Danny spent his customary twenty minutes on the toilet and bidet, entertaining himself with a glossy magazine-sized booklet about the Chateau, a souvenir guide that was given to those who paid charity prices to tour the place in July when the family was away, which he found among a selection of new magazines in the rack beside the toilet.
It was full of gorgeous pictures of the Chateau and its rooms, and even featured floor-plans of the rooms that were on the tour (his own little aerie was not included, nor was the attic below him); there were also pictures of the family, including the previous Comte and his Comtesse, a terrifically attractive pair consistently turned out in the very height of mid-century fashions, both in studio portraits and informal snapshots. The long Seguemont nose sat better in the former Comte's face than in the current Comte's, as it was balanced by an epic jaw and take-no-prisoners black eyes; the old Comtesse had the long face and narrow chin which on her looked charming, with her fathomless eyes and rosebud mouth, but on her son looked comical.
There were some pictures of the current Comte and Comtesse when they were young, from their wedding in the Chateau chapel to a lovely family portrait with Antoine and Cecile as small children; the current Comte was considerably more attractive in youth, his comical face smooth and fresh and animated, and the Comtesse was absolutely gorgeous in platinum hair and the best couture of the times; there were a few more pictures showing Antoine and Cecile as teenagers and then as young adults, but the pictures stopped there: nothing from the the Vicomte's wedding to the beautiful aluminum heiress Virginia Allenwhite, nothing of Valerien, nothing of the Comte and Comtesse taken after about 1980.
During his speedy shower (time was running short), he pondered the omission in the tour guides: was it because the tours started in the early eighties and nothing new had been added to the guides since then? Or was it because the Seguemonts didn't want people wondering about Antoine and Virginia, didn't want people wondering about Valerien's parents, didn't want anyone being inspired to look up old newspaper stories and remember the tragedy.
"You're new at this valeting thing, aren't you?" Danny asked Eric when he saw the shoes the young man had laid out for him, slick black-and-white spectators that were completely unsuitable for evening, though they did look very dashing.
"I'm so sorry!" the young footman cried in abject misery, "Henri told me what to do, but I don't understand everything he says, he talks so fast."
"It's all right, Eric," Danny smiled at the servant, taking off his towel to dry his hair and give the young man a visual treat, "But go get a pair of plain black patent leather, I think the Ferragamos. I'll need some help with the suspenders and the links, but I can do the rest myself."
"Yes, sir, right away, sir," the footman bowed deeply and scuttled off into the closet. Danny filled his hair with a sculpting wax and combed it back into a sleek cap, and then fluffed the curls behind his ears and at the back of his neck with a pick before getting into his underwear and shirt, pulling up his pants and buttoning the fly and pulling the suspenders over his shoulders just as the footman came back out with the correct shoes, buffing them industriously as he came.
"Are the hems straight?" Danny asked, pulling at the adjustment bars on the front of the suspenders and examining the effect in the cheval mirror.
"Yes, sir," the footman replied, getting down on his hands and knees to measure the pants-cuffs against the floor with a little ruler, as he must have been taught by Valerien's valet.
"Very good," Danny sorted out a pair of gold cufflinks with cabochon emeralds from his jewel case and handed them to the footman to insert into his cuffs, "You're new to the Chateau, aren't you? I don't remember seeing you before."
"Yes, sir, I came here two months ago," he answered, concentrating on the links with his tongue sticking out just a little.
"You're adapting quickly," Danny smiled at the young man and picked up his bowtie, turning to the shorter mirror over the dresser to watch himself tie it, "You're the first non-Frenchman I've ever seen here. This place must be very confusing to work in."
"It really is," Eric admitted, slipping the flower-embroidered green satin waistcoat over Danny's arms and then reaching for the jacket and a brush as Danny buttoned it up, "I thought I was pretty fluent in French until I got here and people started rattling it off as fast as a machine-gun, so much idiom and slang I can't keep up."
"No, the shoes first. It gets easier," Danny said, bracing himself against the footman's shoulder as he lifted his foot to put it into his shoe, "My French has improved immensely since I've known Valerien, the Baron that is. He used to tease me about my accent, I learned it from my Nanny who was from Lyon and apparently not as cultured as she could have been. I've gotten where I can identify the different kinds of French accents now, where I never knew before there was a difference. Yours sounds almost Quebecois, but not quite."
"My first French teacher was Quebecois, I'm from Wisconsin."
"And how did you end up in California, in pink livery and a powdered wig?"
"I majored in Hospitality Management at San Francisco State," the footman laughed, "One of my teachers found this job for me, since I spoke French, or what I thought was speaking French. He said it was like working in a hotel but paid better, and would get me more experience than entry-level clerking in a hotel."
"I always wondered where the Comtesse finds so many staff in this day and age. Nobody has footmen anymore, I can't imagine you could just advertise for them on Craigslist. A handkerchief from the top drawer, please, and do you have a small scissors to cut a flower for my buttonhole?"
"Most of us are aspiring hoteliers," Eric answered, patting the pockets of his satin frock-coat until he found the small bird-shaped gold scissors that Henri had given him, "The rest are just francophones who drifted into the work in one way or another. Which flower?"
"Are there any alstromeira in that arrangement?" Danny asked, tucking the handkerchief into an inside pocket and then fluffing the green silk handkerchief that matched his waistcoat into his outside pocket.
"I don't know anything about flowers," Eric admitted, poking around in the big arrangement of cream and buff flowers in the big clear vase by the window.
"You'd better learn," Danny advised, walking over to the arrangement to make a selection, "These creamy white ones are Honor roses, the kind of beige-y ones are Chanelle, a little too strong a scent for a buttonhole; and these are freesia, also too strong, these are of course carnations, here are some sweet peas, and these spiky ones are muscari. I think I'll take the Honor rose, it's the simplest. Two inches of stem, no leaves."
"How do you know all that?" Eric wondered, reaching over to clip the bloom Danny indicated.
"I have this weird retentive memory. I know what roses the Comtesse grows, because she told me once... there are dozens of types of white roses, and beige ones, so I only know these are Honor and Chanelle because that's what comes out of the cutting gardens here. The rest of the flowers are fairly common, except for the muscari, but again I remember the Comtesse pointing them out to me on an earlier visit."
"There's so much to remember," the footman shook his head and watched Danny tuck the flower into his buttonhole before reaching for the brush and dusting off his shoulders, "I'll never get it all."
"Sure you will," Danny reached out and touched the young man's cheek affectionately, "You've already learned ten things since you've been in the room with me. Oh, scheisse, is that the time? I'd better get downstairs."
"Me, too... I'm working in the dining room tonight. Thanks for your help."
"My pleasure, Eric. See you at dinner."
Danny smiled to himself as he sauntered down the stairs after the footman sprinted down them; he enjoyed teaching people things, and looked forward to helping Eric learn the art of domestic service. He briefly toyed with the idea of seducing the young man, who was quite good-looking to begin with and then perfectly adorable in his pink and cream livery and formal wig; but Danny knew that servants were off limits in the Chateau de Seguemont. It would come under the heading of things that are, in Valerien's estimation, "simply not done."
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