A Curious Beginning

“I already know you find me a boor. Rude and ill-mannered.”


I shrugged. “That we have already established. Your frightful manners do not surprise me. The fact that you are a liar does.”

He started, his complexion suffusing with a rush of angry color. But he mastered himself quickly, and when he spoke, it was with a deliberate attempt at lightness. “A liar. How clever of you to find me out.”

“Not really. I saw how greedily you devoured the ham, and I saw that for several hours afterward, you worked quite comfortably. You have not coughed or swallowed overmuch or visited an unmentionable place in the yard—all signs of indigestion. In fact, you have worked with great enthusiasm and energy, a man in complete command of himself and perfect health.”

The dull color receded and he looked away. “Yes, dammit, I lied to the boy.”

“How many people is he trying to feed on his meager earnings?”

“Seven. Six brothers and sisters and an ailing mother,” he said quietly.

“And the boy is too proud to take charity, I assume.”

“Quite.” The word was clipped.

“And you are too clever to offer it. I presume you have an understanding with the butcher not to take your messages sent through the boy too seriously?”

He hesitated, then burst out, “Yes, damn you, and he has a standing order to give them whatever offal and bones he has left over and put it on my account.”

“An account I suspect you can ill afford to settle.”

The proud nose twitched. “I manage to keep myself.”

“But not well,” I pointed out. “You eat scraps, preferring to spend your coin upon cheap tobacco, sugar, and—unless I am very much mistaken about the aroma emanating from your person—inferior gin. Yet you have ambition, Mr. Stoker, and great skill. I have learned more from watching you these past hours than in years of reading books and journals. You ought to be a university lecturer or a field explorer.”

Somewhere in the depths of his tangled beard, his lips twisted. “You have seen my prospects, Miss Speedwell. I am rejected.”

I flapped a hand. “By a second-rate institution run by charlatans and fools. Everyone knows the director was given his post because his aunt is the mistress of the chairman of the board of directors.”

He choked on his tea, coughing mightily until I rose to strike him hard upon the back. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and regarded me with amazement.

“Miss Speedwell, I have hiked the length of the Amazon River. I have been accosted by native tribes and shot twice. I have nearly met my death by quicksand, snakebite, poisoned arrows, and one particularly fiendish jaguar. And I have never, until this moment, been quite so surprised by anything as I am by you.”

“I shall take that as a fine compliment indeed, Mr. Stoker.”

He tipped his head to study me for a moment.

“How do you know Max?”

“The baron? I do not know him. He simply appeared.” I did not know how much the baron had related to him, so I confined my explanation to the barest facts. “I had been burying my late guardian, Miss Nell Harbottle, and the baron came to pay his respects. He kindly offered me transport to London.”

“And you came away with him? Just like that?” He seemed to have forgot his tea. It grew cold and scummy in the cup as he listened to my curious tale.

“It was a sensible decision,” I temporized. “There was a housebreaker in the vicinity. The baron had persuaded himself I was in danger.”

“Yes, so he said. Life and death,” Mr. Stoker said, his expression mocking. I might have told him the rest of the story, but I did not care for his tone. For the present, the villainous intruder would be a secret I shared only with the baron.

I shrugged. “An elderly gentleman’s fancy. No doubt many ladies would be missish about staying alone in a rather remote country cottage with a possible criminal at large, but the prospect did not afright me. I might have remained at Wren Cottage, but it was my intention to leave anyway. By coming away with the baron, I saved myself the expense of the journey to London. I must be mindful of my money,” I said. I looked deeply into my cup of tea.

He bristled. “You will have no call to spend it under my roof. Max has placed you in my protection. That means it is my responsibility to feed and shelter you until he returns,” he told me, his tone aggressive.

“Really, Mr. Stoker, that is not necessary. I can pay my way,” I began.

“I have the merest embers of pride left, Miss Speedwell. I beg you let me warm myself upon them,” he said. He had spoken casually, but I knew instinctively that he was a man who had come down greatly in the world, and I had no wish to injure him further.