Page 31 of The Scholar’s Spy

As the hours crept away from her, Abigail resolved that she would be visiting the landslip site at dawn. Although she was not sure she wanted to admit it, or even register it entirely, she hoped Robert would come too.

When the first faint smudges of the new day peeked around the corner of the curtains, Abigail threw herself up and out of bed to greet the day.

Walking through the house, she ran into Milton, who got a good scratch behind the ears, and then Miss Schillers, who was in the kitchen and seemed delighted at the improvement in Abigail’s condition. In just ‘one day,’ Miss Schillers kept saying as if that was the impressive thing, which Abigail supposed it was—only her ribs seemed especially sore now, the aches in her ankle and wrist were greatly reduced already. The cook insisted she take her father’s old cane, which Abigail did reluctantly.

Abigail almost admitted that it was the encouraging vigor of Mr. O’Sullivan’s kisses that were the restorative, but she doubted the elderly cook would appreciate hearing such scandalous things. Besides, she told herself that if she did not dwell over much on the kiss, all would be better. All would be well. She could return to the way things were with Robert, having gained the knowledge she wished to know. That was her theory in any case.

The walk down to the beach was a quiet one. Not many people were up yet, and the faint drizzle of rain might well be off-putting to others. At least Abigail hoped so, she did not want anyone along to see what the landslide might have unearthed.

“Good morning.” His voice was soft, welcoming, the kind that would chase away any chills she might be feeling. It threatened to possess her, and chase away all of her good intentions, not to mention promises she had made to her sister.

Mr. O’Sullivan presented such a handsome sight that it made Abigail flush, uncomfortable in her own skin and how much she wished to rush forward and hug him. Such untoward feelings were an alien sensation indeed. It was probably just down to the kiss and would pass soon enough.

“Hello,” she said, self-conscious in her body and overly aware of where her hands were placed. The basket she was holding in her left hand shifted to the other, before being hastily stowed over one shoulder. “We should head down to the cove and to the rockslide.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite. Especially before the rain thickens.”

“What are you looking for?” He leaned close and slipped the basket off her shoulders, which Abigail was grateful for.

“Once the chalk, and grit moves—well, it gives us a chance to see what is beneath. Why, one of the best discoveries was made by my father following a previous landslip.”

“It is not dangerous?” Mr. O’Sullivan fell aside her.

Abigail shrugged. “A little but probably not terribly so. Besides, some things are worth the risk.” If she managed to find something of actual value, then it might be quite the thing to send him to Town with it—he could sell for her, possibly to the institution she so keenly wished to impress—The Geological Society of London. Surely a gentleman like Mr. O’Sullivan would have no trouble at all in helping her sway over such an establishment. Off her mind went concocting worlds where she might be admitted, her papers might be published, and her finds would be celebrated. Abigail was just about to launch into this explanation, when Robert shot out his hand. It brushed against Abigail’s fingertips and sent awareness and longing straight through her body. She stopped in her tracks. He simply took her basket from her, so she did not have to carry it.

“You are simply going to return to our previous state as if we had not kissed.”

“Why would you like me to revert to something else, or someone I am not?” Abigail wished she did not sound quite so bullish. Why did everyone expect her to know the answers to questions she was not certain of?

He started to walk onwards, in the general direction of the rockslide, and Abigail continued at his side.

“I simply thought that after last night, you might wish for some explanation.”

“I think we discussed everything we needed to.”

“All business with you, Miss Abigail.” He laughed again. “It is heavier than normal today.” He stopped moving and Abigail slowed too, grateful for the pause, and the change of topic.

Mr. O’Sullivan moved items around in the basket, settling on the papers she had brought with her. A manuscript from France from the genius pen of Monsieur Cuvier had recently arrived.

“Be careful,” Abigail said, “I don’t want it getting wet.”

“Where did you get this?” Robert looked up, his handsome face marred by a curling lip as his fingers tightened on the pages. Abigail had to pry them loose from his grip.

“Paris of course—” Abigail flicked through a few pages, and then stuffed it back into the basket, it was raining after all, and she had not begun her notes yet. Her French was reasonable, but not amazing and the details of Cuvier’s words would be lost if she was not precise. A ruddy great smudge or raindrop would not help her.

“We are at war with them.”

“Not over fossils. Or the zoological and geological discoveries. Not over science,” Abigail snapped. There was one thing that bored and annoyed her in equal measure was the endless wars. To her mind, it was a foolish waste, when there were so many wondrous and interesting things one could be doing with one’s time rather than finding new ways to kill one another.

“Fossils?” Robert was pacing over the pebbles, his movements a touch erratic. “Would that not be convenient?”

“What else would I care for?” Abigail said back. The question was asked in anger, but a fragment of her as she spoke, realized she did care for him. More than she was prepared to admit, too. She sucked in a breath, moving closer, and taking up his hands, interlinking their fingers. “Let us not talk about this fight. Of course, I need to read Cuvier Lamarck, and many French men. They are the most knowledgeable. Their wisdom transcends barriers of nationality and war—”

“Nothing can.” Robert pulled her closer. Color flaming his cheeks and making his blue eyes brighter than normal. “Surely, you must know where such things come from. There are smugglers all along the coastline, Abigail. You cannot be blind to such things.”

The taunt hurt. The idea because of the way she was, that she might be unable to see something that everyone else noticed, stung.