Gibbous House 32

Miss Pardoner begged my leave to refrain from further conversation as she had passed a somewhat restless night. I noted the stiffness about Maccabi’s back begin to subside as she did so, and enquired mildly if her repose had been disturbed by an unwanted visitor. The ramrod returned in place of Maccabi’s spine and I was content to continue the journey in silence.

We jounced once more into Seahouses and ‘ere the wheels had stopped spinning, Maccabi had alighted and was handing Miss Pardoner down from the phaeton, outside the garish green door of the Notary’s office. My retainer produced a key from a pocket and let our party in. The hour was two of the afternoon and I was quite intrigued by this development. It seemed that relations between the notary and my employee were somewhat closer than might be expected. We negotiated the auctioneer’s warehouse that was the corridor and Maccabi stopped outwith the door to Brown’s office and held up his hand:

‘Miss Pardoner. Would you be so good as to remain without?’

He declined to give me instruction in this regard. I supposed he knew I would not comply. It was plain that my ward was equally disinclined. Placing my hand on her arm, I said:

‘Please, I’m sure my servant has his reasons.’

Which utterance served the three-fold purpose of keeping the young woman out, and enraging them both to my satisfaction.

The Brewster’s Kaleidoscope of images covering the room’s walls once again induced a dizzy nausea in me, until my eye was arrested by the sight of Brown slumped on his desk. Then I noticed the pungent smell of the heavenly demon and the tell-tale pipe in the Notary’s hand.

‘By his face you would not know it, but dam’ me that voice must come from somewhere.’

I looked at Maccabi for confirmation, but answer came there none. He merely set about righting the cherubic figure in his chair, removed the pipe from his hand and hid it in a drawer full of papers as varied and jumbled as the ones I had foolishly signed, unread. This gulling by border rustics still rankled, but, as a man of means, I expected opportunity enough to pay them out. Maccabi raised the sash to allow sea air to dissipate the miasma from the fruit of the poppy. He looked to me and I nodded, but pointed at the figure in the chair.

‘He must have taken his pipe late today.’ Maccabi said. ‘He keeps office from two in the afternoon until six, as a rule.’

Then he opened the door to admit Miss Pardoner.

‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Pardoner.’ Said the toady. ‘Mr Brown is having his customary nap, he’ll awaken soon.’

But I saw myself how the young woman sniffed the air delicately - almost imperceptably - before a tiny curl manifested itself at the corner of her mouth. The woman became more fascinating at every turn.