It took Wren a great deal of self-command to not drop the tea-tray.
“Of all the parks,” said Mr Grigsby, “it is the most convenient to Staple Inn.”
Tolhurst hesitated.
Wren held his breath.
“Is Mr Lofthouse,” Tolhurst said, drawing out the words with uncertainty, “perhaps, a Chartist?”
Wren indulged in a silent and full-bodied sigh of relief.
Mr Grigsby laughed. “Bless me, Mr Tolhurst, I’ve never asked him!”
As Tolhurst then deftly turned the conversation towards punting, Wren deemed it safe at last to open the door and interrupt them.
On another afternoon, whereupon Mr Grigsby had to visit Rochester to reassure Miss Flora of herfiancé’s imminent recovery, Dr Hitchingham had to minister to another patient, and Tolhurst had to see to other business in the city, it fell to Wren to attend the invalid. Felix had not yet awoken when the last of these gentlemen departed at half-past noon.
Not knowing when Felix would awaken or the gentlemen would return, Wren wasted another quarter-hour attempting to gather the courage to crawl under his bed and retrieve his manuscripts. He’d just bent to one knee to peer beneath the bed-frame when Felix groaned.
Wren leapt to his feet, grabbedIvanhoeoff his desk, and fell back into his chair to adopt a lounging pose of indifference. His unseeing eyes flew back and forth across the page in a parody of reading.
Felix grumbled, smacked his lips, lolled his head across the pillow, and at last opened his eyes. Wren watched all this in his peripheral vision, only raising his gaze from the book when Felix yawned and struggled up onto his elbows.
Wren snapped his book shut. “Good morning, sir.”
“Where’s my uncle?” Felix demanded in an insolent drawl.
In a voice dulled by disinterest, Wren replied, “He had an appointment elsewhere in the city. We expect him back in time for tea.”
“An appointment? Is that what he told you?”
Rather than point out no one had told him anything, but had left it to each other to pass on to him over his head, Wren said nothing.
Felix continued on without him. “Don’t suppose he said with whom?”
“No,” Wren answered in perfect honesty.
Felix didn’t seem surprised. “Gone to meet Woodbridge, I expect. A dear friend of his, old Woodbridge.”
Wren neither recognized the name nor had any comment on the observation.
“Grigsby out as well?” Felix asked.
“Mr Grigsby has gone to inform Miss Flora that you are out of danger.”
“And the doctor?”
“Has other patients.”
This last remarked veered near enough to insolence to make Felix narrow his eyes. “What did you tell Grigsby about where you’d found me?”
Wren had dreaded this. He almost didn’t want to know how much, if anything, Felix remembered of his adventures in the fae realms. “I told him I found you in Hyde Park.”
“I suppose that’s true enough,” Felix muttered. “For him, at least. No doubt my uncle’s already guessed the truth.”
“The truth?” Wren echoed before he could stop himself.
“Oh, he’s well familiar with my habits,” Felix replied airily.
