Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(26)

“Would you have a napkin?” I asked.

She went to a sideboard and opened a long drawer from which she pulled a folded white cloth that I suspected was used for drying dishes.

“This suit you?” she asked, setting it down beside me.

“Thank you,” I said, shaking it out and folding it across my lap before digging in to the aromatic stew.

Delia spread freshly churned butter over a thick slice of bread and handed it to me. She was cutting another slice of bread when she gave me a sly look. “You know what a butler do?”

I dipped the bread into the sweet onion gravy, then took a bite and chewed it slowly before I replied. “I’m assuming he collects supper trays?”

“He don’ collect no nothin’,” she said.

“Well, then,” I said curiosity getting the better of me, “I suppose that you had best inform me.”

She glared at me. “After Mr. Burton, Robert the boss a this house, so you bes’ mind him.”

“Surely he doesn’t have charge over Mrs. Burton?” I asked.

“Mrs. Burton don’ do a thing without askin’ me first,” she said. “Ed and me was here before Robert.”

As I took the second piece of bread that she handed me, I remembered the carriage driver. “Is Ed your husband?” I asked, more to make conversation than out of a need to know.

“Ed my baby brother,” she said.

Her baby brother? How old was she? As though to answer my question, she said, “We both been here with Mr. and Mrs. Burton since they buy us, but we free now. We’s here a long time.”

I asked if the Burtons had children.

“One boy. They bury him back when the yellow fever comes through, back in ’93.” She looked at me and asked, “That before you was born?” Caught unaware, I didn’t respond, so she asked another question. “Where was you born?”

I worried that I might say the wrong thing. “I prefer not to talk about myself,” I said. Having finished the meal, I rose to take my leave, then remembered my manners. “That was an excellent supper,” I said. “Thank you, Delia.”

“That be Miss Delia,” she said, and then went silent.

Fortunately, Ed soon came through with my pallet, and I followed him to my room. After he left, I sat down on the straw-filled mattress and looked around, dazed to find myself in this position. Until recently, I had known only luxury. Grandmother had raised me to be a gentleman, to have my own land and my own servants. Now I was sleeping in a storage room. What would Grandmother think to see me here? It had been weeks now, but still my heart clenched whenever I remembered that she was gone.

Fully clothed, I lay back on the pallet. Unexpectedly, exhaustion won out, and I fell asleep.


IN THE FIRST months I served as an errand boy for Mr. Burton, picking up supplies and making deliveries. Gradually, the turmoil of the streets affected me less, and as I got to know the layout of the city, I grew more confident. If I earned a penny or two from a satisfied customer, I offered the coins to Mr. Burton on my return to the shop. When he assured me that those were mine to keep, I stored them eagerly.

When I wasn’t out on deliveries, I was given the task of cleaning the three rooms of Mr. Burton’s shop. Naturally, there was the storefront, where the glass cases and open shelves displayed some of the finest silver pieces, but Mr. Burton was as particular about his small office and the large room to the back where he and Nicholas, another silversmith, did their silver work.

Before I was introduced to Nicholas, Mr. Burton took me aside. “You should know that Nicholas has his peculiarities,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, wondering if he thought I had some of my own.

“He talks without thinking—that is, he seems incapable of censoring his thoughts. He has been like this from the beginning, but he means no harm.”

Forewarned, I went with him to meet Nicholas, who was hard at work in the back room. The tall heavyset man paused only a moment when we were introduced, then twice slammed a hammer against a silver ingot. The muscles on his huge forearm bulged with the effort, and when he stepped back, he pulled a rag from under his leather apron to wipe dry his forehead as he considered me.

“You got an odd look about you with that funny eye,” Nicholas said by way of greeting. I had been born with a useless left eye cloaked with a white film, but until recently, I had given it little thought. During my childhood, those around me seldom, if ever, made note of it, but since my flight, its oddity had been pointed out more than once, and its mention now made me shift uncomfortably.

“Well, I did warn you,” Mr. Burton said after we left the room. “Fortunately, he does not aspire to a business of his own, as his forthright comments are ill suited to customers.” He chuckled. “Oh well, it is my good luck that he wants only to be left alone to work at his craft, for he is the true artisan here.” As proof of his words, he pointed out Nicholas’s most recent work, an elegantly shaped teapot that even I, with no training, could appreciate.

“But here is how we make our real money,” he said, opening two oversize drawers filled with silver pieces. “We supply these to fur trading posts for barter with the Indians.” He invited me to examine the rings, wristbands, and round silver cloak brooches.

“Indians buy these?” I asked, excited at this news.