Gibbous House 56

The woman seemed unperturbed by the state of the kitchen. On leaving it, intent as I was on returning to the dining room, I nevertheless sensed that she stirred not a whit and contented herself in observation of my retreating back. Retracing my steps through the jumble was a little easier, and little caught my eye - although I noted in the variety of woods used in the furniture as many colours as had the leaves of autumn. It was strange that so many pieces -in spite of standing, lying and leaning higgledy-piggledy around the grand hallway- evinced the sheen of a recent polish.

Maccabi dropped a silver spoon with a clatter on the dining table as I swung the door wide. I resisted the temptation to bid him turn out his pockets, but allowed myself a smile at the thought of doing so. In any event, his self-possession had deserted him and already I knew that this -for him- was a rare and discomfiting experience, and, perhaps, the wordless smile would discommode him still more. I said nothing, and took appraisal of Maccabi's attire. It being shabbos, I presumed he would be wearing the best of his clothes. Since I would soon be wearing them myself, I was disappointed to note the predominance of black and white in the palette. Still the cut and material seemed of quality, despite the outmoded style. His coat, black, was double-breasted and cut away to tails; the waist of it being very high, two fingers breadth of an exceedingly dull waistcoat were visible below it. His shirt was white linen and so bright as to beg the question of how it could be got so, in this bizarre house with its dearth of servants. The frill of his shirt and the height of his collar were the only extravagance of his dress. I gauged that his boots would be a comfortable fit, being possessed of the beautiful shine that only leather of some age may acquire, if tended with great care.

He seemed to be in the grip of some internal struggle, as though he had noted my close regard of himself, and could not resolve whether to challenge me over it. Curiosity, or some other motive, eventually compelled him to say:

'You seem uncommon interested in my garb, today, Mr Moffat.'

'Indeed, I am Jedediah. I rather thought you might be so good as to loan me some articles of clothing, until such times as that fellow of yours brings me something more suitable. If it would not inconvenience you, that is?'

Again he struggled with some inner demon, before saying stiffly,

'Of course, sir.'

'Oh, you are most kind, Maccabi. If you would but just lay out the clothes you are wearing on my cot by nine on the morrow. I have in mind to escort Miss Pardoner to church in Bamburgh. You would not care to come, I take it.'

He shook his head for answer and departed with unseemly alacrity, I thought.

The dining table was still as we had left it the evening before. Scraps of food littered the plates and the area of table where the Professor had teetered on his perch. The decanter of port was empty of all but the lees, although I was sure I had left sufficient to charge a good two glasses. Some of this quantity lay in a congealed and sticky pool beside the decanter, indicating that the remainder had been quaffed some hours before. I would have paid a sovereign to have known by whom. Thankfully, for my sanity, a tantalus -identical to that of which the professor and I had availed ourselves in the library- stood on the sideboard. One decanter was full of the same near to high quality Jerez we had drunk, and I poured myself a generous schooner. I removed to my seat at table with decanter and glass and awaited developments in the matter of breaking my fast.