Today's Reading
And so went the next eternity, all the way across the platform and through the station, until he finally—blessedly—reached his waiting carriage and sank against the leather seat. This mauling by the fairer sex was exactly why he preferred India to England. As the driver's tongue clucked and horse hooves clip-clomped, he couldn't help but wonder if coming home to Oxford had been the right thing to do.
Yet if he expected to land a seat in Parliament, he had no other choice.
* * *
A mad dash from the cemetery to the train station left Brudge with a throbbing bunion, a stitch in the side, and a very smelly Scupper. The big man sat across from him, filling the compartment with a most pungent body odour mixed with leftover gardenia. Brudge dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. They couldn't reach London soon enough.
But at least he was returning with a bag of money and the means to make more. The sooner he paid off Wormwell, the easier he'd breathe. Scupper was a mite of a man in comparison to that cully, and time was running out to give the most notorious smuggled-goods dealer in all of London his due.
The train lurched into motion, the jolt of it smacking Brudge's head against the seat. He tucked away his handkerchief as he peered out the window, not sorry in the least to see the lights of Oxford pass by the glass. A good foot soak was what he needed, that and several pints of ale.
He cracked open the window a few inches, letting in fresh air while hopefully sucking out Scupper's stink.
"Will ye be needin' me any more in London, then, guv'ner?"
He turned to the big man. "A time or two, I should think. We'll pull the same sell and snatch, draining what we can from this ugly little lump until I have enough money to pay my debts." He patted the bag at his side.
Scupper leaned forward, poking the small leather satchel with a thick finger. "Could I see it?"
"Ain't much to look at." Brudge shrugged. "It's just a clay doll hardly bigger than yer palm."
Eyes dark as boot blacking stared at him. "Why would anyone give a coin for it, then?"
"Pish. There's no accounting for some people's tastes. I once sold a stuffed patch-haired possum to a fellow with cages in his sitting room—and every cage held a different dead animal."
"Don't seem right, guv'ner, not for that stack o' bills ye collected." Scupper toyed with the curl of his moustache. "Maybe the value isn't in the item itself but what's inside."
Huh. Now there was a thought. "Good point. Could be more to it than I credited. Shame to break the thing open only to find it empty, though. We'd miss out on the resale."
"A risk, true enough."
But a risk he ought to take? If something costlier were hidden, he could pocket even more money. "I s'pose it wouldn't hurt to look the thing over."
He pulled the bag onto his lap and snapped open the clasp. Light seeped into the dark cavity, and rage leached into his soul. With a roar, he wrapped his fingers around a dirty chunk of rock.
"Guv'ner?"
"Conniving little vixen! No wonder she stayed in the shadows." He threw the rock across the compartment, nicking the paneling hardly an inch from Scupper's head. "We've been had!"
Scupper's long arm snagged the money bag from off the floor and pulled out a wad of bills. He fanned it in front of his face. "Appears to be all here."
"Let me see that!" Brudge seized the stack and counted each bill. "The full amount, what do you know?" He shoved the money inside the bag and slammed it to the floor. "Still, we're going back. I'll not be cheated. That little doll can and will bring me a coin or two more."
"Is it really a cheat, though, guv'ner?" Scupper's brow scrunched, making his thick forehead even more prominent. "Seems a fair deal. You got yer money. She got her goods."
"It's not a fair deal to my pride." He jammed his thumb into his chest. "Cyrus T. Brudge will not be bested by a woman."
"My mum used to say pride is a blind alley, the dead end bein' yerself. And she oughtta know. Kissed the grave 'cuz she were too stubborn to admit she were sick. Shoulda seen Doc Bones like I told 'er." Scupper sucked on his teeth. "But that's no nevermind when a coin's to be made, I s'pose."
This excerpt ends on page 23 of the paperback edition.
Monday we begin the book Meddling with Mistletoe by Liz Johnson.
...
