The next morning, I opened my bedroom door to him after, what seemed like, hours of his indefatigable knocking. He was fully dressed, morning coat and all, but I was still in my slip. I hovered behind the door and peered out at him.
"Is there something the matter?" It was Sunday, and I hated being summoned on my day off.
He did not seem to notice that I was hiding from view, but I saw his eyes flicker to the bed and the still-sleeping form of my mother bundled up on it.
He spoke low and quietly, "My mother is not feeling like herself so I am going to town today to run some errands for her while she stays in from services."
I stared at him, half wondering why he felt the need to inform me and half wondering if my hair was in order.
After a long silence, I finally gave in and spoke, "That is very nice to know."
He pursed his lips, either irked or trying to quell a smile. "You are to come with me."
Was that a command?
I shifted, vaguely aware that for a moment he could see my bare arm and shoulder, but too annoyed with him to care. "It is Sunday, sir. Would you like me to forgo my off day?" I was trying to sound respectful, but even I could hear the sort of passive aggression in my voice.
He cocked his head to me. I heard the bed creak and could only assume my mother was rolling over. He watched her over my head.
Finally, he responded, "I was not ordering you. I was asking."
I mimicked him and cocked my head as well, "Really? It sounded distinctly like an order to me."
An exasperated look passed over his dark features for a bare second and then he sighed, "I was simply asking you to join me."
"Why?"
He looked away, then leaned on the door. "Because I would enjoy the pleasure of your company."
He smirked at me, and I knew it was a half-truth. He thought he was getting away with something. He actually thought he was fooling me.
"Why else?" He shook his head in frustration, never a patient man.
"Forget it, Mary." Irritated, he began to leave.
"Wait, sir." I did not speak until he turned back around. "Let me get dressed and tell my mother."
I closed the door without waiting for a response. I roused my mother, and she gazed unseeingly at me, sleepiness making her eyesight even more impaired.
"What is it, Mary?"
I started to change into my best dress and boots while talking to her, "I am going to go into town today." I wrapped a scarf around my neck and tugged on my gloves.
"I know. I heard."
I grinned even though she could not see it. "It is not lady-like to eavesdrop, mum."
"You should learn to talk quieter."
"I will be back in a while. I will read to you."
Her face brightened, and I felt a strong surge of affection, I loved making her happy.
"Are you sure you do not wish me to stay? I can still say no to him if you need me with you." I did not want her to be lonely.
She shook her head and waved her hand, "Don't worry about me. I was planning on sleeping most of the morning away so I'll be fine. What will you read to me?"
"How would you like to hear some Shakespeare?"
"We do not own any of that sort of thing."
I patted her arm reassuringly after I finished tying my bootlaces. "I am sure I can get my hands on some. I have a feeling there is a stash in the house somewhere, it is just a matter of sniffing it out."
I met him by the bottom of the staircase. I had the feeling that he did not wish anyone to know that I was traveling into town with him. I wondered what he was afraid of.
He was in a chatty mood on the hansom ride to the train and at length told me that he was in search of a new violin.
"I thought that it was irreplaceable?" I kept my voice neutral, not wanting to appear as though I were making light of the situation in any way.
His eyes were twinkling but the usual seriousness was present. "I did. But I thought about what you said."
"Really? What was that again?"
"You said my father's actions were petty. I realized mine would be too if I were to deprive myself of a new instrument."
"How is that?" I did not quite understand his logic.
"It would be like a spoiled child refusing to cry while being beaten. I will not hold out simply to prove that he did not hurt me. He did, I will admit it and move on."
I was surprised at his admission, but there was something different about him today. An openness that was rare and refreshing.
Before we traveled to the train station, we stopped by the local constabulary. He asked me to wait outside and disappeared indoors for almost half an hour. When he returned, he looked smugly satisfied.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"Nothing of importance," he demurred and then would speak no more of it as he fetched a cab.
We were silent until we boarded the train and sat across from each other. I busied myself watching the scenery but noticed him looking at me.
I faced him and raised my eyebrows, "Yes?"
"Are you and James getting married?"
I was shocked, "Who told you that?"
"It's been going around for a bit now."
"Has it?" I did not like the thought of people talking behind my back.
"Are you?"
"No."
"Have you spoken of it?"
"No."
"Would you marry him if he asked you?"
I struggled for an answer and finally settled on a pathetic, "I'm not sure."
"What's the problem?" he asked lazily, as if not really interested.
I shrugged, "I'm not sure I wish to." I hoped he would drop the subject.
He pursed his lips, appearing to be deep in thought, "It could be your chance to rise up."
"I don't want to marry to rise up."
"That's admirable." He sounded as if he meant it.
I smiled, "It's foolish."
"It's still admirable."
"I don't need him to save me," I offered without being asked. He unbuttoned the top of his suit jacket and shifted to get more comfortable, tilting his head back to rest, his eyes closed. I was distracted by his neck.
"But if you loved him, you wouldn't mind?" he asked.
I didn't answer, still lost in my thoughts. He moved his head slightly, staring at me through half-closed eyes. He didn't react, but I got the distinct impression that he knew exactly what I had been thinking.
"If I loved a man," I started but suddenly grew uncomfortable speaking to him on this topic. "Why must you press me with such matters?"
He laughed, "I do not mean to make you defensive, Mary. If you do not wish to speak of it then we will not. I was just curious."
"It is a rude thing to pry. I will not prod you for information when you begin courting some lady."
"Thank you. That is a considerate thing." His voice was mocking.
"Not that any sane woman could tolerate you for more than a day, so I will probably not have to put my promise to any practice."
A slow smile spread across his face, "You must warn me before you say such things, Mary. You have a distinctly sharp sense of humor, I must be given time to prepare myself for it."
I tried not to smile back. "And what of you? Do you wish to be married?" He made a distasteful look.
"Have you never been interested in a young lady?" I asked, surprised by his indifference.
"Not particularly. I don't mean to be offensive, but I have no desire to marry someone who is not my equal." He waved his hand, "Oh, I don't mean in terms of class or status. I mean mentally."
"No one can compare to your vast intelligence?" I queried dryly.
"I know it sounds arrogant. But I do not care. Besides, I know I will never meet anyone who thinks on the same level that I do. I don't think I would care to, to be honest. I don't think I could live with myself." He flashed me a rueful smile. "So that isn't what I mean either. Honestly, I've yet to meet anyone I can talk to. Or be my true self without feeling as if I'm some strange creature."
"You want someone who admires and likes you, even your oddities? That's not so unusual. We may not be bold enough to phrase it that way, but I think we all want that and would choose it if we had options. I'm surprised you haven't found plenty of young ladies who admire and like you." I hoped he didn't find my words too forward.
He smirked. "Actually, many people – not just young ladies – find me cold and unapproachable. There isn't much of a market for a strange-looking young man who wants to talk about soil samples and footprints."
"Soil samples?" I echoed.
"Indeed. If you can tell the minute differences in soil and dirt, you can discover where people have been."
"That's fascinating. I wonder what the practical application might be."
"Think of the implications of this in crime solving, for example." He leaned forward, eager. "Imagine, for instance, you have a man in custody, you know he's abducted a girl and has hidden her away. What if you cannot get him to talk?" He shrugged. "Perhaps you do not need him to talk. You can tell by the particular brick dust on his shoe exactly what area of town he's been in lately. Can even decipher the precise buildings. You have your location."
I smiled. "Amazing. You like crime, don't you?"
He nodded and then caught himself. "Well, I don't like it. But if crime must exist, the deductive and scientific process of investigating must be explored. And, yes, I'm fond of those things."
"You sound like a detective."
"My father would have a fit if I joined the common police force," he smiled as if the idea pleased him. "But I have given it some thought," he murmured. "Perhaps there is some avenue of employment where my interest and skills could be utilized. Because I must enjoy my work. If I do not," he paused, "I do not think I will survive."
"Your father wishes that you'd go back to university."
"I could. Oxford does have an admirable chemistry department. In any case, I must find some work that feeds my brain and my wallet. At least enough to live on my own."
"And find a young woman who thinks soil samples are interesting," I teased.
He gave me a strange look. "Perhaps. I haven't ruled it out completely."
The shop was crowded with shelves laying close to one another, cluttered with various items. A long glass case filled with jewelry was used as the cashier's station. My cheerful escort wandered over to examine the items under lock and key. Crouching down to get a better look, his expensive jacket pooled onto the floor behind him. He furrowed his brow in scrutiny.
"Half this stuff is not worth the paper it's resting on."
I stepped over his coat and perused some of the items. "I would not mention that to the owner of this fine establishment," I warned.
"Yes, well, I imagine there are a great many things that you would not do that I would." I was prepared to ask him to explain exactly what he meant by that but was interrupted by a polite cough to my left. An older man stood in the doorway that led to the back of the shop, watching us intently.
"May I help you?" His attention was directed at my acquaintance.
The two men shook hands as they introduced themselves. I was largely ignored, except for the fact that "Mr. Baxby" kept shooting glances at me from the corner of his eye. He informed us he was the owner of the store and listened attentively as my companion described what he was looking for.
"I think I may have something in the back that would suit you. If you would just wait a moment please?"
He departed into the back and swiftly returned with a glossy and well-formed violin and bow.
"May we give it a try?" I could tell that he was hopeful that this violin would be as good as it looked.
Mr. Baxby smiled widely and pushed the violin towards us, "Yes, of course. Will you or the lady be playing?"
I waved my hand self-consciously, "No, I would not even know how to begin." I was not going to grace a perfect stranger with my horrid playing abilities.
He put a hand to his heart in mock indignation, "But I can tell that you are such a talented young lady. And you must know some about music since your friend here has brought you along to choose such an instrument."
My "friend's" voice cut in sharply, "She works for me."
A confused expression passed over the older man's face, much like the one that showed on my face when I was told I was to accompany him here.
The owner finally shrugged, "Well, I certainly do hope that you are compensating her well." He directed his attention to me, "If you ever need another change of employment, young miss, you can always come here to work for me. I am sure that your pretty face would draw lots of business."
I grew tired of the conversation and shrugged in response. Turning away from him, I went to browse the items on the shelves. I heard the sounds of a violin being tuned behind me.
Skipping over the many vases and cigarette cases that lay on display, I came to a beautiful set of hair combs and a matching brush. Made of ivory and intricately painted with blue and purple little elephants, they were the most stunning things I had ever seen. A ran an appreciative hand over them and jumped when Mr. Baxby appeared suddenly at my side.
"Beautiful, are they not?"
I murmured an appreciative accord and nodded, trying to ignore the fact that he was standing too close.
"They are the finest in ladies' accessories that I have here. Would you like to feel the brush? It is the softest you will ever encounter."
"Oh, no, that is quite okay." I was starting to feel uncomfortable with his nearness and avoided eye contact.
He did not leave though, and I tried to shrug off the feeling of awkwardness and discomfiture that was developing. I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting to a simple conversation.
I heard footsteps behind me and a long arm reached between us to finger the brush. Mr. Baxby was forced to take a step back or run the risk of being battered in the face with my companion's elbow. I tried to read the always elusive man's face for hints, but could not deduce whether his saving act was intentional or not.
"It is really quite soft." He stepped fully between us now and my face was hidden by his chest. I felt relieved that I was blocked from the other man's view and not at all uncomfortable with my companion's proximity.
"Will you total it for me?" Even though he spoke to Mr. Baxby, he looked into my face, his pale eyes searching my features for an answer to an unspoken question.
My hand unconsciously flew to my hair to smooth it. I did not feel that I was in a position to own something of such value, but I could not deny that it was desirable.
Both the men took my silence as assent, and Mr. Baxby carried the items delicately to the counter. He retrieved his pad and poised his pen over it. "Will you be purchasing the violin also, sir?"
The younger man shrugged and then turned to me, "Will you listen? Let me know what you think?"
I was startled at the question. "Why on earth would you care what I think?"
"I was hoping you might be able to settle an argument that my logic is having with my musical ear," he replied.
Mr. Baxby cut in, his voice full of practiced neutrality, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"Actually, it is just that I am aware that this is a finely made instrument and that the sound it produces is a little short of perfection but, well, I am unsatisfied with it for some unexplained reason." He turned his attention to me again. "I was hoping that you would help me pinpoint the difficulty since you listen very often to my playing."
I understood that he was placing his faith in my opinion and, although I was uncomfortable with the notion, I was pleased all the same. I made a gesture to encourage him to continue, and he lifted the instrument to his chin and tucked it under almost lovingly.
A few chords were struck and sonorous notes bounced through the small room. It was brilliant playing, and the sound was ideal but lacking.
He finally lowered his arms and looked at me intently, his face sharp and alert. I suddenly felt like prey that he was determined to catch and subdue. He would not let me go until he was satisfied with my response.
Mr. Baxby was also looking at me, a vague look of warning on his face. He wanted me to advise him to buy it. I did not like so many things expected of me - especially not from two different men.
"It was good." I was stammering.
His head inched just slightly to the right, "Merely good?"
"It was perfect," I finally sputtered out and then paused to gather my thoughts. "It was unworthy of you. It made your playing seem dispassionate. Your music has always had an effect on those who take the time to listen. This instrument did not do that justice."
A smile flashed on his face, but I could still see disappointment there as he turned to look at Mr. Baxby. The set of his jaw was reflected in the hanging mirror on the wall.
"Just the brush and combs please."
I put my hand on his arm, "You do not have to purchase such a thing for me. I am sure your mother is not opposed to me borrowing her items if ever the need arose. Do not feel obligated simply because I admired them."
He did not face me, "It is no trouble. I have a little spare change since I am apparently not laying hands on another instrument today."
I started to protest again but the package was wrapped and thrust into my possession. The proper amount was counted out as Mr. Baxby addressed me, "You should be thankful, girl. Most women are not beautiful enough to retrieve gifts without vying for them first."
"What about your wife, sir?" My escort's voice was sharp, sardonic. "Does she receive gifts without vying?"
Mr. Baxby turned the most unpleasant shade of pink as I examined his hand for a wedding band. It was bare.
"Well, she isn't the sort to put much stock in gifts."
The younger man smiled, replying with a touch of bitterness, "You should appreciate that. Most women do."