Page 39 of The Scholar’s Spy

“At least a week, perhaps longer,” Abigail said. She needed the time, space, and concentration for such an undertaking.

She watched as all the men lifted the formation onto her largest table and backed away, several of them stepped outside and lit up their pipes finally able to relax.

Cleaning and preparing such a discovery was a different undertaking to the normal vertebrates and smaller creatures which could be done in less than a day, sometimes in just a handful of hours. This sea lizard’s skull was a magnificent find, and she did not want to make a mistake—not when it was supposed to launch her as a scholar amongst the geological society—there could be no errors. Even if it took months or a year to fully prepare the ancient animal, it would be worth it.

Mr. Walsh’s mouth made a funny sort of pursing noise as he looked about himself. “You work late, don’t you, miss?”

“When I have to,” Abigail said. She didn’t want anyone to think they might break into her workshop and steal her find. In fact, she had been trying to decide on a name for the creature, one which conveyed the right sort of magnitude and respect—perhaps George after the King, or better still the regent. The find might well be worth a great deal of money to the right sort of man, and she was not prepared to sleep at the workshop unless she had to.

Taking a cautious step nearer to her, Mr. Walsh bent his head and said in a quiet undertone for Abigail’s ears only, “I wouldn’t begin on it tonight, though… a rough sort of evening I would say. Better you should be safe at home. Especially don’t go to Gun Cliffe Bay.”

“Oh, I never go there.”

Robert was settling up with Mr. Pocock as Abigail smiled at Mr. Walsh.

“I think that is everything we needed help with today.” Robert strode forward hauling Abigail toward him and out of Mr. Walsh’s reach. He had shoved a handful of coins at the younger man, before turning toward Mr. Pocock. “We will call on you both if we need anything else. Off you go.” Robert had turned back toward Mr. Walsh and even though she could only see the back of his head, Abigail was fairly certain Mr. Walsh was on the receiving end of a death glare, since he headed off down the street with a great pace, Mr. Pocock meandering after him chuckling.

“What was all that about?” Robert turned back as Abigail.

“He was merely asking me when I was planning on working first,” Abigail said. “Perhaps he means to visit when I have finished removing the dirt from the skull.”

“Visit when you are alone and vulnerable,” Robert said as he turned and closed the door to the workshop behind them.

Now that her sea creature was secure, Abigail moved to join him, her hands coming up and around Robert’s neck, and placing a daring kiss on his mouth. “No one, aside from you, would think of me in such a way.” Before, it would have been uttered entirely truthfully. But now, with perhaps a wistful air, Abigail did not care if no one in Lyme ever thought of her in a romantic light now that she had Robert. “I’m sure he meant something else by it.”

“Is that so?” Robert did not sound convinced, so Abigail leaned up and pressed her mouth against his, the thrilling feel of his lips under hers sent a warm, heady buzz through her body—a combination of safety and excitement at war with one another, and yet neither in danger of cancelling the other out. Then with a reluctant sigh, she drew back, “I would dearly love to begin work.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“It’s gone ten o’clock, and my sister…” She bent her head close to the skull, the gist of her sentence lost as she concentrated on the ancient teeth before her, and she was grateful Robert did not press her for further details. Instead, he waited patiently for her to do a light dusting and then insisted on escorting her home.

*

It was nighttime as they made their made through the streets of Lyme Regis, a colder chill had descended on the town and even the lights in the passing windows and upper floors added no warmth to the evening, instead they seemed to provide a greater contrast to the unpleasant environment which Robert and Abigail hurried through. It had been Robert’s insistence that they leave the workshop, Abigail had been entirely happy to stay the whole night, working until she fell asleep.

“I’ve done it before, slept the night in my workshop.” It was true, she had, and whilst it could not be described as the most restful of nights, it had meant she had been able to continue first thing in the morning. Abigail had told Robert just a minute before, but he did not seem any more interested as they turned down another street corner. A gust of wind and rain pelted their faces.

“Umm,” Robert said, not sounding interested or remotely convinced by her argument. He was steering them with as much speed as he could through the chilly environment, onwards toward her home. There would be some reassurance to the home comforts of the house, Abigail supposed reluctantly. Miss Schillers the cook would have something delicious and succulent, heated through waiting by the warmth of the fireplace. Within minutes, they could have hot tea or coffee, at the thought Abigail huddled closer to Robert, her hands intertwined with his, scared that the icy breeze would somehow wretch him away.

The sight of her house brought a small smile to her face, although it took her far too long to realize that there were no lights visible, not even the distant glow of a fireplace. Struggling with a key, Abigail slotted it into the lock, and Robert and she hurried inside.

“Hello?” Her call echoed eerily around the house, the only welcome that of the quiet gloom.

Robert had slammed the door close behind them. “Where is everyone?”

Racking her brain, Abigail tried to think of an answer. Had she somehow missed a letter that someone was ill? Had she been so distracted that Judith had been whisked off without a moment’s notice? But even if that was the case, where was Miss Schillers? Not to mention Milton the cat.

Edging further in the hallway, Abigail drew off her cloak, the one which was now sodden from tonight’s sudden downpour.

“Let us go to the kitchen,” she said, moving forward and toward the staircase. The informality struck Abigail as she walked forward, Robert in her wake, as well as the possibility of having a man—this man—alone with her in her house. If she took the stairs up, rather than down, she might lead him to her bedroom…

“Did no one leave a word?” Robert asked. “What about your household maid?”

“We don’t have one, only Miss Schillers, who’d at least have lightened the parlor fire.” Abigail walked down and to the rear of the house where the kitchen was but that too was empty, save for Milton who sat dozing by the fireplace.

Robert moved over and opened one of the candles, Abigail watched him fiddle away until a plume of light brightened up the dim kitchen walls, and he walked closer and passed her a single sheet of paper. “I think this might explain things.”

Bending her head, Abigail read the scrawled script with interest—