All ten-year-old Copernicus wants is to belong somewhere and to feel loved. But as an apprentice in Victorian-era London, love is as scarce as joy. Both he and his master's teenage son, Charles Hannover, dream of escaping the hot bakery where they s...
Abominable! the boy cried within. He picked lint with fierce speed to relieve his frustration and listened to Major Jameson ramble on to his nephew.
"As little as I've seen you, I hardly know what you have been doing or what you have been thinking, my boy! It seems we are rarely a minute alone together. How do you like our little—ahem...gatherings?" The last word was muttered in a confidential tone.
Behind his uncle's back, Blair rolled his eyes and silently mouthed "they're drivel". But he spoke very clearly as he answered, "I find them fascinating, uncle! And His Lordship—"
"Ahem!" Jameson cleared his throat loudly and stopped the boy from going on.
"That is...your friend, Mr. Dering, is the most engaging orator I have ever had the pleasure of hearing!" Once again, the boy gave a secret, sarcastic sneer.
"Indeed, he is! The man is a genius! And you know, a close tie with him is just what you need! Keep a good attitude and mind yourself that you don't do anything to upset him! One wrong step, you know, and he may get disenchanted with you."
Another flick of the man's cigar sent more ashes flying. All the way down the hall, he left a gray trail of them behind. He passed red-faced, unhappy Charlie without even glancing at him, but Blair cast the janitor a haughty look.
"Ah, finally I see a servant! There seems to be far too few of them in this hotel! Why is that?"
"I couldn't say, sir," Charlie answered, rising from his knees in respect. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Indeed, there is. I was forced to leave my horse at the blacksmith's shop because the creature lost a shoe. My uncle was good enough to bring me back in his carriage, but I have no desire to stay trapped indoors. I want the horse back directly after the smith is finished. Run and fetch her for me. The mare's name is Periwinkle."
Charlie stifled a burst of laughter that wanted to wheeze through his nose. Periwinkle! he sniggered to himself. What kind of man would name his steed Periwinkle?
"Do you understand me?" Blair demanded impatiently.
The young janitor tried to compose himself. "Perfectly, sir. However, I must say that it is somewhat out of my list of duties."
"Out of your list of duties?" the young man huffed. "What kind of service is this? What is your position in this blasted hotel?"
"I am a rubbish—" he choked on the title "rubbish boy" before it escaped him. "That is to say, I am a janitor."
"Psh! A capital job you do keeping this place in order! The hearth in my room is monstrous to behold! There are ashes all over it. But see here, I am in a hurry, and you're the first servant I have seen who isn't an old hunchbacked gray. Bring my horse safe and sound, and I will give you five pence for your trouble."
Five pence? Nothing to sneeze at! Every penny counted. Charlie thought for a few seconds. It was nearly time for his supper, and that meant he had a short hour of leisure. He nodded his head quickly.
"Very well, sir! I will have your horse brought to you within the hour!"
After hurriedly cleaning up Major Jameson's ashes, he rushed down to the kitchen, scarfed down his food and ran to the back door.
"Where are you goin'?" Grizelda asked. "You can't just go runnin' off!"
"Honor bright, I won't be long!" he declared. "It is for a customer's satisfaction. I'm on an errand."
Just as he had promised, he was back within the hour. And Periwinkle, a perfectly lovely white mare, was taken good care of in the stables. At last, Charlie knocked on Blair's door and smiled cheerfully as the young man answered it.
"I have come to inform you that your horse has arrived," he said. He held out an expectant hand, but he waited in vain.
"Marvelous. Now, clean that hearth or I will complain to the manager. And when you're through with that, tell someone that I will want hot toddy ready in my room by seven tonight." He brushed past Charlie and hurried out to see his horse.
But what about my five pence? Charlie wanted to shout. He pressed his lips tightly together, holding in all of his wrath. Ungrateful oaf! Who on earth does he think he is? Dishonest, miserable, lying rogue!
There was nothing for Charlie to do but forget the five pennies. But he was soon to discover that Blair's underhanded trick was only one disappointment he had to face that day. First off, and worst of all, his superiors weren't quite as appreciative of his work as he had expected them to be. Once their joy of having a rubbish boy faded, he was nothing more to them than the trash itself. They ordered him about, scolded him left and right, and found all kinds of faults in his work. To crown it all, when he was finally shown to his sleeping quarters that night, he found that his room was cramped, dingy, and cold. The mattress was made out of flocking instead of straw—that was one consolation. But it was nothing like the dreamy vision Charlie had had for his new dwelling. He just couldn't feel satisfied with his flock mattress after he had cleaned the customers' rooms earlier and had gazed longingly at their feather-soft beds. But he made the best of his situation and pressed on, knowing that all of his endurance would be worth it when he was paid for his hard work.
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