"I believe I'm made of sterner stuff than that, Roberta."
"I hope you are, Mr Jones. Believe me, I truly hope you are."
– — Ω — –
After a brief lunch, which Roberta did not attend, I retired to my office to continue sorting paperwork. First, though, I excised the ruined pages from the journal, cutting them out with a sharp knife to disguise the fact they were missing. I planned to burn them in the downstairs fireplace at the earliest opportunity, but for now I folded them into quarters and tucked them inside my breast pocket.
With cousin Edgar's handiwork removed, I proceeded to update the ledger, spending a busy few hours entering figures and totalling the results. It was a relief to work on something so mundane and ordinary after the scenes in the sitting room, and I confess I lost track of time completely.
It must have been three o'clock when I heard a knock at the door. It opened, and Roberta looked in. "Good afternoon, Mr Jones. I'm sorry to trouble you, but—" She broke off as she saw the paperwork covering my desk, and the much-reduced stacks on the bookshelf. "Goodness, you have made a start!"
"It's a beginning," I said modestly. "But I hope to catch up soon."
"Yes, that's why I'm here. I was rude to you in my father's office when I learned that he'd hired you, but your actions earlier today proved that he was right and I was wrong." Roberta smiled at me. "I'm not afraid to admit it, and I wanted to apologise for doubting you."
I could still remember the shouting match between herself and the professor, when she'd accused him of hiring the wrong applicant. I also remembered that they'd conspired to hire me for one quarter of the agreed wages, but that was something I'd raise later, when I was better established. "Well, er, that is most kind of you."
"I admired the way you kept your head. Many would have fled, leaving me to cope on my own, and I'm very pleased you stayed."
I felt a swelling in my chest, for praise was rare in my regular line of work. With bookkeeping, accuracy was expected, not celebrated, and as a rule one did not receive a clap on the back after successfully adding up a column of figures.
"With that in mind…" began Roberta, and then she faltered.
"Yes?" I asked, encouraging her.
"I was due to visit a client this afternoon with my father, but he's in no condition to leave the house. I wonder… would you be willing to accompany me?"
She finished her request with a rush, and I could tell she was nervous about asking me. For my part, I was nervous about accepting. It was one thing to step in during an emergency to assist with her father, but this was entirely different. What if I made a mistake, and a spirit got loose? What manner of a fool would I seem, should the client pepper me with questions? "Are you certain that's a good idea?" I asked. "I have no experience in your work."
"But you were such a help earlier!" exclaimed Roberta. "And by all accounts, we will have a much easier time of it. The note from Lady Snetton mentioned a minor disturbance, nothing more. Father and I have dealt with such matters countless times."
Her entreaties were so earnest I had no choice but to accept. "Very well, I shall accompany you to Lady Snetton's, but I hope you do not live to regret it."
She gave me a grateful smile. "I knew you would agree. Come, my equipment is already at the front door. Let us catch a cab, and I'll explain the nature of our work on the way to the station."
I doused the gaslight and followed Roberta downstairs, where I slung one of the haversacks across my shoulder. She took the other, and together we emerged into the afternoon sunshine. It was a warm spring day, and I felt the sun through my coat as we took the short path to the wrought iron gates separating the front garden from the street. There was abundant greenery, with the garden having been allowed to grow wild, and I ducked my head to avoid the twisted bough of an ancient tree.
Roberta opened the gate, and we emerged into the busy street. Here, goods wagons moved steadily in both directions, while hawkers with their wares threaded between the slow-moving vehicles, calling to passersby. Others carried goods on their backs, while the occasional delivery boy pushed past wheeling a barrow. A smoky haze filled the air, almost as heavy as fog, and the mingled stink of sweat, and soot, and waste was omnipresent and unavoidable.
A hansom cab approached, steering nimbly between the heavy vehicles, and Roberta signalled the driver. He brought the cab to a halt, and I placed the bags inside before turning to offer Roberta my hand. Instead, she clambered in unaided, leaving me to follow.
"Where to, guv?" called the driver, an older man with sideburns and a drooping moustache.
"South Kensington station," replied Roberta, and she took hold of a strap as the cab set off. We passed between lumbering goods wagons hauled by huge horses that dwarfed our own, their teetering loads seemingly on the point of tumbling into the road. With the rumbling of wheels, the sounds of horses and the cries from the crowded streets it would be impossible for anyone to overhear us, and so Roberta leaned closer and raised her voice to tell me about Lady Snetton. "She will make for a valuable client, her husband being someone important in naval circles. A friend referred her to us, but father says Lady Snetton is highly sceptical about the services we offer." She turned to me. "The friend persuaded Lady Snetton to employ us, but only after much argument wore down her protestations. I cannot be certain, but
