It was so late when he arrived at Dalton, he’d hardly had chance to meet any of the house staff - and he certainly hadn't caught sight of any of the illustrious Anderson family to whom the magnificent house belonged. Noah Puckerman, who had insisted Kurt call him Puck (though Kurt got the feeling that this was not a term of endearment) had greeted him gruffly as he had arrived, taking him through the servants’ door and leading him upstairs, to the room Kurt was to share with another footman in the servants’ quarters.

Puck spoke to him as they walked, so quickly that Kurt barely caught a word of it, trailing after him with his single case of luggage, his mind set solely on trying not to trip on one of the many uneven steps they ascended.
“Don’t go getting above yourself,” were some of the words of wisdom Puck had for him that didn’t get lost in the tapping of shoes against stone flooring. “There’s a pecking order and you might not be at the bottom of it but you’re certainly not at the top, either. There’s Mr. Ryerson the butler, there’s me and then there’s you. Got that?”

Kurt barely uttered a word, choosing instead to simply nod his understanding.

“Your duties will be simple. You show in the guests, you serve at dinners, you stand about and look smart and you do whatever anyone above you tells you to do. You’ll be taking over as Master Anderson’s valet, but beside that you’ll probably never speak to any of the family - don’t say anything to them unless they speak to you first. And be polite. Funnily enough, they like their manners.”

Kurt nodded again, following Puck’s footsteps until eventually he came to an abrupt stop beside a door. It was then that Puck took a moment to look Kurt over, evaluating him.

“You look small for a footman,” he noted, his eyes studying Kurt’s slender frame suspiciously. “Where are you from?”

Kurt’s voice sounded a little hoarse from disuse when he finally spoke. “My father’s a farmer. I helped him out a good deal. I’m strong,” he added, improving his posture somewhat, hoping it would help to make him look bigger built than he was.

Puck made no response. He rapped upon the door by which they had come to a halt as warning to whoever was inside and opened it, motioning for Kurt to go inside, before he walked away.

Kurt walked into the plain room. Everything about it was unremarkable; there was no color - each wall a darkening mix of brown and gray - and the empty single bed to one side of the room was low to the ground and looked old; rusty, even. There was a desk pressed tightly into the corner that contained a few scatterings of unused paper; beside it a rickety looking chair. Still, there was something about the room that had a familiarity to it, akin to his own bedroom at home and he realized he could quickly adjust to the living arrangements here, despite his homesickness.
The blond boy he was to share his room with stood up to greet him, offering his hand out to shake.

“I’m Sam Evans,” he said, a warm smile tugging at his handsome features.
“Kurt Hummel,” Kurt replied, taking his hand in his own. “It’s good to meet you.”

Kurt barely slept that night, his anticipation to begin work getting the better of him. When morning finally came in the form of the first twinkling of sunrise streaming through the small window of the bedroom Kurt was up before anybody had chance to wake him.

The servants, after they’d prepared the house, would be eating together, Puck informed him, but he was, for the time being, expected to follow in the more senior footman’s footsteps and ‘try not to unsettle anything’.

The two were to prepare the table for breakfast, a task that would, as of tomorrow, take only Kurt to manage. The maids busied themselves with dusting and fire-lighting beside the two of them. Some of the ladies looked Kurt’s way, turning away whenever he caught their eyes and giggling to themselves. Kurt hoped it wasn’t the way he was doing thins that they found amusing. He smiled at them and tried to appear as if he understood the joke.

Puck rolled his eyes.

Breakfast certainly wasn’t quite as fascinating an affair as the grandeur he’d seen laid out upstairs, but Kurt hadn’t eaten in far too long, and he was much obliged to be receiving anything at all.

The room in which the servants dined was half the size of the dining room upstairs, though it contained almost four times as many people. Kurt wedged himself in between Sam, who had smiled warmly as he’d entered the room and saved him a seat, and a girl with long golden hair tied back into a bun who’d introduced herself as Brittany and had been unable to tear her eyes away from Kurt’s face since he’d sat down. Opposite him was the housekeeper; a deep blue dress with two contrasting white lines running down each side of it brought out her cold, blue eyes. She looked as though she had it in her nature to quite easily turn from friendly to stern at a moment’s notice, and Kurt found himself a little nervous in her presence.

“Hummel, isn’t it?” she asked by way of introduction.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice getting lost somewhere in his nervousness. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Or Kurt, if that’s preferable...”

“Your skin is porcelain,” she noted. Kurt nodded in acknowledgment of the fact. “Puck mentioned you worked on a farm before you came here? I’m surprised your skin doesn’t have more color.”

Kurt stammered. “I - um - I don’t know why I’m not... I suppose my mother passed me ... my mother had very pale skin, too.”

“Had?”

“My mother passed away,” Kurt replied, hoping not to let any trace of his emotions slip through his expression. Apparently he failed; Sam’s hand found its way to Kurt’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry to have mentioned it,” the housekeeper said. “I’m Mrs. Sylvester. Perhaps you’ll permit me to call you Porcelain?”

Kurt couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking, but before he had time to offer his reply the last of the servants sat down at the table and the attention of the housekeeper, as well as everybody else, was drawn toward the clearing of Mr. Ryerson’s throat.

“This is Kurt Hummel,” the butler announced, waving a hand in Kurt’s direction to point him out. “I daresay you’ll all have the opportunity to introduce yourselves accordingly over the coming days.”

A few of the house staff looked over at Kurt to share warm smiles. Puck made no such effort, grabbing a slice of bread from the center of the table before anybody else noticed the cook had even placed them there. Some of the maids looked over at Kurt before turning back to one another and giggling amongst themselves. Eventually, all attention returned to breakfast, and Kurt was relieved not to have every eye around the table on him.

He didn’t speak much that morning; the rest of the staff spent their time talking, with a mix of excited and nervous energy, about some of the forthcoming household events, of which Mr. Ryerson had informed them. Occasionally, Sam asked him questions about the farm he’d come from or gave him tidbits of information about the house and the family, but beside his replies, Kurt didn’t say a great deal.

Puck and Kurt parted ways after breakfast while Puck performed the last of his morning duties as valet to Master Anderson. It was during this time, and while Puck and Sam waited the breakfast table for the family, that Mr. Ryerson showed Kurt around the parts of the house that he would mostly be attending to. After the family had eaten, Puck returned to Master Anderson’s room, while Sam and Kurt cleared the breakfast table.

“So, what made you decide to join service?” Sam asked as the two of them collected up the cutlery that had been used. There was something about Sam’s face that Kurt trusted instinctively; something earnest in the way his kind smile reached his eyes.

“I would have stayed on the farm if it wasn’t for my father,” Kurt replied. Sam cocked his head, inquisitively. “He wanted me to better myself. I suppose farm boy to first footman is a big step up. Besides, I don’t mind so much. The staff all seem nice here.”

Sam nodded. “Most of them are. I suppose you’ve already borne witness to Puck’s sharper side. After that, Mrs Sylvester can be strict if she needs to be; but don’t worry,” he added, as Kurt’s eyes widened, “she never gives you grief without reason.”

Kurt leaned across the table so that he was closer to Sam and he lowered his voice a little. “Between you and me... I think she’s terrifying.”

Sam laughed. “She puts it on. I was scared to death of her when I first arrived,” he joked. “Lopez, now she has a wicked tongue if you get on her bad side. Never say a word against where she came from and certainly never say a word against Lady Dalton, lest you feel the wrath of an incredibly dedicated lady’s maid.”

Kurt smiled, polishing one of the plates and replacing it on the pile to be taken away. “So, what about you? How did you get into service?”

A dish clattered as Sam’s fingers slipped and the two men tensed, peeking down at it to see that no damage had been done. Upon confirmation that the dish was in as good a condition as a few moments before, Sam stuttered, “My - um... my father, he...”

“You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable,” Kurt said quickly, regretting having asked a question that had clearly caused so much discomfort.

“No, it’s okay. You answered my question.”

“Really, I don’t want you to feel-”

“Kurt. I insist.” A sad smile pulled at his features as he looked at Kurt, who waited with bated breath. “When I was younger my family owned a shop. It was a small business, in the village just a little way down from here. I don’t like to talk about the details...” he trailed off, cleared his throat and spoke again, “our family lost everything. My father could no longer afford to run the business. I joined service to help support my family, my younger siblings.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “For your family's situation, and for prying.”

Sam shook his head and the warm smile returned to his face with such energy it was like it had never left at all.

“We’re in this together now, Kurt. We’re friends, if you will,” he said, holding out his hand for Kurt to shake. “No secrets.”

Kurt took the boy’s hand in his own. “No secrets,” he promised.

It was early afternoon when Kurt stepped out into the small courtyard at the back of the house, feeling the pleasantness of the warm sun beat down on his skin. After being tucked inside for most of the past two days - first on the train and then in the house - it made a refreshing change to be back out in the heat of the day. He made his way to the bags of coal outside, using his strength to pick one up carefully and take it into the house through the servants’ door. He deposited the heavy load into the corridor, making his way back outside for a second bag.

The gentle sound of hooves clip-clopping on cobblestones made Kurt look up. Standing a short distance away from Kurt was a gentleman, riding gear and face smothered in fresh mud. The gentleman appeared to be talking to the horse, patting him affectionately in a way that reminded Kurt of his father and the horse they owned on the farm. He smiled for a fleeting moment as he watched, allowing a feeling of nostalgia and homesickness to wash over him all at once.

The man was handsome; a similar age to himself, Kurt guessed, but with a more confident and self-assured posture. His face was framed by dark locks of curly hair and he was decidedly hatless, a picture that Kurt found refreshingly unusual for a gentleman out horseback riding. His smile seemed genuine as he reached the stable master and spoke something to him that Kurt couldn’t catch, and as he turned to walk in the direction of the house, the gentleman caught sight of him. A gasp ripped through Kurt’s chest as he realized he’d been caught so very obviously staring, mouth agape. He shrank back in through the servants’ door, hurrying to close it behind him, all thought of bringing a second bag of coal with him forgotten in his fluster.

The rest of the afternoon went by without event. Kurt set the table for luncheon and saw that the fires lit earlier in the day were still burning. He and Sam served the family at lunch - Kurt noting the absence of the mysterious Master Anderson - then they cleared the table, set it for dinner and were given the task of helping the maids prepare the bedrooms that their visitors, the Lord and Lady McKinley, would be staying in that night.
The evening’s dinner table was by far the grandest affair of the day. The glass chandelier - operated by electricity, Kurt was amazed to discover - lit up the entire dining room with its bright glow. The family’s best silver was all set out at the table, polished half a dozen times over until it was possible to see one’s own reflection in it. The reception rooms were made ready for the likely gathering of the family and their guests after dinner; a large fire prepared in order to stave off the chill of the night air. The cook, Mrs Beiste, had been busy for the entire afternoon, preparing a large, impressive meal for the evening and the smell of it filled the kitchen. Kurt had never seen anything quite so exquisite or perfectly-orchestrated as the entire evening and he made a mental note to write his father to tell him the details as soon as he had a moment to himself.

A chauffeur-driven car arrived outside the house at six o’clock and Ryerson escorted the guests into the reception room where they were met by the family. Kurt and Sam took their luggage upstairs while Puck showed the guest chauffeur down to the kitchen for his own dinner.

Mrs Beiste, finishing the final touches to the appetizer, asked Brittany - once, twice, shouted at her a third time - to bring her the seasoning she’d missed. The house staff were so rushed off their feet with trying to ensure that everything went smoothly for the family that Kurt almost laughed at the mayhem unfolding in front of him. It was only when a dish was thrust into his arms and he was waved frantically upstairs by Ryerson that he composed himself and joined in the mad rush to serve the family as promptly as possible.

Kurt noticed him in an instant; the moment he entered the room. The same gentleman he’d seen out on his horse that afternoon, the same dark, curly hair - this time much neater than before. Kurt made the connection almost immediately; sitting next to Lord Dalton who marked the head of the table, the gentleman could be nobody other than Master Anderson. Kurt - still reeling from having been caught staring at the gentleman earlier in the day - was, for a moment, torn between staying or running from the room as quickly as he could. Sense prevailed, keeping him in the dining room and following Sam and Puck’s lead in serving the guests. He caught Master Anderson’s eye as he served Lord Dalton and quickly looked away, fighting against the flush he felt rising in his cheeks. He might have been imagining it, but he almost thought he heard a soft chuckle hidden underneath the gentleman’s clearing of his throat, and Kurt kept his eyes on the table, pretending to admire the patterns the wood made, until he was able to move away from that end of the room.

The evening appeared to stretch out infinitely, and Kurt’s attention was largely consumed by Master Anderson. He noticed that, comparative to everybody else around the table, he contributed very little to the conversation. He spoke only when he was addressed directly and seemed so wholly distracted by the grounds outside the window that Kurt had, himself, followed his wandering gaze to see if there was anything in particular out there commanding his attention.

“Still no engagement to be married, Master Anderson?” Lady McKinley asked in a voice so high-pitched that grated terribly on Kurt; he had grown to detest her over the short amount of time she’d been present in the household. “What a pity.”

“I’m quite sure I still have enough time to find a wife,” Master Anderson replied, and Kurt could almost hear the stiffness in his voice. “I was under the impression a man could choose to marry whenever he wanted.”

“Oh, of course,” Lady McKinley replied. “But there are plenty of other rich, handsome men vying for the girls' affections beside yourself. All of the sensible girls might marry before you ever throw them a second glance.”
When the family was finished at dinner, Master Anderson excused himself, saying that he felt unwell. Puck followed him to his room while Sam, Kurt and Ryerson remained until the rest of the family dispersed for bed; Kurt showing Lord McKinley to his chamber before returning to the room he and Sam shared.

“Long day,” Kurt commented as he entered the room.

“They seem that way to begin with. You get used to them.”

Kurt relieved himself of his bow-tie, stretching his neck.

“You don’t mind if I just sit up a little while, do you?” Kurt asked, positioning a candle on the desk. “I should write my father.”

“Not at all,” Sam replied, settling himself down into bed and blowing out the candle nearest to him. “Don’t stay awake for too long,” he advised. “It’ll be morning before you know it.”