“Why aren’t we travelling third?” he asked. “It’s a waste of money, and I don’t look—respectable.”
“Leave that to me,” Jonah assured him. “Really, it’ll be—oh, bother.” That was as the door opened and a fussy-looking man in a suit entered, putting his newspaper on the seat. Jonah smiled at him and leaned over to touch his hand as he said, clearly, “Now, listen, you don’t want to sit in here.” The man mumbled an awkward excuse and backed out, leaving the paper in his haste to get away.
“How did you do that?” Ben demanded. “Did you affect his thoughts?”
Jonah shrugged. “We need privacy.”
“Yes, but—”
“But we need privacy. He can sit somewhere else.”
“You can’t just shape the world to your own convenience like that,” Ben protested.
“What does it matter where he sits?—No, listen to me, you don’t want to come in,” Jonah added to a young man fumbling at the door. “Goodness, it’s like Piccadilly Circus.”
“It matters because…it’s wrong, that’s why.”
“Oh, well, wrong,” Jonah said dismissively.
“But—” Ben gave up, for the moment, and sat back in silence, until at last the train jolted away with a cloud of steam and a screech of metal. The ticket inspector came in a few moments later, and Jonah handed over the scraps of pasteboard.
“What’s this, now?” demanded the inspector. “These are third-class—”
“Second class.” Jonah’s hand snaked out to the inspector’s fingers. “Listen to me. Second class, and you don’t need to disturb us, for any reason.”
“Very good, sir.” The inspector touched his cap and departed.
Jonah pulled the door closed. “Now, don’t fuss. You were quite right about husbanding our money, especially if you’re going to make difficulties about replenishing the funds.”
“I’m happy to have third-class tickets and sit in third.”
“I’m not,” Jonah said. “It’s uncomfortable, and we wouldn’t get any quiet, and does it really matter?”
“It seems to me that it’s all of a piece. You’re not honest, Jonah.”
Jonah’s cheeks reddened, just a little, but he gave a careless shrug. “Perhaps not. Well, no. If you want to be provincial about it.”
“I am provincial,” Ben said grimly. “I’m a provincial copper, or I was, till a few months ago. And if you’ve got an explanation of why I’m not one any more, I’d like to hear it now. No excuses, no wandering off the point.” He knew Jonah’s flitting, butterfly mind all too well. “Just the truth.”
Jonah shut his eyes. “Yes. Right. Very well. Where to start… I don’t know if you remember, no reason you should, but back in October, before…everything, I turned down a job.”
Ben did remember. Jonah had come back from one of his two-day absences twitchy and frowning. He had said only that he had refused work, and the prospective employer had not been happy, but he had scowled at his plate as he ate, and his normally ravenous appetite had deserted him. Ben had wondered at the time.
“Let me guess. This job offer was from Lady Bruton?”
“Yes. A very bad woman, and very dangerous, and half-mad at least, and possessed of a raging grudge against Stephen Day, the justiciar, and his lover, Lord Crane.”
“His what?”
“Lover. Day’s lover.”
“Day?” Ben repeated, completely forgetting about sticking to the point. “His lover? Did you say a lord?”
“Oh, yes. The right noble earl of Crane. Landed gentry. Six foot three of money, mouth and cock. And an utter bastard.”
“Six— With Day?” Ben was having trouble visualising this. “Are you sure?”
“Unlikely, isn’t it? And, you’d think, physically unfeasible, but they are conducting an affaire of operatic intensity. No, really. I promise.” His eyes brimmed with amusement at Ben’s reaction.
“But… My God. I thought he was sympathetic.” Ben considered it for a second. He had a vague feeling that, under the circumstances, the man might have been more helpful. “Well, I wouldn’t have thought it.”
“Yes, well, think on this: the righteous Mr. Day is quite a lot less righteous in private. He likes restraints.”
“You aren’t serious,” Ben said, aghast. “Oh.”
“What?” Jonah was watching his face, and there was something in his expression, a touch of satisfied happiness that he had always worn when he made Ben laugh. The look that had made Ben feel like the centre of the world. “What is it?”
Ben didn’t give a damn for Day’s personal habits, but that look had made him feel…he didn’t know. Something he couldn’t think about. He answered mostly to distract himself from it. “Nothing. Just that you said restraints, and—well, I thought Day was good at ropes back at the justiciary…”