The Tutor by Bonnie

I felt as if I were carrying on a conversation with one of my mates rather than an intimidating superior. “As well as providing more insight into Holmes’s character, which makes him more believable.”
    I studied the table of contents. “Which case is the best, or do I need to read them in order?”
    Allinson stood near me to read over my shoulder. He smelled of pipe smoke and
    soap and his liquor-scented breath wafted to my nose when he replied. “No particular reading order is necessary. ‘The Adventure of the Copper Beeches’ contains quite an intriguing mystery.”
    “Excellent. The last shall be first, then.” I closed the book and turned to my
    employer with a smile—which quickly died on my lips. He stood so close, I swore I
    could feel his heart beating. The evening stubble on his jaw and upper lip and his disheveled clothes made him seem more human, less like the domineering gentleman I’d met earlier that day. Our gazes met in the dim, intimate room, and any one of a number of things might happen if we so chose.
    Not a good idea , I reminded myself.
    At the same moment, Sir Richard moved to face the fireplace, as if to warm
    himself before the nonexistent fire on the hearth.
    “Thank you for the loan of the book. I shall probably stay up half the night
    reading it.” I held the book in front of my chest like a breastplate for my robe armor.
    Realizing this made me sound irresponsible, I added, “But I shall be certain to rise at the crack of dawn along with Whit and Clive.”
    Sir Richard’s head snapped around. “What did you call him?”
    I scrabbled around in my mind for what he meant. “Um…Whit? Whitney seemed
    too large a name for such a small boy.” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. If you don’t approve of nicknames, I shan’t shorten it again.”
    He waved a hand, brushing away the apology. “No. It’s just… I never called him
    Whit, but his mother did.”
    “Oh.” I didn’t know what to say about that. The boy hadn’t shown any sign of
    emotion when I used the affectionate version of his name, but it certainly seemed to affect Richard mightily. “I’ll stop, then.”
    He shook his head and said shortly, “Call him what you will. It simply took me by
    surprise. Enjoy the book.”
    He turned from me, dismissing me.
    I padded out of the room in my slippers, which were too thin in the soles to keep
    the chill from the stone floors at bay. Living in the remains of a castle might sound romantic but was actually quite uncomfortable.
    Even though I was hardly paying attention to directions, I found my way back to
    my room without getting lost. If I’d been restless before venturing out of my room, my mind was abuzz with energy now. I replayed every second of my time with the master of the house, recalled the details of his face and form, the tenor of his voice, and rejoiced that we both liked mysteries. Of course, I’d never admit to him I also enjoyed penny dreadfuls, the lurid tales from which I’d learned to read. The thrills and chills of pulp magazines were a step down from Conan Doyle’s more sophisticated Holmes stories, which were also considered low-brow reading by the well-educated.
    It seemed with mysteries, Sir Richard and I actually had something in common,
    other than a perverse attraction to each other we would never give voice to.
    I jumped under many layers of covers, planning to create a pocket of warmth and
    dive into one of the Holmes mysteries. But the very long day filled with new characters and strange experiences caught up with me. I fell asleep without turning down the wick of my lamp, and when I awoke, the oil was gone and sunlight streamed through the windowpanes.

Chapter Seven
    The next day, I remained dutifully in the schoolroom with the boys as their father had directed for as long as I could stand it. I managed to keep their interest in simple mathematics by pretending their toys were items on a store’s shelves and giving the boys their own