It would be the height of stupidity to go round there directly, he told himself, as he caught the omnibus in the direction of Holborn. He should write first. Arrange a convenient time. Give the man a chance to refuse.
God knew he’d made himself clear back at Peakholme. This visit wouldn’t be welcome. Curtis considered that as he hopped off the ’bus at the British Museum stop and ventured into the new buildings of shabby-genteel Bloomsbury. Daniel was fiercely proud, defensive to a fault. Curtis shouldn’t force his company on him.
And what if he was entertaining other company? That was an unwelcome reflection, but it had to be faced. Why would Daniel not have a lover in London, or several?
He threaded his way through long streets of grey-bricked houses, dodging perambulators and flower sellers, wondering about that. He knew his own mind. No doubt there, after eleven endless, restless nights, clutching at every minute of those few precious hours in the folly, already afraid he’d begin to forget. But what Daniel really felt, what he wanted, whether he had pushed Curtis away purely for his sake or because he had no need for an inexperienced, overfond fool, whether he shared Curtis’s sense of a connection between them that was more than physical and more than mental…
Curtis didn’t know any of that and, he thought as he pulled the bell of the small boarding house, he was an utter idiot simply to charge forward. Any chap with sense would handle this with discretion, and consideration, and tact. Nobody in his right mind would just knock at the man’s door.
The landlady showed him up to the first-floor landing and indicated the door. He knocked. There was a faint sound from inside that was almost certainly a curse, the door was pulled open with clear irritation, and Daniel was there.
He was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, cuffs rolled back. His hair was unoiled, and tumbled, as though someone had been grabbing at it. There was ink on his fingers and he was wearing wire-rimmed spectacles. Curtis was captivated by the spectacles.
Daniel blinked twice, then snatched the spectacles off his nose. “Curtis.” He stepped back to let him in, and shut the landlady firmly out. “What the hell do you want?”
“I want to see you.”
“I told you. No.” Daniel put the reading glasses on his desk. It was a small deal table, piled with papers. The top sheets were covered in Daniel’s looping scrawl: short lines with a lot of scratching out and insertions.
“Are you writing a poem?” Curtis asked, fascinated.
Daniel turned the sheet over in a pointed fashion. There was writing on the back as well. He hissed with annoyance and slapped a newspaper on top of the pile. “I don’t care for observation.”
“No.” Curtis looked round the room. It was a humble sort of place, rather cramped and with faded furnishings. A small fire burned in the inadequate grate, and the coals were low in the scuttle.
“Can I help you?” enquired Daniel waspishly. He propped his shoulders against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Since I told you that you were not welcome to visit…”
“This is a professional call.”
“Really? Did I invade someone’s country?”
“Your profession,” Curtis clarified, and added, “Not the poetry.”
“Yes, I grasped that, thank you. What about it?”
Daniel was clearly not in an accommodating mood. No point beating about the bush, then. “I thought I should let you know, we’re going to be working together.”
That broke through the facade. Daniel stared at him. “We what?”
“Working together. My uncle asked me to. In case you find yourself in a scrap.”
Daniel’s expression suggested a scrap was imminent. “I do not need a nursemaid,” he said through gritted teeth. “I do not want a partner. I have never wanted a partner.”
“No. My uncle told me you’ve already driven three chaps off with that vicious tongue of yours.”
“Quite. Of course, if a man favours me with his opinion of bloody sodomites and bloody Jews, that is simply the civilised exchange of views. Whereas if I give him my opinion of his intellect and physical prowess in return, that’s my vicious tongue.”
“I like your tongue.”
Daniel’s brows shot up, and it was not a mannered movement. He recovered his poise. “How daring of you to say so.”
“Not really.” Curtis stepped forward, one stride closer. “I know you don’t need a nursemaid. But my uncle has just given me a reason to be close to you. If you want me to be.”
Daniel’s dark eyes were unblinking. “A reason only your uncle will know. And meanwhile, the whispers start.”
“He told me there was a chance people might speculate, if I was seen to form a friendship with you. I told him I didn’t care. I don’t.” Daniel gave him a sceptical look. “I don’t. He’s given me a reason that he and Sir Henry will be happy with. If I needn’t worry about my uncles, the rest of the world can go hang.”
“So you say now.”