“I am?” Her fingers flew to her face, exploring the contours of her cheekbones and jaw.
He dared another step closer, then sucked in a breath. Her gaze hadn’t met his because she hadn’t known where his eyes were, for the girl was clearly blind. “What are you doing out here?”
Her nose bunched all rabbity, a few solid sniffs blending with the laughter from inside the cottage. “You smell of cigars.”
“Good thing I was downwind of you, then, or you’d have run off the second I rounded the corner.”
“Dixon says tobacco is a filthy habit.” She lifted her nose in the same pert manner Eva had used on him earlier that day. “I agree with her.”
Saucy little pixie. He grinned. “Then you and Dixon will be happy to know I have none left, though I do wonder what Dixon might say about you stealing off into the night on your own. Do you wish to continue our conversation here like the wild beasts we both are, or shall we pretend to be civilized and retire to the bench I recently departed?”
“Humph. My sister was right.”
“About?” He could only imagine what Eva might’ve said.
“You do talk a lot. Though that could be to my advantage since I have some questions for you. Come along, then.” The girl marched past him, her hand only reaching out once to determine the end of the building.
He followed, marveling at the girl’s lack of inhibition inspeech and in movement. He sank next to her on the bench, taking a moment to settle the lantern on the ground. Not that the light would matter to her, but an inadvertent jostle could send it tumbling. “So what would you like to know?”
“Everything. What is it like to be an archaeologist? Does the dirt smell differently as you’re about to uncover something? When you first hold a relic that’s been buried for centuries, can you feel a connection to the last fingers that held it? Can you practically taste a long-forgotten meal just by handling an unearthed bowl?”
He chuckled. “Those are big questions. Such an inquisitive mind rivals some of my best students. I daresay you have a bright future ahead of you.”
“I have a lot of time to think.” She shrugged.
“Well, well. You may look like your sister, but you’re surely not as timid.”
“Eva?” She laughed, girlish and bright. “My sister is far too much of a take-charge and mind-your-manners sort of person.”
Bram shifted on the hard bench. “She wasn’t always like that,” he murmured. Might things have been different between him and Eva now if he’d stayed in Royston? Would she trust him more if he’d never left? Hah! It was a good thing he had gone. If he’d remained any longer in this town he’d have either killed Trestwell or Trestwell would have done him in.
The girl leaned toward him, and he caught the faint scent of ginger drops on her breath. “What was she like?”
Memories surfaced like bubbles on a pond. Eva running down a hill with her long braid bobbing against her back, frightened of the toad he’d shown her. Or the time she’d burst into tears when one of the other boys had called her a rusty-topped bean pole. He’d tried to comfort her by sharing a biscuit he’d pilfered from the baker’s cart, but the treat had turned to crumbs in his pocket. And then there was the great snake-in-the-sack debacle. He never should have given it to her as a gift. She didn’t speak for a whole week—to anyone.
Bram rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. Now that he thought on it, yes, she had been a bit melodramatic for a child, but not without cause. “You’d better ask her.”
The girl’s lips pursed into a pout, but only for a second. “And you? What were you like?”
He smirked. Remembering Eva’s past was painful enough. There was no way he’d voice what an awful lad he’d been. “You’d better ask her about that too.”
She kicked her toe against the gravel, clearly displeased. “I think you’re very secretive, just like her. But no matter what my sister says”—her toe stopped, and she lifted her face toward him—“I’ve decided I like you.”
“Is that so? Well, you’re not so bad yourself, Miss Inman.”
“You can call me Penny. But not poppet. Only my sister gets that privilege.” She stood and offered her hand. “Good night, Professor Webb.”
“And you may call me Bram but not badger.” He gave her a hearty shake.
“Badger?”
“It’s what your sister used to call me. Good night, Penny.”
With a song on her lips, she strode toward the house, sure of every step as she sang. Which left him to wonder. If Eva hadn’t bothered to mention her sister, being the delight that Penny was, what else was she not telling him?
7
Monday mornings were hard enough without hosting a stark-faced rector and his overly effervescent sister. My, what a pair they made. Enough to tire a saint. Eva poured tea while Mrs. Mortimer blathered on about the thick rope of pearls she’d recently purchased. The woman’s podgy fingers danced over the necklace while her brother shot her a gangrenous look at such a display of worldliness.
