‘That . . .’ Cassian looked far more struck than the remark deserved. ‘That is very lovely, and – goodness. I intend to think about that. Um, I have two questions.’
‘Mmm?’
‘What do we do next? And’ – his hand slid meaningfully down Daizell’s flank – ‘do we have to do it yet?’
‘I’ll work on it, and no,’ Daizell said. ‘We most definitely do not.’
Once they got up, which was shamefully late, Daizell turned his mind to the matter of finding Martin Nichols. It wasn’t a problem he’d considered before. It was a long time since he’d wanted to find him.
Martin had had the stuffing knocked out of him rather worse than Daizell had. He’d been a valet to a baronet and had high ambitions of improving himself, snatched away by a selfish swine who took what he wanted and left wreckage in his wake. Daizell had only sympathy with that, and he quite understood Martin’s reaction both to escape, and to do something vengeful on his way out.
Unfortunately, that reaction had ruined him. He’d robbed his abusive master and made himself a criminal by it, and he was still stewing in anger at himself and the world when he and Daizell had had their affair. Daizell had been desperate to care and be cared for; Martin had wanted to care fornothing and nobody; the affair had ended up hurting them both for no good reason. It didn’t do to want more than people were willing to give.
Daizell had never set out to find the man in his peregrinations, and had absolutely no idea how to go about it. But Cassian was regarding him with a calm, confident expectation that he’d perform some piece of wizardry and Daizell felt a strong urge to live up to it.
‘I’ve several times met him at the Green Lion in Coventry,’ he mused as they pored over a map Cassian had acquired. He put his finger on the town. ‘He’s the landlord’s cousin or some such. And I’ve met him in Kidderminster, and Leamington Spa. And you met him in Gloucester.’
They contemplated the map, obscured by his splayed hand. Cassian said, ‘We need a pen,’ and then, conscientiously, ‘I’ll get it.’
He returned with a poorly cut pen and a pot of execrable lumpy ink, which was about what Daizell expected from an inn, especially one in a provincial town. Cassian clicked his tongue but circled the places they’d met Martin between them.
Daizell contemplated it. ‘I don’t know if that tells us anything at all, honestly.’
Cassian frowned at the map. ‘Is it him sticking to the Midlands, or you?’
‘It’s not me. I’ve never met him outside the Midlands, though.’
‘I suppose, given he recently robbed me in Gloucester, he would want to stay away from there. And we know he headed to Stratford.’
‘Going east. And I’ve met him in Coventry several times. For want of any better ideas, shall we start there?’
‘So we have to get there from here. Ugh.’
‘Ugh, indeed.’
‘Might this be the time to hire a coach?’ Daizell suggested.
Cassian’s head came up with a startled, almost wary look. ‘Sorry?’
‘It wouldn’t cost so much more to take a private coach and pair than to go on the public way, and we’d get there a deal faster and more comfortably. I’m not telling you how to spend your money,’ he added, since Cassian didn’t look as if this was a welcome suggestion. ‘Do as you please. But it would seem to make sense.’
‘Yes, it would,’ Cassian said. ‘I, uh, can’t.’
‘Can’t what? Drive?’ He didn’t believe that for a second.
‘No, of course I can drive. I can’t hire a private chaise. Ugh. The thing is, I made a wager.’
‘A wager? To do what?’
‘Take the public coach for a month, or at least, not hire my own carriage. My cousin told me that I, uh, lacked experience of life and wouldn’t be able to manage on my own. We had something of a dispute and we made a bet.’
Daizell sat back with a sigh. ‘Seems harsh. Granted you were something of a greenhorn initially, you’ve learned fast enough, and there’s nothing praiseworthy in using the stage for its own sake. It’s just a damned uncomfortable means of transport. Still, if it’s a wager . . .’ He shrugged acquiescence.
Cassian tipped his head. ‘You don’t mind? It’s inconvenient and uncomfortable for you, and for a rather foolish reason.’
‘But it’s a wager. I take it you want to win?’
‘Yes.’
