"This weekend's tour has been absolutely wonderful... I an it, really. But as lovely as Bel Diran is, Nolan City is ho. Besides, the steam trains are so convenient these days, I can always co back for another visit."
Jenkins answered Miss Windsor, lifting the cat from his lap.
"And my cat's getting hosick, aren't you, Chocolate?"
He gave the cat a gentle shake, and Chocolate swatted at his hand in annoyance, a clear protest against being picked up without permission.
"From what I hear, quite a few young ladies have been sending you letters, haven't they? Not interested?"
A playful smile danced on her lips.
Jenkins considered this. He didn't think their relationship was nearly close enough to venture into such personal territory. He made it a habit to open all his own mail, so he was well aware of how... explicit... the recent letters had been. So had even included intimate articles of clothing tucked inside the envelopes.
"How should one respond when a woman you barely know tries to broach such an intimate subject?"
Miss Stuart's lessons hadn't covered this particular scenario, but Hathaway's notes, on the other hand, had addressed it in painstaking detail.
"I haven't had the chance to open them yet... Actually, speaking of mail, I just rembered a letter from Bishop Parrold of the Nolan diocese. He's invited to the year-end festival, so I need to get back sooner rather than later. I imagine Bel Diran has similar festivities. I overheard at the ball the other night that the royal family has allocated a rather large budget for the celebrations..."
Hathaway's advice was to subtly steer the conversation elsewhere. The trick was to be tactful—not so abrupt as to be rude, but clear enough to signal his disinterest in pursuing the original topic.
Jenkins thought he'd handled it rather well, as Miss Windsor did indeed drop the subject of the embarrassing letters.
Before they parted ways, she invited him to spend ti at her family estate in Windsor territory the following sumr to escape the heat. But that was a whole six months away, and given that Jenkins hadn't even been in this world for that long, he simply gave a noncommittal promise to visit if he found the ti.
His next stop was the Tiggle Museum. Even though the Church was already investigating the origins of Mr. Tiggle's mask, Jenkins felt he should speak with the man again himself.
Unfortunately, the museum was closed for the day. According to the gatekeeper, Mr. Tiggle's friends abroad had acquired so "interesting items," and he had left the city by steam train on Saturday to see them.
It was likely just a coincidence. Professor Burns had ntioned his friend traveled the continent frequently. Jenkins left a letter for Mr. Tiggle, then picked up his suitcase and continued on his way to Granny Caroline's apartnt.
The old woman happened to be ho. When Jenkins knocked on the door, he found her sitting in a rocking chair, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose as she knitted a sweater.
The white cat she owned began trembling like a leaf the mont the door opened and it laid eyes on Chocolate. A mont later, it scurried under the bed and refused to co out.
"No, thank you. I shouldn't stay."
He politely declined the old woman's invitation to co inside, remaining at the doorway.
"I'm returning to Nolan City today, and since I was passing by on my way to the station, I thought I'd stop and ask if you had any ssage for Miss Eisenach."
"Oh, yes, I do have a letter. I was planning to take it to the postbox on the corner this afternoon..."
Supporting her back with one hand, she walked back into the room and picked up a stamped letter from the dining table. Turning around again, she reached into her small knitting basket and pulled out a necklace.
"This letter is for Guinevere. Please, tell her she doesn't need to tuck any more gold pounds inside her letters. I live alone, I can't possibly spend that much money. Besides, living in this alley, it's more dangerous to have cash in the house. This... is for you."
She pressed the necklace into Jenkins's hand.
"I..."
He could tell it was silver by the touch. While he couldn't determine if it was an antique at first glance, his initial impression was that it was certainly no modern piece. The pendant was a figure of a woman stretching languidly, a silk cloth draped from her upraised right hand, artfully concealing her modesty.
If he were to sell this at Pops Antique Shop, it would fetch at least two pounds and seven shillings.
"You take it. In my hands, it'll only end up in the pockets of the next thief who decides to pay a visit. Mr. Williams, it's been a long ti since I've spoken with a young man like you. You're a good lad..."
She stooped slightly, resting her left hand on the doorfra for support.
"At my age, these things are just material possessions. Please, consider it a gift. Don't refuse, just accept it."
"This is too much, really..."
He felt that refusing the old woman's kind gesture would only hurt her feelings. But accepting it—taking an expensive piece of jewelry from an elderly woman living alone—felt deeply wrong.
"Very well, then. Thank you for the gift. The next ti I have a chance to visit Bel Diran, I'll be sure to co see you. And if you ever run into any trouble, please write to , or go to the Church of Knowledge and Books for help. I have many friends there..."
Though Granny Caroline's necklace was exquisitely crafted, its value didn't compare to the various trinkets the young ladies had pressed upon him after the duel. He tucked the necklace into his suitcase to keep as a nto and silently wished that the old woman would stay safe from the gang skirmishes that frequently broke out in the alley.
His ticket back to Nolan was once again for a VIP carriage, and he didn't have to pay for it. He'd been told a bodyguard would be accompanying him in disguise, but with more than a dozen passengers and their servants in the carriage, he had no idea who it could be.
On the train ride over, his bodyguard had been the portly noblewoman. He'd only learned this recently, but it made him certain they wouldn't use the sa trick twice. This ti, his protector would surely have found a more creative disguise.
The train, for once, departed on schedule. Mr. Gilbert was at the station to see him off. He waved as Jenkins leaned out the window to wave back. Soon, the end of the train was just a black speck in the distance, and then it vanished from sight completely.
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