Gibbous House 10

Huffam seemed quite unperturbed by my hesitation to take the proffered hand, though I knew it had been sufficient to insult a gentleman. The name I gave him was not mine own, I have long forgotten what it was, save I fancy the initial letters were S.C. His companion, who seemed with each passing moment still more the very image of a blacksmith at a wedding, thrust out his hand in rough-and-ready style announcing himself as merely Sam. It will give an impression of his gaucherie that he remained in my memory as exactly that: Merely Sam. Addressing the artistic looking fellow, I began:

‘Sir, I could not help but notice your regarding of me, the animated conversation and your damned scribbling and I ask you, what do you mean by it, sir?’

His smile was insouciant and thereby I found it more galling still.

‘I meant very little by it, sir. I am, in my small way, a writer. I observe, and having observed, I make notation; in case I should forget.’

‘I don’t think I care to be a figment in some scribbler’s pamphlet. Let me see sir, what you have had the temerity to write about me.’

Huffam smiled and handed me his notebook open at the latest page. There was a sea of cuneiform shapes and irregular lines as incomprehensible to me as Egyptian glyphs or Nordic runes. There was little I could say, I returned his book:

‘I’ll thank you to keep yourself and your book from my sight for the remainder of our journey, sir.’

Again that infernal smile spread across his face:

‘Gladly, Mr C______. My companion and I are leaving the coach here, after all. I wish you joy in my former seat should your means prove sufficient to take it.’

Although incensed by the beginnings of a grin on Merely Sam’s face, I preserved my dignity and showed them my back. Accosting the coachman, I counted out the coins from my ever-lightening purse to purchase my seat inside.

As was meet, I allowed the other passengers to take their seats before boarding myself. The young woman - and the man she introduced as her uncle, the Reverend Elias Parminter – sat cosily together as might have befit exceptionally dear relatives. One of the pair of merchants sat cat-cornered across from his counterpart. It came as somewhat of a surprise when their names were not indicative of blood relation. Whether the dark expression mirrored in their faces was occasioned by this separation - or the reverse – I could not tell. Haply this left me the space vacated by the two recently debarked. As the coach departed I caught sight of a crumpled sheet of paper by my boot. It appeared to be a page from Huffam’s notebook. For some reason, he had written it in a civilised language, rather than the nonsense I had seen earlier. I smoothed it out and read it. His newish clothes would have had to last him a lifetime if this had been a sample of his work, I crushed the sheet and threw it through the window with some venom. I shook my head and laughed, it had read:

‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…’