Then I brightened, for if Roberta was attending the theatre, it would give me the perfect opportunity to sneak a diagram or two from her bedroom! I would copy them as quickly as possible, adding my own embellishments, and there would be time aplenty to return them before I left to meet my tormentor at the Crown and Feather.
Some of my enthusiasm must have transmitted itself to my face, for I noticed the professor studying me. "You look uncommonly pleased with yourself," he remarked.
"The beef is excellent, sir."
"The very best," agreed the professor. "Did I not tell you Lord Snetton would pay his bills? See? This is the result."
I distinctly recalled him stating the direct opposite, and at great length, but I decided not to mention it. However, I hastened to set him straight on one matter. "Sir, are you aware I have not yet drawn up the invoice?"
"No matter," he said, waved his hand. "With these wealthy clients it's money in the bank, Mr Jones. Money in the bank!"
I wished I shared his confidence, since I knew first-hand that few of the professor's clients troubled to pay their bills, and what meagre funds they did remit rarely made it to the bank. However, I did not wish to dampen his good mood, and once again I held my tongue.
We ate in silence until our plates were almost clean, and I was about to finish my meal when there was a rustle behind me. I turned, and my eyes almost started from my head as I saw a beautiful woman in the doorway. "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, as I recognized Roberta. Her working clothes and heavy boots had been whisked away, replaced by a fashionable skirt and gleaming shoes. Her hair was done up with ribbons and a bonnet, with ringlets framing her face, and her cheeks were graced with the merest hint of rouge. I was quite entranced at the heavenly creature standing before me, and barely noticed as a morsel of potato and gravy slipped off my fork and landed in my lap.
Roberta looked nervous in her finery, and she greeted me with a shy smile. "How is dinner, Mr Jones? It smells divine."
"It is!" exclaimed the professor, before I could answer. "Roberta, my dear, are you sure you won't join us?"
"I dare not, for I would incur Mrs Fairacre's displeasure should I manage to spill gravy on my skirts."
"Yes, of course. In any case, I suppose Charles is due any moment."
Charles? My stomach lurched at the name, my euphoria dissipating to leave a sour sensation in my stomach. Was this Charles a family member like cousin Edgar, or something else entirely? I did not believe for an instant that Roberta harboured feelings for me, but I'd hoped that our friendship might blossom into something more as we faced dangers and perils together. Now, those hopes had been dashed, and I was disappointed that she had not thought to mention this rival, even in passing. It was none of my business if Charles were courting her, of course, but I felt it would have been merciful if Roberta had set me straight a little sooner.
I decided I did not want to meet this Charles, and I finished my dinner promptly. "I'll bid you both a good evening," I said, my manner a little stiff. "Professor, I will attend to the accounts tonight as promised."
"Do not trouble yourself, Mr Jones, for the bookwork can wait until morning," said the professor expansively.
"That is kind of you, sir, but I am eager to continue my work." I hesitated. "I may pass by the Crown and Feather this evening, just for a half hour or so."
"My dear boy, you need not advise me of every outing. After all, you are not a prisoner here." The professor looked thoughtful. "You know, it is some time since I visited an alehouse. I have half a mind to accompany you."
My heart sank, for this would truly be a disaster. The scar-faced man would be waiting for me, and should I appear in company with the professor, he might decide to murder us both! But what could I say to prevent the meeting? Then I caught Roberta's eye, and she must have noted my alarmed expression for she interjected on my behalf.
"Father, I will not have you trawling alehouses after the knock you took this morning. I insist you stay home and rest."
The professor opened his mouth to argue, but Roberta hadn't finished.
"When Charles and I return later this evening, you will be here to greet us. Is that clear?"
"But—"
"I insist!" Roberta indicated her fancy skirts. "This was your doing, was it not? Would you like me to develop a headache and refuse to go out at all?"
The professor knew when he was beaten, and he backed down immediately. "Of course, dear. I shall remain here like your dutiful and obedient father."
"I am glad to hear it."
I was relieved too, for disaster had been averted. However, I was puzzling over something Roberta had alluded to. It seemed the professor had organised her night at the theatre, and I wondered whether this Charles fellow was a business associate of his. Or perhaps the man had ties to a wealthy family, and the professor was hoping to gain introductions through Roberta. My spirits rose at the thought, for that was an entirely different situation. She wasn't courting, she was the unwilling player in her father's plans!
Roberta had been eying the sideboard while these thoughts had been tumbling around inside my head, and now she uttered a mild oath and took up a plate.
"Dear, your skirt!" protested her father.
"Hang the finery," growled Roberta. "I'm hungry."
I felt an inner glow at her rebellious words, for this was the
