Master and Servant (Waterman), Page 3

CHAPTER THREE

  "How did this happen?"

  Carr stared at his study, which had been transformed during the time since he and Jesse had left the second floor of the mansion. The desk and file cabinet were gone; in place of them were a bed, a dresser, and all the small items that a guest might require.

  The furniture, Carr supposed, must have come from the attic, which was overflowing with family heirlooms. But only two of the servants had sufficient muscle to have brought them here: Variel and Bat. And since both men had served at supper . . .

  "Guess someone overheard our conversation in the bedroom, huh?" Jesse, who had expressed desire for a brief nap after the meal, did not seem overly concerned. He was busy examining a shelf above the bed's headboard; the shelf was stacked with old school notebooks. "These look like they might come down on my head in the middle of the night."

  "I'll take them away," said Carr, but found himself hampered from reaching them by the width of the bed.

  "Allow me, master."

  Carr heard the voice – especially the final word – like the jolt of a sting-ray all through his body. He backed up. Variel, as neatly dressed in his uniform as ever, stepped forward and reached up for the notebooks. As he did so, his jacket hiked up, showing his shirt, and the muscles beneath. Although he had been a domestic servant all his life, Variel liked to spend his days off with the House's watermen, helping to move supplies at the dock. As a result, his musculature was that of a waterman, not of a soft servant.

  Variel turned back. "May I help you in any other fashion, master?"

  The valet's voice was cool. Belatedly, Carr realized he was staring. Also belatedly, he realized he was sweating.

  He resisted the urge to wipe the sweat off his face. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "Thank you, Variel. That will be all."

  "Master." Variel bowed toward Carr – but not toward Jesse, Carr couldn't help but notice – and left the study, closing the door behind him.

  "Before supper or after?" Jesse evidently had the mind of a strategist; he was still trying to tease out the chronology.

  "Before supper. Bat's uniform looked somewhat mussed during supper. Variel would have had to help him, though." Carr slipped the notebooks into one of the dresser drawers. They contained his painfully neat handwriting and equally painfully exact notetaking.

  "So Variel took it upon himself to decide that I was staying, even before you or your father announced that I was? Interesting."

  Carr was thinking that as well. He was also noticing that Variel had not approved of Jesse's proposal that he sleep in the same bedroom as Carr. That might only have been because Variel considered it unsuitable that M Carruthers share his bedroom with a lower-ranked master. But given that Variel must have overheard Jesse offering his body . . . Carr's face grew hot.

  "Interesting fellow, Variel." Jesse's voice was just a little too casual. "Egalitarian, like your parents?"

  Carr shook his head as he turned away from the dresser. "He used to serve my uncle, back in the days when my uncle ran this House. My uncle holds to traditional beliefs on mastery and service, and I think Variel does too. But he follows my father's order that he address masters and mastresses in this House as equals."

  "Except when he's in private with you, huh?" Jesse was far too quick. "Interesting fellow . . . and perceptive."

  Carr did not want to think about what this meant. "Shall I show you the chapel?"

  "Later. It's nap-time for me. Wake me when it's time to say goodnight to your folks, will you?" Jesse began to strip off his tunic.

  Carr hastily retreated, closing the door behind him. So Jesse's "brief nap" was going to take all evening? For the first time, Carr wondered whether Jesse regarded Cliffsdale Mansion as nothing more than a free hotel in which to stay, and Carr as nothing more than a chatty hotel-keeper.

  o—o—o

  Late that evening, standing at the doorway to the summer kitchen, Carr wondered, as always, whether he ought to be there.

  The kitchen was housed in a small, square building beyond the Death Wing which was traditionally called – much to the dismay of Carr's parents – the dependency. The dependency was made of brick and stood two floors in height. The second floor was devoted to food storage, though in Carr's grandfather's time the kitchen servants had slept there, ready to offer service at any time of night or day that their master required it. Now the servants slept in greater comfort in the mansion, but they were always to be found in the kitchen at this time of day, relaxing in the hours after the master and mastress had retired to bed. They were all there now.

  The dependency was divided in two by a massive fireplace that, even in this day, was occasionally used for warming oyster stew in an ancient black pot. Bat and Sally were sitting on the rough bench in front of the fireplace on the kitchen side of the building; perhaps mindful of their elders' presence, they sat slightly apart from each other. In the crowded confines of the kitchen, it was not far from them to Cook (she had a name, but she was always called Cook), who was supervising Millie – the loquacious, cheeky scullery girl – as she cleaned ashes from the cold stove. Nearby, Irene leaned on the cutting table, looking exhausted. Carr's mother, declaring she had little need for her lady's maid, had set Irene to do "light duties," which turned out to consist of a daily cleaning of every room in the mansion. It had taken Carr quite a while to persuade his mother to hire Sally to assist Irene. Both his mother and his father were firmly convinced that the mansion should have fewer servants, not more.

  Bat too was supposed to serve as an assistant, helping Variel, though as far as Carr could tell, Variel required help from no one, being supremely efficient at his work. Variel was standing near the back window, slightly aloof from the servants he supervised, but with his jacket off, a silent indicator that he would not be issuing reprimands unless forced to by blatant ill behavior. Millie rose to her feet and tossed a remark at him, and a suggestion of a smile appeared on his face—

  —but at that moment Millie noticed an intrusion. Her ever-rolling chatter died. So did Variel's smile. Alerted by this, everyone turned to look at their master's son.

  There was a space of silence, as always. Carr had never quite been able to determine the meaning of that silence. He broke it by clearing his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, "but do you think it would be possible for me to have a cup of tea?"

  At his words, the entire room swung into action, as though the servants were marionettes whose weak limbs had been strengthened by the touch of the puppeteer's hand. Millie quickly went down on her knees to scoop coal into the stove. Cook took hold of the tea kettle. Irene opened the ice box where the milk was kept. Sally hurried over, curtsied, and said, "Will you come this way, please, sir, I mean comrade?"

  He followed her to the back room, where a tablecloth was always kept laid on the rough-planed table there. She seated him, then retreated to the kitchen. Her presence was quickly replaced by Bat, who brought in firewood and kindling, and Variel, who held the matchbox.

  Under Variel's whispered orders, Bat got the fire going. The two men left the hearth ablaze, withdrawing to the kitchen. Before long, Sally appeared again, awkwardly balancing a tray holding a steeped cup of tea, a sugar bowl, a milk pitcher, and a plate with exactly two sugar cookies. She did not need to ask how many cookies he wanted; that had become clear to the servants many years ago, when he first began this ritual.

  Nonetheless, she maintained the polite fiction that this was all new, and that Carr's arrival was nothing more than the spontaneous whim of a young master who was sleepless. "Sugar or milk, sir, I mean comrade?" she asked as she put down the items in front of him.

  "No, thank you," he replied. Then he added, as he always did, "Thank you for your service, Sally."

  "It's a pleasure, sir." Dimpling, Sally curtsied and retreated, forgetting, for the moment, that she was supposed to be his equal.

  He sipped the tea slowly, his eye on the fire, leaving the cookies for last as a reward – thoug
h a reward for what, he could not say.

  In the next room, the voices continued, lower now, but the words could be distinguished over the clatter of dishes that Millie was beginning to wash. The servants were discussing the prospects for the upcoming summer's crab harvest – a safe enough topic, since the crab harvest, unlike the oyster harvest, was gathered close to home.

  The voices were all as familiar to Carr as a lullaby. Other than Bat and Sally, all of the servants had lived in the mansion for his entire life; even Millie was a season older than him. There had been four times as many servants at Cliffsdale Mansion in his grandfather's day, as well as during his uncle's time. But when his uncle departed the mansion, as men in his family always did when they reached their inheritance, he had taken with him most of the servants. Carr's parents had never replaced the missing servants.

  The fire, warm and hungry, ate at the chill air. The tea heated Carr's throat and stomach. The voices continued in the next room, hushed so as not to disturb the young master. He reached for the sugar cookies, feeling the pleasure of the moment, and feeling the sickness that always accompanied his uncertainty as to the nature of the pleasure.

  o—o—o

  In one of the clearest harbingers of the arrival of Spring Transformation, Carr's mother ordered next morning's breakfast to be served on the terrace.

  The air was crisp as Carr waited for Bat to pull out a chair for him; on the other side of the table, Variel and Irene were performing the same service for Carr's father and mother. Grinning as though he were watching a contorted barbarian ritual, Jesse slipped into his seat before Variel could reach the other side of the table to pull out his chair.

  Carr's father was too absorbed with the morning paper to notice. It was a regular ritual in their household: while lunch and supper were reserved for conversation, reading matter held reign at the breakfast table. Carr's mother was already flipping through a copy of The Emancipation of the Dozen Landsteads' Mastresses – the twelfth or so time she had reread the first book that Carr's father had written, which had created such a stir at its time of publication, seven tri-years before.

  Bat dropped a spoon he had been about to place at Carr's setting; wincing, he reached down to pick it up from the mosaic that decorated the terrace pavement. The spoon had landed somewhere in the First Landstead. Brushing off the spoon hastily, he placed it on the table, glancing warily at Carr. Carr pretended not to notice, picking up a copy of a schoolbook he was studying for his final examinations in the autumn. He had brought to the table a second book for Jesse – a scientifiction novel from his personal collection – but his guest, yawning in an ostentatious manner, picked up the front section of the newspaper, which Carr's father had abandoned in favor of the business section.

  "Oyster harvests are down again this year in the Fifth Landstead," Carr's father mentioned without looking up from his newspaper and his toast covered with watermelon rind preserves.

  "Really, dear?" Carr's mother promptly raised her eyes from her book. She was very proud of the fact that her husband discussed business with her, which few upper landstead men would have done. Alas, she had no head for business. "Do oysters no longer sell well, then?"

  Irene smothered a laugh, which Carr's father fortunately did not hear. "Oysters continue to sell exceedingly well," he replied to Carr's mother, with the usual patience he showed toward her. "The problem is that the oysters at the southern end of the Bay have been dying off for the past few seasons. That's due to run-off from the chemical factories in the First Landstead, I've no doubt." He speared a piece of rockfish on his plate. "I really must drop a line to Cousin Joseph before the problem reaches up-Bay. —Variel, we seem to be out of preserves."

  "Oh, I'll get the preserves!" cried his mother promptly, rising so quickly that she jarred the arm of Bat, who had been about to serve her. Hot tea spilled on his hand, but the young footman bit his tongue and remained silent. Variel quickly came over to take the tea cup from him.

  Carr's mother, meanwhile, had reached the wheeled serving table on the terrace and had succeeded in spilling the salt shaker and dropping preserves into the sugar bowl. Irene hovered nearby, dismay clear on her face at the mess she would have to clean up.

  "Here we are!" His mother gaily returned to the table, showing off the silver bowl of preserves. Bat hastened to give her wide berth as she swung her arm upward triumphantly. "You see? No need to send the servants to do so small a job."

  "You are quite right, sweet one. You are a constant model for me." Carr's father looked up from the newspaper, smiling.

  Carr glanced over at Jesse, who seemed unusually quiet this morning. The young foreigner, Carr saw, was reading a sixth-page story headlined, "Abolitionist Incursion into the Second Landstead." Carr tried to lean over further to see the rest of the article, but at that moment, Jesse carefully folded the newspaper so that the sixth page was now on the top. He placed the newspaper equally carefully in front of Carr's father.

  Carr's father, pausing to scoop some late-season oysters into his mouth, absentmindedly fished for the front section of the newspaper and took it in hand. Carr held his breath. Jesse pretended to be reading the comics in the children's section of the newspaper.

  "Sweet blood!" exclaimed Carr's father, dropping his fork. It landed on the mosaic rendering of the Second Landstead.

  "Is there news from the Third Landstead?" asked Carr's mother sympathetically. Bad news these days always came from the Third Landstead.

  "Listen to this," said Carr's father, not looking up from the article. "'Last night, shortly before this newspaper went to press, posters were found plastered upon the exterior of the Bureau of Employment, proclaiming Abolitionist sentiments. The posters encouraged servants to leave their masters and fight for their rights—' The fools!"

  "The Abolitionists?" Carr's mother guessed.

  "The newspaper, for printing such provocative material. And why haven't I been informed of this incident? I must call the office." Pulling his napkin from his lap and dropping it onto his half-cleared plate, Carr's father hurried from the room.

  Jesse said, "He should be pleased at this news, right? You both want the servants to be emancipated."

  Carr exchanged looks with his mother. After a minute, Carr's father returned, saying, "I can't get through on the phone. The Bureau must be jammed with calls. That our landstead, of all landsteads, should be inflicted with this horror!"

  "Horror? Abolitionists?" Jesse stifled another yawn.

  "My husband has a plan," Carr's mother explained. "A very clever plan for the emancipation of this landstead's servants."

  "But having radicals stir up trouble in this landstead will wreck my plan." Carr's father was now pacing back and forth by the terrace doors, running his hand through his well-oiled hair. "We were within a breath of expanding servants' rights a tri-decade ago. But then Abolitionists attacked the House of Government and tried to kill the High Master. Since then, it's been next to impossible to persuade the High Master and his councillors to take action. I had hoped, after we put down the last Abolitionists . . . It must be the Third Landstead." He hissed the final words of his pronouncement.

  "Do you really think so?" Carr's mother responded with interest. She was not very knowledgeable in politics either.

  "The High Master of the Third Landstead is a Reformed Traditionalist," Carr pointed out. "He'd hardly countenance Abolitionists in his landstead."

  "So instead he'd send them here, to make trouble." Carr's father paused to look over the terrace railing. The morning air was clear; the thin, dark line on the other side of the Bay could be easily seen. "It's just the sort of conniving act I would expect from Aloysius Rudd."

  "Dear, we mustn't leap to conclusions," his mother gently chided. "It could be that these Abolitionists are native-grown. Some of the servants are overly impatient for emancipation, poor things."

  "True, true." Carr's father pushed himself away from the terrace railing; his momentary burst of indignation was follow
ed, as it so often was, by dreary melancholy. "You are right to remind me of that. How long must these miserable folk wait? —Irene, more tea for your mastress."

  Bat, who was the actual servant in charge of pouring tea, stepped forward, keeping a wary eye on Carr's mother, who was prone to sudden movements.

  "Yeah, so how long do they have to wait?" Jesse paused in the midst of another yawn. "How long does this emancipation plan of yours take?"

  "Exactly as long as necessary." Carr's father returned to the table. Variel was on hand to pull back his chair.

  Jesse shrugged. "Maybe there are some shortcuts you could take."

  "It is that kind of thinking which leads to this trouble." Carr's father waved his hand at the newspaper. "Listen again. 'A stop-the-press report arrived at this newspaper late this evening that Master Lovett of Avondale has found a note from his valet on his night-stand tonight, in which his valet stated he was leaving his position "in order to go to a place where servants are truly free." Master Lovett said that he has alerted the border guards and has placed a reward on his valet's return.'"

  "I thought slavery was abolished here," Jesse commented.

  Carr took the trouble to hook that difficult fish, since his father was staring blankly at Jesse. "Servants may serve any master they wish, but they must go through a formal procedure when changing employers. Their former master must sign their certificate of employment, and give references if he wishes. If the references are sufficient, the Bureau of Employment will find a new position for the servant."

  "And if the references aren't sufficient, the Bureau won't?" Jesse leaned back in his chair. "Nice set-up you guys have here. The only way a servant can find a new master is if his master likes him enough to give him a reference, but doesn't like him enough to give him a bad reference, in order to keep him from being employed elsewhere."

  "The Bureau will intervene in cases where the servant clearly was misjudged by his previous master," Carr's father said, frowning. "But in a case like this, where the servant has evidently been consorting with criminal elements— Variel, the telephone."

  Variel had already begun to hurry back into the house, responding to the ring. Grinning, Jesse said, "Criminal elements move fast. Wouldn't you say so, M Carruthers?"

  Carr remained silent. Variel returned, saying, "It's the High Master, Comrade Carruthers. He wishes to speak with you concerning last night's incident."

  "Tell him I'm on my way to the House of Government now." Rising, Carr's father leaned over to kiss his wife's cheek. "Don't get up, sweet one. Have yourself a leisurely breakfast while I deal with this. I'm sure it's all a minor tempest and will be over soon."

  "Just like the northwest blow," said Jesse cheekily. Carr shot him a glance, wondering with whom his guest had been discussing Landstead weather. Seeing Carr look his way, Jesse yawned again in a blatant manner.

  This time, even Carr's mother couldn't miss the act. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

  "Barely slept at all," Jesse replied promptly. "I was up all night, touring Solomons Island and Avondale."

  "Oh, dear." Carr's mother tossed her napkin to the ground, where it was discreetly retrieved by Variel. "You mustn't wear yourself out on your holiday. I believe I know of an herbal tea that will help you to sleep this evening. Irene! Irene, please help me find that recipe for camomile tea which my grandmother invented. I'll make the tea myself . . ." She hurried off, accompanied by Irene, who was stumbling to keep pace with her.

  That left Carr and Jesse alone at the table. Variel and Bat had retreated to the serving table. Jesse raised his eyebrows, waiting.

  Carr said, "It's a pleasant day. Would you like to go sailing?"

  Jesse laughed, as though Carr had made a joke. "Yeah, I suppose so. Before I take a short nap this afternoon. I'm going to be up late tonight again."

  "Where would you like to sail?" Carr asked, refusing to be lured.

  Jesse dropped his meat knife deliberately on the mosaic. "There."

  Carr leaned over to look. The knife had landed on the western border of the Ninth Landstead.