But this, Robin thought, was a foregone conclusion.
One by one they dispersed from Magpie Lane. Robin had hoped that Mrs Piper would not be at home in Jericho, that he could get away with simply leaving a message in the letterbox, but he’d barely knocked before she threw the door open with a wide smile. ‘Robin, dear!’
She hugged him tight. She smelled of warm bread. Robin’s sinuses stung, threatening tears. He broke away and rubbed at his nose, trying to pass it off as a sneeze.
‘You look thin.’ She patted his cheeks. ‘Didn’t they feed you in Canton? Or had you lost your taste for Chinese food?’
‘Canton was fine,’ he said weakly. ‘It’s the voyages where food’s scarce.’
‘Shame on them. You’re only kids, still.’ She stepped back and glanced around. ‘Is the professor back too, then?’
‘He won’t be back for a bit, actually.’ Robin’s voice wobbled. He cleared his throat and tried again. He’d never lied to Mrs Piper before, and it felt much worse than he’d expected. ‘He – well, he fell badly ill on the return voyage.’
‘My word, really?’
‘And he didn’t feel up to the journey back to Oxford, and was worried about transmitting it besides, so he’s quarantining himself in Hampstead for now.’
‘All on his own?’ Mrs Piper looked alarmed. ‘That fool, he should have written. I should head down tonight, Lord knows the man can’t even make himself tea—’
‘Please don’t,’ Robin blurted. ‘Erm – I mean, what he’s got is very contagious. It spreads through the air in particles when he coughs or speaks. We couldn’t even be in the same cabin with him on the ship. He’s trying to see as few people as possible. But he’s being taken care of. We had a doctor in to look at him—’
‘Which one? Smith? Hastings?’
He tried to remember the name of the doctor who’d come to treat him when he caught influenza as a child. ‘Erm – Hastings?’
‘Good,’ said Mrs Piper. ‘I always thought Smith was a quack. I had this terrible fever several years back, and he diagnosed it as simple hysterics. Hysterics! I couldn’t even keep broth down, and he thought I was making it all up.’
Robin took a steadying breath. ‘I’m sure Dr Hastings will take good care of him.’
‘Oh, sure, he’ll be back here demanding his sultana scones by the weekend.’ Mrs Piper smiled broadly. It was clearly fake; it did not quite reach her eyes, but she seemed determined to cheer him up. ‘Well, I can look after you, at least. Can I make you some lunch?’
‘Oh, no,’ he said quickly. ‘I can’t stay, there’s – I’ve got to go and tell the other professors. They don’t know yet, you see.’
‘You won’t even stay for tea?’
He wanted to. He wanted so badly to sit at her table, to listen to her rambling stories and feel, just for a fleeting moment, the warm comfort and safety of his childhood. But he knew he wouldn’t last five minutes, much less the time it would take to pour, steep, and sip a cup of Darjeeling. If he stayed, if he stepped inside that house, he would break down completely.
‘Robin?’ Mrs Piper examined his face, concerned. ‘Dear, you look so upset.’
‘It’s just—’ Tears blurred his eyes; he could not hold them back. His voice cracked. ‘I’m just so scared.’
‘Oh, dear.’ She wrapped her arms around him. Robin hugged her back, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. For the first time he realized he might never see her again – indeed, he hadn’t spared a second thought about what might happen to her when it became known Professor Lovell was dead.
‘Mrs Piper, I was wondering . . .’ He untangled himself and took a step back. He felt wretched with guilt. ‘Are you . . . have you got family or something? Some other place to go?’
She looked confused. ‘How do you mean?’
‘If Professor Lovell doesn’t make it,’ he said. ‘I’m just wondering – because if he doesn’t pull through, then you won’t have—’
‘Oh. Dear boy.’ Her eyes grew leaky. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ve got a niece and brother in Edinburgh – there’s no love lost there, but they’ll have to take me in if I come knocking. But it won’t come to that. Richard has caught his share of foreign diseases before. He’ll be back here for your monthly dinners in no time, and I’ll treat you both to a whole roasted goose when he is.’ She squeezed his shoulders. ‘You just focus on your studies, won’t you? Do good work, and don’t worry about the rest.’
He was never going to see her again. No matter how things fell out, this at least seemed certain. Robin fixed his eyes on her gentle smile, trying to memorize this moment. ‘I’ll do my best, Mrs Piper. Goodbye.’
He had to compose himself for a moment on the street before he could summon the nerve to walk into the tower.
The faculty offices were on the seventh floor. Robin waited in the stairwell until he was sure the hallway was empty before he darted forth and slid Professor Lovell’s key into the lock. The correspondence in the office was much the same as he’d found in Hampstead: letters to Jardine, Matheson, Gützlaff, and others on war plans for the coming invasion. He shuffled some into a pile and stuffed them into his jacket. He didn’t have the faintest clue what Hermes might do with them, but some proof, he assumed, was better than none.
He’d just locked the door behind him when he heard voices from Professor Playfair’s office. The first belonged to a woman, demanding and loud. ‘He’s missed three consecutive payments, and I haven’t been in touch with him in months—’
‘Richard is a very busy man,’ said Professor Playfair. ‘And he’s still overseas on the annual fourth years’ trip, which I’m sure he told you—’
‘He did not,’ said the woman. ‘You know he’s terrible about such things, we never know where he’s going. He doesn’t write, doesn’t even telegraph, he sends nothing for the children. You know, they’re starting to forget they have a father.’
Heart pounding, Robin crept to the corner of the hallway, remaining just within earshot. The staircase was just a few feet behind him. If the door opened, he could flee to the sixth floor before anyone saw him.
‘That must be, ah, very difficult,’ Professor Playfair said awkwardly. ‘Though I must say this isn’t a subject on which Richard and I converse frequently. You’d be better off taking it up directly with him—’
‘When’s he expected back?’
‘Next week. Though there’s been some trouble in Canton, I’ve heard, so it may be a few days earlier. But I truly don’t know, Mrs Lovell – I’ll send word when we hear anything, but for now we know as little as you do.’
The door opened. Robin tensed to flee, but morbid curiosity kept him bolted in place. He peeked out from around the corner. He wanted to see, to know for certain.
A tall, thin woman with grey-streaked hair stepped into the hallway. With her were two small children. The older one, a girl, looked about ten and had clearly been crying, though she concealed her sobs in one fist while she clenched her mother’s hand in the other. The younger child, a boy, was much smaller – perhaps only five or six. He tottered out into the hallway as Mrs Lovell said her goodbyes to Professor Playfair.
Robin’s breath caught in his throat. He found himself leaning further out into the hallway, unable to look away. The boy looked so much like himself, like Griffin. His eyes were the same light brown, his hair similarly dark, though it curled more than either of theirs.
The boy met his eyes. Then, to Robin’s horror, he opened his mouth and uttered in a high, clear voice, ‘Papa.’
Robin turned and fled.
‘What was that?’ Mrs Lovell’s voice carried over towards the staircase. ‘Dick, what did you say?’