I checked up and down the corridor before allowing him in. It was utterly scandalous to have a gentleman in my bedroom, and I didn't want any of the servants seeing and gossiping.
"You're an impossible man."
"If that's the worst you can lay at my feet, then I'm content."
When a person is hunted, they don't trust no one. Not even people they used to trust, and especially if they're with a stranger.
London, spring 1890
"How are your acting skills, India?" my employer Matthiew Glass asked me. We sat at diagonal opposites in the brougham, our knees bumping when the coachman took the corners too fast, something he did at regular intervals. Matt had hired the fellow after winning the brougham in a poker match only a week before. We'd ridden in it every day since, visiting watchmakers thought the city, but today we were on our way to the Bank of England in Threadneedle Street.
"That's an odd question," I said. "They're adequate, I suppose, as long as I'm not asked to remember entire Shakespearean soliloquies. I never was very good at memorizing the classics. Why do you ask?"
"Can you play the part of a concerned granddaughter?"
"Ah. I see, now. What a clever idea. I'll try my best, but I can't promise I won't be tripped up by a clever clerk."
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