They reached the ground floor and Tessa looked around, expecting perhaps to be led through any number of wide, heavily molded doorways, but Joseph opened a small door and tugged her down a narrow set of stone steps.
“Trevor was not lying when he said he was an architect,” Joseph went on. “He studied architecture in school, and before university, he spent hours in his library, pouring over books. When I showed an interest in his sketches, he began to teach me basic mathematics, world history, physics. By the time I was eight or nine, my life was divided evenly between working as Trevor’s general manservant and learning as his pupil.”
They reached a cramped landing, and two footmen crowded past, mumbling a respectful, “Hello, Mr. Chance,” as they passed. Joseph crowded Tessa against the wall, making room. When the servants were gone, he took her hand and led her down a dim corridor.
“When I was ten or so, doctors advised Trevor to leave England and take his ailing mother to Greece because of the climate and sea air. Trevor had just finished university and was keen to travel, so he thought, why not? He moved us all to Athens.”
He sighed heavily. “Our time in Greece is a whole different story, but in short, Trevor became the sort of... right-hand man to a fiefdom of unsavory characters, slumlords, men who owned tenement flats all over the city. He was originally hired to shore up the slums, but eventually he rose through the ranks and advised the chief slumlord in all of his various holdings and interests.
“And while Trevor served the slumlord, I served Trevor. This was a rather... dark period of our lives, the both of us. Trevor’s mother was very ill, and he detested the work he did for this man, but we became too embroiled to see a clear way out.
“During the years in Athens, I was neither servant nor student. I was more like... steward, sword bearer—”
“Sword bearer?” said Tessa.
“Actually, Trevor prefers a matched pair of Scottish sgian-dubh daggers.”
“You’re joking.”
“Joking? No. Showing off? Perhaps just a little.” He winked at her. “Athens is where I learned to fight, learned to speak Greek, learned all kinds of nefarious things that can still come in handy in dark pleasure gardens or far-flung ports to this day.”
“But you did not stay there forever. You’ve said you attended university in England. When did you leave Greece?” Tessa asked, transfixed.
“We left when Trevor’s uncle died unexpectedly and he was made earl. The slumlord was dazzled by the title and simply let us go. Lady Blanche was dead by this time, my mother too, and we made our way home. I was Trevor’s only family and he was mine. He inherited the townhome next to this very house, and we moved in and plotted the next stage of our lives. Trevor was finally free of the burden of caring for Lady Blanche, and he wanted nothing more than to travel. I wanted to work as his servant and travel with him. But then...”
They came to a small room at the end of the corridor. There was a step. The wooden planks of the floor gave way to stone. A door to the garden glowed with daylight at the end of the little room, and heavy winter coats hung from hooks along both wall. Boots lined the floor. Joseph stepped down.
“But then what?” demanded Tessa.
“Then a certain American heiress moved next door, into this very house, and Trevor became... distracted. And he is still happily distracted to this day. But that, too, is a story for another time.
“By this time, my knowledge on many subjects had exceeded Trevor’s and he had begun to hire tutors for me. Some met with me in Trevor’s office, others I met in laboratories or libraries or museums. I was particularly interested in commerce and the economy of England, the way trade was managed between countries. Despite our joke about my French tutor, I had a proclivity for languages. I was a ravenous student. I relished learning. I knew the money Trevor spent on tutors was rare and indulgent, I knew my time away from household duties was unheard of, but I could not bring myself to refuse the next session or lesson or master. And that...”
He reached out and handed her into the small room. “...brings me to this. My favorite room in the house.”
Tessa looked around, taking in the coats and the boots, the brushes, buckets, and umbrellas. “But isn’t it a... boot room?”
“Yes,” said Joseph, “the boot room. That door leads to the stables. Around the corner is the scullery. Just there are the kitchens.”
He watched Tessa’s face as she looked thoughtfully around the small room. Despite her own elevated upbringing, he doubted she would disparage the modesty of the room, but she was clearly confused.
He would tell her why—he’d brought her here for the sole purpose of telling her—but he was touched by her reticence. Since his return, she’d been so very careful about saying and doing everything right; she was determined to make no misstep. It endeared her to him. Everything about her felt so very dear.
A servant laughed in a distant corridor, and Joseph used his foot to close the gallery door. They were alone in the small musky room.
“Am I... meant to ask?” she said finally, looking up. “Why is the boot room your favorite?”
“This is the room,” Joseph said, “where I ceased being a servant and became a full-fledged, abovestairs member of this household.” He glanced around. A pair of shiny black Hessians were propped neatly on an inverted shelf. Two muddy pairs of work boots sat beside it. There was a broom. Umbrellas. A stack of sodden broadsheets.
Tessa stared at the humble objects and waited.
Joseph took a deep breath. “One day, about a year after Piety and Trevor were married, Trevor and I returned from a session with my humanities tutor. It was spitting rain, one of those days when you can’t distinguish the falling rain from the splashing mud. Trevor was out on an errand, so instead of my walking home, he came to fetch me in the carriage.
“My tutor, Mr. Coates, followed me out in the downpour to make sure Trevor was shown a short treatise I had written for an assignment. It was an editorial on the state of education in Britain at the time, and it drew on my research of state-provided schooling in countries around the world. It was very idealized, I’m sure, but Mr. Coates had liked it enough to submit it to some political journals he favored, and we’d heard that an editor or two were considering publication.
“As we rode home, Trevor read the piece, but he said nothing—which was not out of the ordinary. Unless the subject was architecture, Piety was more likely to take an interest in my studies than Trevor. He cared only that I convened my sessions and that I was prepared. In this instance, however, he read every word. The ensuing silence was... unnerving.
“He finished reading the piece, concealed it in its leather cover and retied the string. Then, silently, he turned to look out the window. I remember thinking, ‘He hates it. It presumes too much. He finds me ungrateful because I propose schooling for all children, despite the effort he’s made to have me tutored in private. He’s bored. He thinks my writing is weak. He believes editorials are a waste of time.’ Every defeatist thought entered my mind, and I was, quite literally, crushed.
