‘And you want a partner in your search?’ Daizell asked.
‘Yes. Someone who knows his way around, a man of the world, which I freely admit I am not.’
‘And you think I am?’
‘You have that reputation. Uh—’
‘I know my reputation,’ Daizell said. ‘I might even deserve some of it.’
‘I understand you live by your wits,’ Cassian said. ‘That’s precisely what I need, because my own wits – I shan’t say they’re blunt, but they need to be sharpened by experience that I don’t have time to acquire. Naturally it would be entirely at my expense, and—’ His eyes flickered over Daizell. ‘If it would not offend you, I’d be most glad to recompense you for your time.’
Of course it was offensive to suggest hiring a gentleman. Any man of good birth and self-respect would dismiss him at once. ‘What recompense have you in mind?’
‘Er.’ Cassian looked blank. ‘Fifty pounds?’
Daizell did not spit out his mouthful of ale, though it was a close thing. Fifty pounds! That would keep him afloat fora full year if he handled it wisely. He wouldn’t, of course: it would be gone in a month, but the concept was irresistible.
‘A month assisting you?’ he clarified.
‘Yes, if you aren’t busy. But you said you had an engagement?’
Daizell waved that away. ‘No matter. It isn’t important.’
He mostly lived on the charity of people who owned large houses and liked to fill them with company. To make that work one had to avoid overstaying one’s welcome, and these days he had a limited number of people willing to host him. A month fending for himself at Cassian’s expense, then maybe two months living off his fifty pounds if he was sensible . . . yes, he’d make himself that bit scarcer now and with luck people would be pleased to see him come the winter. This could keep the wolf from the door for a while.
‘So,’ he said. ‘What is this item you’re seeking?’
‘It’s a ring.’
Of course it was. A full-length portrait would have been too easy. ‘I’m not a Bow Street Runner either. What if we don’t find it?’
‘I realise that’s quite possible. Likely, even. But I need to try, to know I’ve done my best,’ Cassian said, and his expressive mouth twitched, just for a second, into a look of deep distress.
‘Very understandable, but I meant, if we don’t find it . . . ?’ He let that hang. Cassian looked blank. Daizell sighed internally: people with money never thought about these things. He hadn’t, when he’d had money. ‘I still get paid?’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. Your time and effort will still have been spent.’
What a very pleasant man. ‘And you want . . . what, a companion, assistant, generator of ideas about what to do next?’
‘All of that, especially the last.’
‘And you said fifty pounds?’ Daizell checked, in case he’d misheard and it was fifteen. ‘Well, I am happy to do my best, for what it’s worth.’ Which was, apparently, fifty quid. He’d never been so highly valued in his life.
‘You will?’ Cassian’s eyes lit. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’
‘The pleasure is all mine. I think our first step should be to command a dinner, awaiting which you shall tell me everything, and then we’ll make a plan.’
‘Of course. Yes.’ Cassian looked remarkably pleased with himself, as if he’d achieved something greater than paying an aimless not-quite-gentleman for help. Odd fish, Daizell thought. ‘Perhaps we could order a meal, and I must ensure I have a bed. I slept dreadfully last night. So noisy.’
After years in coaching inns, Daizell could sleep through cries of ‘Fire!’ and indeed had. Mr Cassian was clearly more delicate in his tastes. ‘Intolerable,’ he agreed. ‘Shall I . . . ?’
He didn’t particularly want to be a dragoman, arranging Mr Cassian’s travels and smoothing his way, but it seemed only right to offer. Cassian gave an automatic-looking nod, then said, ‘No! That is, I should prefer to do it.’
‘Of course,’ Daizell said, since he didn’t care, and rang the bell. ‘Let’s see what the rogue in charge here has to offer.’
The answer to that was mixed. The inn was very busy, the innkeeper Sturridge said dismissively; the gentleman would have to wait, and something to eat would be along in due course. As for a room, he dared say they could accommodate Mr Cassian on the top floor. Daizell listened to Cassian give politely ineffectual objections to the first, thus guaranteeing he’d eventually be served whatever was deemed unworthy of more determined guests, and reluctantly accede to thesecond, at which point he realised that ‘greenhorn’ wildly overstated the man’s experience of staging inns.
‘Enough of that, you wretched villain,’ he informed Sturridge. ‘I’m eating with him, and we’ll have beef collops, sweetbreads, and green peas, plus a bottle of whatever drinkable wine you may have, andnotwatered if you value your life.’ If Cassian was paying – and he’d need to be, because Daizell couldn’t – then Daizell would be taking full advantage. ‘And you’ll put him somewhere decent, fool, not the attics or over the stables. Can you not recognise a gentleman when you see one?’
