Chapter Twenty-Six
Jasper found that he could not concentrate in his office this morning.
It wasn’t just that patch of wall behind him, which did keep drawing his attention and sparking several creative thoughts in his mind, it was the desk chair too. And the desk itself. Hell, it was the windowsill and the file cabinet too.
All he could think about when looking at the geography of the room around him was how he could fit Libba onto it. And himself onto her.
After an hour and a half of this, he took up his folio and announced that he’d be working from the pub if anyone needed him.
The pub would be better. Less isolated. Less potential-filled, hopefully, though of course there were plenty of clever, little Libba-sized surfaces at the Coin and Cauldron too to drive him to distraction.
It made him laugh to himself more than once as he packed up his things. Some idiot, less than a day ago, had thought that quantity was the problem, and that further encounters would clear his mind.
Jasper didn’t know who the hell he’d even been back then.
“Oh, Mr. Townsend!” came a feminine voice, not four steps from the curb. “We were just coming to see you!”
Jasper froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
He had, genuinely and sincerely, forgotten that the Templeton-Raths existed this morning.
He turned slowly, his folio trembling under his elbow. “Ah,” he said, not at all awkwardly, “good morning to you!”
Mrs. and Miss Templeton-Rath were crossing the street to meet him, the daughter holding a covered dish in her hands and the mother twirling her white parasol.
“Good morning!” answered Mrs. Templeton-Rath, her face flushed with the effort of their little sprint. She turned slightly to the side, as if to present her family, and immediately frowned. “Oh, Pippa, where did your father get to?”
“There was a curiosity shop,” the heiress said with a shrug, her own face still drawn and sallow, despite the burst of activity, her thin, brown hair blowing over her brow. “He was unable to continue past it without considering the windows.”
“Oh, that man,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath. “There he is. John! John! Over here!”
Jasper wondered briefly if he might escape unnoticed.
“We must go back there sometime,” Mr. Templeton-Rath announced as he puffed up alongside his family, nodding his head to Jasper. “Say, Mr. Townsend, have you seen that curiosity shop a few blocks down?”
“I have,” said Jasper. “I know the proprietress.”
“‘Proprietress’?” asked Mrs. Templeton-Rath, suddenly sounding interested. “Ah, perhaps we will pop in. Mr. Townsend, I’m glad we’ve caught you. We’ve brought you a pie.”
“‘A pie’?” Jasper repeated stupidly, his eyes falling to the dish suspended in Miss Templeton-Rath’s hands. “Thank you?”
“It’s from me,” said Miss Templeton-Rath, clarifying with a slight flush in her cheeks. “To thank you for saving Hubris and Squalor that day on the pier. I should have sent it a week ago. You must forgive my tardiness.”
Jasper opened his mouth, but no response came out.
“We also wished to come and thank you for your prompt delivery of the laborers we needed,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath continued, nodding toward the pie.
“They have already begun clearing out the parcel we purchased and identifying repair needs in the current building, which should be sufficient for a forwarding post. We are going to sail out to the nearest crane today to get the lay of the land, and we wished to invite you to join us.”
“Oh,” said Jasper, blinking. “Oh, I can save you that trip. It is covered in rust but well-oiled for mobility. It has a bit of a reputation for giving sailors who use it the lockjaw.”
“‘The …’ ‘The lockjaw’?” the husband repeated, frowning. “Good Lord. Well, that won’t do. Surely, there’s another one nearby.”
“Not for several knots down,” said Jasper, eyes still on the pie, but mouth grateful that they were talking of cranes. “There’s Big Belle on one side and the Ballast on the other, but they are both very busy. I recommend petitioning or financing a repair of the Reaper for your purposes.”
“‘The Reaper!’” Mrs. Templeton-Rath gasped.
“The Rusty Reaper,” Jasper confirmed, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. “They all have names here.”
“Well, of course they do, young man,” she returned with a sniff. “Seafaring culture is not that different on our side of the globe, I’ll have you know. But we shan’t finance it entirely ourselves; that’s hardly sporting. We’ll need to find a barrister and petition Brighton herself.”
“I don’t suppose your usefulness extends to barristers, Mr. Townsend?” Mr. Templeton-Rath asked, his lips twitching at his wife’s ire. “It would save us some time.”
“I know one,” Jasper admitted, a queasy trepidation swimming in his kidneys. “But he’s a good one.”
“Well, we only need the one,” Mr. Templeton-Rath replied sportingly. “Shall we go deposit this pie in your office? It’s made with our own cinnamon and honey, you know.”
“Oh,” said Jasper for the dozenth time, blinking his vision back into order. “Yes, erm … this way!”
He turned on his heel to lead them back to the EIC office, only to see Malcolm walking through the doors just ahead of them.
Why? Why now?
Had Jasper offended God?
“Actually,” he said, dishonestly, “I’ll carry it. The clerks will descend upon it if I leave it in the office.”
“Carry it where?” Mrs. Templeton-Rath replied, a hint of her husband’s amusement in her voice as Jasper reached out to balance the dish atop his folio.
“Erm,” said Jasper, frowning, “I was going to go work in a nearby public house, but I could take you directly to the barrister, if you like?”
“Capital,” said Mr. Templeton-Rath, bouncing on his toes. “Both? I say both. Let’s get an early lunch and then go grapple with the law.”
“Both,” Jasper repeated, cursing the mire he’d put himself in. “Right. Follow me.”
*
He realized after they were seated that he should have taken them to any pub in Brighton other than the Coin and Cauldron.
Any of them. But this one.
“What’s lunch today?” he asked the barman as they filed in, knowing it was too late to turn around and flee.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath happily. “A prix-fixe.”
Which had only made Jasper stare at her.
He didn’t know what that was, but he was entirely certain it wasn’t what was on offer here.
He shuffled them to a table in the corner nearest the windows and wondered how quickly they were going to be able to eat their fare and get out of here en route to Harcourt’s office.
That was, of course, the cue for Malcolm to enter the fray.
“Ah,” said Jasper, lunging to his feet so quickly, it made all the glasses on the table teeter and the Templeton-Raths all stare at him. “A colleague of mine. I won’t be a moment.”
But it was too late. Malcolm was already striding over to the table, grinning widely as though nothing at all in the world were wrong. “Jasper, your clerks said you were down here to work today. I thought I’d find you doing numbers, not playing host. Good day.”
“Good day to you, young man,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath said, tilting her head and considering the fit of Malcolm’s finely tailored suit. “Are you also with the EIC?”
“I am not.” Malcolm laughed. “Malcolm Lennox, at your service. I am part owner of a smaller operation down the wharf.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, nodding. “Limestone.”
“Yes!” he replied, eyes glittering. “Indeed. You must be the Templeton-Raths. Mr. Townsend has told me much about you.”
“We are,” Mr. Templeton-Rath confirmed. “I am John, and this is my wife, Agatha, and my daughter, Pippa.”
“Charmed,” said Malcolm, and he seemed to mean it.
“Join us,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath instructed, pointing to the seat across from Jasper. “We are sitting for an early lunch.”
“I can’t stay long,” Malcolm said apologetically. “I just came to ask Mr. Townsend where to deliver a barrel of quartz.”
“Me?” Jasper repeated, his mouth completely dry. “What?”
“For the chandelier,” Malcolm prompted, raising his dark brows. “For Libba’s playhouse. We want to have it done in time for opening night.”
“Oh, a playhouse?” said Mr. Templeton-Rath, perking up. “Opening night? What show is being put on?”
“No,” said Jasper weakly, as Malcolm’s voice barreled over his, announcing, “Romeo and Juliet, in fact! One of the Bard’s greatest.”
“Oh, Papa,” said Miss Templeton-Rath, accepting the pint glass that was being handed to her by the barman. “We must go! We never get Shakespeare in Galle.”
“Of course, dear,” said Mr. Templeton-Rath absently. “If you like.”
“I would like to go too, darling,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath said pointedly, while Jasper sank lower into the cushions. “Mr. Townsend, you must join us. And you must invite Her Royal Highness as well, of course.”
Malcolm paused, glancing at Jasper. “‘Her Royal Highness’?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “You mean Princess Xandine?”
“Ah, yes!” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, looking delighted. “You have met her as well?”
“I have,” Malcolm confirmed, still staring down Jasper. “Many times. In fact, she enjoys this very pub from time to time.”
“A pub-faring princess, eh?” Mr. Templeton-Rath said happily. “That’s a rare woman, I think.”
“Oh,” Malcolm agreed, his mouth in a firm line. “Exceedingly rare.”
“Are you staying?” Jasper asked, misery in every syllable. “I can order another lunch.”
“I cannot,” Malcolm decided, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve urgent business elsewhere this morning.”
“Oh, that is a shame,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath. “Where are you off to, young man?”
“The Odalisque,” Malcolm answered pointedly. “My sister owns the theater, you see. And I need to have words with her.”
“My, but there are quite a few women-owned businesses in this town, aren’t there?” Mrs. Templeton-Rath marveled, oblivious to Jasper’s melting insides as he watched his best mate make hard eye contact with him, then spin on his heel and exit the venue.