will be simple enough to send him with a servant."
A discreet one. "On foot, I think."
"But it is nearly two miles from Cavendish Square,"
she said.
"You know where I live," he said.
"Who does not?" she said.
Who, indeed? Benedict wondered. Privacy was one luxury
out of his reach.
'Two miles is nothing," he said.
"Peregrine needs the exercise, especially now. He has recently
realized that a high competence in Greek and Latin is essential to
the antiquarian. As a result, he has become obsessed with the
classical authors. If he truly means to go to Egypt, he will need to
be fit physically as well as mentally. He will need to become
accustomed as well to being among people who do not travel
in the same spheres as he."
He allowed himself a smile over the
phrase. She did not know everything about him—or very much about London— if she thought him a
stranger to Holborn. Then he dragged his gaze from her remarkable
face to the window, and the view beyond, of the buildings opposite.
This was all for Peregrine. He must keep his mind on Peregrine.
She seemed to have no difficulty keeping her mind on
business. She named the days and times the classroom was available
for private instruction, wrote down the supplies needed, and obtained
the name and direction of Benedict's man of business, to whom she'd
send her bill.
After this, he had no excuse for lingering. In another
ten minutes he'd collected the watercolor from Popham and set out for
a more exclusive establishment well west of Holborn, to have the
drawing mounted and framed.
It would hang in his bedroom, Benedict decided.
Chapter 4
TEN DAYS PASSED, AND FOUR LESSONS. NOT once in this time
did Benedict darken Mr. Popham's door.
The obvious choice to accompany Peregrine to his drawing
lessons was the footman Thomas, whom Benedict had brought down from
Derbyshire. This was the only servant Benedict could trust to keep
the matter to himself.
Discreetly dressed in everyday clothes rather than
livery, Thomas would adjourn to a nearby coffeehouse while the lesson
went on. At the end of the allotted time, he would collect his charge
at the print shop door.
The task was well within Thomas's abilities because
Benedict had given Peregrine one simple rule: "You will go
quietly to and from your drawing lessons. If any Incidents
occur—before, during, or after—the lessons will cease. No
excuses will be accepted. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," said Peregrine.
Benedict let him go, certain the rule was sufficient.
Anything deemed crucial to his vocation, like Latin and Greek,
received Peregrine's full and fierce attention. Mrs. Wingate did not
need Benedict at hand to subdue his nephew.
It was Benedict who needed subduing.
Day Eleven, a Friday, found him dangerously bored and
restless.
It was not as though he had nothing to do. He was
following a troubling criminal case at the Old Bailey. He had a
speech to prepare in support of a proposal for a metropolitan police
force. Though most of Fashionable Society had left London, they had
not left a desert behind. He suffered no shortage of invitations to
dine and dance, attend lectures, concerts, plays, operas, ballets,
and exhibitions.
He was desperately bored, all the same.
So bored that he had twice this afternoon caught himself
starting to pace, a practice he considered suitable only for
hysterical women and other high-strung persons.
Caged animals pace. Children fidget. A gentleman
stands or sits quietly.
Benedict sat quietly in his study, in the chair behind
his desk. His secretary, Gregson, sat opposite. They were reviewing
the last ten days' correspondence. . His lordship had been too bored
to attend to it until now. He didn't want to do it now, either. If he
continued to ignore it, however, the small piles of letters and cards
would grow into great untidy heaps. That was the sort of thing
irresponsible persons like his brothers Rupert and Darius allowed to
happen.
The responsible gentleman keeps his affairs in
A discreet one. "On foot, I think."
"But it is nearly two miles from Cavendish Square,"
she said.
"You know where I live," he said.
"Who does not?" she said.
Who, indeed? Benedict wondered. Privacy was one luxury
out of his reach.
'Two miles is nothing," he said.
"Peregrine needs the exercise, especially now. He has recently
realized that a high competence in Greek and Latin is essential to
the antiquarian. As a result, he has become obsessed with the
classical authors. If he truly means to go to Egypt, he will need to
be fit physically as well as mentally. He will need to become
accustomed as well to being among people who do not travel
in the same spheres as he."
He allowed himself a smile over the
phrase. She did not know everything about him—or very much about London— if she thought him a
stranger to Holborn. Then he dragged his gaze from her remarkable
face to the window, and the view beyond, of the buildings opposite.
This was all for Peregrine. He must keep his mind on Peregrine.
She seemed to have no difficulty keeping her mind on
business. She named the days and times the classroom was available
for private instruction, wrote down the supplies needed, and obtained
the name and direction of Benedict's man of business, to whom she'd
send her bill.
After this, he had no excuse for lingering. In another
ten minutes he'd collected the watercolor from Popham and set out for
a more exclusive establishment well west of Holborn, to have the
drawing mounted and framed.
It would hang in his bedroom, Benedict decided.
Chapter 4
TEN DAYS PASSED, AND FOUR LESSONS. NOT once in this time
did Benedict darken Mr. Popham's door.
The obvious choice to accompany Peregrine to his drawing
lessons was the footman Thomas, whom Benedict had brought down from
Derbyshire. This was the only servant Benedict could trust to keep
the matter to himself.
Discreetly dressed in everyday clothes rather than
livery, Thomas would adjourn to a nearby coffeehouse while the lesson
went on. At the end of the allotted time, he would collect his charge
at the print shop door.
The task was well within Thomas's abilities because
Benedict had given Peregrine one simple rule: "You will go
quietly to and from your drawing lessons. If any Incidents
occur—before, during, or after—the lessons will cease. No
excuses will be accepted. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," said Peregrine.
Benedict let him go, certain the rule was sufficient.
Anything deemed crucial to his vocation, like Latin and Greek,
received Peregrine's full and fierce attention. Mrs. Wingate did not
need Benedict at hand to subdue his nephew.
It was Benedict who needed subduing.
Day Eleven, a Friday, found him dangerously bored and
restless.
It was not as though he had nothing to do. He was
following a troubling criminal case at the Old Bailey. He had a
speech to prepare in support of a proposal for a metropolitan police
force. Though most of Fashionable Society had left London, they had
not left a desert behind. He suffered no shortage of invitations to
dine and dance, attend lectures, concerts, plays, operas, ballets,
and exhibitions.
He was desperately bored, all the same.
So bored that he had twice this afternoon caught himself
starting to pace, a practice he considered suitable only for
hysterical women and other high-strung persons.
Caged animals pace. Children fidget. A gentleman
stands or sits quietly.
Benedict sat quietly in his study, in the chair behind
his desk. His secretary, Gregson, sat opposite. They were reviewing
the last ten days' correspondence. . His lordship had been too bored
to attend to it until now. He didn't want to do it now, either. If he
continued to ignore it, however, the small piles of letters and cards
would grow into great untidy heaps. That was the sort of thing
irresponsible persons like his brothers Rupert and Darius allowed to
happen.
The responsible gentleman keeps his affairs in
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