“Of course.” He added quickly and in a low voice, “Christ’s College is finally set to rights. Those within the hallowed halls of knowledge are the ones meant to be there. Good day, Miss Essex.”
He tipped his hat and left.
Elizabeth’s temper flared. Of course, he’d be gloating that she was no longer welcome. It rubbed salt in her still-healing wound. “Let’s return home, Molly.”
Elizabeth was silent on the way home, and as she passed through the door, she was welcomed by her father.
“Good afternoon, dear,” he said as she entered.
“Good afternoon, Papa.” She forced a smile.
Her father paused, regarding her. “Is something the matter?”
Elizabeth twisted her lips. “Just encountered Professor Greybeck. He’s quite…thrilled with certain events.”
“Greybeck.” Her father nodded. “He’s misguided but a good educator. Most of the Fellows are, my dear. Just because someone disagrees with your application of the same methodology doesn’t make them evil. It makes them mistaken.”
“I’d rather think of them all as horrid, but I see the value of your words.” She sighed. “Sometimes it is a very difficult thing to have a father who implements the philosophy he teaches so well,” she added, though her tone was soft and had a teasing lilt.
“Try having a daughter who holds you to it with her own understanding.” He winked at her.
“Very well. I won’t complain.”
“See that you don’t,” he answered. “I was going to have tea. Will you join me? Lord Penderdale will arrive soon, I’m sure.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll go ask Cook to prepare enough just in case he arrives.”
As Elizabeth went to request tea be served, she thought over her father’s words. It was so easy, to ascribe ill intentions to those someone disagreed with. It was simply human nature. She’d be mindful; that was all she could do.
And humble when she was wrong.
Lucky for her, it wasn’t often.
Twenty
Repose is a good thing, but boredom is its brother.
—Voltaire
Collin had spent the morning giving information to the magistrate at the shire house regarding the tea peddlers they’d encountered yesterday. In light of the key arrests in London related to a crime ring, Collin wasn’t sure if the information he offered provided some much-needed clarification or just muddied the waters more. He wouldn’t know until his missive to the War Office was answered. Until then, he waited.
Before he could visit Elizabeth, he needed to make an important communication. It was with a faintly anxious feeling that he knocked on Michael’s door, waiting for him to answer.
“Good afternoon,” Michael greeted him, then smirked. “Purple is your color, Collin.”
Collin quirked his one good brow and entered the house as Michael stepped aside. “Thank you, I always thought I appeared quite dashing in it.”
“‘Dashing’ isn’t the word I’d use, but to each his own.” Michael shrugged. “How’s the headache?”
“Like a bloody army of tiny hammers. Nevertheless, it’s slowly going away.” Collin took a seat where Michael gestured.
“Did you talk with the magistrate?”
“Yes, and I sent a few questions to the War Office as well. I’ll let you know when I hear back. I assume it will take a day or two.”
“These things usually do.” Michael settled back in his chair.
Collin hesitated a moment, then leaned forward. “I need to tell you something.”
