“Sit there, Cyrus; and Thomas, you sit over here on my left. How do you take your tea?”
“With a little sugar, please.”
She handed each of us a cup, and then a small tray of Barker’s favorite shortbread, before pouring a cup for herself. She leaned over gracefully and scratched Harm between the ears. Our lives had become quite civilized all of a sudden, considering we were being hounded by assassins. I munched my biscuit, sipped the steaming tea, and listened to the novel experience of my employer holding converse with his lady.
“Is Peter keeping you safe, my dear?”
“Safe as houses, Cyrus. He moved into the gatehouse with all his crew two days ago. How long shall you have them stay?”
“No more than a week, I’d say. The danger should be contained by then.”
“Yes, one way or another,” Mrs. Ashleigh said archly. “Have there been any attempts?”
“We didn’t give them a chance.”
“They must be seething, whoever they are.”
“Let them seethe. I’m not going to sit by and let them operate in London.”
“But, darling, you don’t own London; and, last I heard, it hasn’t asked for your help.”
I wanted to agree but thought it best to remain hidden behind my cup.
“I own property in London-more than one, in fact-and I don’t want to see any criminal organization moving in with impunity. You know I wouldn’t endanger any of us, unless I believed it was important.”
Philippa Ashleigh gave a gentle sigh. “The gardeners have been struggling for most of the week with an old oak stump on the south edge of the estate, but it is not half as stubborn as you.”
Barker gave a smile under his bushy mustache. “I am right glad to hear it, ma’am. There are few enough of us old stumps left.”
“You know best, Cyrus,” she responded sweetly, sipping her tea. It was like watching a match of lawn tennis. Now Barker turned my way and I realized he was looking at me. I knew what he was thinking: never trust a woman when she agrees with you. I quickly took another biscuit and tried to appear occupied with studying the foliage about me, though Barker will tell you I don’t know an orchid from a bluebell.
“Cyrus, have you got anything to do?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“To do. Does Mr. Beauchamp require your consultation or advice?”
“I had intended to see him, yes.”
“There’s no reason why you can’t do it now, is there?”
“Well, I suppose not.”
“Then run along and leave Mr. Llewelyn to have tea with me.”
Barker cleared his throat. “Philippa, I had intended to take the lad with me.”
“Oh, bosh,” she replied. “You don’t need him there. You just like ordering him about. Go see your friend.”
Barker cleared his throat a second time. The first had been to tell Madame that he was in charge. The second was to reassure me of the same. I didn’t believe either. “Lad, I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take your time, Cyrus.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
Barker picked up his stick, gave her a stern look, and backed out of the room. I didn’t think there was anybody on earth who had such control over Cyrus Barker.
17
"So,” Philippa Ashleigh said, pouring more tea into a Wedgwood cup, “you are just as I imagined you.”
“I am?”
“I don’t know if you realize how unusual your presence here really is. He’s never brought anyone down before, not even your predecessor, Mr. Quong. I didn’t expect to meet you for another year or two at the least, if ever. He’s protective of me. I would almost say overprotective.”
I was twenty-two, adult enough to realize that everyone has the need for closeness and companionship yet young enough to shake my head in wonder at the thought of the Guv actually courting someone. I had difficulty picturing him playing the swain, with a box of chocolates, a book of poetry, and a bouquet under his arm. It was easier to picture him an ascetic monk, studying his texts at night and bringing his own body into submission with exercise. And yet, the love of his life was sitting here in front of me, pouring more tea into my cup.
“Oh, dear,” she said, arresting her hand. “Cyrus told me you prefer coffee. I’ve had some brought in specially. Shall I have Genevieve make it for you?”
“Oh, no, ma’am, the tea is perfect. I like Earl Grey. It’s so much better than green tea. One sugar please,” I said. “You know, he’s said almost nothing about you.”
“Of course,” she said, putting in two. “That’s his way, you see. He’s rather stern with his assistants. Come to think of it, he’s rather stern with everyone. It is part of his character. Even I don’t know everything about him. You know the path he built in his garden?”
“The meandering path? Yes.”
“I asked him when he was building it if that was his definition of a straight line. He replied that it was as straight as one can come to expect in life.”
“It’s a metaphor,” I said in wonder.
“Yes. Isn’t it delicious? I’ve liked that path ever since. To me it represents Cyrus’s life.”
“Or all our lives,” I pointed out. “One can attempt to make a straight path in life, but it only brings stronger forces to bear.”
“He said you were a poet. I suppose it is the Welsh in you. Anyway, I told him it was an inconvenient way to get from the back door to the gate. Do you know what he said?”
“I imagine it was something like ‘Only God can make one’s path straight.’ ”
She smiled again. “You know him better than you think. How did you come to be hired? I’d like to hear your version.”
I gave her an abbreviated account of my first meeting with Barker, making certain I mentioned that he called me “a black little fellow” to test my patience, which still rankled a bit. Perhaps she would call him to task for it, I thought.
“It’s a noble profession you’re in,” she remarked.
“Is it?” I asked. “The Guv-I mean, Mr. Barker-says we are part of the underworld.”
“Do you not provide a necessary service? When people enter your offices, they are often at their wits’ ends. Scotland Yard has turned them down and you are their final hope. Frequently, you endanger your lives to help them. I call that noble.”
“Well, yes, I suppose we do,” I admitted.
“Isn’t that better than sitting in some dusty hall of academe, trying to prove a pet theory about Dante or Chaucer?”
“I’m sure it is, but I’ve often wondered why Barker chose me in the first place.”
“Do not sell yourself short, Thomas. Cyrus has his faults, but he has always been an excellent judge of character. He needs to be, for his life often depends upon others. I’m sure this new business might have him a little rattled. It does me, I must admit. When he first told me the two of you were taking on this case, I told him he was mad, though he’s heard me say it enough to pay scant attention to it.”
“Did he tell you what happened in London, ma’am?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. He tells me everything, though it took me ages to train him to do so. You know how close-mouthed he is.”
“But he talks about me.”
“Of course he does. You work with him, live with him. He keeps no secrets from me.”
I stirred my tea. It didn’t need stirring, but I was getting up the courage to ask my next question.
“So, what is his opinion of me, do you think?”
“You’re here, are you not? That implies a certain amount of trust. He says you tend to be flippant and a trifle lazy, but then, you must realize you are being compared with an ideal that doesn’t actually exist. He commends your intelligence and classical knowledge, and says that sometimes you bring a facet of a case to his attention that he hadn’t considered. That’s rather high praise, coming from him.”
She was revealing my employer’s innermost thoughts without so much as a by-your-leave, and I was in danger of having my jaw open again. Didn’t she worry she’d reveal too much and thereby anger the Guv? No, I rather thought she didn’t. She regarded me with those cool aquamarine eyes of hers, as if nothing on this earth frightened her, least of all Mr. Cyrus Barker. I should have realized it would take more than an ordinary woman to interest him.