With limited funds came limited choices. Peter Scott had no taste for dance-hall belles, or the women of the dockside bars, and the only other sorts of women he came into contact with were generally someone else’s wives. Besides, most of the women he’d met in either venue had minds too shallow to drown a worm. Maya Witherspoon, however—
Enough of that. You’re not only putting the cart before the horse, you haven’t got cart or horse yet. The afternoon post hadn’t come when he left the shop; there’d been nothing in the morning post. There was no telling what the doctor would think of his letter. She might not answer it at all.
No, she must! She’s intelligent. Surely she’s aware of how little she knows, how much more she could be with proper training. He recalled only too clearly the frustration he had felt when the magic began to wake in him, and his natural abilities far outstripped his knowledge. For someone like the doctor, accustomed to having the answers to every dilemma at her fingertips, it must be a torment. Almsley must have been starving; he finished long before Peter Scott did. There was no vulgar business with bills being presented in a private club like this one. A meal was tallied to the member’s running account, which was presented at the end of the month. Lord Peter waved off a waiter who appeared to ask him if he wished a sweet, and stood up. “I’ve got business to attend to, old man—but send a note around when you’ve heard from the good doctor. I’m deuced curious now.”
“I may not hear from her,” Scott replied cautiously. “She may think I’m mad.”
But his Lordship only chuckled. “Small chance of that,” he said confidently. “Only think what you would do in her place, and you’ll know I’m right there.”
Lord Peter strode off, weaving his way expertly among the tables, leaving Scott to finish his meal in silence. He, too, waved the waiter away when he finally finished all he had an appetite for. The afternoon post should have arrived by now; he had to know if there was an answer in it.
He hurried back to the shop, unlocked it—and there on the mat was a letter, monogrammed in one corner with an M entwined with a W—and as if that wasn’t enough to identify it for him, two little puncture marks crowned each end of the W.
He snatched it off the floor and ripped it open, in too much haste to neatly detach the wafer. Mere seconds later, he had her answer.
Initial elation was followed quickly by a certain disappointment. After his own long, heartfelt missive, to get only this bald, bare reply?
Then he shook himself into reasonableness. What else can she say? She’s a lady, she’s reticent, she may even be shy; she isn’t going to pour her heart out to a stranger, a strange man. She’s opened herself up enough just by accepting my offer. And, good God, she wants the first meeting tonight! What more could I ask for?
He looked around the empty shop then, and realized how very long it was going to be until eight o’clock that evening.
Maya alighted from the cab with more than her usual energy at this time of night. She hadn’t bothered with the veil coming back; as poorly lit as the streets here were, why trouble herself? Besides, she was in the cab most of the time anyway.
“Thank you, Tom,” she said with gratitude. She’d forgotten this was a Saturday, and the resultant number of drunks hanging about the Fleet was double the usual. She’d been glad to get past them and into the waiting cab.
“Moi pleasure, ma’am,” Tom replied, with a grin. “The timin’ is pretty good anyways, come Satterdays. I usually gets a fella’ t’ take down nears t’ the Fleet, an’ by th’ time I brings ye back here, it’s about time fer th’ theater crowd, an’ you’re handy t’ that.”
“Fair enough—and good luck to you for the rest of the night!” she called after him as he pulled away. She was about to enter the door of her surgery, when the unusual sound of another cab coming along arrested her before she could set her hand to the latch.
She wondered for a moment if it wasn’t sheer coincidence—but then the cab stopped right at her door, and Peter Scott alighted, paid the driver and exchanged a few words with him, then turned toward her as the second cab moved off.
She smiled; she couldn’t help herself. “Very punctual, Mister Scott,” she said approvingly.
He touched his hat to her. “I try to be, Doctor Witherspoon.”
Good, No “Miss Witherspoon,” no “ma’am,” and certainly no “Maya” or “Miss Maya.” He’s not presuming anything, except that I agree with his judgment and accept his offer of teaching. That pleased her; she’d had her fill and more of men who “presumed” far too much, given her mixed heritage. She unlocked the door. He opened it for her, a gentlemanly action, especially given that she was already burdened with her bag and umbrella.
Gupta, on hearing the cab and her key in the lock, materialized in the hallway, and looked surprised, even shocked, to see that she wasn’t alone. “Mem sahib—” he began, and then stopped, for once caught without words.
“You remember Captain Scott from yesterday,” she prompted. Gupta nodded, cautiously. “Captain Scott was not here for a knee ailment, as I’m sure you guessed. He is a man of magic; he came to see what was causing a—”
“—disturbance,” Peter Scott supplied, when she groped for words; he did not seem at all surprised that she revealed her secret and his—if it even was one to those in her household—to her servant. “Doctor Witherspoon and I recognized each other for what we are. I am here to—” A slight hesitation, then that charming, faint smile crinkled the corners of his eyes “—to trade my lore for hers, seeing as we come from opposite sides of the world.”
Oh, well said!
Gupta’s face suddenly lit up, as if Peter Scott had given him his heart’s desire. The transformation from suspicious old warrior and wary guardian to this was nothing short of startling. “You are to teach her! Blessed be Lord Ganesh, who has answered my prayers! Oh, mem sahib, this is good, this is very good!”
Peter Scott looked thunderstruck; Maya almost laughed at the comical expression on his face. She wasn’t in the least surprised by Gupta’s lightning conclusion, given the revelations she’d had from him last night and his quick mind. He’d known from the moment that Peter Scott entered the door that the knee was pretense; he’d also known that whatever reason there had been for the deception, Maya had penetrated it and dismissed it, because she had invited him into the garden. And the animals clearly approved of him—if Gupta didn’t know exactly what they were (and she wouldn’t necessarily wager that he didn’t) he at least knew that they were something special, for they had been her mother’s companions once her twin sister deserted her. Anyone they approved of could not be bad.
Thus—his quick appreciation of the reason for Captain Scott’s appearance at this hour.
“Will you go to the garden? Or to—the other room?” he asked, as Peter Scott struggled to regain his composure.