Jane rose with a resigned sigh, Della’s story forgotten. “I really should get back to her. We’ll catch up more next time, all right?”
“Of course. I still have five weeks to finish—” But Jane wasn’t listening. She was already rocking Gloria gently upon her shoulder, focused on her cries. “Never mind, I’ll explain it all to you later. Take care.” Della stood awkwardly for a moment, then moved to show herself out.
“Oh!” Jane seemed to remember her again just as she neared the door, but it wasn’t to do with her book. “Eli told me to remind you that his friend is coming by about the dealer post next week.”
Oh yes, she’d nearly forgotten. Hopefully he would prove competent. She didn’t want to spend hours training someone with no knowledge of the game.
“And if you see Mrs. Muller—”
“Yes, yes,” Della assured her. “I’ll be sure to catch her this time, don’t you worry.”
***
Lyman walked up the approach to his lodgings with a spring in his step. Despite himself, he’d enjoyed his morning. Though it was hardly the first time he went sightseeing, it usually felt like a chore. Something he did out of obligation to keep his book up to date. But Della’s lively manner made everything look new again.
It made him forget all the troubles that weighed him down.
He walked up to the second floor and unlocked the door that divided the rented rooms from Mrs. Hirsch’s home below. There were voices coming from the common dining area the three men shared, but he didn’t hear Clarkson’s smooth baritone. Wood must have company then.
There’s a first time for everything.
He’d expected to be greeted by the sight of someone resembling Mr. Wood as he came inside—a cousin from the country who shared his doughy face and muttonchop sideburns, perhaps. But as his gaze fell upon their visitor, Lyman realized the man hadn’t come for his fellow lodger at all.
It was Michael, sitting at their dining table as if he belonged there. Lyman’s breath rushed out of him as swiftly as if he’d been punched in the gut.
“Hullo.” Wood greeted him with a genuine smile—a rare occurrence. “I was just getting acquainted with your brother-in-law.”
“Yes, I see that.” How long had Michael been here? Why had he come to his lodgings?
Michael said nothing, but watched Lyman impassively. Though it had been years since Lyman had seen him, he looked the same as ever. He was a slender man with black hair that gained a smattering of red as it progressed down his cheeks to end in a pointed beard. His thin lips were pressed together in silent judgment.
“We were just having the most illuminating discussion about judicial reform,” Wood continued. Judging by his enthusiasm, he hadn’t picked up on the subtle signs of Michael’s annoyance. “It’s so rare to meet someone who understands the complexities of the courts. Most people think it’s just like inThe Pickwick Papers, which really doesn’t paint a fair picture. But of course, Lord de Villiers understands everything so well I almost feel as thoughhecould teachmea thing or two about the law.”
Still, Michael didn’t speak. He raised an eyebrow slowly, but his gaze remained cold.What is this idiot on about?he seemed to be asking.
It was jarring to witness his brother-in-law sitting next to Wood. Like watching a raven glide down among a chattering flutter of sparrows. He seemed to belong to a superior world, one that shouldnever have intermingled with this one. Though Lyman had long since grown used to his diminished circumstances, now he saw it all through fresh eyes, as it must appear to Michael. The little cracks in the plaster walls; the way the curtains had faded in the sun; the creaks and groans that escaped the ancient wooden chairs whenever one of the men shifted his weight. Every detail painted a sad picture.
Lyman cleared his throat. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. If you’d told me you were coming, I would have been home to receive you.”
“I wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans.” It was plain from his tone that Michael had already formed his own ideas of what Lyman’s “plans” might have been, and he didn’t think too highly of them.
Heat crept up the back of Lyman’s neck. He felt as exposed as if Michael had been watching him all day, stalking his path from Della’s house to the Waterloo Bridge to Fleet Street. As if he knew Lyman had spent the past twenty-four hours chasing after the promise of carnal pleasure with a woman who wasn’t his wife.
“Would you like to come to my rooms?” Lyman asked. “We can speak privately there.”
Michael rose to his feet and took his leave of Mr. Wood with polite indifference. They removed to Lyman’s quarters and shut the door behind them. He had two adjacent rooms allotted to his use, one for writing and the other for his bed and clothes. There was a chair and desk near the window, as well as a threadbare settee in the corner. Lyman searched for a match and lit an oil lamp to brighten the space. When he turned back to Michael, he found his brother-in-law scanning absently through the notes spread on his desk.
Has he been reading through my draft?
“I’d proposed we meet at a public house,” Lyman observed quietly.
“I didn’t want to be seen with you.”
Hell.Michael couldn’t make anything easy, could he? Without Mr. Wood observing them, his careful manners had evaporated. He wrinkled his nose as he took in the state of the room. “I never thought you’d be caught dead in such a place.” He jerked his head toward the door to indicate the room from which they’d just retreated. “Asolicitor, Ashton?”
“It was economical,” Lyman said simply. He didn’t want to talk about the state of his lodgings with Michael. “Is Ellen well?”
“None of us are well, since you ruined our family.”
