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“More or less.” Alastair twisted to glance at him. Happily, the room didn’t wobble too much. “Most people don’t notice. Just easier to hide them. I’ve got to be in various states of undress for everything to be visible.”
With an inviting smile, Paul said, “That’s all right with me.”
Alastair clambered forward for a kiss, then, fear and sense and headache be damned.
But firm, quiet footsteps fell outside the flat’s second entrance, the same one he’d used last night, and he stopped himself at the last moment. Paul mumbled something indeterminate, and as he stood, appeared irked by the interruption. That gave Alastair some hope for the unexpected visitor’s identity, and that there’d be kissing later.
He gazed at Paul’s back as he walked away and asked, “Do you need me to hide?”
“Doubt it. Nobody uses this door unless I want them to. But if you’d feel better being out of sight, you can. Bedroom is just through there.”
That brought salacious thoughts. “Best stay put if that’s the option.”
“There’s the study, too, but you’d take up half of it. Used to be Edward’s and my room, if you can believe it. Should duck your head in and wonder how we didn’t end up murdering each other.”
A crisp knock followed the footsteps. Paul opened the door before another could come, and Alastair swore quietly when he saw the woman at the threshold.
“Muriel?” said Paul.
By listening to the single confused word, Alastair discovered what might rattle the unshakable Mr. Apollyon.
Paul just gawked. He could only gape at her because most of his blood wasn’t in his brain, and they hadn’t spoken for some years.
“The back was open,” she said. “I just took some loaves of bread through to your kitchen. That new baker brought them. He’s quite good, you know, so you’ve done well to try him. Then I recalled your mother letting me hide in these stairs, once… and just last night, Mr. Gow told me to come to your flat around now… so I thought I’d show myself in.”
Then Muriel looked past him with evident relief. She expected Alastair to be there, that was clear. The rest was rather a whirlwind of details. When she’d stopped talking, Paul half-turned and stared at Alastair.
“That’s your surname? Is it really? Like the pirate?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Right. No, it makes sense.”
Evidently, the subject wasn’t to be under discussion for the moment; Alastair pointedly leveled his attention at Muriel. “Miss Sykes?”
“You said to meet you here at one. I confess I didn’t expect you to be awake after how pissed you were last night, so I’ve just come early to get it over with.”
Understanding that he was not going to get a proper greeting, Paul said, trying to piece things together, “You saw him last night…”
“Oh, yes,” said Muriel. “He was very drunk at The Bell. I wouldn’t let anyone else serve him, but then he just started to drink from his flask.” That explained where she was working: The Bell was an old public house that mostly catered to the likes of her father.
Just as he did not expect a hello, she did not seem to find it necessary to clarify why Paul harbored Alastair. She appeared to just accept the two men in the flat. “Then I made him sit in the corner while I closed up, but after that… I suppose he… came here.”
A persistent, gentle hope flared as she spoke. If Alastair had wandered here while drunk, he ideally wished to be present while sober. “Come away in,” Paul said, gesturing her into the room. She stepped inside and sat in the wooden rocking chair beside the hearth, bringing with her a scent of tea roses that he was almost certain was true perfume and not one of his spirit’s tricks.
“My gran used to say that,” said Alastair. “Hell, sometimes I say it. You sure all your people are from here?”
Muriel interjected before Paul could reply. “He was talking about you all night, Mr. Apollyon.” She smirked. “About your eyes and how they reminded him of the sea at dusk, although now that I’m looking at them… they’re a little more greenish than the sea, aren’t they… and he went on about your shoulders and your…” her words trailed away as Alastair gave a flustered snort. “Well, he should tell you that other part himself. I don’t have any experience with admiring men. I’m sure I’d mangle his admiration.”
“Please. Just… Paul.” If they were going to discuss personal matters, they could all be using given names. He couldn’t look at Alastair, then, because an unreasonable amount of glee bubbled to the surface of his mind and its effervescence remained.
She smiled and inclined her head a little. “Very well. Though, if I have my way, I’ll be gone by sundown and won’t be speaking to you much.” With a note of teasing, she added, “I don’t care what you call me.” Then, addressing Alastair, she explained, “Abigail made it in last night. That note you took her last Sunday did it. She was upstairs in The Bell the entire time. We’re leaving tonight.”
On a huff, Alastair said, “I wanted to meet her, though. Why’d you not bring her down?”
“You were in no state to meet anyone. And when I said you shouldn’t, you were adamant that I needed to see you here before I left. For what, I don’t know. But I’ve come to regard you as a strange sort of friend, so…” she shrugged and beamed. “You may visit us, you know.”
“How would you let me know where you’ve settled, then?”
