However, though Daniel had passed the exam honestly enough and had worked still more honestly ever since, he had got his foot in the door by claiming to have clerked previously in the Staple Inn law office of Mr Ephraim Grigsby, Esq., under the senior clerk, Mr Lofthouse. Which meant Lofthouse’s sudden arrival in Port Hawkesbury made things rather awkward.
So Daniel, as casually as possible, plucked up a scrap of scratch-paper from the discard pile and dashed off a quick note to his wife.
Dear Mrs Durst,
I beg you will forgive the short notice, but Mr Lofthouse has arrived in town today with an unknown companion. I intend to invite them both to await me at our house for dinner.
Your ever-devoted,
Mr Durst.
This he folded, sealed, and handed off to Thomas to deliver, with a ha’penny for his troubles.
Daniel had taken rooms for himself and Sukie at a lodging-house when they first arrived in Port Hawkesbury. But this had been a temporary measure. After he attained his clerking position, they began their hunt through the newspaper advertisements for a proper house. Then, when they’d married at last, Daniel wrote again to Mr Grigsby to inform him of the happy occasion—or rather, a version of it, wherein “Miss Flora Fairfield” married a Mr Daniel Durst—and request the remainder of his inheritance be wired to Mrs Daniel Durst. Mr Grigsby, ever-dutiful, followed through within a few short weeks. With his rightful fortune in hand, Daniel acquired the charming little house Sukie had selected; a cottage, almost, some distance from the amenities of town, but all the more beloved for the privacy said distance afforded.
Daniel had developed a distinct desire for privacy whilst at Mrs Bailiwick’s Academy. As the wealthiest pupil there, he’d had the especial privilege of an upstairs bedroom all to himself from the age of fourteen. He found it a welcome relief from the ceaseless chatter of his fellow pupils and a shelter from the notice of the all-too-attentive music master. And all the moreso as his body chose that particular year to betray him. It became suddenly very important for him to dress and undress in private, for while he looked no different from his fellow pupils, he felt very different indeed and preferred no one besides himself gaze upon the parts of him which felt most at odds with his soul. Nor did he need anyone else commenting on his habit of throwing a sheet over the stand-mirror before he performed his morning ablutions.
When the lunch hour finally arrived, Daniel did not avail himself of the hand-pie baked and packed for him that morning by his devoted wife. Instead, he abandoned his luncheon to goout wandering the streets in search of Lofthouse and his queer companion. The description of Lofthouse didn’t get him very far when questioning passers-by. The description of his unknown cohort, however, as provided by Thomas, proved far more useful. It brought Daniel in short order to the stationer’s shop, where he beheld the oddity for himself.
The stranger was almost exactly as the boy had described—much to Daniel’s surprise. He’d assumed the lad had exaggerated. But indeed, he found himself confronted with the vision of a tall gentleman in dark garb of the medieval sort, with a feather in his peaked cap and leather boots folded down just above his knees and an enormous billowing furred coat all in black. He wore his hair unfashionably long in a queue at the back of his neck. Daniel could discern little of what the stranger might think from the severe cast of his long face as he examined reams of tinted paper and plucked up a particular bottle of red ink for closer inspection.
The gentleman speaking to the clerk behind the counter, however, proved far more familiar.
Daniel recognized Lofthouse at a glance. An inch or so shorter than Daniel himself, with chestnut hair and a face spattered with freckles. He’d dressed in an unassuming black frock-coat—the exact match for the grey one Daniel himself wore now, for Lofthouse had donated it under Daniel’s pretense of assisting indigent sailors. It wasn’t the only item of Lofthouse’s that Daniel had acquired under less-than-above-board circumstances. Denied Latin at school, Daniel had thrown himself into French and Italian and, in just the last year, had taken the opportunity of stealing a dusty Latin grammar from Lofthouse’s garret to teach himself. When Lofthouse had asked after “missing papers,” Daniel had initially thought the theft had been caught out. He still wondered if he ought to return the book by post or if he ought merely to send what money thebook was worth along with a note of apology and hope it hadn’t any sentimental value. He’d taken it on impulse; its discovery amongst Lofthouse’s novels rather a surprise and the feelings the sight of it invoked no less surprising—covetous thoughts of the education Lofthouse and gentlemen like him had received, jealousy seething as the dust told how far Lofthouse had taken that education for granted, until the bitterest dregs of Daniel’s heart told him to take it, just take it, Lofthouse would never miss it, and he himself had far greater need of it, and he’d snatched it up and stuffed it into the voluminous pocket of his despised skirt.
Then, of course, Lofthouse had caught up to Daniel and Sukie in their escape, but rather than drag them back to Mr Grigsby and Tolhurst, he’d sworn to keep their secrets and wished them well on their journey. Which cast rather a guilty pall on Daniel’s own behaviour towards the man.
After a few moments of waiting, when it became clear the conversation between Lofthouse and the clerk would not abate, Daniel cleared his throat.
“Good morning, Mr Lofthouse,” he said.
The hem of the black frock-coat arose as Lofthouse whirled to face him. Mild irritation at the interruption vanished into astonished delight breaking over his freckled features. To Daniel’s surprise, he stepped forward with hand outstretched and a genuine smile. “Mr Durst! Splendid to see you again.”
Daniel shook his hand with a grip he’d practised often in the months since leaving Mrs Bailiwick’s Academy; firm grasp, two pumps, drop and withdraw. Lofthouse seemed impressed with it. But before he could say anything further, Daniel had to cut him off.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Daniel said with careful emphasis, “for the recommendation you gave me after I left Mr Grigsby’s employ.”
Whatever shock Lofthouse felt at this blatant lie, he limited his expression of it to a single blink. Then he replied, “Of course. You did very well for us. The least I could do, really.”
Daniel let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d held.
“May I introduce my associate?” Lofthouse continued. “Mr Butcher. Butcher,” he added with a glance over Daniel’s shoulder, “this is Mr Durst.”
Daniel turned to find the medieval highwayman had crept up beside him in total silence. He flinched, then scolded himself for it, and struck out his hand. Butcher matched his firm grip and gave him a small yet sincere-seeming smile besides.
“May we offer our congratulations as well,” Lofthouse went on. “Mr Grigsby gave me the glad tidings of your nuptials—after a fashion,” Lofthouse added, much to Daniel’s relief.
“Thank you,” said Daniel. “I regret I cannot tarry long; I must return to the office.”
Lofthouse gave him a look of far greater sympathy than Daniel thought the statement warranted.
“However,” Daniel continued, “my wife and I would be honoured if you would join us this evening at our house for dinner.”
Lofthouse and Butcher exchanged a glance. Daniel thought he saw the faint flickering shadow of fond indulgence at the corner of Butcher’s mouth.
“We’d be delighted,” Lofthouse replied, with what seemed a genuine smile.
~
