“A rather striking young woman in London who bludgeoned my nose and dragged me into an alley.”
Was his use ofstrikinga play on words or a compliment?
“You look very like her, I think. Although she didn’t possess your bloom.”
Warmth washed over Clara’s cheeks. If her complexion lacked color before, it certainly didn’t now. Time for her to change the subject before she said something stupid. She held out the automaton. “Would you care to read Grand’s stork?”
Like that.
Mr. Arthur accepted the device with a grin. “It would be an honor.”
Clara clasped her hands as her blush turned scalding. Idiot. She was a blathering, blushing idiot. Why was she a blathering, blushing idiot? The hobgoblin was merely teasing so he might watch her squirm. That was all.
Mr. Arthur retrieved a tiny note from within the satchel on the chick’s back. “‘Dear Little Stargazer, no amount of study can make us all-knowing. There will always be some fact we’ve yet to learn. Some location we’ve never found on a map or explored in a book. Today I want to take you to such a place. A square on the Grand Île where the inventor who made this note possible is honored. Don’t fret about notknowing the way, my girl. Sometimes getting lost is half the fun. Your devoted, Grand.’”
Why did people tell other people not to fret? Didn’t they realize such a command only made one fret all the more? She took the note from Mr. Arthur, pulling her lip between her teeth. Odd. Instead of Grand’s familiar penmanship, the words on this note had been printed.A square on the Grande Île wherethe inventor who made this note possible is honored.What might that indicate? To her recollection, none of her travel guides had named such a square.
“I wonder, Miss Stanton. What if Drosselmeyer’s clue is a reference to Gutenberg, the inventor of the printing press? In my school days, I read a book about the lives of famous inventors, and I believe it mentioned something about Gutenberg living in Strasbourg for a time.”
“That would explain why Grand chose to have this note printed, but there was no mention of Gutenberg or a square honoring him inTouring the Idiosyncratic Alsace. It might be anywhere on the Grand Île! I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking.”
“I do believe that was the point. To venture into the unknown like explorers of yore. Unencumbered by preconceived notions. Unsure where we’re bound or how to get there or what we’ll find when we arrive at last.” Mr. Arthur offered the use of his arm and a lopsided grin. “Care to get lost with me, Miss Stanton?”
Clara stared at his outstretched arm, every fiber of her being immediately hesitant. Every thought in her mind immediately wary of letting down her guard. She pursed her lips.Lord, please help me to heed your peace more than myfear.She took a breath and accepted Mr. Arthur’s arm.
Triumphant ovation disrupted the relative quiet and drew all eyes to the Stork and Spoon, where Mum applauded, a beaming audience of one, jumping on the cobbles.
Engulfed in mortification, Clara used her bonnet to obscure strangers gawking on the street. “Do lead on, Mr. Arthur. I should very much like to get lost now.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Arthur, we’re lost.” Clara crossed her arms, having withdrawn from Mr. Arthur’s approximately two hours and thirty-six minutes ago. “You do realize my earlier remark was made in jest? I’d hate to think my refined sarcasm has dulled.”
“If your sarcasm ever dulls, it shan’t be from lack of use.” Mr. Arthur walked beside her on yet another cobbled street she could not name. Or rather she walked and he sauntered. Buoyant and leisurely. One hand lounging in his overcoat while the other used his crutch as though it were a cane. “Come now, Miss Stanton. Relax and enjoy the beautiful scenery.”
Being told to relax was even worse than being told not to fret, for it had an immediate effect upon the body. Muscles tensed. Nerves twitched. The jaw clenched so tight as to recreate the distinctive squeak of a rusted hinge upon movement. In short, it was most unpleasant. “I have enjoyed the beautiful scenery.”For two hours and thirty-six minutes.“Now I’m quite ready to reach our destination.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Clara discovered that Mum had stopped to make the acquaintance of yet another stray dog. Hopefully, fleas weren’t taking part in the exchange of pleasantries. She tugged on the sleeve of Mr. Arthur’s coat and rolled her eyes in Mum’s direction. Mr. Arthur’s mouth quirked in amusement, and he leaned against the half-timbered exterior of a haberdashery. Proceeding to wait, with an ever-patient countenance, for Mum to finish conversing with her new canine friend.
Clara tilted her head in observation. “Your propensity for perpetual relaxation can be quite irritating, Mr. Arthur.”
“Ah, that’s only because you’ve never been schooled in the science of relaxation, Miss Stanton. Here. Allow me to give you a rudimentary lesson. It is not so complex. First, one must unwind.” Mr. Arthur unwound her arms from their tightly cinched knot, placing them at her sides. “Second, one must loosen up.” Grasping her hands, he flapped her arms like a pair of ribbons fluttering in the wind.
A balding fellow in the haberdashery raised a critical brow.
Clara averted her gaze from the window, cheeks flaming as Mr. Arthur continued to flail her arms. “This is stupid.”
“Exactly.” He waggled fair brows. “The third step in relaxation is to accept one’s own stupidity. This eliminates the stress of caring what people think and the frustration of never meeting their expectations.” He stopped flapping her arms, which now felt quite wobbly, but maintained his hold of her hands. “The fourth and final step is to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Nay, you onlythinkyou’re breathing. In actuality, you’re only using a fraction of your lung capacity. What you need to do is inhale until your chest feels fit to burst and then exhale every last ounce of oxygen. Really expand those nostrils. Like this.”
When Mr. Arthur’s nostrils flared like a horse’s, it took all of Clara’s restraint not to laugh.
“Right-oh, Miss Stanton. Your turn.”
This was a foolish exercise. Impractical, nonsensical, and ... very much like playing pretend. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Inhaling until she could hold no more, she locked eyes with the balding fellow and exhaled, flaring her nose like a thoroughbred crossing the finish line at Ascot.
Mr. Balding’s jaw fell upon his necktie, and Clara laughed without inhibition.
