A Riddle in Bronze

the professor's accounts involved a few days work at most, and I had been wondering why they had employed me on a yearly wage when they could have paid a bookkeeper on a piece rate. But no, of course they couldn't! Fool that I was, I suddenly realised that any bookkeeper worth his salt would have deduced the nature of the professor's business inside the first hour. A disreputable sort, of which there were many, would have sold his tale to a reporter. A more honest man might have gone to the nearest police station, there to report the professor and Roberta as charlatans who were cheating innocents out of their savings.

And me? I was just beginning to accept the notion that I might one day replace the professor. That Roberta and I might work together for years to come. That perhaps, one day, she and I—

"Septimus, will you please say something?" demanded Roberta. "I cannot read your mind, and I do not know whether you will remain here to help us, or walk out at the first opportunity!"

I was about to declare my intention to stay, even though I was far less certain of my worth than the professor and Roberta appeared to be. But then I remembered the scar-faced man, and my mood soured instantly. How could I dedicate myself to the pair of them, when I might be forced to betray them at any moment? I could not give my answer, at least not until I'd dealt with my antagonist.

"Septimus?" said Roberta, in a small voice.

"I will have to think it over," I said, and my insides turned cold as I saw the disappointment in her face. "I'm sorry, but you've given me a lot to consider."

"Yes, of course." She turned away, fiddling aimlessly with something on the workbench. "Don't let me keep you from your work."

Her manner was brusque, and as I left her room she closed the door firmly behind me. I felt wretched, but I knew I had no choice. In that instant I felt a surge of anger towards the scar-faced man, such that I'd never experienced in my entire life. But for his cruel demands, I would have given Roberta an affirmative answer, and my future would have been secure! Now, I imagined the professor reconsidering the other applicants, and I knew I might soon lose the very position I'd been so happy to acquire.

– — Ω — –

After leaving Roberta's room, I returned to my office to collect the letter I'd written to my parents. My appetite had returned with a vengeance, thanks to my light breakfast, and I intended to seek out Mrs Fairacre to enquire about lunch. The letter, I felt, would be a suitable excuse for a chance encounter.

I descended the stairs once more, where I met the maid, Elsie, in the corridor. "Beg pardon, sir," she said, pausing at the lower step. "Mrs Fairacre's regards, and she's prepared lunch for you in the dining room."

"Thank you, Elsie. That is welcome news indeed." I held up my letter. "Who should I speak to about mailing this?"

"I can take it for you, sir."

I gave it to her, but instead of leaving, she waited patiently. "Is there anything else?" I enquired.

"The postage, sir. For the stamp."

"Oh, of course!" I took out a penny and handed it to her. "Thank you, Elsie."

She bobbed her head and left with my letter, and I turned in the opposite direction and made my way to the dining room. Roberta was absent, but the professor was seated in his usual place, buried in his newspaper as always. At the far end of the table there sat a plate containing thick sandwiches, with a tall glass of ale alongside. I made for the place setting and sat down, and my stomach rumbled as the delicious aroma of fresh bread, sliced ham and mustard rose to meet me.

"There should have been sausages," declared the professor, from behind his newspaper. "Such a pity I had to give them all to the police, for I am partial to cold sausages with pickle."

I felt the professor's complaints were misdirected, and said nothing. Instead, I picked up a sandwich and prepared to bite into the tempting fare.

"Did you say something to upset my daughter?" enquired the professor, peering at me over the top of his newspaper. "She is in quite a huff. Worse, she refused lunch, and that is almost unheard of."

I lowered my sandwich. "Roberta spoke of the duties you wish me to engage in. Not the bookkeeping, but the other."

"Hmph." The professor eyed me with disfavour. "Do you consider my work too much of a challenge? If so, you are half the man I took you to be."

"Sir, I—I merely asked for time to consider."

"What's to consider?" demanded the professor. "You are penniless and have no prospects. Your qualifications are laughable, and you'll find a hundred more favourable applicants for every position you might apply for. And yet Roberta and I offer you the comfort of our home, the opportunity to learn and grow, and, with time, perhaps an equal share in the business."

And the chance to die in a most horrible fashion, I thought to myself, but that was not the reason for my reluctance. "I am placed in an awkward position, sir, and I must resolve a certain situation before I may commit to your generous and kindly offer."

"Is it a debt?" demanded the professor. "A woman, perhaps?"

"I cannot reveal the true nature of—"

"Have you been promised employment elsewhere?" The professor's voice rose. "You have taken a new position? Is that it?"

A prisoner in the Old Bailey would have been questioned less searchingly, and I was becoming tongue-tied as the professor's interrogation proceeded apace.

"Do you doubt yourself?" he cried, working himself up. "Are you not up to the work? Are you afraid?"

"Sir, none of the things you mention are the true reason. If you'll just allow me a week to—"

The professor snorted and raised his newspaper