Chapter 23
Edmund was leaning against the wall by the archway at quarter to two.
He’d hit a reasonable point in his current revision, and he thought Pen might feel a little wary of coming up to find him.
She, interestingly, was a solid ten minutes early.
When she came through the archway, she blinked, stopping suddenly enough to almost get run into by the man behind her. Then she stepped out of the way.
Pen was, Edmund thought, rather more aware of how she took up space in the world than the average undergraduate.
Even at the moment, when many of them had been in the army or some other form of war service.
He’d noticed it last night as well. She was carrying a garment bag over one shoulder.
It bobbed a little sideways as she stopped.
“Come up, will you? I’ve got coffee as well as tea, if you prefer that.
” Edmund made the offer amiably. She blinked again and didn’t give him an answer yet.
Edmund didn’t press her or draw attention by offering to take the frock.
Instead, he led her back up to his workroom, holding the door open for her once he’d unlocked it.
As she came in, she hesitated, hanging up the bag, then adding her cardigan to one of the other hooks. “Coffee?” She made it into a question.
“Uncle Alexander has a fondness for it. Best to be properly hospitable, don’t you think?
” He pulled the little French press out from the cabinet under the shelf with the kettle, and then the canister of coffee.
“And it’s easier to get than tea, given rationing.
I like both.” He’d gone through gallons of it during the war, even if it was Uncle Alexander who’d introduced him to the taste. “No cream or sugar, though.”
“Black is fine.” She had perhaps picked up the taste the same way. If she’d been doing the work he thought she had, that seemed entirely plausible. Then she turned around. “Oh, you have flowers.”
“Mama sent them up this morning, along with a few things. I’ll be sending the frock back through later.
” She gave him an odd look, but said nothing, instead going over to look at the flowers.
They weren’t anything fancy— mostly the later run of the bluebells and some greenery.
But he enjoyed looking at them, and he liked the reminder of home.
Edmund finished setting up the coffee things, then turned back toward her. “I hope you slept well?”
“Yes, and no. I have some thoughts about the messages in the newspapers. And I looked at some newspapers here from last term.”
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “I am intrigued. Please, sit. Oh, and there are some apples. In stasis all winter, still quite crisp, sliced up in the tin there.” It earned him another slightly dubious look, but she opened the tin and took a slice. “Where do you want to start, discussing the evening?”
“We’re entirely private here?” It was a reasonable question, but she leaned forward a little, visibly wanting something, but he wasn’t sure what.
“We are. The usual precautions for rooms here— you know the alarm words, yes? But sound won’t get through outside that.
” They were consistent throughout the entire set of buildings.
A magical accident could happen anywhere and was perhaps more likely to happen here than on any other square footage of Albion except Schola’s keep itself.
Pen nodded, then took a breath, before she got distracted by some of the books on the edge of his desk.
It was a rather more chaotic assortment than usual, because he had assignments in both Arabic and Demotic for Uncle Alexander.
Also the somewhat more reasonable Greek for this week’s essay for his tutor.
There were also tourist guides for both Greece and Italy, with a few bookmarks, since Master Benton had passed along the likely itinerary.
There was a silence, but Edmund didn’t press it.
She was quiet long enough that the kettle sounded.
He poured the water in, to let it steep, bringing that over on a tray with two of the proper coffee mugs.
He set it on the desk as Pen said, “You do read all of those.” Then her chin jerked.
“I don’t mean I didn’t believe you. Just.”
“It is a tad improbable,” Edmund agreed. “Mostly Uncle Alexander’s fault. Though you had Professor Ward, he helped me with both while I was at school as well.” He took a breath, then settled into the desk chair. “Do we want to start with what you noticed last night?”
“Cecily Styles wanted the entire room between you and her. Did you notice? Or what she was doing? And what did you do to— who was it, Tibbs?” The words burst out like a river in spring flood, before she blushed dark pink.
“I’m sorry. I had a lovely time. And the dress, it was lovely, and you were lovely in arranging it.
And now I’ve said lovely so often, I can’t even say things in English. ”
“I’m quite certain you can run rings around me in maths.
That’s a language I don’t speak properly.
Though I do my best to appreciate the bits someone explains to me.
” Edmund said it gently, to find her looking up and blinking at him.
“Hmm. Let’s start with the easier ones. Five people were dropping things in drinks, that’s why I wanted to fetch yours myself.
Three were magical; the others were not.
I suspect Tibbs got a bit of one of those attempts.
” It had been easy enough to disengage the man from his friends and nudge him to go home.
He hadn’t even used magic, just suggested with all the command voice of his family at his disposal that sleeping it off would be a grand idea.
“Three?” Pen’s voice had an odd note. Then she swallowed and tried again. “Mathematically speaking, is that the mean, the median, the mode? For a party like that?”
Edmund caught himself about to say ‘about average’, and then tried for better precision. “About the mean, if I have it right. I’d expect four to six for three and a half hours with dancing and a reasonably warm evening for the season.”
Now she rocked back against the wall, and she was definitely confused. “You’d expect?”
“There is a certain habit within a particular circle to see about adding things to the drinks to gain a desired effect. A looser tongue, less desire to say no, down to rather decidedly unsubtle things.”
“And you were keeping an eye on that. For me.” Her tone had narrowed, something hard-edged and precise.
“I was raised to consider it part of being a considerate escort.” Edmund hesitated, then said, “More commonly, in the sort of circles I’m around, it’s to make people look foolish, nothing worse.
Social points scoring, a bit of fun. But it’s not kind, and I don’t like people doing it to my friends.
Given that, I don’t much like people doing it to anyone, unless they’ve decided to play the same game that night. ”
“Huh.” It came out of her as a huff of breath. “Thank you. I didn’t realise you were. I didn’t realise I needed to be— I’m not one for those sorts of dances, usually.”
“That is a pity. You’re a delight to dance with.
For some people, every step is an argument about who’s going where.
You were willing enough to follow my lead in the moment.
” Then he made a point of leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees.
“It's your turn to lead now. Do you want to start with the papers or Miss Styles?”
“They’re linked. Or rather, the paper is relevant to both.
I woke up early— I don’t know why. But when I was looking at those odd advertisements, I started experimenting with the letters.
I think it was someone terrible at writing a code.
” She pulled something from the pocket of her skirt.
“Here.” There was a folded piece of paper. “Do you see it, or do you want a hint?”
He took the slip, which had two lines written out.
He read them out, “Driver, Oxford. Well-trained, handy, and tidy. In service, available in December. Driver, Oxford. Ideal terms. Need ongoing work.” Two of the shorter ones, though he’d noticed that many of them started with that same odd ‘Driver, Oxford’.
That gave him just enough of an idea, but he said, “Tell me, why don’t you? ”
“First letters.” He’d been wondering about that, but now he spelled them out under his breath, then made them into words. “Do w— is that what? Yes. ‘Do what I said’. And then ‘Do it now’. Those certainly seem clear enough if the reader knows what the task is.”
“Why Islip? I’m assuming that part is to keep the framing, and also a reminder of where to report. And the numbers are the same, maybe just to make the ad look right.” Edmund grimaced. It wasn’t quite adding up.
“I don’t know how much you’ve been around the countryside. Thirty-five minutes by bicycle, maybe fifteen or twenty by train. I didn’t check the timetables.”
“So, a reasonable distance for someone here, without the risks of running into someone they knew the same way Oxford would imply.” Edmund said. “Also, the post office and shop clerks here can spot a student yards and yards away.”
“Do we think this is a student? There are other people in the world.” Pen leaned forward now, glancing at the paper. “Though I suppose it’s a somewhat sophomoric effort.”
“Not a trained professional on several fronts, no,” Edmund said, before thinking that perhaps betrayed more of his own background than he ought. But his oaths hadn’t caught at him, and drawing attention to it now would be worse. “What was the other thing?”