Page 44 of A Gathering Storm
“The rest of us aren’t so lucky . . .”
He was finishing his luncheon when Pipp announced Nicholas’s arrival.
“Mr. Hearn, sir,” Pipp said, and when Ward looked up, there was Nicholas, framed in the doorway of the dining room, wearing his customary tweeds and carrying a modest valise.
He was alone. No pale shadow at his heels today.
Ward rose from his seat. “Nicholas—come in, sit down.” He glanced at Pipp and added, “Mr. Pipp, will you arrange a plate for Mr. Hearn?”
“Of course, sir,” Pipp said. He took the valise from Nicholas, who looked faintly surprised at having to give it up, and left the room.
“You’re always feeding me,” Nicholas said, taking a seat. “It’s quite unnecessary.”
“Indulge me,” Ward croaked. “I expect you’ve just had some bread and butter or some such thing. It’s half a day’s journey, you know. I don’t want you expiring on the way.”
Nicholas chuckled softly. “All right. Since you and Mr. Pipp are determined to fatten me up between you, I may as well let you.”
“I was expecting to see Master Snowflake,” Ward said as he settled his napkin over his knee again. “Have you left him downstairs?”
“No, I’m not bringing him. I’ve left him with my friend, Gid,” Nicholas said. “Snow hates carriage journeys—just frets and frets. And Gid’s good with him.”
“I don’t mind if you want to bring him,” Ward said. “The journey only takes around three hours. I can tolerate a fretful dog for an afternoon.”
Nicholas shook his head. “The last time I took him on a coach, he barked near enough incessantly and ended up vomiting all over the floor. The other passengers were ready to string the two of us up.”
“Ah,” Ward said. Then after a pause, “Will he be all right without you, though? I honestly don’t mind if you want to bring him, barking and vomiting notwithstanding.”
Nicholas’s smile-frown made an appearance at that. He seemed both touched and amused by Ward’s assurance. “That’s kind of you,” he said, “but it’s not just because of the journey that I’m leaving him. Truro was where I found Snow in the first place. The one time I’ve taken him back there, he started shaking as soon as we got near. He probably thought I was going to abandon him there.”
Ward pondered that. “It’s true that some animals display the most astonishing sensory abilities. Dogs, of course, are renowned for their acute sense of smell. Perhaps Snowflake detected something in the air unique to that place—something you would not have noticed with your duller olfactory senses—” He broke off at Nicholas’s sudden grin. “Is something amusing?”
Nicholas chuckled. “No, it’s just that you’re such a curious fellow.”
Ward swallowed and looked away. He’d been told many times before that he was curious. An eccentric. A quiz. Usually he didn’t care, but for some reason, coming from Nicholas, it stung.
How pathetic.
“What’s wrong?” Nicholas said. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh for God’s sake, I didn’t mean curious like that! I meantcurious. Interested. Fascinated by the world around you.”
Ward glanced warily at Nicholas.
“Ward—I like that about you,” Nicholas added softly, and some knot in Ward’s belly loosened.
“I know some people think I’m rather odd,” Ward admitted. “I daresay the villagers think I’m positively unhinged with my plans to communicate with spirits. But when an idea takes hold of me, I—” He halted, unable to find the words to express what it was that drove him.
“I know,” Nicholas said simply. “You’re passionate about what you do. About finding out why things happen a certain way. How they work.”
Ward felt the oddest rush of gratitude. Gratitude that Nicholas understood this about him, and that he could put it into such simple words when Ward had been so entirely unable to do so. That he didn’t think Ward was an odd duck—or perhaps that he did, but he didn’t care so very much.
They set off for Truro after luncheon. Ward’s carriage was the first word in luxurious travelling with wide seats upholstered in butter-soft leather and woollen travelling rugs folded at the end of each bench. As Nick climbed in behind Ward, he noted a large, flat wooden box on the floor of the carriage and a basket full of foodstuffs and beverages tucked in beside it.
“Bloody hell,” he chuckled. “This carriage is fit for a king. Old Godfrey likes his comforts but he’s got nothing on you. This must be near twice the size of his coach.”
“I do a fair bit of travelling,” Ward replied, as he sat himself down. “I’m fortunate that I have the wherewithal to do it in a manner that minimises the discomforts of long journeys and enables me to pass the time as fruitfully as possible.”
“I’ll say,” Nick said, settling onto the bench opposite Ward and watching with fascination as the man lifted the flat wooden box onto his knee, turning it into a compact writing desk with a few practiced moves, the ever-errant lock of hair tumbling over his forehead.
Outside, the coachman shouted an instruction to the groom as he readied to depart.