The First Bloom of Winter, page 7
“You missed all the fun last night,” Gardenia chirped. “We had a full complement of visitors while you were being a lazybones.” His eyes twinkled with outward mirth, but he graciously neglected to mention the state Holden had been in when he had left him to sleep off his despondency. “They typically leave immediately after daybreak,” Gardenia continued, returning Holden’s grateful look with a smile. “As eager to avoid notice during their departure as upon their arrival. I came for you this morning once the last of them had gone.”
Holden nodded his thanks, though he supposed even the least perceptive individual would have anticipated his wish not to become acquainted with the duties of his new position before he was absolutely required to. “So, how do you occupy yourselves in the meantime?” He dropped one arm obediently at Amaryllis’s silent urging, permitting the accurate measurement of his sleeve length. “The schedule you mentioned still leaves much of the day unaccounted for. Surely you must have something else to fill your time.” He shifted to regain his balance when his impromptu tailor grabbed his leg to position it correctly for the ribbon.
“Well,” Gardenia said, humming thoughtfully. “We do all have hobbies of a sort, I suppose. Obviously Amaryllis sews. In fact he makes all of our costumes.”
“I also sing,” Amaryllis added unexpectedly from where he knelt in front of Holden. Holden was amazed both at his contribution and that it had been so uncharacteristically civil.
“If you can call it that,” Gardenia scoffed, his derisive façade melting into glee when Amaryllis speared him with a vicious glare. “No, in all honesty, he really does have an amazing voice. Like a nightingale… when he isn’t sounding more like a squawking crow.” He blew Amaryllis a mocking kiss, unconcerned at the rude gesture aimed his way in response. “Hibiscus is a wonderful dancer,” he continued. “You can often find him practicing down here when no one is about.”
Hibiscus smiled when Holden threw him a curious glance. “I also use my spare time to practice my knot work, though that’s really more a part of my occupation than a mere diversion.” He returned Holden’s confused frown with an enigmatic expression, declining to elaborate further.
“Peony is a simply marvelous artist.” Gardenia pointed at the quiet lad who promptly flushed at the fulsome praise.
“I do well enough,” he replied softly.
Gardenia waved away Peony’s attempted modesty. “Ask him to sketch a portrait of you sometime, Freesia, and then you’ll see.”
Holden smiled at Peony with a mixture of interest and empathy, noting the lad’s discomfort at being the center of attention. “Then I certainly shall. And what about you, Gardenia?” He wondered at how mundane he was beginning to find referring to everyone by their floral appellations.
“Me? Well, I help Amaryllis with the sewing. I learned how to ply a needle when I was little.” Gardenia bit his lip thoughtfully. “I try to give Mrs. Peabody a hand in the kitchen when she’ll have me. Unless she’s really busy, she’ll usually show me a trick or two. I really do love food,” he said with an unapologetic grin. “I didn’t always have enough to eat while growing up, so now I think about little else.”
“What about you, Freesia?” Peony asked, sparing Holden the need to cast about for an appropriately innocuous response to the somber glimpse into Gardenia’s past. “What do you enjoy doing?”
Holden thought for a bit while Amaryllis wrapped the ribbon about his neck. Once he was certain he was safe from being throttled, he said, “I do enjoy reading. I used to spend hours in my room with my nose buried in a book. My mother often threatened to send me to bed without dinner if I didn’t put whatever story I was engrossed in at the time away long enough to eat.” The happy memory caused him to grow wistful even as the others laughed at the humorous tale. Still, he managed to summon up a wry smile as he shared in their amusement. “It never made any sense to me either.”
“I know!” Gardenia exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Mr. Leslie has a monstrously extensive library. Would you like to see it? I’m sure you’ll find something to interest you there.”
Even if Holden had wanted to refuse the offer—which he did not—Gardenia didn’t give him the choice. The instant Amaryllis stepped away from him, indicating he’d finished taking the necessary measurements to ensure Holden was properly attired, Gardenia leapt from his seat. He rushed over and grabbed Holden by the hand to once again drag him across the room, nimbly dodging the various chairs and tables in their path. He came to a halt before the screen across from the one concealing the stairs, this one painted with an elaborate depiction of winter.
“I can walk by myself, you know,” Holden scolded teasingly as he marveled at the screen. It bore a detailed rendering of snow falling on an already blanketed mountain, white birds a mere shade apart from the frozen curtain peeking their heads out between the flakes. He had only a moment to appreciate the skill of the unknown artist before Gardenia urged him into the room beyond with a gentle push.
“You’re far too slow,” Gardenia said breezily. “Go on with you!”
Giving in, Holden complied and inhaled when he saw where Gardenia had brought him. This screen hid a large alcove lined from end to end with long shelves, each laden with books of every description. Holden stared longingly at the assemblage, his estimation for his new employer’s love of literacy warring with the utter contempt he otherwise held for the man.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Gardenia smirked with evident satisfaction as he watched Holden study the assortment of titles. “This should keep you engaged when you’re not busy flattering old men.” He poked Holden playfully in the arm, softening his statement.
Though Holden would rather not have the reminder of how he’d be spending his evenings in the near future, he did appreciate Gardenia’s attempts to help him come to terms with the unavoidable reality of his situation. He smiled, showing that he took no untoward offense at the bantering remark. It was amazing how much less horrific everything seemed on a full stomach and in the company of sympathetic fellows.
“Yes, Mr. Leslie has amassed quite the collection. I wonder where he got them all.”
Holden hadn’t pegged the man for a reader, but it appeared there was more to his employer than he had originally surmised. Gardenia shrugged unhelpfully before reaching out to trace a finger down the red spine with gold lettering.
“What type of books do you most enjoy?” Holden asked. He figured Gardenia was likely quite familiar with the library and might be able to give him some suggestions on where to start. Instead Holden could only stare in bemusement at his new friend when Gardenia suddenly flushed a distressing shade of bright red.
“I c-can’t….”
Holden instantly felt a sickening pit of shame grow in his stomach. The reason behind Gardenia’s distress was as obvious as the hints he had been dropping about himself since the previous day. How could Holden have made such an imbecilic mistake? “Oh, Gardenia,” Holden blurted hastily, “I am so very sorry.”
Gardenia lifted a shoulder in dismissal of the unartful apology, his gaze carefully avoiding Holden’s. “It ain’t yer fault I can’t read.”
His slippage into colloquialism betrayed his embarrassment at his illiteracy. As Holden had quickly come to realize, Gardenia resorted to the cadences of his youth either as a way to mask his true feelings or when those same feelings overwhelmed him.
“Did you never attend a Ragged School?” Holden asked, referring to the hodgepodge of informal schools that had been organized into a comprehensive union under Lord Shaftesbury nearly twenty-five years before. At over one hundred and fifty schools strong, Holden had been under the impression the system had ended the scourge of ignorance for even the poorest of London’s young inhabitants. Apparently he’d overestimated their reach.
“I did for a few months when I was about ten or so, but then me ma got sick, and I had to quit. Pegs—she’s me older sister,” Gardenia explained. “Pegs said I had oughta learn a trade so’s I could help out at home. I left and never went back.”
Holden listened to the unfortunate tale with sadness but little surprise. He was well aware that such was the fate of so many children born of the slums. He remembered the gossip he’d heard earlier that year while accompanying his father to one of his favorite pubs about the imminent passage of an act that would generate compulsory institutions of learning funded by the government. If only Gardenia had been a bit younger, he might have been an eager beneficiary.
Seeking to assuage his recent friend’s bruised pride, Holden made what seemed the logical proposal. “Would you like me to teach you?”
Gardenia looked up at him with wide eyes, the hopefulness on his pixie-like face enough to break Holden’s heart. “Would you?” he whispered hesitantly, the cautious longing audible in his hushed tone overwhelming his usual exuberance.
“Of course,” Holden answered with the utmost solemnity. “It would be my honor.” He bit back a laugh when Gardenia instantly returned to form with a display of joy that threatened to split his face in two.
“Crikey! You’re a regular brick, you are!”
“Ha!” Holden found himself matching Gardenia’s broad grin. “Where did you hear that?” He’d heard his father use the old-fashioned slang a time or two, but was certain Gardenia, who was nearer to his own age and decidedly of less fortunate circumstances, would not have had the occasion. Gardenia’s expression took on such an impish aspect that Holden immediately regretted his inquisitiveness.
“Oh, it was something a gentleman told me while I was giving him a proper ride. And not on a horse, mind you.”
Though confused by the analogy, Holden merely shook his head and retreated from further discussion of Gardenia’s sexual exploits by reaching for the closest book to hand. When he looked at the title, he was imminently pleased with his random choice. “You might like this,” he said, holding up the book for his friend’s inspection.
“What is it?” Gardenia asked, squinting at the incomprehensible symbols.
“G. H. Davidson’s collection of the naval songs of Charles Dibdin. Some of them are rather bawdy, which should be right up your alley.” Holden chuckled. “And the short verses will be easier than the dense paragraphs of more literary prose.”
Gardenia gaped at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. Before Holden could elaborate, a sound from behind made them both turn right as Leslie appeared from around the screen. Holden moved back unconsciously, feeling crowded as the man’s large frame seemed to take up all the available space in the nook. He wondered how long Leslie had been observing them without their knowing.
“Come along with me, Aster. We have some business to attend to.”
Holden blinked in confusion. “Aster?”
“Oh, is that his new name?” Gardenia asked excitedly. “When did you decide on it?”
Leslie’s smile was inscrutable. “Just now,” he said succinctly.
“What does it mean?” Gardenia pressed, undeterred by the evasive reply.
Leslie reached past them, took a book off the shelf. He handed it to Gardenia. “Perhaps after you’ve had a few lessons, you’ll be able to tell me,” he said, revealing he had overheard Holden’s offer of instruction.
Holden had barely enough time to see the book title—The Meaning of Flowers—before Leslie placed a preemptory hand on his arm and ushered him out of the library, leaving Gardenia behind to contemplate the new world of paper and ink that would soon be within his reach.
Holden followed Leslie to his office in silence, wondering what information the man could possibly need to impart to him that he had not already. Was Leslie going to tell him he was expected to see his first customer that very night? Holden clearly remembered Leslie stating he would have at least a few days to grow accustomed to the idea, as if any amount of time would ever prove sufficient. Resentment swelled within him as he sullenly watched his employer take a seat behind his ostentatious desk. What else could he expect but that such a low character would break his word at the first opportunity?
“Have a seat, Aster,” Leslie ordered, waving a hand at the chair Holden had occupied the day before.
Holden complied with the imperious request, careful to keep his expression neutral, though he fair seethed with anger. The sound of that accursed name grew ever more wretched as it served only to remind him of his place. He vowed to maintain his composure no matter what, utterly refusing to give the bastard sitting across from him the satisfaction of seeing him collapse into hysterics. Gardenia witnessing him in that state the night before had been bad enough. Holden folded his hands in his lap, ignoring the paleness that tipped his knuckles as he entwined his fingers together tightly. He was so consumed with the image he was projecting, he nearly missed the knock at the blue door leading to the vestibule.
“Yes, Richard, please enter,” Leslie called out.
“Thank you, sir,” a deep voice replied over the sound of the door swinging open.
Startled out of his forced complacency, Holden turned in time to see the man he’d met briefly the day before enter the room. In his shock at discovering his father’s debt would be paid with his flesh, he had barely paid attention to the stranger who’d passed through Leslie’s office so quickly. Only the inelegant appearance of the man’s hands had made any lasting impression. In truth, his hazy recollection of the man’s general appearance did little justice to the reality, though Holden found himself remembering the agreeable baritone timbre of his voice with surprising accuracy.
Holden took advantage of this second encounter to study the newcomer properly and was quite intrigued with what he discovered. This Richard was quite the imposing fellow, cutting an impressive figure irrespective of the plainness of his attire. Broad-shouldered and sturdy of limb, he was clearly no stranger to an honest day’s labor. His nails were still unkempt and his complexion was an unseemly brown, but there was little else that could be said against him.
As if his form weren’t impressive enough, Holden’s breath caught in his throat when he finally met Richard’s gaze properly. He’d distractedly noted before that Richard’s eyes were a particularly fetching blue, but, in truth, they held all the deep fathoms of the sea. Holden thought he’d never seen anything more lovely, like a beautiful gem hidden in a neglected field. Though as he got a good look at his new acquaintance’s face, Holden was forced to abandon the metaphor as grossly wanting. A strong jaw already shadowed by dark stubble and a roman nose marred by the slightest crook hinted at a past roughly lived. His lips, however, were full, with the upper curving into a gentle bow, suggesting a softer nature that was otherwise completely secluded from outward view. A fleeting memory of his erstwhile infatuation passed through Holden’s mind, but when he measured Tommy against Richard, Holden wondered absently what it was he’d ever seen in such a lanky, awkward lad.
Richard glanced away from him suddenly and ran a hand through his dark brown hair, setting it on end. Holden realized then that he’d been rudely staring at the man as though he had not the slightest awareness of good manners. Released from the captivating power of Richard’s gaze, Holden felt an acute pain at his heedless disloyalty to the young Mr. Innisbrooke. Tommy had been his first love, and he missed him terribly. Or, at least, he knew he should. It wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten the precise contours of Tommy’s face, and his failure distressed him. After all, how great could his regard for Tommy have been when the mere sight of a—albeit spectacularly—handsome man so easily overset it? Holden was actually grateful when Leslie began making more formal introductions, providing him with an opportunity to regain his inner composure.
“Though you met Richard yesterday, Aster, there was no time for you to become properly acquainted. You see,” Leslie explained, “I occasionally call on Richard to parlay with the merchants I contract with for various supplies. They can sometimes forget that it is in their best interests to deal with me fairly, but Richard never fails to convince them.”
Holden didn’t doubt it. Richard looked strong enough to pick him up with a single hand and hardened enough to follow through on any threat he might initiate. Holden felt a smidgen of sympathy for the unwary traders who ran afoul of Leslie, no matter how much they might deserve such rough treatment.
“There is, however, a far more valuable service I intended Richard to perform for me when he came into my employ, though until now, I had no need for him in that capacity.”
Richard stood motionlessly next to Holden’s chair, not betraying whether or not he was privy to Leslie’s plan. Holden, for one, had no idea why Leslie had arranged this meeting. This dangerous-looking man couldn’t possibly have anything to do with him, he was certain.
“Richard will serve as your minder, Aster. I imagine one of the boys has already detailed their function to you.”
Blinking at Leslie in confusion, it was a moment before Holden recalled the explanation concerning the personal guardians who were entrusted with the safety of The Garden’s flowers. Then he remembered what else the others had told him regarding their minders and blushed hotly when he realized the attractive man looming over him would be watching as he was overset by complete strangers.
“I…,” Holden began, though he trailed off as he failed to think of what he could possibly say to stave off such an unthinkable occurrence. Wondering if he was alone in his mortification, he peered at Richard and was dismayed to find that the man’s expression remained as grimly stoic as ever.
“I’ll leave you two to get to know each other a little better. After all, you will become quite intimate companions in the very near future.”
Leslie pushed back from the desk and stood, seemingly oblivious of Holden’s sputtering reaction to the double entendre. He paused after taking a single step and looked back toward his underlings. Holden could only imagine how mismatched the pair of them must have appeared. Busily engaged with trying to regain control over his complexion, Holden nearly missed the remark Leslie casually tossed at him.
