Chapter 12
I spent Monday in such utter misery I was forced to send a note round to the museum rather than go in to work.
Of course I was wretchedly ill. The aromas of breakfast from the other apartments sent me running to the water closet, where I spent a good portion of the morning retching up what little remained in my tender stomach. My head pounded mercilessly, and my mouth tasted as if I’d tried to clean Front Street with my tongue.
But far worse was the memory of my foolish behavior. Because of my ridiculous jealousy, I’d bungled the opportunity to do anything useful. Griffin no doubt believed me a complete imbecile. And as for the cab ride home…I hadn’t said anything too humiliating, had I? Bad enough I had thrown up on his shoes: what if I’d begged him to kiss me? Or something even more intimate?
I cradled my head in my hands as I sat at my kitchen table, sipping sparingly from a cup of tea, which was the only thing I could keep down. Even if I had said something, Griffin wouldn’t report me to the police for soliciting unnatural acts. If he were disgusted enough to wish me jailed, or at least harassed by the police, he wouldn’t have seen me safely up to my bed. But he might not wish to continue our friendship. As for wanting my further help in his investigation…I had certainly proved myself utterly incompetent on that score.
Perhaps I hadn’t said anything, or if I had, he would assume I’d been too drunk to know what I was saying. Perhaps he only thought me stupid, not perverted.
How could I ever meet his eyes again?
Tuesday was better, if only because the physical effects of my bout of drunkenness had subsided, and I returned to work. I received no word from Griffin either day: no note, no unexpected meetings over lunch. Nothing.
He hated me; I was certain of it.
On Wednesday, Christine stopped in the middle of a rant about the director and stared at me. She sat in her usual chair in my office; I’d been desultorily going through the Arcanorum yet again when she’d barged in.
“I say, Whyborne, what the devil is wrong with you?” she demanded.
“What?” I asked distractedly. “The director. Yes. Do go on.”
She set her purse on my desk; it clanked rather loudly, and I assumed she was now armed with a much heavier caliber of gun. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” she pointed out crossly. “You’ve barely even spoken all week.”
“No less than usual.”
“Well, not to anyone else, perhaps, but you normally talk to me, if only because I force you to.”
“It’s nothing.” But my chest ached, like a bad wound full of pus. Maybe if I lanced it a bit, it would start to heal. “I was assisting Griffin on Sunday, and I, er, drank too much and acted rather foolishly. And he hasn’t contacted me since, and I thought we were friends, but I…I don’t know how to fix this,” I finished lamely.
Christine eyed me for a long moment, then shook her head with a sigh. “Oh, Whyborne.”
Pity, from Christine? I’d expected impatience, or annoyance, or even quasi-helpful advice, but not pity. “What?”
“You aren’t the only person to ever act like a fool in front of a handsome man, you know. You’re not even the only person in this room.”
Christine knew about me? How could she? Surely I’d mistaken her. “Wh-what do you mean?”
She shrugged uncomfortably. “Hard to believe, I know, but I was young at the time.”
“Not that,” I said impatiently, although under any other circumstances I would indeed have been shocked. “The other. I mean, why would you think I, er…”
She let out a most inelegant snort. “Honestly, Whyborne, how long have we been friends?”
“Four years, I think, but I don’t see—”
“And how many dreadful museum affairs have we been forced to attend together? While we’re in the back of the room, having an intellectual conversation unlike the rest of the fritter-heads, I’ve had ample opportunities to observe your behavior. Your eyes glance over the ladies easily enough, but you do have a tendency to linger over some of the gents.”
I sank back in my chair, feeling as though she had punched me in the stomach. I’d always tried to be careful, and yet I clearly hadn’t been careful enough. Who else might have noticed? Would I lose my position at the museum? “I…I see.”
“Oh, do stop fretting. No one else would possibly notice. You’re generally quite discreet, I assure you.”
“I hope you’re right. It would spell my ruin.”
“To be fair the museum would probably look the other way for anything short of a public scandal.”
“Perhaps. But I would hate to lose, er, anyone’s regard because of it.” I badly wished to ask if she thought me a pervert, or was secretly revolted by my longing for Griffin, but I feared her answer too much to ask.
Fortunately, she didn’t require it of me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Whyborne. As I said to Bradley, one cannot go into a tomb or temple without viewing depictions of all manner of, er, acts. I am quite accustomed to the thought of such things, and would hate to lose a friend over something so trivial.”
A relieved laugh escaped me. “Thank you, Christine.”
“I am simply being practical.” She sat forward. “Now, on to the matter at hand. Does Griffin share your inclinations?”
I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.”
“Stop being dramatic and answer my question.”
“I have no idea.”
“So it isn’t true you just know somehow, when you come across another—”
“Christine! Please, don’t be absurd!” My face felt hot enough to boil tea.
“Well, I did think it sounded silly, but I wanted to verify,” she said placidly. “What did you say to him? Please tell me you didn’t confess your undying love.”
“Of course not.” Christine clearly wasn’t going to give up, and perhaps it would bring some relief to unburden myself. The whole sordid affair tumbled out in a rush.
When I was done, she shook her head. “You’re right. You did behave like a fool.”
“Thank you,” I said, annoyed. “I’d already reached that conclusion on my own.”
“But it doesn’t sound like you did anything inexcusable. If he wasn’t upset about you vomiting on his shoes, he probably wasn’t terribly upset about the rest of it, either.”
“It isn’t the same. Throwing up on someone’s shoes isn’t criminal behavior.”
“If Griffin put you to bed instead of just dumping you on the sidewalk, I suspect he couldn’t be too angry.”
“Then why hasn’t he contacted me?”
“I have no idea. Why haven’t you contacted him?”
“I can’t.” What would I say? What if he responded with contempt?
“Listen here, Whyborne.” She rose to her feet and hefted her purse. “If Griffin is truly your friend, he’ll forgive your behavior. And if he doesn’t, then he didn’t deserve you in the first place.”
I barely swallowed back a bitter laugh. Deserve me? Of course he didn’t—he deserved someone a thousand times better. Someone who wasn’t gawky and awkward and strange. Who could hold a normal conversation without stuttering, who didn’t constantly weigh every action, paralyzed by fear until it was too late to do anything.
“It isn’t that,” I said instead. “I never…I don’t have any hopes for, er, anything.”
“I know,” she said with a sad smile. Then she shook herself and resumed her usual impatient expression. “Don’t fret. Things will work out, or they won’t. Worrying won’t make any difference.”
“I know.” She started to leave, and I roused myself to say, “Christine? Thank you. For, er…well. For not letting any of this affect your opinion of me.”
She paused, and although she didn’t turn to face me, what I could make out of her expression from her profile startled me with its fragility. “I know what it is to desire something which all of society says is wrong. At least it wasn’t actually illegal for me to attend university, even though I’m sure there are many who would wish otherwise. Do you know when I knew we’d be friends?”
I’d never seen her vulnerable before. “No. I don’t.”
“It was the first day we met. You addressed me as ‘Dr. Putnam’ without having to be prompted. And when Bradley insisted on referring to me as ‘Miss Putnam,’ you…well, you corrected Bradley’s shoes, but I appreciated the gesture.”
“It was only good manners,” I objected.
She glanced over her shoulder, her demeanor once again confident. “Exactly. I’ll see you later, Whyborne.”
“Good day, Christine.”
The door shut behind her. I sat and stared at it for a long while, feeling better than I had all week. True, my circumstances hadn’t changed a wit, but I had at least one friend in this world. A friend who might reach her limit with the museum and jump a tramp steamer bound for Egypt at any moment, yes, but I would take what I could get.
With a sense of renewed purpose, I turned back to the Arcanorum. Perhaps I couldn’t salvage my reputation with Griffin, but I could at least repair some of the damage and prove I was not entirely useless after all.
~ * ~
It was nearly closing time that evening when a brisk knock sounded on my office door. Not Bradley or Christine, then; they would have simply barged in. I closed the Arcanorum and tucked it into my pocket before calling: “Come in.”
To my utter shock, it was Griffin who entered instead of one of the museum staff. Unlike the last time I’d seen him, he was neatly dressed in a proper suit and hat, with his silver-headed sword cane in hand. Did he wear a disguise when he came here, just as when he went to the docks?
“I…oh,” I said. After my talk with Christine, I’d decided to send an apology, but had not yet had the chance to compose it. Having him actually here before me left me floundering. “That is, I mean, would you sit?”
God, I was such a babbling imbecile.
He gave me a curious look, but took the proffered chair. “Thank you.”
“Can I, er, offer you anything? Tea? Coffee?” I’d have to run all the way to the upper floor for any refreshments. Perhaps it would give me the opportunity to compose myself.
“No, thank you,” he said. Leaning back in the chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him. “I take it you survived waking up Monday morning?”
Lowering my gaze to the notes on my desk, I shuffled them randomly, just to give my hands something to do. “Y-yes. Griffin, about Sunday…I cannot apologize enough. My behavior was inexcusable…what I remember of it,” I added with a wince.
“My dear Whyborne, you’re hardly the first man I’ve seen drunk.”
It surprised me into looking at him. There was no censure in his expression, no mockery, only a gentle amusement. “And as for my shoes, well, I’m sure you paid for it in full the next day.”
“But…I…” Had it all been in my mind? Had he really read nothing more into my antics than a simple bout of drunken excess?
“Did nothing I’ve not done myself,” he said with a grin.
I doubted it, but if he didn’t realize what motivated me, then perhaps our friendship wasn’t as damaged as I had feared. “Still, I should have remained focused on the case. I know I let you down, but I swear to you, it will not happen again.”
His expression shifted, from comradely to concerned. “As I told you Sunday, I should have taken you into my confidence. It was my mistake not to tell you of my part in our little charade, and my mistake to assume you would know to lose at cards.”
“I dare say you assumed I didn’t know how to play at all,” I said resignedly. My ridiculous infatuation had led me to overlook just how different we were.
“The more fool I.” He propped his elbow on my desk and rested his chin in his hand, studying me intently. “I already knew there is far more to you than meets the eye, Percival Endicott Whyborne. It’s my fault if I didn’t remember the lesson.”
I straightened the papers I had just disarranged; it gave me an excuse not to look at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I was exactly what I appeared to be: awkward, inept, and boring.
“If I’d known it was weighing on your mind, I would have come by earlier,” Griffin said. “Truly.”
Why did he have to be kind? If only he’d mocked me, or sneered at me, or merely tolerated me, then I would have known how to deal with him. But he insisted on being kind, on pretending I had some worth. How was I to defend myself against that?
“Don’t concern yourself,” I said at last. “Have there been any new developments in the case?” At least this was safe ground to tread.
He sat back in his chair. “Yes. I’ve spent the last few days chasing down clues. I’m not sure if you remember, but Madam Rosa is an informant…?”
“I remember.”
“She had some interesting information for me. Unfortunately, it took time to find out whether it pertained to our case. Plus, I had to apologize to the men you cleaned out at poker. They thought I was delivering a rube to them, and were not at all pleased to discover otherwise.”
“Forgive me,” I began, then stopped. He was grinning at me.
“Perhaps I shall, if you split your winnings with me.”
“Absolutely not,” I said primly. “Although, if you feel lucky, you may try to win them from me later.”
He laughed, and I relaxed. I’d said the right thing for once.
“I’ll take you up on the offer.” He set his cane before him and used it to rise. “As I said, I’ve been following a clue here and a clue there, and I think I’ve identified a house where the Brotherhood has been carrying out some of their experiments. I intend to pay it a visit tonight. Will you accompany me?”
“Of course.” He not only forgave me, but wanted me to continue to assist him? It seemed too good to be happening to me. But… “Should we ask Christine to accompany us?”
“Probably, since I still hope to learn what the Brotherhood wants with our friend Nephren-ka.”
“I believe she’s in the exhibit hall.” I rose to my feet and put on my second-best hat, having lost the first in the Draakenwood. “Follow me, if you will.”
We found Christine surveying the workmen as they moved an immense statue of Nephren-ka into place. The thing was twelve feet of solid sandstone and weighed several tons.
She arched one brow when she saw Griffin with me, but thankfully said nothing untoward. Griffin explained the situation to her; to my shock, she shook her head.
“If you cannot dispense with me, then I’ll come,” she said. “Otherwise, I should remain and make sure this lot doesn’t destroy all of my hard work.”
“Are you certain?” I asked in surprise.
She gave me a quelling look. “Didn’t I just say it? The two of you go ahead. If you find anything interesting, I’ll look it over later.”
Dear lord. She actually thought she was doing me a favor by giving me time alone with Griffin. I shot her a glare, which she ignored.
We hailed a cab in front of the museum. I was careful not to sit too close to Griffin, lest he realize my behavior Sunday night was born of more than mere drunkenness. While Christine might tolerate my inclinations because they were not focused on her, Griffin would surely feel differently.
“Dinner first?” Griffin asked.
I nodded, and he called out the address of a restaurant to the cabbie, who set off at a smart pace.
With any luck, Griffin wouldn’t realize I had any feelings for him outside of simple friendship. And if he did…
Well. I would worry about the moment when it came. In the meantime, I would try to simply enjoy his company. If I could have nothing more than this, then I would cherish it for as long as it was in my possession.
But, God, I would miss him when the case ended, and there was no longer any reason for us to meet. That I could not deny.
~ * ~
A few hours later, a cab let us out a block away from our destination on the south side of the river. This section of town had long fallen from its glory. Most of the buildings were once fine houses, each several stories tall and set back from the street, surrounded by formal gardens and high brick walls. But those days had been a century ago; now, most were broken up into squalid tenements which made my poor apartment seem like a palace. The remaining private residences seemed to have taken on an oddly furtive air, lurking behind overgrown hedges and rusted gates, their windows covered with grime until they resembled cataract-stricken eyes.
It was not a place I would have ventured to on my own, certainly. As the carriage rolled away, I shifted my stance from foot to foot. “It’s nearby, then?”
Griffin nodded. “Yes. The property is abandoned, at least according to city records. But I’ve found the official records in Widdershins seldom describe reality.”
“Do any of them?” I asked wryly, expecting an answer about bureaucratic incompetence.
“Some.” His brow furrowed. “Most, when compared to here.”
The wind seemed to take on a colder edge, and I tugged my overcoat more tightly around me. “Is Widdershins very different?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply unused to New England ways.” He thrust a hand into his pocket. “We should light our lanterns, as I don’t think the street lamps will be of much help.”
This I could do. Before he had the chance to pull out his matchbook, I whispered the secret name of fire. His police lantern caught flame.
Griffin let out a little hiss of alarm and almost dropped the lantern. “You might have warned me.”
“Sorry,” I said, a bit smugly.
He looked at the lantern, then at me, his expression somber. “Whyborne, promise me you’ll be careful with anything you learn from that book.”
I’d expected him to marvel at my accomplishment, and instead he chastised me. My heart sank, and I pressed my lips together tightly. “It’s only a beginner’s spell. Nothing with any real power.”
“I know. But the man or men who wrote the book didn’t necessarily have your best interests at heart. The Brotherhood has used it or something similar to do monstrous things.”
“A gun can be used to defend or to murder,” I said. Why had I expected a man of action such as him to praise my scholarship? “The things contained within the book are no different.”
“Perhaps.” He looked away, his shoulders slumping a fraction. “I’m not asking you to stop studying it. Just…be careful. For me.”
My pulse quickened. For him? What did he mean by that? “What if I promise to ask your opinion before I undertake any more rituals or, er, spells from the book?”
He turned back to me, and his expression lightened. “That would set my mind at ease.”
“Then I shall.”
The lantern lit his face from beneath, giving it strange shadows. The flame I’d conjured reflected warmly in his eyes, drawing out hints of rust amid the green. I wished they were windows to the soul in truth, so I could look into them and know his thoughts.
Or did I? He seemed to be studying me with the same intensity. Did I want to know he reflected on my crooked nose, or my too-thin upper lip, or the way my hair insisted on sticking straight up no matter how I tried to tame it?
I bent my head and began to fumble with my lantern; he’d procured a replacement for the one I’d lost in the warehouse. “See? I’m using matches.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you, Whyborne. Shall we continue?”