"Right away, Miss Penny," Jack answered, "One of those sorts of tea, then?"

"Thank you, boy," said Penny, which could have sounded condescending even coming from another slave, but in fairness to her there were probably people in hearing distance who might have objected to a 'sir' and she had no reason to have memorized the name of every slave who might possibly take a shift in the tea room, considering it was rarely the same person twice in a row. 'Boy' as a generic term for male slave was better than being called 'Tea Boy' or 'Slave'. At any rate, Jack took no offence, particularly as Penny was skilled at using a tone of voice to convey all the things she couldn't say. In this instance, she managed to tell Jack that Mr. Wilkins was entertaining people he considered to be beneath himself, was desiring to snub them but politely in a way they'd know themselves snubbed but couldn't call him on, and that Penny thought him a bit ridiculous.

It was not the first time he had requested the 'good enough' biscuits. It meant fancier than the ginger biscuits most bank employees were given but not the nicest ones he could have requested that were reserved for the upper floor bankers and their guests. Those were the biscuits the slaves never dared sample because someone very well might notice if they went missing. The sandwiches, likewise, were reserved for the upper floors and also not something slaves could get away with sampling. They were brought in fresh every morning and kept in an ice box, and half the time, if no one called for them, were then tossed in the evening. The absolute nicest of the biscuits usually only went to Wilkins himself, but rarely, because he usually only bothered with a tea service instead of going out somewhere nicer if he had a guest in, and most guests he didn't feel warranted the nicest biscuits. That he wanted them and the others meant he wanted to throw it in someone's face that he received better than them.

It was annoying that Jack had to use the second trolley, with its wobbly wheel. But at least with Angus out, he couldn't argue that it wasn't Jack's turn. Jack was careful not to take too long, but to also arrange the tray as perfectly as he knew how, because one misplaced spoon could be enough to get him into trouble. Oh, they'd be polite about it while they had their tea. 'Teaboy missed a spoon, goodness, it's so hard to get good help these days…' and then later, without witnesses, either a complaint would be made, politely requesting a firm correction of the matter, or, if Jack were really unlucky, Wilkins would deign to come and take care of the matter himself.

It was unlikely and it was rare, but it was feasible enough that Jack was careful. Not least because Angus was also in danger; he was also a 'teaboy' and it was unlikely anyone would pay close attention to which teaboy served which tea.

He brought the service up the lift, rather enjoying the ride all the way to the top. Then he wheeled the whole thing over to Penny, who was waiting for him. The door was closed, which suited Jack. Unlike the assistant Angus had had to deal with, Penny felt it part of her duty to serve out the requested tea, so all Jack really needed to do was drop the tray off with her.

"Boy," Penny said, raising an eyebrow at the careful way he had to shove the trolley to make up for the wobbly wheel. All she said, though, was, "Place the tray here. I will call you when it is time to collect it."

Jack did, noting the strain in his back even more severely than before, but not so bad as to stop him doing his duty. He set down the tray and took a moment to make sure it was all still arranged as neatly as it had been when he first laid it out. Only one of the cups had scooted a bit in its saucer, and it was easy enough to slide it back.

"There you go," Jack said, quietly, because the doors might be thick but he still didn't want anyone on this floor to hear his voice in case they took offence. "I will see you around." She smiled at him without answering and he turned to go.

The door opened.

"Ah, Penny, it seems we are to be joined today by Mr. Dawes Junior, unexpected development, we'll need…oh, boy, you haven't left yet? Good, bring us up another cup and saucer. And more of the good biscuits, of course, plenty for all of us…"

Jack turned, naturally, ready to politely acquiesce, only for Mr. Wilkins to trail off, his vaguely polite tone being swallowed into sudden silence. The look on his face was at once confusing and alarming. Alarming, because a free Citizen giving that kind of attention to Jack usually spelled trouble. Confusing, because Jack couldn't begin to understand exactly what Mr. Wilkins was reacting to. He was staring at Jack as if startled and slightly horrified.

"You…" Mr. Wilkins said, and then, shaking himself out of it, he tried on a smile that was almost more alarming than the previous look. There are few things that put a person on edge quicker than a clearly false smile in their direction. "Boy," he said in his new, faux friendly tone, "I admire how hard you slaves work, I really do. Not working alone today, are you?"

"No, sir," Jack said.

"Good…good. I hate to imagine you people overworked. You play such a vital role to society."

'Not by choice,' Jack decidedly did not reply with, though he had the sudden odd temptation to do so. It was not unlike the unnerving sensation that can come upon someone who is standing high up and has a sudden thought of jumping. He waited silently instead, judging that it was best to ere on the side of caution and offer as little by way of speaking as possible.

"I would like your companion to be the one to return with the new things," Mr. Wilkins suggested, "By way of fairness, you know. No need to allow yourself to be run ragged. All the way up to the top floor, too."

"Yes, sir," Jack answered, feeling more confused by the minute. Not knowing what else to do, but knowing the importance of being prompt, he once again started to push the trolley back along its path away from the confusing conversation.

"Not the lift!" Mr. Wilkins exclaimed, and then when Jack turned again, he said in a more moderate and even kindly tone, "Of course, the trolley can't go on the stairs. I don't suppose slaves have a separate service lift, then?"

"No, sir," Jack answered. Indeed, the bank was originally built with the understanding that stairs were what a person needed to get to different floors. When a lift was installed, it was enough of a hassle to get it in that they only ever got one, in the same place that had originally been devoted to a much smaller dumb waiter. Mr. Wilkins and Jack stared at each other a moment longer, until Mr. Wilkins clearly came to some kind of decision. He approached Jack and threw an arm around him in an oddly companionable way that still had Jack flinching, not least because of how it put pressure on the bruises on his back, as he drew him along towards the servant stairs, a much narrower and less well kept staircase than the wider marble steps available to the general public or the bank employees.

"You know what, Jack, leave the trolley for your…er…compatriot. I think…I think you've done splendid work this morning. In fact, I am going to call down and ask them to give you the afternoon off. Go, enjoy yourself, away from the bank. By way of conversation, is it Mr. Jones on duty this morning?"

"Er…no, sir. It's Mr. Entwistle."

"Pity. I mean…well, enjoy yourself this afternoon."

Somewhere behind them down the hall, the lift door dinged. Mr. Wilkin's arm tightened fractionally around Jack's shoulder, and then he was shoving Jack through the door to the stairs. Jack only just caught himself on the railing before he fell down them.

"Okay, there? I didn't help you along too hard, did I?" Mr. Wilkins called after him.

"No, sir, I'm fine," Jack answered.

"Good…good. Enjoy your day. And do have the other teaboy come up with the cup and saucer and things."

"Yes, sir," Jack answered, though he needn't have bothered, because Mr. Wilkin's head was no longer looking down at him and the door to the stairwell was closed. With a shrug, Jack started down, trying to puzzle out what had just happened and if Jack, or Angus for that matter, would be in some kind of trouble over it. An afternoon off was a nice gift, but Jack didn't trust the giver. Nothing about that interaction was usual. He wouldn't even trust that the gift was real until he had the afternoon pass locked onto his collar.

Angus was waiting in the tearoom when he got back, his eyes darting first to Jack's collar and then his face doing something complicated as he smiled to see Jack, apparently fine, then frowned at the unusual absence of the trolley.

"Forget something, Teak?" he asked.

"Not exactly," Jack answered. Then, "I'll tell you all about it in a moment…Mr. Wilkins wants more of the good biscuits and another cup and saucer up and he wants you to be the one to bring them. I'd suggest not bothering with the trolley over it because you'll have mine to take down."

Angus's raised an eyebrow but obediently set about grabbing a smaller tray on which to arrange what was requested.

"And it might be a good idea to take the stairs," Jack suggested, "Wilkins got…odd…about me taking the lift. I'm not sure he likes it if it isn't necessary."

"Sure, and I'm sure the tray won't end at the bottom of the stairwell," Angus said with a bit of an eyeroll, but he did head in the direction of the stairs, letting Jack open the doors for him.

"You sure you can get the one at the top?" Jack fretted a bit.

"Course I can, old pro me and doors," Angus insisted. And Mr. Wilkins had been so odd about Jack leaving and the other teaboy coming up that Jack decided to let him go. Instead, he turned and went to report to Mr. Entwistle on the off-chance Mr. Wilkins actually had called down about a day off for him.

"Lucky boy, you are, Jack," Mr. Entwistle said when Jack went in. He had already taken out the small tag that hooked onto a collar when a slave had a free day off. It lowered the number of called in complaints about City slaves lounging about if there was clear evidence they were permitted to, and it lowered the chances of someone getting away with shirking when they weren't permitted. It also meant that Mr. Wilkins had followed through. "Not many slaves the likes of Mr. Wilkins himself would gift such a privilege to. You must have done him some service." And he stared at Jack so keenly that Jack felt his face starting to turn red.

It was not unheard of for slaves to do questionable activities in return for extra privileges. Mr. Entwistle would never say it outright, but he would not be the only person to think maybe Jack had earned this extra privilege on his knees. And a part of Jack was even a bit scared that Mr. Entwistle wasn't that far off the mark; that the privilege had been rewarded with future services in mind. Not that Jack would, but it could get him into a lot of trouble when he refused.

And then something occurred to Jack that made him frown and forget all about Mr. Entwistle's suggestion, even as the man clipped the privilege to his collar and waved him on his way.

Mr. Wilkins had called Jack by his name. How did a man like Mr. Wilkins know a nobody slave like Jack by name?

He returned to the tearoom, even though his new privilege meant he was free to leave the bank, and very shortly later Angus came up, pushing along the empty trolley.

"Might as well have taken the lift," Angus muttered. "No one but Penny to see me. Never saw Wilkins or anyone in the room. I did take it back down."

"Well, better safe than sorry," Jack pointed out.

"And what is that?" Angus said next, noting Jack's new addition to his collar. So Jack took the time to explain the entire confusing happening.

"…He was sorry it wasn't Jones…figures, a man like him would be friends with a man like that…and half pushed you down the stairs…wouldn't let you take the lift back…and gave you a privilege to get you away from the bank for the rest of the day?"

"I'll still do my lamps," Jack was quick to add in. "That's evening duty, really, and you all already did my lamps once."

"First, if you have a day off, you should take it. We can handle the lights. And second…do you think he's trying to keep you out of sight of someone?"

"Why would he want that?" Jack demanded, not bothering to argue the lights. He'd just show up at the right time and they'd have to let him. "I'm nobody."

"…right," said Angus. Then, he lost his puzzled expression to grin and said, "Well, go on then, enjoy your privilege, whatever the reason you got it."

"It's almost break time; I'll wait and we can go to lunch together."

"As you wish," Angus said with a shrug, and then, "But you won't be doing anymore trolleys! By order the president."

"Technically, Mr. Dawes Junior is still president," Jack pointed out. They wouldn't dare say such a thing where Wilkins could hear, of course, but it was a fact all slaves were aware of.

Angus's expression turned thoughtful.

"It was him who came unexpectedly to tea, wasn't it?"

"Yes…he got the 'good' biscuits."

"Hmm," was all Angus said to that.

In due course, Angus reported to Entwistle, who let him off to his break. If anyone wanted tea or coffee for the next half hour, they'd either have to come down and get it themselves, or better still, take note of the hour and go to eat themselves.

The story was passed around among the slaves, who both congratulated Jack on his good luck, puzzled over the circumstance he received it in, and somewhat marveled that a man could be beaten one day and rewarded the next. None of them suggested lewd ways in which Jack might have earned his privilege. Firstly, they knew Jack too well to think it, secondly, they knew Jack's friends wouldn't stand for it, and thirdly, it was one of those unspoken rules that you don't comment on that kind of thing to a fellow slave. There were things a slave didn't shame fellow slaves over, and that included what acts they felt forced to do in return for a better life. Even if Jack had done that, and they all knew he had, no one would have commented. Not to him, at least.

"You know who should hear about this?" Frank said as the slaves who only had half an hour to finish in were getting ready to return to duty. "Mary."

"I suppose I could stop in to say hello. Check on the children. Return her bottle to her," Jack agreed.

And somewhere in Cherry Tree Lane, Michael Banks was getting ready to go to work and was managing in the process to misplace his briefcase. Lending to this chaos was Jane Banks, who had decided her family needed a helping hand in light of all that was going on.

Mary Poppins did not lend to the chaos. She stood at its center, a calm conductor to the storm.