A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (44 page)

“Certainly.” Henry watched as Martin helped Cora balance clowns on a seesaw until Nurse returned to his side.

“Do you remember Pinky, Sir?”

Henry had just been thinking about Pinky, of course, but he had never imagined Pinky would still be knocking around the nursery. “Yes, of course I do. I loved Pinky.” Henry held out his hands for the toy. Pinky was smaller than he remembered, perhaps seven or eight inches tall. He remembered Pinky with such affection, so it was somewhat surprising to see how shabby the little mouse was, how he had loved it nearly to pieces. Pinky had been given his name because of his pink felt nose and paws, but these were a wan grey now, faded and worn. His grey pelt was moth-eaten, and the pink silk lining of his ears was shattered. Without thinking what he was doing, Henry brought Pinky to his nose and breathed him in: stale, but smelling of sleep. He smiled to himself, pleased that Pinky still existed.

Martin got up and stretched. Cora was still engrossed in play.

“What do you have there, Sir?”

“Come see. It’s my old toy.” He held the mouse out for Martin to take.

Martin laughed. “Oh, my, Sir. You certainly loved this little fellow, didn’t you?” Martin touched Pinky’s glass eyes and dirty felt nose. “What’s his name?”

“Pinky. He
used
to have pink on him.”

To Henry’s surprise, Martin brought the toy near his face and inhaled. When he saw Henry’s incredulous expression, he explained, “I wanted to see if he smells like you, Sir.”

“Well, does he?”

Martin smiled. “Yes, Sir. Like you, but dusty.” It was a little embarrassing that Martin had said this in front of Nurse, that Nurse would know how well Martin knew Henry’s scent, but it didn’t necessarily mean anything untoward. Any companion would know the smell of his master’s skin, wouldn’t he?

“He’s been on a high shelf for six years, Sir,” Nurse explained. “Perhaps I should have put him in a box to keep the dust off.”

Henry waved off her concern. “I’m just glad you kept him for me.” And he felt surprisingly grateful that he’d had the opportunity to show the little mouse to Martin. “You’ll continue to keep him safe, won’t you?”

“Well, of course, Sir. I certainly wouldn’t get rid of him for anything!”

The three of them stood watching Cora play, Martin idly stroking the mouse’s mangy fur until he realized what he was doing and gave Pinky back to Henry. Henry clutched the toy to his chest, full up with sentimentality and feeling soft-hearted, before handing it back to Nurse.

“Thank you for showing him to me,” Henry told her. He bent and kissed her cheek.

“You know, I missed you so much when you moved downstairs, Sir. More than any other toy, Pinky reminded me of you.” Nurse appeared quite choked-up, and this made tears well in Henry’s eyes, and he was about to be terribly embarrassed in front of Martin, but then a knock came at the nursery door.

“Come in, please,” Nurse called.

Paul entered and made a little bow. “Hello, Sir. Hello, Miss. Martin, Esther. I’ve just come for the cart.”

“Leave the cake,” Nurse said. “Here, I’ll help you.” She went to assist Paul, taking Pinky with her, and left Henry standing next to Martin.

“It must be close to my dinnertime, Sir,” Martin murmured. He took his watch out of his pocket and consulted it. “Do you think we might go downstairs soon?”

“We’ll go now,” Henry told him. “We’ll just say our goodbyes.”

Cora was so involved with her circus that she made no fuss about them leaving. She gave them perfunctory hugs and kisses and returned to her circus, humming busily and tunelessly.

“You’re such a good brother, Sir,” Nurse told him. “She really loves it.”

“Really, Martin picked it,” Henry told her. “I was just going to get her another doll.”

Nurse turned to Martin, smiling, and put a hand on his arm. “You’re a good boy, Martin. You’re so kind to Little Miss.”

“Of course I am,” Martin said. “She’s my master’s beloved little sister.”

“We’re all glad you’ve come to live here, you know,” Nurse told him. “You’ve been so wonderful for both Young Sir and Little Miss.”

Henry was deeply embarrassed by this assertion, though he certainly had no grounds to question its veracity.

“We should go,” he blurted, giving Martin’s arm a tug.

“Oh, of course, Sir,” Martin said agreeably.

Nurse saw them to the door and kissed them each on the cheek.

They made their way downstairs in a friendly silence. Henry took Martin’s hand for a moment, just a brief interlacing of their fingers, and Martin pulled away immediately, as expected, but with an amused chuckle.

Inside Henry’s room, Henry flopped on the bed, leaving his boots hanging over the side so that Martin could remove them for him. “Well, I think that present counts as a success,” he said, feeling enormously pleased.

Martin quickly untied Henry’s boots and pulled them from his feet, and Henry swung his legs up onto the bed.

“I’d have to agree with you, Henry. She seems quite delighted.”

“She’s so much happier than she would have been with another doll. You always know what she’ll like—better than I do, and certainly better than either of my parents.”

“Maybe it’s just because I was around so many children before I came here. I don’t think I have any special talent with your sister.” He took off his own boots and got up on the bed beside Henry. “I liked seeing your mouse, Henry. Your Pinky.”

Henry flushed, bashful but pleased. “I’m glad Nurse saved him. When I was brought downstairs, my father wanted me to leave all my toys up in the nursery. I got different toys once I was down here, of course, but nothing soft. Manly toys. Nothing to keep me company while I was falling asleep. I guess my father thought things like that were for babies.”

“Oh, Henry.” Martin put his hand on Henry’s cheek. “Poor little Henry. Is it better now? Now that you have me to keep you company?”

Henry laughed and put his arm around Martin, drawing him close. “You’re certainly an improvement on Pinky.” He kissed Martin’s cheek, just in front of his ear. “What sorts of toys did you have at Ganymede when you were little?”

“Oh, well, we didn’t have toys of our own, or we weren’t
supposed
to, though we were all prone to making pets out of rocks, and the cleverer boys would make poppets out of grasses and straw. We had toys that we played with, but of course we had to share everything. Board games were always a disaster because we wouldn’t have one more than a day or two before pieces were lost and it would become unplayable. Chess and checkers were likewise disasters. Actually, playing games at Ganymede was a good exercise in coping with frustration and disappointment.”

“I know you had baseball, and bicycles, too. Were those any better?”

“Again, we had to share, of course. When I started riding a bicycle, I was quite short, but by the time I left I was one of the taller boys of any age. I rode a lot of different bicycles over the years, some in better repair than others.”

“What about baseball? Did you have to share gloves?” This seemed less than ideal to Henry. A glove formed itself to the wearer’s hand, after all.

Martin grinned. “Not really. There weren’t that many other left-handed boys, so I usually got to use the glove that I liked best. Everyone else, though—they were fighting over gloves every time we played.”

“Did you have any kind of plush toys?”

Martin thought about it a moment. “Hmm. Not really. There was an oilcloth clown that some of the others liked to play with when we were very small, but not me. It was rather grubby, you see.”

“So you didn’t have any toys you could curl up with under the blankets? Nothing like Pinky?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. But we did have each other. We all shared beds our whole lives, of course, and the boys you shared with were your comfort.”

“Who did you share with, then?”

“Oh, different boys at different times,” Martin said dismissively. “A lot of different boys over the years. I’m very used to sharing a bed, and I prefer it to sleeping alone. I’ve been so happy since you’ve let me share your bed, Henry. I love being close to you.” He leaned on Henry and pushed his face into Henry’s neck. “I love the smell of you. I’m sorry I embarrassed you smelling your Pinky.”

“It’s all right,” Henry assured him, though he blushed all over again thinking about it. “Nurse would expect that you’d know what I smell like anyway.”

“Don’t you think that’s why she’s saved Pinky? Because he smells like you? She didn’t want you to leave, after all. You’re precious to her.”

Henry had not thought of it in just this way, and was both touched and embarrassed by the notion. He had cried himself to sleep many nights after his tenth birthday, alone in his big bedroom and missing Nurse and Pinky both. The idea that Nurse might have been just as bereft without him and clinging to the toy for comfort was strangely satisfying.

Martin pulled his watch out of his pocket and sat up, out of the curve of Henry’s arm. “I should go down, Henry.”

“Kiss me before you go,” Henry said, clutching at Martin’s sleeve.

Martin did so, the touch of his lips very soft. Henry wanted more; he always wanted more.

“I’ll see you soon.” Martin got down from the bed and went to the door, turning to give Henry a little wave as he left.

Henry groaned and flopped back on the pillows. He was aroused from the kiss but uninterested in doing anything about it on his own. He contemplated going back upstairs to play with the toy circus with Cora, but decided he should leave her be. What he really wanted to do was make her play nicely with the toy, but based on the state of all her other playthings, that would be a losing proposition. He would just have to reconcile himself to her destroying it. He wondered if having Martin talk to her about it would make her treat it more gently, and made a mental note to ask him to do so.

Henry made himself do some of his homework, sprawled on the floor before the fire. He got most of it out of the way in short order, but then was left with only Latin, and it was a daunting prospect.

Henry tried his hardest. He worked laboriously over some translations about wicked farmers and good sailors who were apparently engaged in some sort of warfare. Henry found the characterization of farmers as wicked a little baffling, having quite idealized views of those engaged in agricultural pursuits, and also questioned why the farmers and sailors would bother with one another at all. Maybe if the Latin phrases made more sense, he’d understand the language better.

He painstakingly translated
Malī agricolae cum bonīs nautīs pugnant
as
Wicked farmers fight with good sailors
and felt reasonably confident he was right, or close enough. He was willing to settle for close enough.

While he felt a sense of accomplishment at completing the work, it had taken him nearly twenty minutes to translate just one sentence—and he wasn’t even sure it was correct—and there were nine more to go. He was still uncomfortable with the idea of having Martin do his work, but since the last round of grading it seemed much smarter (and certainly easier) than struggling through it on his own. It was what Father wanted—what Father had demanded. And if all of his friends were doing it, why shouldn’t he?

When Martin returned, Henry had set the Latin aside and was simply basking before the fire in his shirtsleeves.

“Oh, you’re doing your homework. Do you need any help?”

Henry swallowed and blushed, but he told Martin the truth. “Yes. I need help.”

Martin sat down cross-legged on the carpet. “With what? I’m happy to help you with anything at all.”

Henry pushed himself up to lean back on his elbows. “I can do everything but the Latin. That’s all I need help with.”

“Let me see it.”

Henry found Dr. Foster’s mimeograph. “Here. It’s all these sentences about wicked farmers. Since when are farmers known for their wickedness?”

Martin snorted. “I don’t know. I think it’s just to teach you vocabulary. They could just as easily be miserly farmers or frivolous farmers.”

“If it made more sense, I’m sure I’d understand it better.”

Martin picked up a pencil and began translating. “I’m sure you’re right, Henry.”

It took Martin no time at all to translate everything. He didn’t even have to look at the book for help. Henry watched, slightly awed and definitely envious.

“Here you are. You just need to copy these in your own handwriting and you’ll be set.”

Henry did as Martin suggested. It still seemed like cheating, but it was the same cheating everyone else did, and Martin obviously didn’t mind Henry claiming the work as his own. When he finished copying the translations, Martin dressed him with brisk efficiency and then followed him downstairs to the dining room.

After dinner, Cora was brought down to the parlor to receive birthday greetings from her parents. She was full of talk of the circus, and of her brother and Martin, and Father frowned and blinked at her excited chatter.

“…and there’s a dancing bear, Father, which is my very
favorite
, and a gentleman acrobat and a
lady
acrobat, too. How do you think a lady gets to be an acrobat, Father? Is there a school? Could I go to acrobat school
and
dancing school?”

“Certainly not,” Father said. “Henry, are you putting ideas in your sister’s head about joining the circus?”

“No, sir. I gave her a toy circus for her birthday, though, and she seems to like it quite well.”

Eagerly, Cora said, “Father? Did you know? Martin picked it out for me—Henry said so.”

Father raised an eyebrow and Henry shrugged. “He did, sir. He’s good with her.”

There was a package for Cora, her present from Mother and Father. Pearl roused Mother so that she could watch Cora open the gift, an astrakhan muff and matching hat. Cora seemed to like this gift perfectly well, and thanked her parents with minimal prompting from Nurse, but it was clear to Henry that she felt much more grateful for the circus, and he couldn’t help feeling pleased. Thoughtfulness made for good gifts—Martin’s thoughtfulness. Next time he might have occasion to give a gift, he would do well to follow Martin’s example and consider the recipient.