I felt my cheeks flush, which made Jenny smile impishly. “Charlie is hardly my anything,” I said. “But yes, he’ll be involved. Not that there are enough flowers in the world to make that romance a reality.”
“You don’t need flowers, dear. You need confidence. Next time you see him, you should just go right up to him and plant a kiss on that boy’s pretty face.”
“Jenny!”
“Fortune favors the bold, Abigail!”
“Sure it does. The last time I was bold, I nearly got the man killed, and then he changed his name and moved a hundred miles away. That’s not exactly a strong start to a relationship.”
“You silly girl. Of course it is—he risked his life for you!”
“Oh, never mind about it, anyway. I’m not going to the valley looking for romance—there are more important matters at stake. I’m looking for a murderer.”
“You should definitely have kissed him right after the big fight.” Jenny smiled, willfully ignoring my protests. She let her gaze drift to the window. “My fiancé got in a fight over me, once. He lost terribly, the poor man—he never was much of a pugilist. He looked like an absolute mess afterward, with gauze wadded up in each nostril and one eye all swollen, but it was still just the sweetest thing. And the stupidest. I told him as much . . . right before I kissed him.” She turned her eyes meaningfully back to me. “Because that’s what you do.”
“What was he like?” I asked. “Your fiancé. You never talk about him.”
Jenny’s brow furrowed for a moment, and her eyes looked very far away—but then she rallied, giving me a sly grin and shaking her finger. “Oh no you don’t, Abigail. We were talking about you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about! I’m going on an assignment. Dirt. Bones. Corpses. Villains. I doubt very much Charlie is thinking of anything else, either. If he had wanted a kiss when we last said good-bye, then I might have been happy to surrender it. Now he’s . . . and I’m . . . It’s complicated.” I was getting flustered, and I could feel my cheeks burning red. I wished we could talk about anything else.
“It couldn’t hurt to try. You can’t live your life without taking any chances.”
“Well, that’s easy for you to say. It may not matter to you, but I still have a life to ruin, you know.”
Jenny was quiet. The brightness drained from her eyes, and I knew at once I had crossed a line.
“Jenny, I didn’t . . . ,” I said, but the spectral lady was already fading. In a moment she had vanished. “I’m sorry,” I said to her empty room.
Chapter Nine
Jackaby was in his office when I plodded back down the stairs. His coat was draped over the back of his armchair, and he had plucked off his shirt collar. It was the heavily starched sort meant for fancy dress, although it had become a bit crinkled along the top, and one lapel had a permanent bend to it, reaching up as if it were in the middle of a dramatic soliloquy from Hamlet. It lay on the desk in front of him as he fidgeted with a needle and a spool of coarse metallic thread.
“Mr. Jackaby?” I said.
“We’ve had a telegram from Barker,” he said, not looking up from his efforts. At least he didn’t seem to be annoyed with me any longer. “We’ll be on the first train to meet him tomorrow morning. It departs at half past six, so best to prepare everything you need tonight.” The end of his thread finally found its way into the eye of the needle, and he unwound a long stretch before snapping it off.
“I’ll be ready first thing,” I promised. “What are you doing there?”
Jackaby had begun working the thread through the collar’s stiff fabric. “Lining my neck with silver. I’ve already taken the liberty of sprinkling your traveling hat with mustard seed. No need to thank me.”
“Very kind of you, sir. May I ask why?”
“Apotropaic preparations. I felt it prudent to employ a broad range of protective wards in advance. I’m out of garlic, however. I’ll need to make a run to the market this afternoon.”