I had not lived in the world of ladies’ maids and valets, but thankfully, General Paterson did not protest my absence while he dressed or demand that I wash his back, as Agrippa had first insisted I must do. Every morning I shaved his face and took care of his clothes and his quarters, but he was clearly accustomed to taking care of his person, and I was more an errand boy and a clerk than I was a manservant.
Twice a week, I filled buckets of water and brought them to the kitchen, where they were heated on the great stone hearth. Then I carried them down the hall into the general’s quarters and into the bathing chamber through another small door adjoining his room. The tub took an hour to fill, but when the general was finished, I was able to use the water as well, bolting the door and scrubbing myself thoroughly—unclothed—without fear of being seen.
In the barracks, I had kept myself as neat as I was able, but my clothes were stained and my skin and hair were never truly clean. The scents of crowded bodies, woodsmoke, and wet had been ever present. To be clean, naked, and alone was paradise.
Within weeks of moving into the Red House, I knew the general’s schedule, his moods, his preferences, and his troubles. I anticipated his every need and ran to fulfill his every command. I also learned the portrait above his bed was Elizabeth. I’d guessed as much. Her painted gaze served as a constant reminder of my secret, and I committed myself all the more, but such dedication was not a hardship.
The winter would have been unbearable in the barracks, the close quarters, the frozen pond, the long months of cold with very little to do. Instead, I had access to an outhouse where I could bar the door, a biweekly bath, a bed of my own, and the general to look after.
I loved working in the Red House, and I adored John Paterson.
He was the finest man, in every way, that I had ever known. I feared my devotion would become obvious to him and to everyone else, and did my best to keep my eyes averted, my mouth closed, and my attention sharply attuned. But I adored him.
When he ran out of things for me to do or dismissed me, I busied myself with chores or errands for Mr. Allen and, whenever possible, browsed in the library among the books. To have access to such bounty was more than I could resist, even if it cost me sleep, and most nights I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
The general slept even less than I did. He took late walks, and I tried to stay awake until he returned in case he required assistance. The first time I heard him leave, I’d tried to follow him like a faithful guard dog, and he firmly sent me back home.
“You are tireless. And I am grateful. Even Agrippa has praised you, and he is not easily impressed. But after supper, your time is your own. If I need you, I know where to find you.”
That night, I was still awake when the general came in. He washed and rustled about. I heard him remove his boots—I knew better than to run out to assist him—and, a few minutes later, blow out his light. He was earlier than usual, and I returned to my reading, not ready to close the book or crawl into bed.
“Shurtliff?”
“Yes, sir?”
“That candle needs to last you all week,” he grumbled.
“Yes, sir.”
He sighed. “It is fine, Shurtliff. I’m just in a foul temper. Are you reading?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which book?”
“I am reading a commentary on the Book of Revelation, sir.”
He groaned, and I snickered softly.
“That sounds dreadful. But I will tell Mr. Allen to allot you another candle if you read loud enough for me to hear.”
“You will not have nightmares, General?”
“Are you being cheeky, Shurtliff?”
“Yes, sir.”
He laughed. “Just read. Start wherever you want. I don’t care. I just can’t abide my own thoughts anymore this night.”
I rose from my chair, pulled the extra blanket from my bed to wrap around my voluminous nightshirt—breeches in bed made for dirty sheets—and opened the door between our rooms so I wouldn’t have to talk through it.
He was in his large bed, and the room was dark, but I held the candle up, just a bit, so I might see his face. His arms were folded beneath his head, and the fire I’d started in his grate was now just a handful of coals. He hadn’t added a log to keep the room comfortable through the night. He was frugal, and every bit of fuel, every candle, every drop of food was stretched in an attempt to make it last. It was his constant concern that the men under his command would be without.
“Are you cold?” he asked me, inclining his chin at the blanket around my shoulders and the stockings on my feet.