An incredulous grin spread across Cassian’s face. ‘Good God, Daizell. I could never,everhave done this without you.’
‘Thank me when we get the ring back off Martin,’ Daizell reminded him, but he was smiling too, caught by Cassian’s joy. ‘I hope to blazes he’s still got it.’
‘Even if he doesn’t – because I am not going to pin my hopes on that at all – I will know that I tried my best and did what I could. Um. If he does have it, do you think he’ll give it back?’
‘If he knows what’s good for him. What else was it you wanted to say?’
‘Well, the bed – the landlord—’
‘He’s trustworthy,’ Daizell reassured him. ‘This is a safe sort of place. No maids barging into rooms, or awkward questions about linen or who sleeps where.’
‘It’s a molly house?’
‘It’s an inn. Just a friendly one, where one doesn’t have to bribe the maids or leave by the windows.’
‘Oh.’ Cassian frowned. ‘But what about everywhere else we’ve stayed?’
‘We’ve left most of them after a night. And you’ve tipped lavishly, which . . .’ Which he’d assumed was buying complaisance, but Cassian’s blank look suggested otherwise. Hejust tipped to excess as a matter of principle.Rich, Daizell thought again. ‘I’m not advising indiscretion in the public rooms. Just saying, the landlord’s a decent fellow.’
‘But . . .’ Cassian winced. ‘If people found out I lodged here, would that be suggestive?’
‘What people? You live over the far side of Gloucester: who would notice or care where you stay in Coventry? And in any case it’s not a brothel. It’s an inn, albeit one where you might find like-minded company if you were looking for that. There’s usually somewhere in a good-sized town if you know where to go.’
‘But I don’t know.’ Cassian looked a little lost, somehow, almost bleak. ‘I’ve only ever really gone to one place and it’s quite . . . quite exclusive, you know, and awfully careful. I’ve never been to a normal sort of molly house.’
‘I could take you, if you like,’ Daizell offered, and saw on his face that was wrong. ‘Or not. Do you not want to stay here? I assumed you’d want a safe place.’
Cassian rubbed his face. ‘Because this is a safe sort of place for you.’
‘Well, yes? Is there something wrong?’
‘No. No, I dare say not. It’s a new experience and I’m supposed to have those. I’m sorry, I’m being very silly, when you’ve found our quarry and a good place to stay while we wait.’ He shook himself. ‘Forgive me. Could we perhaps take a stroll and stretch our legs? I don’t know Coventry at all and if we’ll be here a while, I should acquaint myself.’
‘You’re just itching for the cathedral, aren’t you?’ Daizell said, and led him out.
It was a pleasant afternoon, and Coventry was a lovely town. It wore its medieval history on its sleeve, with some surviving town gates though the walls between them hadlong gone, and two churches whose exteriors had Cassian rapt with admiration. Daizell had never considered them beyond ‘tall and pointy’; he expected to learn a great deal more in the near future, and found himself rather looking forward to it. They strolled in a leisurely way, and returned to the Green Lion for an excellent dinner and a pleasant evening in the taproom.
It was pleasant indeed. Daizell’s wanderings around the country and friendly habits meant he had a wide acquaintance. The Green Lion was where he always came when he passed through the area, and he greeted familiar faces with pleasure. Cassian said little, but he was an excellent listener, a trait which would win him popularity in any drinking establishment. Daizell told a couple of amusing stories, got belly laughs, laughed immoderately at other people’s stories, and made half a dozen new passing friends. He was thrumming with energy when they retired upstairs.
‘Goodness,’ Cassian said, sitting on the bed. ‘What a lively evening. You enjoyed yourself.’
‘I did. Did you?’
‘Yes.’ He sounded as though he was slightly surprised. ‘It was very entertaining. I usually find big, noisy gatherings rather exhausting. I think the trick is not having people particularly want one to talk. It’s much more enjoyable when I can just listen without feeling obliged to say something.’
‘If you want to be surrounded by people who talk so much you couldn’t get a word in if you tried, you’ve come to the right place. With the right man,’ he was forced to add, since he was well aware he’d been chattering all night.
‘Yes, that was perfect,’ Cassian agreed quite seriously. ‘Everyone allowed you to talk for both of us. I wish you could do that normally.’
Daizell frowned. ‘You’ve plenty to say for yourself.’
‘When I want to. The problem is when I’ve nothing at all I want to say, and yet people still press me to converse. I find that dreadfully tiring.’ He cocked his head. ‘Whereas you look quite invigorated. Have I been keeping you from the social whirl?’
‘Yes, all those invitations to soirées I’ve turned down,’ Daizell said, a touch more sarcastically than he’d meant. ‘No, not at all. I like company, but if it’s too much for you—’
‘If I find it too much, I shall retreat and read a book, and be as happy in my solitude as you are in company. Unless that would be offensive?’ he added quickly. ‘I don’t want to be standoffish.’
‘Nobody will mind in the slightest. We can find a bookseller tomorrow.’
