Page 29 of A Gathering Storm
Jed’s pale-blue gaze narrowed at Nick’s tone and his lips curled in a knowing smile. “Oh youareteasy,” he murmured. “What’s got your Gypsy breeches all twisted up, Nick?”
Nick forced himself to stay calm, grinding his jawteeth together till he felt able to paste a semblance of a smile on his face.
“Truth to tell, Jed, I’m having a right day of it today—old Godfrey’s in a bleddy awful mood. But Fitzwilliam?” He made himself wink. “Fact is, he’s paying me good money for my time, and all I’ve had to do so far is listen to him gab on.”
Jed chuckled. “Is that a fact?”
Well, no, it wasn’t. Nick hadn’t had and didn’twanta penny from Ward—the last thing he needed was to feel even more like the man’s servant—but his answer seemed to satisfy Jed, who leaned in closer, his expression all avid curiosity.
“What’s the ’ouse like inside?” he asked. “Is it as fancy as Tom Cadzow says?”
Nick shrugged. “Didn’t see much of it,” he said, then added, untruthfully, hoping to kill Jed’s interest, “It’s nothing like as fancy as Roscarrock House.”
Jed looked disappointed. He turned away to catch Jim’s eye, lifting his empty tankard. The innkeeper, presently serving another customer, gave a nod of acknowledgement.
“You want to watch out, you know,” Jed told Nick as he turned back. “Fitzwilliam might only be talkin’ at yer for now, but at some point ’e’s likely goin’ to want to put ’lectricity through you, and everyone knows that was what made Jago Jones’s brain go scrambled.” He jostled Nick with his elbow. “Course, Gypsy brains is likely already scrambled, I reckon.”
Nick gritted his teeth. If he stayed here much longer, he was going to end up punching the big oaf, and given Jed was twice his size these days, Nick would likely end up spitting up teeth.
He finished his ale in one long swallow, setting the tankard down on the bar just as Jim arrived to pick up Jed’s empty one. The innkeeper caught Nick’s eye.
“Another for you, Nick?”
Nick shook his head. “No, it’s back to work for me. If I drink anymore I’ll be falling asleep in front of old Roscarrock, and we can’t have that or I’ll be getting my marching orders.”
Jed laughed. “Gawd, I’m surprised you’ve not ’ad ’em before now. Must be right tricky for you, goin’ in that ’ouse and not comin’ out with ’alf the silver in your pockets. You Gypsies are that light-fingered, the temptation must be somethin’ awful for you.” He offered Nick one of his leering grins, practically inviting him to plant a facer on him.
“Ignore ’im, Nick,” Jim said mildly as he pumped beer into Jed’s tankard. “’E’s jest tryin’ to get a rise out of you. Bugger’s only after a fight.”
“I know,” Nick said, affecting unconcern. “Else he’d have his teeth down his throat already.”
“Ah, I’m only funnin’, Nick,” Jed protested as Nick turned away and made for the door. “You Gypsy folks take offence too easy, ain’t that so, Jim?”
“Shaddup, Jed,” Jim replied.
As Nick walked through the door, Jed’s jeering voice followed him out. “You watch yerself with that Fitzwilliam. You don’t want to end up like Jago now, do you?”
The week that followed Nicholas Hearn’s first visit to Varhak Manor dragged by for Ward. Usually he was happy to immerse himself in reading—there was so much still to learn about this new field—but he found the days very slow. Pipp was practically the only person he saw all week, other than the local vicar who’d taken to popping round every Tuesday afternoon, ever hopeful of persuading his newest parishioner to attend church. Ward had spent an hour with the good vicar yesterday, doing little to disguise his boredom. Afterwards, as Pipp had cleared the tea things away, he’d taken Ward to task over his rudeness.
“Would it hurt to observe the social niceties, Master Edward?” he’d asked dryly. “Just a little?”
“If I observed the social niceties, I wouldn’t be allowing you to talk to me like this,” Ward had pointed out, before returning his attention to his journal, ignoring Pipp’s offended sniff.
Even by Ward’s standards, it was a pathetic amount of human contact for a whole week: a little under an hour of the vicar’s unwanted company and daily bickering with his overfamiliar servant.
Perhaps that was why he could barely contain his excitement at the thought of seeing Nicholas again on Sunday? Or perhaps it was merely that he was eager to finally make some progress with his experiments, even if he did only have one subject to work with. After buying this land, building this house, erecting lightning rods, and doing the other works at the Hole, he was anxious to see some return for his efforts.
As he got dressed on Sunday morning, Ward felt full of renewed vigour. He would make a real start now. He might only have one subject to work with, but Nicholas was at least a promising one, and in the meantime, Ward was working towards finding others. He’d written to a spiritualist society to enquire whether they knew of any mediums in Cornwall, or indeed anyone who might be more sensitive to the spiritual plane. If he had to bring subjects to Varhak Manor from Truro or Penzance, he would do so. Hell, he would bring them from John O’Groats if he had to. Whatever it took, the work would be done. It was too important, too vital to be allowed to slide.
Nicholas arrived while Ward was having breakfast.
Pipp opened the door of the breakfast room and announced him. “Mr. Hearn, sir.” He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, before adding, “And hisdog.”
He stepped aside, holding the door open for the new arrivals. And yes, there was Nicholas, with his absurdly ugly dog standing beside him.
Ward’s chest felt suddenly tight, his breath a little constricted. It was the oddest feeling. Distantly, he was aware that he was standing up, his chair scraping against the parquet flooring, and then he was moving towards Nicholas, and Nicholas was coming forward to meet him, his face curiously expressionless, so that Ward wasn’t at all sure if the man was pleased to be here or not. He’d thought Nicholas was content to return when they’d parted last week. Had he been wrong?
Suddenly, Ward wasn’t sure what to do. He dithered about offering his hand, then stuck it out too quickly. Couldn’t find the easy greeting that he was quite sure any other man would have uttered. Instead, he rasped, “It’s good to see you again, Nicholas,” wincing almost instantly at the ugly croak of his voice.