He cautiously stepped into the foyer and removed his hat. He glanced at the old man, but Mrs. Honeycutt extended her hand for the hat, and put it on the console. The old man was too busy smiling at the cat.
“Mr. Brimble, you must be terribly tired, aren’t you?” she said to the old man.
“Oh I am, a bit.” Mr. Brimble was still stroking the cat. “Looked for Buttercup over an hour today, up and down those stairs.”
“Poor dear. She looks as if she’s a bit tired, too,” Mrs. Honeycutt said, and stroked the cat’s back. “Would you ask Mrs. Plum to bring tea?”
“I will indeed,” the old man said. “She might have a spot of milk for Buttercup, mightn’t she, kitty? Mightn’t she?” he cooed as he wandered off, presumably in the direction of Mrs. Plum and milk for his kitty.
Mrs. Honeycutt watched him go, then smiled sheepishly at Marek. “He won’t remember to ask for the tea.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Who, Mr. Brimble?” Mrs. Honeycutt glanced over her shoulder. “He’s no relation at all, really. At least, I don’t think so. I’d really have to think...” She seemed to be pondering it over, and then smiled. “Never mind that. I won’t bore you with my theories about him.”
Did she notknowthe gentleman? Was there yetanotherperson in her house who wasn’t a servant or relative? And speaking of butlers who were not butlers, where was the very handsome bloke who was possibly, but possibly not, her lover?
“Come in,” she said again, and scurried down the hall, her dress billowing out behind her. She paused at the door across from the drawing room and looked back.
Marek followed her.
The room he entered was completely different than the drawing room.Thisroom was cluttered with papers and books and boxes piled up all around. He thought it might have been a dining room, judging by the twin chandeliers and the long dining table he supposed was beneath all that paper and books. On a wall opposite an enormous hearth, there were at least three paintings. He could make out the frames, but a linen sheet covered them, and pinned to that sheet were several pages of paper that he assumed was her gazette.
The smell of paper and ink mixed with smoke was a bit disconcerting—this room smelled like a factory, and the scent of her perfume was nowhere to be found. He took it all in, his gaze traveling over every surface, but there was so much clutter that it took him several seconds before he noticed a second cat, this one black and white, sitting on the table staring accusingly at him. It suddenly stood with its tail high in the air and daintily picked its way through the stack of papers and books before settling on a stack of broadsheets. It curled into itself with its back very firmly to the people in the room.
“Get down from there, Markie.” She lifted the cat, dropped him on the floor, then glanced at Marek. “You’re shocked, aren’t you? I can see it in your face. You must excuse the state of the room, Mr. Brendan. This is where I do the work of the gazette. Donovan says I should have an office near the printing company, but I like being home. Here we are!”
She moved to the end of the table and gestured with a flourish to two armchairs in the bay of the window. Between them was a small table with a silver candelabra and three worn candles. The only other thing on the table was a small framed canvas of needlework that looked only partially complete. On the floor beside one of the chairs was a stack of newspapers. “It’s not very pretty here, but interestingly, my thoughts seem clearer here than anywhere else in this house. Isn’t that odd, to be in a room as chaotic as this and be able to think clearly?” She laughed and shook her head. “On my word, sometimes I hear the things I say and marvel at them. Will you sit? Please do—I’ll just pop out and tell Mrs. Plum you’ve come.”
She darted past him and out of the room before he could even answer.
Marek looked at the two armchairs. They reminded him of the two in the drawing room—as if two people often sat here to while away their hours. He chose the one the farthest from the needlepoint and sat on the edge of what he assumed was Donovan’s chair. This house and this woman intrigued him. It was a puzzle to be unlocked, or a view into a life that looked fascinating in comparison to his boring routine.
A moment later, Mrs. Honeycutt fluttered into the room, smoothing the lap of her skirt as she came across the room to join him. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Mr. Brendan,” she said again as he rose to his feet. She sat in a cloud of pale yellow in the chair beside him; he sat as well. She clasped her hands on her lap and leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I have the most extraordinary news,” she said, as if confiding a secret.
“I thought you might.”
“I should begin by...oh, wait!” she said suddenly. “How terribly ill-mannered of me, Mr. Brendan. Let me first inquire after your health.”
“Pardon?”
“And your day, of course? How would you say the talks are progressing?”
Marek was once again reminded how inept he was in social situations, but he didn’t understand why it was necessary to begin with social pleasantries as if they had met at some official function. She had said she had news, and he would like to know what the news was. “Mrs. Honeycutt, if I may—would you share with me your reason for inviting me here today?”
“I invited you totea, Mr. Brendan, because Idohave extraordinary news. But as we are friends, I should like to know that all is well with you.”
This strange notion of friends again. “I appreciate your—” he searched his brain for the right word “—ardor for making new friends, but as I am here only a very short time, I don’t think that possible.”
“What?” She seemed surprised. “Of course it is possible!” she insisted. “One should not limit one’s acquaintances, one should embrace them. What is the point of living if you don’t?”
He could think of any number of answers to that. Procreation, for one, a thought that made his heart skip a beat or two. Study. Animals. There were many things that made a life worth living above and beyond simply making acquaintances.
“All right, I understand you’re reluctant. But perhaps you will try for my sake? You happen to be the most interesting person to have entered my house in some time.”
She asked with such a pleasant pair of dimples and arresting blue eyes that he couldn’t rightly refuse her. “Very well,” he said. “How do I try?”
Her dimples deepened into a beaming smile of victory. “You may start by telling me if you’ve at least had the pleasure of seeing some of the sights of London.”
