“Is that what you’re worried about?” Mr. Arthur sighed as though relieved. “Rest assured, Miss Stanton, I’ve no intention of taking any money from your grandfather. Drosselmeyer made it clear that my apprenticeship would be without salary. He’s offered me room and board in exchange for honest work, and for that, I’m grateful.”
How could he claim to provide honest work when he refused to be forthright about anything? With such a man, there was no use beating about the bush. It was time to call Mr. Arthur No Name’s bluff. Clara crossed her arms. “I wasn’t referring to Grandfather. I was referring to youractualemployer.”
Mr. Arthur was proving himself adept at looking oblivious. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Stanton. Drosselmeyer is my sole employer, and my only wish is to be of service to him.”
“Is that so?” A twitching vein plucked at Clara’s temple. The manmight betelling the truth, but seeing as she was still living with the consequences of having been fooled by a skillful liar,might bewasn’t sufficient assurance. “Well, Mr. Arthur. If you wish to be of service to Grandfather, then I suggest you pack your things and leave. I’ll double whatever price Mr. Forrester’s suborned you with to spy on us and steal what’s ours. Just be gone by morning.”
If Mr. Arthur’s eyebrows migrated any farther north, they’d cross the border into his hairline. “What in the blazes are you talking about? I don’t know this Forrester bloke, andnobody’s paid me a shilling to do anything. Give me a chance, Miss Stanton. How can I convince you I’m not an enemy informant?”
“You want a chance, Mr. Arthur? Fine. You shall have this one. Answer me plainly. What is your full name, and from where do you hail?”
Mr. Arthur’s gaze tripped. Jaw clenched.
“Do you refuse to answer me, sir?”
His fair brows lowered into an entrenched furrow, and his bronzed knuckles whitened in their grip on his crutch. “Every man has the right to leave the past behind and make a new life for himself, Miss Stanton.”
“That may be so, Mr. Arthur. But every woman has the right to protect her family from dubious vagabonds who crush unsuspecting toes. Whether or not you’re associated with Mr. Forrester, you are not family, and you’ve given me no cause to trust you with mine. I must insist that you be on your way. Wherever you came from, you certainly don’t belong here.”
For the first time that evening, somberness weighed Mr. Arthur’s voice. “Of that I am well aware, Miss Stanton. Vagabonds don’t belong much of anywhere. Nevertheless, I was invited.”
With that, the man strode off and planted himself at Grand’s side, making it quite clear he had no intention of leaving.
CHAPTER
4
Clara and Grand stood on the banks of the Nile River, admiring golden stalks of papyrus as they bowed to the wind like servants paying homage to the mighty Pharaoh. Grass clung to the river’s edge, drawing life from waters more precious than lapis lazuli. Emboldened by worship, the sun oppressed man and beast. Raising her parasol, she led Grand along the undulating sands and sought shade beneath the fronds of a palm tree. Then a stranger’s sneeze sprayed her cheek and broke the fourth wall of imagination with the unpleasantness of reality.
Clara grimaced before the magnificent Nile, now reduced to a winding line upon the enormous relief map of Africa on the third story of Wyld’s Great Globe. The domed building’s inverted model of the Earth had opened nine years ago to promote Mr. Wyld’s maps to the untold masses who’d flocked to the Great Exhibition, but she was now of the opinion that certain members of the public ought to be barred entrance.Specifically, those who coughed and sneezed without regard for their fellow man.
Nose scrunched, Clara glared at the portly fellow who’d dared to invade her haven of solitude. “Excuse me, sir, are you in possession of a handkerchief?”
The man raised his unified eyebrow. “Aye, miss.” A quick rummage through his pockets produced a clean linen cloth. “Here you are, miss. Always glad to assist a lady.”
Ah, such luck had she, to encounter a gallant knight with a cold. Clara accepted the proffered handkerchief, wiped the sneeze residue from her face, and then returned the cloth. “Thank you, sir. Might I suggest that in future you assist the ladies of London by making use of your own handkerchief or, better yet, by putting yourself under quarantine until such time as you are no longer a walking contagion.”
The man’s eyebrow lowered, and he stormed off with a huff, mumbling under his breath about the fickleness of women.
“Your mother can chastise me about prejudice all she wants, but I still don’t think I should care to meet a Nile crocodile.” Grand’s contemplative remark evoked a smile from Clara. Travel guide tucked under his left arm, he remained transfixed by the deserts of Africa, head quite bare without its usual crown of automaton butterflies. He was a dear to leave them at home for her peace of mind.
“Don’t fret, Grand. Mum might have stalwart opinions, but she’d never force you to socialize with a crocodile, I’m sure.” Clara rested her head upon the well-worn shoulder of his jacket. The soft tweed against her cheek and the aroma of peppermints stored in a waistcoat pocket presented all the comforts of home. “Should we explore the pyramids next?”
“Oh, for sure. For sure. After traveling so far on those malodorous camels, we mustn’t forget to survey one of this land’s most impressive marvels. ’Twould be a shame.” Grand lowered wire-rimmed spectacles from the top of his head tothe end of his nose and took out the crimson copy ofA Gentleman’s Guide to Ancient Egypt, proceeding to read the chapter on the pyramids. His relaxing timbre painted exotic imagery across the canvas of imagination, whisking them away on yet another adventure.
Contentment eased the tension that perpetually resided in Clara’s shoulders. If she ever chanced to meet Mr. Wyld, she must thank him for constructing his Great Globe. For this place had brought Grand back to them. In the bleak days after Granny and Uncle Fritz died, Grand had boarded up his warehouse at the docks, closed the clock shop, and entombed himself in the upstairs apartment. One by one, the clocks in the shop had fallen silent, and as days of sorrow turned into months of neglect, Drosselmeyer and Son had fallen into disrepair. She’d feared Grand would never emerge from its faded walls.
Until, at last, she’d roused his curiosity enough to visit the “Monster Globe” in Leicester Square. That first visit had turned into weekly outings, then a beloved tradition. As public interest had waned and visitors diminished, the all-but-abandoned globe had become a refuge from society. One she treasured more by the day.
Clearing his throat, Grand turned the page. “‘Egyptologist Karl Richard Lepsius wrote the first modern list of the pyramids in 1842, counting their number at sixty-seven.’ Most interesting, that. Most interesting. Don’t know if these old knees will get us to all sixty-seven today, Little Atlas. Might have to set up camp early and take in the other tombs come sunrise.” Tilting his head, Grand tossed her a wink that she pocketed with glee.
“That’s quite all right with me, Grand. Extending our stay another night will allow us a chance to study the constellations with your telescope.”
“Capital idea. Arthur told me a remarkable thing the otherday that he observed while in Egypt. Apparently, the belt stars of Orion align with the three pyramids on the Giza Plateau. I should like to see that myself.”
As Grand resumed their tour of the pyramids, Clara picked at the frayed seams of her gloves.Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.She was sick of hearing that man’s name elevated with praise every other minute. Grand’s willingness to believe anything his apprentice said had robbed days of peace and nights of sleep for the past two weeks. She didn’t like how much time this stranger was spending alone with Grand. Not one bit. However, she couldn’t exactly move in with Grand and become his shadow. Mum had forbidden it.
In addition, Clara had no evidence to substantiate her nagging qualms. Since Mr. Arthur’s arrival, none of their possessions had been destroyed, nor had any private details of their life appeared in the newspapers. Even Fred’s romp through the custard was conspicuously absent from parlor gossip. Despite several unannounced visits to the shop, at various times of day, Clara had yet to catch the man in the act of spying, and despite her persistent pleas for the letter to be burned, it remained safely in Grand’s pocket. He could not bear to let it go, and she could not bear to ask it of him anymore. As long as her family disregarded her fears about Mr. Arthur, there was nothing more she could do. Except, once again, remain alert and bide her time.
