The professor opened his mouth to resume his rant, only to close it again as Roberta spoke first. "I think I will rest upstairs," she said, her voice tired and drawn. "I am out of sorts this morning."
"But, my dear!" exclaimed the professor. "You have not touched your breakfast."
"How can you think of eating, when there is misery and horror and murder all around us?"
The professor shrugged. "One must struggle on."
"For now, you must face those heroic struggles without me." Roberta got up, and I pushed my chair back and stood.
"Perhaps you should organise another evening with Charles," said the professor.
The look on Roberta's face spoke volumes, but she quickly suppressed it. "I would prefer to maintain my own social diary, if that's quite all right with you," she said coldly.
"Er… of course, of course."
Roberta left, and I retook my seat. After her footsteps had faded, the professor cleared his throat. "Mr Jones, I must caution you about any intentions you may have towards my daughter."
I had just taken a bite of toast, and at his unexpected words I choked and spluttered, spraying crumbs across half the table.
"I have high hopes for Roberta's future," continued the professor. "She is an intelligent girl, perhaps a little headstrong, and with a suitable match I have no doubt she will rise through the ranks of society."
I was still struggling to breathe, but even so I was taken aback by the professor's total misreading of Roberta's nature. A suitable match? Why, only yesterday she'd declared she would be chained to no man! No, Roberta was most at peace when forging metals, and designing machinery, and using her intellect to catch spirits. Hers would not be a life of society events, and tearooms and theatres! "But sir," I managed at last. "What of your business? You need Roberta to carry out your work!"
"What indeed?" said the professor sadly, and then he sighed. "Mr Jones, you have perused my accounts. You are well aware that my finances have shaky foundations, to say the least."
He was right in this, for expenses outstripped income by a wide margin. In fact, I had been wondering how he was going to pay my wages, meagre though they were.
"Do not try to convince me otherwise," said the professor, raising one hand to forestall any argument. "I was banking on Lord Snetton's payment, and with this latest news it seems I shall never see those oft-promised funds. Even if the man succeeds in avoiding the police, and thus his execution, he will be in hiding for the rest of his life. But should Roberta find a suitable match…" The professor left the words hanging before continuing in a low voice. "You think ill of me, but I do not suggest a marriage of convenience. I want her to find happiness, and joy, and love, yes, but it should be with someone of means."
I was silent, even though this barb was for my benefit.
"As for my own situation, I care not a fig!" said the professor, his voice rising. "I will cope with the vagaries of life, but I will not see my daughter in the poorhouse, nor reduced to begging. You see, Mr Jones, If she marries well she will not have to struggle each day, as I was forced to during my earlier years."
"Roberta will never agree to it," I said firmly. "Why, she would rather be poor than be married to a scoundrel like Charles!" Even as I spoke, I realised I had said too much. The professor, upset though he was, pounced on my words.
"Scoundrel? What do you mean scoundrel?"
"He, er…" I gestured helplessly, for I could not bring myself to describe the scene in the carriage. "Charles made… certain advances upon Roberta," I said unwillingly. "When she refused, he lost his temper. I—I was returning from the alehouse, and he departed at such speed his carriage almost ran Roberta down."
"And yet she said nothing of this?" The professor looked at me with a kindly expression. "Septimus, tell me man to man. Do you exaggerate the situation for your own ends? If you confess now, I will not hold it against you."
"Sir, I promised Roberta I would not speak of the matter, and but for my slip of the tongue I would have said nothing. I regret that you learned of this from me, but I swear it's the truth."
As I spoke the blood had drained from the professor's face, vanished but for twin patches of red upon his cheeks. Then, without a word, he turned his attention to his breakfast. I saw him butter his bread as though slashing weeds, driving his knife back and forth with such vigour that he tore one slice in two. I don't believe I had ever seen a man so angry, and I worried lest the professor's heart gave way right in front of me.
So, it was not the most opportune moment for Mrs Fairacre to appear, as silently as ever, with the news that two policemen were on the doorstep.
Chapter 27
The professor and I remained seated as Sergeant Parkes and Inspector Cox entered the dining room. The latter drew up a chair and sat down, facing us both across the table, while the former cast a hopeful look at the sideboard. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for the professor, there were no sausages going spare, for today's breakfast had consisted of nothing but toast.
"I am delighted to see you both again," said the professor, sounding anything but. "It's gratifying that you find time to visit me when you must be swamped by all these unsolved murders and daylight robberies."
Cox's jaw tightened at the slight, but his voice was calm when he spoke. "Tell me, sir, why did you visit the Snetton residence yesterday? If you were trying to gain my attention, it
