put on my
pajamas and take our laundry downstairs, Sir.”

Henry brushed his teeth while Martin changed. Martin
appeared in the mirror, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in just a minute,
Sir.” Henry had a mouthful of toothpaste and could only nod in acknowledgement.

Henry rinsed and spit and padded out to his bed and sat
slumped on the edge. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he had to do
something. He sighed and got into the bed and lay staring at the ceiling. He
needed to prepare himself, to be ready when Martin returned.

He wasn’t ready.

Martin came in smiling. “I’ll just brush my teeth, Sir, if
that’s all right.”

“Uh, sure. Of course.”

If Henry didn’t think of something, Martin would go into his
own room and get into bed and shut out the light, and that would be the end of
it, and he’d be no better prepared tomorrow, and they would never reconcile.

Martin spit and ran the taps and then peed and flushed. He
came out and stood near Henry’s bedside, his hands behind his back and his head
cocked. “Well, goodnight, Sir. Thank you so much for today.”

“You’re welcome,” Henry said.

Martin smiled at him, warm and fond, and turned away.

“Wait!” Henry blurted. “Martin, wait.”

“Sir?”

Heart pounding, Henry flipped back the bedding, making an
invitation. “Get in. So we can talk a little.”

Martin beamed at him, his expression open and hopeful, his
smile broad. He climbed up onto the bed, sliding between the sheets. He lay on
his side and tucked his hands beneath the pillow. His color was high, fairly
glowing. “What do you want to talk about, Sir?”

“I don’t really know how to begin,” Henry admitted. His face
tingled with heat and he clamped his hands together to keep them from shaking.
“I want to talk about the time since we…since we were brought back home, of
course. It’s been so difficult, and I’ve made things hard on you, I know.”

“Oh, Sir, I—”

“No, let me finish,” Henry insisted. “I was so hurt, Martin,
and I blamed you, but the way I’ve treated you has been so unfair, and I’m
sorry. I’m
really
sorry, Martin. I’ve been mad because you never
apologized for hurting me, but I realize now that you
couldn’t
have,
because I wouldn’t
let
you—because you
were
trying, weren’t you?”

“Well, yes, Sir, but—”

“Just let me get it all out, Martin,
please
. This
whole time, as mad as I’ve been, all I wanted was for there to be a way for us
to be together again, and I thought it had to be an apology from you, but that
isn’t right at all; it has to be an apology from
me
.”

“Sir—”

“I know I don’t need to apologize to a slave, Martin, but I
hope it means something to you that I want to do it. I really do. I’m sorry I
took you away from your home. I’m sorry I faulted you for doing your best by
me. I’m sorry I was cruel and punished you for my mistakes. I’m sorry for
everything that’s happened since the ball. I want your forgiveness, Martin.
Please, will you forgive me?”

Henry shut his mouth and held his breath, hopeful and
terrified. If Martin said no, he didn’t know what he would do.

Martin was very still, very pale, but with bright spots of
color on his cheeks. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again and
bit his lip.

“Oh, Sir, you have no idea how much an apology means to me!”
He looked very moved by Henry’s speech, blushing and bashful, and this made
Henry more emotional still.

“I was horrible to you!” Henry blurted, overcome with a wave
of self-loathing.

“You were,” Martin agreed, and Henry was glad that he did
not pretend otherwise. “The way you treated me, Sir…it was so hurtful I thought
I might die.”

Oh god. Henry had a sudden terrible vision of Martin made
miserable, dead by his own hand. If anything had happened to Martin, it would
have killed him, too.

Looking at Martin’s solemn expression, Henry felt the full
weight of his own selfish cruelty. “I’m so sorry, Martin.” He said the words
with absolute conviction; if he knew nothing else, he knew he’d been in the
wrong.

Martin gave him a crooked smile. “I know I can get past it,
though, Sir, because you’ve said you’re sorry so sincerely.” He shifted
position, fractionally closer and more intimate. “Would you like to hear my
apology now, Sir?” he asked, his voice low and halting. “I’ve been waiting to
give it to you all this time.”

Despite having wanted it for so long, Henry now felt that an
apology from Martin was entirely unnecessary, but he could also sense that
Martin needed to give it. He also suspected that he’d have no answer to his
question until he’d afforded Martin this opportunity.

“Go ahead,” he urged. “Say whatever you need to say and I’ll
hear you.”

“I want you to be happy, Sir, but I need you to be safe
above all. You’re my responsibility, Sir, and I’m meant to take care of you.
Running away was a beautiful, impetuous,
romantic
idea, but it wasn’t a
good
one. I did what I thought was right to protect you, and I’m not sorry for that,
but I
am
sorry that I had to betray your trust. No one is more precious
to me than you, and I did what I had to do to keep you safe, but in doing so
I’m afraid I ensured that you’ll never love me again, and selfishly I’m
sorriest of all for
that
.”

“No,” Henry hurried to say. “No, that’s not the case at all.
I still belong to you, and I always will.”

Martin’s smile was full of hesitant joy. “I belong to you,
too, Sir, and not just because you’re my master.”