Dr Hitchingham continued without further prompting.“Six weeks ought to see his friend out of the woods.How you will do without a clerk for six weeks, plus the length of the journey back, and without any notice given beforehand… I defer to your expertise.”
Ephraim thanked him.It was rare that Dr Hitchingham admitted Ephraim had expertise, but then again, Ephraim supposed mortal law seemed a rather inconsequential pursuit when one regularly battled against mortality itself.
“This does mark the second clerk of yours in a row to abandon your office for greener pastures,” Dr Hitchingham went on.
“I hardly consider myself abandoned,” Ephraim protested.“You said yourself that Mr Hull may return in as little as six weeks.”
“You misquote me—I predicted that his friend’s broken bone would heal in six weeks’ time.I do not by any means predict that Mr Hull will then return.”Dr Hitchingham continued on before Ephraim could contrive a polite way of asking him what the deuce he meant by that.“But as I did mention, this is your second clerk to leave you, as the sailors say, ‘hard up in a clinch with no knife to cut the seizing.’Have you noted any commonality between the two?”
Ephraim did feel hard up in a clinch, etc., but more due to his own inadequacies when it came to treating broken bones rather than any action or inaction on Hull’s part.He did however recognise in Dr Hitchingham’s tone a didactic note.The question was not asked out of idle curiosity but rather so Dr Hitchingham might determine if Ephraim had drawn the same conclusion as himself.What commonality the physician had noted, Ephraim couldn’t fathom.For his own part, he replied, “They are both industrious young men whom I find indispensable.”
“And yet they have dispensed themselves right out of your office!”Dr Hitchingham chortled.“No, there is one particular trait both men share that I believe may prove the root of your difficulties.They arebachelors.”
Ephraim studied his friend.“And?”
“A bachelor,” Dr Hitchingham said, warming to his argument, “is an unfettered creature and likely to fly off where’er the wind takes him.You have twice now hired bachelor clerks, and both clerks have abandoned the nest.If you want my advice, when you replace Mr Hull, you would do well to seek out amarriedclerk.A thoroughly-settled man.Ideally one with a family already established.This will anchor him to London, to Staple Inn, and, ultimately, to your office.”
“John,” said Ephraim.“Iam a bachelor.”
Dr Hitchingham blinked at him.
It was a rare moment when Ephraim could startle his friend into silence.He took advantage of it and laid out his case.“Would you describe me as unfettered?Or, if I may indulge in something so gauche as argot, flighty?”
Dr Hitchingham furrowed his brow.
The friends had never discussed Ephraim’s marital state or lack thereof.In the early years of his marriage, Dr Hitchingham had playfully needled Ephraim about finding a suitable young lady to meet at the altar.After the loss of his wife, however, he never spoke of the matter again.Indeed he seemed to find a great deal of relief in their friendship; Ephraim being the sole fellow of his acquaintance yet unmarried and one whose marital bliss could not remind him of his own howling loss.The bachelor and the widower had grown far closer and better friends in their mutual loneliness.Whether Dr Hitchingham had ever suspected the true cause behind his bachelorhood, Ephraim knew not.He wondered if Dr Hitchingham thought of it now.If he did realise, he wondered how much longer they would remain friends.Or if the respectable physician would find excuses not to dine with the lawyer who lived on the perpetual brink of disgrace.
“No,” Dr Hitchingham said at last, jolting Ephraim out of his thoughts.“I would not describe you as flighty, Ephraim.You are now and have ever been a very dependable man.”
Ephraim would not have gone so far as that but appreciated the compliment nonetheless, and murmured his thanks.
Dr Hitchingham hesitated.“It is only that I wish you might be served as dependably as you serve others.”
It was quite unlike his friend to speak so gently.Ephraim knew not how to account for it.But his own inability did not in any way diminish the gratitude that washed over him like a warm and welcoming tide.
Before he could catch himself, this wave had moved him to clasp Dr Hitchingham’s hand atop the table.
The moment he realized what he did, he snatched his hand back.Too late, for Dr Hitchingham could hardly have failed to notice the gesture.More humiliating still, Ephraim busied himself with his napkin, as though mere linen could hide what he’d just done, like a magician’s scarf obscuring a cooing dove.He forced himself to return his napkin to his lap and put his hands atop the table again as if he’d done nothing untoward and only hoped his friend might prove gracious enough to pretend along with him.A mortifying pause ensued.
Then Dr Hitchingham’s hand reached across the table and patted Ephraim’s knuckles in return.A rough gesture.Clumsy, almost.But nonetheless sincere.
Something behind Ephraim’s breast-bone unclenched.
And Dr Hitchingham cleared his throat and continued the conversation along some other track, and all Ephraim had to do was nod along.Though he couldn’t keep the smile from plucking at his lips altogether.
If Ephraim were not already a lawyer, Hullvardr thought he’d make an excellent nurse.
Per the Holly King’s instruction (at first) and in accordance with his own inclinations (after he’d met Ephraim himself), Hullvardr always arose before Ephraim to perform his valeting duties.As such, Ephraim hadn’t enjoyed the opportunity to show his affection through acts of service.
Until now.
Now, with his leg broken—quite literally hobbled—Hullvardr could do almost nothing for Ephraim.
And yet, far from the Holly King’s dire prediction of what would befall the elderly lawyer with no one to look after him, Ephraim seemed to flourish.
He arose with the birds every morning, beaming as if to make up for the feeble sunlight filtering down through the perpetual fog.He murmured soft sympathies and reassurances as he drew Hullvardr upright in bed, his touch more of a balancing effort than a lifting one, though Hullvardr had the disquieting notion that if his own fae strength failed to raise him, Ephraim would attempt to haul like a sailor half his age.His delicate hand lay against Hullvardr’s brow to determine if fever had returned, followed swiftly by his lips in a kiss that felt like a ward against it.He softly whistled to himself as he boiled the kettle, toasted bread, and made up the breakfast tray for Hullvardr—tea black, toast amply buttered and slathered in honey and sloe preserves, precisely to Hullvardr’s preference without his ever speaking a word on the subject.By fae standards, Ephraim’s acquaintance with Hullvardr had been unspeakably brief.Despite this, Ephraim seemed to understand the whole of him, or very near to it.
“Miss Grytha,” Ephraim ventured by way of conversation, adding, “the bone-setter,” as if there could be any doubt.“What ought I to call her?”
