Chapter 11
As though to cast doubt on her prediction, thunder rumbled overhead, so close, it might be a beast seated on this very rooftop.
Miss Talbot uttered a little squeak and hastily thrust Nigel’s mug into his hands before springing to her feet.
She stood a moment, clutching the front of her borrowed robe, eyes uplifted to the ceiling, cheeks rather paler in the stove light than they’d been moments ago.
As soon as the storm’s growl trailed off into a low murmur, she turned a rather strained smile Nigel’s way. “Well, Mr. Grimm,” she said, her hands reaching to test her clothing on the drying line, “it has been a pleasure, but I fear I really must be going.”
“What? Now?” Nigel rose.
“Yes, indeed, I must.” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she gathered armfuls of skirt, jacket, blouse, and underthings.
“Mrs. Boggs sets a strict curfew, you understand, and my roommate, Bryony, is working late tonight, and won’t be home to sneak me in through the fire escape, so you see . . .”
Still prattling, she made for the counter, even as another roll of thunder grumbled across the sky. She froze a moment, then shook her head, and cast Nigel a nervous glance. “I’ll just pop upstairs and change then. Won’t be a tick!”
Nigel opened his mouth to protest but shut it again quickly.
After all, any urging of her to remain—alone, with him, in his shop, in her current state of undress—would certainly come across as creepy.
So he merely stood in the nook, listening to the sounds of his own slippers flap-flapping up the stairs.
The door to his apartment opened and shut.
He let out a little blustering sigh before running a hand down his face.
Then he peered into his empty mug. Clumps of tea leaves oozed unappetizingly down the insides.
What exactly had she seen? Something dreadful, judging by her reaction.
Something regarding his future. Oddly enough, he wasn’t particularly curious to find out more.
He’d faced dire destinies aplenty in his time and found the prospect of another singularly uninspiring.
But he would like to know if something about it had featured Miss Talbot herself.
And, if so, why it had driven her to flee his presence so abruptly?
Did this mean she wouldn’t be taking the job after all?
He chewed the inside of his cheek, catching Debbie’s narrow gaze. “Perhaps I should clean up?” he said lamely.
“Never mind,” Debbie answered. But as she had no further suggestions, Nigel gathered the other mug and stepped out from behind the counter, aiming for the kitchen at the back of the building.
He’d not made it so far, however, before he heard Miss Talbot descending the stairs once more.
Gods’ teeth, but she’d dressed in record time!
He poked his head around the corner to see her emerge from the stairwell.
Her garments were still damp and haphazardly donned, the buttons mix-matched, the blouse partially untucked from her waistband.
And was she tiptoeing down the aisle toward the door?
“Miss Talbot.”
The young woman startled and spun about, that same nervous smile back on her face. “Oh! Mr. Grimm. I didn’t see you there. I’ll just, um, see myself out, shall I? Thanks again for your hospitality and the, erm”—she waved a vague hand at the tea mugs—“refreshments.”
A howl of wind galloped down the street outside, banging wildly against the sign over the door. “You needn’t rush off like this,” Nigel said. “If it would ease your mind, I can always retire upstairs, and—”
“No, no.” She waved both hands firmly. “I’ve been quite enough bother, I’m sure. I’ll be just fine, and I’d rather nip out now before it gets any darker.”
“At least take my umbrella. Yours looks as though it has seen better days.”
Miss Talbot’s gaze shot to where her own umbrella currently wedged the shop door shut.
She stepped over to it, knelt, and pulled it free.
The poor thing sprang apart like a dead insect, uttering a sad groan of springs.
“Well,” she said, thoughtfully, “I suppose that would be nice, Mr. Grimm. But only if it isn’t any trouble. ”
“No trouble at all,” he assured her. “One moment.” He darted down the hall at the back of the building, into the kitchen, and flicked on the swinging thaumatic bulb in the pantry closet.
There, in the very back, hidden behind a witchy broom and a decidedly un-witchy mop, was his umbrella.
Black, shiny, with a cruel raven’s head carved into the handle.
A gift from his brother, Fabian Grimm, some years ago.
Rather flashy for Nigel’s more discreet tastes, though Debbie had always liked it.
He snatched it up and hastened back to the shop, convinced Miss Talbot would have already made good her escape long before he returned.
To his surprise, she remained waiting by the door, her eyes very large in the dull light.
They widened still more in surprise at sight of the umbrella he handed to her.
“My, my!” she exclaimed, examining the raven’s head.
She held it up to compare with Debbie across the room.
“Quite a stunning likeness. Are you sure you don’t mind? ”
“Not at all. I’ll be glad to know you have it.”
“Yes. Well. Goodbye then.”
“Shall we say eight-thirty tomorrow morning?”
Miss Talbot paused, one hand reaching for the doorknob, and glanced Nigel’s way again. “Pardon?”
“For your first day.” Nigel swallowed the nervous lump clogging his throat. “In the shop.”
“Oh!” She blinked, and her lips pursed. “The job. Why, yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be here to help you open.” Her gaze lowered again, and she turned the raven’s head handle nervously. “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness, Mr. Grimm.”
He offered a smile which he suspected came out rather ghastly; he was out of practice.
“It was entirely my pleasure. That is, um, I enjoyed our . . . What I mean is, we should do it again . . . um.” Gods on high, what was this damnable tongue-tie?
Fabian would rake him over the coals for such disastrous abuse of the mother tongue. “Good evening, Miss Talbot.”
“Good evening, Mr. Grimm.” She turned for the door, hesitated a moment, and partially tipped her head as though to glance back at him one last time. Apparently thinking better of it, she pulled the door open, poked the umbrella out before her, and hastened into the street.
The wild wind seemed to catch and blow her away.
Nigel only just stopped himself from leaping out onto the stoop to watch her go.
Instead, with masterful self-restraint, he stepped back into the shop and firmly pushed the door shut.
For a moment, he stood where he was, hands pressed against the wooden slats, staring unseeing in front of him.
Then, with a sigh, he turned and faced the shop. And Debbie.
“Never mind,” said the bird.
“I know!” Nigel snapped. Then he sighed and repeated more gently. “I know. She’s not coming back.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way across the shop floor, between bunches of flowers, all of whom turned their faces to watch him go. The lovelorn dahlias sighed prettily from their pots, and even the double-delight rose deigned a sympathetic nod of its blooms.
Ignoring them, Nigel stepped back into the nook behind the counter and collapsed into the cane chair before burying his face in his hands.
He remained like so for some while. Then, with a curse, he sat upright and grimaced at the ceiling.
“Oh gods, what must she think of me? Only an absolute cad would invite a strange young woman to undress and then . . . and then offer her a job, of all things! While she sat across from him in his dressing gown!”
He plunged his face back into his hands and stayed in this attitude of despair longer than before. Debbie, her avian heart moved to pity, fluttered from her skull-pot to his shoulder and affectionately nipped his ear. “Never mind,” she suggested.
“Yes, well, perhaps you’re right.” Nigel dropped his hands again and slumped back in the chair, staring at the fat little stove.
“Perhaps it’s just as well. The last thing I need is to be .
. . is to let myself . . .” He stopped and raked a hand through his hair.
“It’s better if she doesn’t return. And she won’t.
I’m sure of it. She only pretended to accept the job to placate the madman who had her at such a disadvantage. Trapped. Naked. Alone.”
He shivered as an unbidden image flashed suddenly across his mind’s eye.
He saw Miss Talbot poised on that stool, stretching her long, lithe body out to secure the end of the drying line.
She rose up on the tips of her toes, extended one foot behind her for balance.
And the folds of the dressing gown had parted for an instant, revealing a startling view of ankle, calf, knee, not to mention a tantalizing glimpse of inner thigh.
With a little shake of his head, Nigel pulled at his collar. Was it suddenly hot in here?
An abrupt bustle and clatter of dishes and cutlery from the kitchen drew his attention.
Eager to be diverted from his current train of thought, Nigel rose and, for perhaps the first time since meeting her, went to greet his landlady with something almost akin to enthusiasm.
He found the woman busily setting out a meal of hearty meat stew and crusty bread on a platter.
Her dripping raincoat hung in one corner, for she’d had to dart from her own home kitchen across the back alley to his doorstep.
“Ah, Mr. Grimm!” she said, smiling delightedly at his appearance in the doorway. “I’ve got your supper for you. Did you have a nice day then?”