“No. He paid only to the end of the month.”
Stephen mentally calculated. A sea voyage to Italy could take two or three weeks each way, depending on weather and the winds, not to mention whatever time Wesley planned to spend there painting. What had Keith been thinking to let him go? To leave without sending word? Or perhaps a letter was even now making its way to Overtree Hall through the post.
Stephen sighed. “I will have to pack up his belongings and somehow transport them home.”
She nodded absently. “We probably have a suitable crate in the studio. Come. I will ask Papa’s assistant to help you make arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
She offered him the use of the cottage overnight, since his brother had already paid for it. He politely declined, having secured a room at the Rising Sun, where a warm supper awaited him.
He gestured for her to precede him. “I’ll escort you back.”
As the sun set, they walked down the switchback path and into Lynmouth.
“Do you know... ” she began. “Your brother never mentioned a sibling named Stephen. Only a ‘Marsh.’ Something of an ogre, apparently.”
Stephen pulled a face, knowing the act would only serve to pucker the scar on his cheek and make him more ogre-like yet. He explained, “My second name is Marshall. He calls me Marsh—one of several nicknames he reserves for me. Including Captain Black.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I—”
“No matter. It’s an apt description.”
When they arrived at the studio near the harbor, Miss Dupont used another key to open the door. She frowned at the dim, silent interior. “Maurice is supposed to keep the lights burning and the door open until five at least. Looks like he’s been gone for hours.”
“Is this where you live?” Stephen asked.
“We have a house in Bath, but when we’re in Lynmouth we live in the apartment upstairs. Although, with my father gone I’m staying with a neighbor, Mrs. Thrupton.”
He read between the lines. “Is your father’s assistant a lad or a... married man?”
“Neither.”
“Ah.” He nodded, illogically relieved she cared something for her reputation.
A man of about twenty trudged down the stairs in stocking feet. He wore trousers, rumpled shirt and waistcoat, but no coat. His dark hair stood askew, as though he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Bring me any supper?” he asked her. “I’m starved.”
“You’re on your own, I’m afraid,” she replied, setting down her bonnet and gloves.
“Who’s he?” The young man lifted an insolent chin.
“This is Captain Overtree, Mr. Overtree’s brother. Captain, Maurice O’Dell. My father’s assistant.”
“Another Overtree? It’s my lucky day,” he said sarcastically. “What does this one want?”
“Simply to transport the belongings his brother left in the cottage. I would like you to help him.”
“I... heard he left,” O’Dell said. “And good riddance, if you ask me.”
Miss Dupont said coolly, “I didn’t.”
Stephen sized up the young man as he would an opponent. He was barely more than Miss Dupont’s height, though stockier. His prominent dark eyes and upturned nose put Stephen in mind of an ill-behaved pug yapping at a larger dog.
O’Dell turned to him, thick lip curled. “I am not merely an assistant. I’m family. Claude Dupont’s nephew.”
“By marriage, yes,” she clarified. “My father married Maurice’s aunt a few years ago.”
