A Pretty Mouth (21 page)

“I propose you sit beside me,” he said. “And I propose that after you sit, we talk.”

Henry tried not to make himself ridiculous as he awkwardly lowered himself beside the Lord Calipash, and almost managed it. He only grunted a little.

“Last night,” said St John, “was unfortunate.”

Henry said nothing. The image of two red-headed twins eagerly fornicating floated across his mind like a cloud across the moon, as did the memory of the feeling of dung coating his face.

“There are rules, Mr. Milliner, to our little symposia, you know. You would not have been tossed out in such a way had you learned them before attending.”

“And how might I have achieved that?”

“Your little friend, did he tell you nothing? I was surprised to see him. I believe his first time among our company gave him indigestion.”

“He told me it was anonymous, but I didn’t think—”

“Well, next time you’ll know.”

Henry twitched. “Next …”

“Did last night give you indigestion, too? How surprising; I thought you made of sterner stuff than little Johnny Wilmot, the half-pint Earl. He is
such
a dildo!”

Henry laughed, delighted. “No, no! I was quite intrigued—and curious to know more.” He took care not to blurt out this last like a yeoman’s son proposing to a dairymaid. “I simply had no reason to suspect that—”

“We desire you to become a part of our entourage,” said St John, and Henry hoped against hope he was speaking in the nobleman’s third, rather than on behalf of the Blithe Company as a whole. “We desire it most ardently. But you must tell us a little more about yourself, Mr. Milliner. What are your plans? For your life?”

Henry decided to be honest. “Nothing particularly noble, my lord,” he said with a shrug. “I wish only to earn enough to be comfortable eating and drinking my fill every day, and to marry a woman who will keep my house tolerably well. My father achieved this via lawyering, and as he had his heart set on me following his trade, I decided to do what he wished, believing it could help me achieve my goals. I have tried to please him in the following, but I fear I have not done so well at that. I am not … academically gifted.”

“What are you gifted at?”

“Taste, my lord.”

St John seemed surprised at this. “Taste?”

“Yes my lord. I have always had an ability to identify which is the finest blossom of the bouquet—even if, being only the son of a lawyer, I have never had the pleasure of plucking the bloom.”

St John laughed again. “You have a gift for language, Mr. Milliner, which after hearing your poem, I confess I had no expectation of. What a delightful surprise, that your conversation should be so entertaining.”

Ouch. “Thank you, my lord.”

St John said no more. They sat in silence as twilight yielded to dusk, bird-song to bat-squeak, and Henry felt a chimera himself, all made up of strange parts. That St John had complimented his person gave him joy, while he was wounded at the blackguarding of his poetry. He was pleased to hear he should be invited to future meetings of the Blithe Company while feeling their notion of entertainment was a little stranger than he had anticipated. And he was thrilled that St John was “taking an interest” in his life, though confused as to why, exactly.

“Would you be open to a proposition?”

Startled, Henry nodded. “Yes!”

“Before even knowing what it is?”

“Oh. I, well—if you think it’s a good idea …”

“Think
what
is a good idea?”

Henry adored and despised the look on St John’s sweet face, the joy one sees in the eyes of a cat who has a bird pinned and beating against her paw.

“I shouldn’t tease you, Mr. Milliner. I simply delight in making you uncomfortable. Would you deny me my delights?”

“Never, my lord.”

“Well, then, what I propose is that you rent the cockloft above our private room. It is not much done, for chumming is the preference of the Dean for those of your class—social and academic—but today I spoke to him, and to your advisor, Mr. Berry. I think Mr. Berry was uneasy about me influencing you, but when I pressed him, he confessed he did not know of another who could help you with your Greek
and
with your goal of adding natural philosophy to your accomplishments.” St John laughed. “There was some worry about the increase in your rent, but I proposed that if I began to tutor you, they would reduce
my
rent by the same sum, so we’ll call it a wash. What do you say?”

Henry threw up his hands. “What can I say? You have defeated me, having anticipated all possible objections. I will, with great thanks to your noble person, accept your generosity—though I am bemused why you should want to offer it to me. I know what I am, and I know what you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my lord, that I will not be an ornament to your chambers—you cannot want me for that—and I fear with such a hopeless student as myself, despite your skill, you will never earn your laurels as a teacher. As for anything else, well, I have little money to pay out for freaks, much less regular ones.”

“Henry,” said St John, and Henry’s heart thrilled—he didn’t know St John even knew his name. To hear him use it! “Dear, dear Henry. Why—you’re shivering! Is it the chill of the early spring evening, or something else? You cannot be ill … well, we must get you inside and warm you up, just the same. And then, tomorrow, you shall move in to my cockloft. Is that not a wondrous thing?” St John leaned back away from Henry and looked at him appraisingly. “I think you judge yourself too harshly. I think you
will
be an ornament to our chambers. I tire of these lean, long Wadham boys with their pinched faces and angular lines. I cannot believe you are not sixteen, you have such a …
mature
look to you. Your flesh gives you an advantage, Henry, you already look the successful lawyer—I dare say, once we train you up a bit, you will be impressing everyone, ladies and gentlemen alike.”

“Do you really think so?” Something occurred to him. “Train me?”

St John smiled, and pressed his finger to Henry’s lips. “Close your pretty mouth, my handsome protégé. If you are patient, all will be made clear to you. I
will
get your grades up so that you can join the Natural Philosophy class in the fall, and I
will
teach you how to act so that others do you the honor you deserve. I promise.”

Chapter Six: This Will the Substance; He the Shadow Be

Maximilian and young master Bruce were surprised when, the next day during their after-dinner study hour, Henry did not settle down with his books, but instead began to pack up his belongings; they both looked as if they’d unexpectedly bitten into lemons when Henry said, so casually even
he
was impressed, that the Lord Calipash had invited him to rent the garret above his private room, and he had taken him up on the offer.

“
You?
” Bruce wrinkled his nose. “But you’re absurd—not to mention that you lumber about like a drugged bear. He should have asked you to walk around up there before offering it to you. You’ll shake his inkwells off his desk!”

“Oh, well, you know how it is Brucie, when you distinguish yourself in some way, people will take an interest,” Henry said loftily. “I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who will recognize whatever good qualities I’m sure you must possess.”

“How very charitable of you,” said Bruce, and turned back to his notes with a sulky expression.

Henry tossed the last of his possessions into the center of his bed-linens and tied the ends, making a lumpy parcel, then tightened the leather strap around his books. “Well,” he grunted as he slung each over a shoulder, “I’m off. I’ll see you in class! Oh, don’t look so wet about it, lads. Try to be happy for me?”

“I hope they don’t raise our rent now that there’s only two of us in here,” said Maximilian, crossing his arms over his chest. He stood in front of the window, a shadow made darker by bright sunlight and disapproval.

“Oh, surely they’ll find
someone
to bunk with you!” Henry was enjoying how his cheeriness was perceptibly blackening the moods of his former dorm-mates. “Buck up! I’m sure, in time, you’ll learn not to miss me.”

One of the two boys shouted something after Henry as he shut the door behind him, but he couldn’t make out exactly what it was. Probably for the best. Such jealousy from his former comrades! He hadn’t expected his departure to so unsettle them, though he had, admittedly, hoped it would.

It was with a spring in his step and a smile on his face that he approached St John’s door—no,
their
door—and knocked with a flourish. By Jove, things were really looking up for Henry Milliner! He imagined himself after a year or two of St John’s tutelage, how nobly he would be able to present himself, the kinds of connections he would have made …

St John poked his head out of the door, startling Henry out of his reverie. He was squinting at him through a pair of large gold-rimmed spectacles. The glass in them was so dark and shimmery it looked like quicksilver.

“What?” he snapped.

“What?” said Henry, flustered.

“What?”

“What?”

St John looked really annoyed. “What is it that you
want
?”

“To—to …” Henry hefted his books. “You told me to come today …”

“Oh!” St John frowned. “Wait a mo’.” And after pulling his head back inside, he slammed the door.

As Henry stood alone in the corridor for several long minutes his spirits fell like a murderer from a gibbet. If St John had changed his mind—to go back to Maximilian and Bruce—he’d rather quit school!

Thankfully, that didn’t seem to be a necessary course. Soon enough the door flew open and there was St John. He looked a tad rattled, and was no longer wearing his spectacles.

“Sorry about that,” he said, holding the door for Henry. “Got wrapped up in something, lost track of time. Welcome, welcome, and all that.”

Henry stepped inside and looked around. He was surprised—the room was fully as large as he anticipated, having had the so-called privilege of attending Lord Rochester in his chambers more than once, but it was far neater than any student’s room he had ever seen, despite the fact that it was cluttered with … for lack of a better way to describe it, “strange things.”

There were apparatuses Henry assumed were philosophical or alchemical in nature sitting out on an enormous wooden work-table that took up most of the front room: Glass phials and pipettes and decanters covered the surface, some with odd-colored fires blazing underneath. Fumes wafted from their tops as the contents bubbled and fizzed. There was a large crank-powered tub with more philosophic glassware inside; Henry had no idea what its function might be. Against the tub lay a bellows made of gold and glass and rich buttery russet-colored leather of higher quality than Henry had ever had for his shoes.

Across the room, in front of the window stood a table covered in green growing things. Henry started to see a rose-plant blooming—he had seen roses before, of course, but none that had blossoms so very like a tulip. There was a philodendron, too, that had been trained around a miniature pomegranate tree, and he was hard-pressed to ascertain where one began and the other left off, Baucis and Philemon in miniature. Both seemed to sprout the other’s leaves, though that was of course impossible—and yet, it did seem that the vine was producing tiny red trumpet-bell blooms upon it, and provided more support to the tree than the reverse. Shaking his head in wonder, Henry noticed a little nozzle hung above the table. It was connected to a tube that dipped into something that looked like a cross between a bellows and a barrel. As he stared at the contraption, there was a rattle that sounded like clockwork, a clicking sound, and then the nozzle released a mist that rained down upon the plants.

The sudden spray was followed by a sharp yipping bark. Henry jumped at the sound.

“That’s just Lady Franco, my cat,” said St John, with a quiet laugh. “She’s just about to birth her kittens, so she’s rather excitable.”

Henry looked where St John pointed, and saw a calico face poking out from behind a screen. The cat looked at him with dull curiosity, then withdrew again.

Wadham students were not allowed to keep pets.

“I trust you’ll say nothing to anyone about my pussy?”

Henry almost choked. “What?”

“My cat.”

“Oh. No, of course not.”

Yet all this was not the half of the weirdness. There was a mirror that did not show a reflection for either Henry or St John when they walked in front of it, a cauldron set up on a tripod with some sort of bubbling, shining, mercury-like substance inside, and sundry awful-looking medical devices too, including a vacuum pump. The walls were covered in tacked-up posters of famous natural philosophers—Henry did not recognize them all, but noted Aristotle, Francis Bacon, Robert Boyle (looking especially winsome), and William Harvey among their numbers. There was a shelf of jars that were completely empty, yet all were meticulously labeled in a clear, even script. Henry did not inspect them to see what they said. Instead, he turned back to the work-table. Scattered among the glassware were a lined book filled with handwritten notes, a Galilean “micro-scope,” the spectacles St John had earlier worn, and a phial of some dark substance that looked uncomfortably like blood.