The Rogue's Company, Part Four

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG

Link to Part One

~

I woke up before daybreak the next morning and found myself ensconced in an overstuffed armchair. I can’t say I minded—it was as comfortable as any bed I’d ever slept in. And I had plenty of blankets on top of me to ward off the chill October air.

I was puzzled, however. It took me a moment to recall where I was and how I'd gotten there. But at length I remembered creeping into the house with Adam and Joe, trying not to wake anyone. Apparently neither old man Cartwright nor the Chinaman cook thought it was worth waiting up for two wayward sons. And as for Hoss, the middle son—well, we could hear his rumbling snore from clear out in the yard.

Adam hadn’t been sure where to put me last night. Joe was all for giving me a guest room for the time being, but I balked at that. It was inappropriate for a servant. In the end, Adam told me to take the chair in his room for the night and we’d sort it out come morning.

I sat up and tossed the covers off of me. Once my eyes adjusted to the gray darkness, I could see that Adam was still sleeping. I slipped out of the chair, folded up the blankets and dressed as quickly and quietly as I could. Adam hadn’t spelled out my duties yet, but I had a good idea of what they would entail. Best to get started.

I turned my attention to Adam’s fireplace first. It was all ash with no coals, but there was a bit of wood and kindling at hand. There was also a box of matches set carefully to the side. It took a bit of doing, but I soon had a decent enough fire burning. It should last for a bit.

I stood up and glanced at Adam’s wardrobe, but I didn’t investigate it. I didn’t know him well enough yet to lay out his clothes. So I turned to his dresser instead and found his strop and razor. He might or might not wish me to shave him, but either way it was best to set out whatever was necessary. That’s when I realized that I would need fresh water for his basin.

I slipped out of Adam’s room and made my way downstairs. As best I could tell, no one else was awake, so I strode into the kitchen without asking anyone’s leave.

The kitchen fire had burned down as well, but there were still coals waiting to be flared up. There was plenty of firewood down here, plus some more kindling, so I put them in place and then blew at the coals until the fire sprang back to life.

Once I was satisfied with the fire, I began searching for a kettle. I found a couple quick enough, along with a pump for water. I couldn’t find any tea, but there were coffee beans aplenty. I ground some up and set the coffee brewing over the fireplace. I was no expert at making coffee, mind, but I don't think I butchered it.

While I was waiting for the coffee, I investigated the main room of the house. There was a large fireplace there that had likewise died down to coals. I revived that fire as well and then went back to check on the coffee. That’s when I first encountered the Cartwright’s cook.

He was standing in the kitchen when I returned, looking a little dumbfounded at the blazing fire. I put a friendly smile on my face and nodded at him.

“Good morning,” I said. “I’m Shea—Adam’s new valet.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and said something in what I assumed was Cantonese or Mandarin or some other heathen language. But he finished off in something approximating English. “Guest stay out of kitchen!”

I shook my head at him. “I’m not a guest,” I said. “I’m a valet.”

He came back at me with more of his heathen tongue. “Adam’s friend stay upstairs till breakfast!” he finished.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not Adam’s friend,” I said. “He hired me. I work for him.”

Apparently he didn’t understand me. He kept asking me to repeat myself. And then he had the audacity to ask me if I spoke English!

“I’m speaking English!” I insisted.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath. Then he spoke in broken English again—and, from what I could gather, the gist of his argument was that I had an impenetrable brogue. And then he told me to take myself back to the bunkhouse!

I closed my eyes for a long moment, willing myself not to lose my temper. I did not have a brogue. I could ape one when I pleased, but all I had naturally was a slight lilt to my speech. I didn’t grow up in Ireland, after all. My family left that isle when I was all of two years old.

I opened my eyes and shook my head. Heaven help this fellow if he ever encountered a true brogue.

“I’m not a hand,” I said, speaking as slowly and clearly as I could. “I don’t belong in the bunkhouse. I’m a valet—a servant for Adam.”

He stared at me for what seemed an eternity. Then his eyes lit up and the next thing I knew he was handing me a bucket. “You go get milk from cows!” he ordered.

I thrust the bucket back into his hands. He seemed to be under the mistaken impression that Adam had hired more help for the kitchen. “I’ve never been near a cow,” I told him. “And I’m a valet, not a dairy maid.”

It took time, but eventually I managed to convey some idea of what a valet’s duties were. He wasn’t satisfied—but he made the best of it. He put the bucket aside and plunked a stack of china in my hands instead. Apparently the china was meant for the breakfast table.

I accepted the china. Depending on the household, place settings could fall under a footman’s responsibilities. And, in fairness, Adam had warned me that I’d have some of the duties of a footman.

I set out all the china and then returned to the kitchen. The coffee seemed ready now, so I poured some into a pot for Adam and placed it on a tray with a cup and some sugar on the side. There was no milk available yet, so if he wanted that I’d have to come back down for it.

I also remembered to fill a pitcher with water and place that on the tray as well. That would fill up the basin.

I carried the tray upstairs and nudged Adam’s door open with my foot. Once I was inside I set the tray down and turned to face my new master.

He was awake now and out of bed. “Good morning,” he said as he tied on his robe. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

I grinned. “Yes, sir. You take coffee, not tea?”

He nodded as he glanced at the tray. “Yes. And I take it black. You can bring up a cup for yourself next time as well, if you care for it. Have you met Hop Sing?”

“Yes, sir. We—well, we have a few difficulties of translation at present. But we’ll manage.”

He laughed at that. “You’ll find yourself picking up Cantonese in no time,” he said as he poured himself a cup of the coffee.

I grinned again. “Aye, I don’t doubt that. Do you want me to shave you?”

Adam had started sipping the coffee, but he paused to consider that. “Why not?” he decided.

And so by the time Little Joe walked into the room--without bothering to knock--Adam was leaning back comfortably in his chair while I was shaving him.

“Hey Adam, can I borrow your—”

Joe broke off as he took in the sight of me carefully shaving his brother, not to mention the tray with the piping hot coffee and the blazing fire in the hearth. At length he leaned up against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest.

“You know older brother,” he said approvingly, “there just might be something to this valet-business.” Then he gave me a wink. “How much is he going to pay you, Shea?”

I smiled. Adam and I hadn’t quite worked out the details yet, but before I could explain that an older man appeared in the doorway—a man who could only be Mr. Cartwright himself.

“Adam, I need you to talk to Mr. Pearson at the bank—”

He broke off as he, too, took in the spectacle in front of him. I was daunted by his reaction—I have to admit that. He straightened himself up and gave his oldest boy a look that would frighten off a banshee.

“Would somebody care to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

LINK TO PART FIVE