seat herself next to Jonathan on the small confidante. “And to me,” she said simply.
Richard gave Cat’s hand a squeeze and lifted his own in a gesture of promise.
“Do you recall,” asked Tally, “that I told you that the author of Town Bronze is a peer who wishes to remain anonymous?”
Richard and Cat nodded blankly, but as Tally paused, astonished comprehension gradually crept over their faces.
Richard’s gaze swiveled to Jonathan.
“You don’t mean...?”
Cat chimed in immediately with, “You’re not—you can’t be...?”
Jonathan said nothing but ran a finger around the inside of his collar, as though it had suddenly become too tight. He nodded awkwardly, and Tally stared at him in wonder. Never had she thought to see Lord Chelmsford, the epitome to her of all that was self-possessed, so ill at ease. Why, she wondered for the umpteenth time was Jonathan so fearful of exposure as the author of Town Bronze ? Was he concerned about the controversy? Surely, his consequence was more than sufficient to face down the handful of persons who might be outraged at having been pilloried in a piece of trivia. What was his concern?
Richard and Cat were assuring Jonathan of their undying silence and support.
“Of course, old man,” Richard was saying. “You’re more than welcome here at any time. I often work at home, so you may feel free to visit at almost any time of day without rousing suspicion.”
“Yes,” Cat chimed in. “We can fit up that little room next to your study, Richard. Tally and Jonathan can work in there.”
She turned to Tally. “There is a door between the two rooms. Lord Chelmsford can go into Richard’s study, as though to confer with him, and can easily slip unseen into your studio.”
She beamed at the small group around her, pleased at her arrangements.
“Dear lady”— Jonathan laughed—“what an admirable conspirator you make. If I were you, Thurston, I’d hire her on at your department.”
“What a splendid idea,” responded Richard, sweeping his wife into the curve of his arm. “Perhaps we should put her in charge of Plots and Schemes, junior division, of course. But,” he continued, “do you suppose we could be Cat and Richard to you from now on? I have a feeling, my lord, that we are likely to find ourselves on a somewhat familiar footing in the days to come.”
“Another splendid idea—Richard, if in return you will drop that infernal ‘my lord.’ ” My friends call me Jonathan, you know.”
The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation, and it was late when Jonathan took his leave. At the doorway Tally laid a tentative hand on his sleeve.
“My I— Jonathan, I read the chapters you sent.”
“And... ?” he queried, the corners of his mouth lifting.
She shook a finger at him in mock severity.
“I have no intention of pandering to your already swollen consequence, my lord, so I shall simply say that your work is ...” she capitulated with a shy smile. “It’s the best satire I’ve ever seen.”
Jonathan’s response was not the pseudo-modest disclaimer she expected. Instead, his eyes lit with pleasure.
“I think it’s pretty good, myself,” he replied, with a grin, “but it’s always nice to hear one’s good opinion of one’s work confirmed. I’m glad you like it,” he added, suddenly serious. “Your opinion matters to me, Tally.”
Tally felt the blood rush to her cheeks and hastened to change the subject. I do have one small problem, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for your assistance.”
“Ask away; I’m at my collaborator’s beck and call.”
Tally described her difficulty with the locales described in Town Bronze, and Jonathan promised to visit the Thurston home on the next day.
Having provided herself with a plentiful supply of candles, Tally worked far into the night to prepare several sketches for Jonathan’s perusal on the morrow.
When she finally laid down her pencil, she stretched
Richard gave Cat’s hand a squeeze and lifted his own in a gesture of promise.
“Do you recall,” asked Tally, “that I told you that the author of Town Bronze is a peer who wishes to remain anonymous?”
Richard and Cat nodded blankly, but as Tally paused, astonished comprehension gradually crept over their faces.
Richard’s gaze swiveled to Jonathan.
“You don’t mean...?”
Cat chimed in immediately with, “You’re not—you can’t be...?”
Jonathan said nothing but ran a finger around the inside of his collar, as though it had suddenly become too tight. He nodded awkwardly, and Tally stared at him in wonder. Never had she thought to see Lord Chelmsford, the epitome to her of all that was self-possessed, so ill at ease. Why, she wondered for the umpteenth time was Jonathan so fearful of exposure as the author of Town Bronze ? Was he concerned about the controversy? Surely, his consequence was more than sufficient to face down the handful of persons who might be outraged at having been pilloried in a piece of trivia. What was his concern?
Richard and Cat were assuring Jonathan of their undying silence and support.
“Of course, old man,” Richard was saying. “You’re more than welcome here at any time. I often work at home, so you may feel free to visit at almost any time of day without rousing suspicion.”
“Yes,” Cat chimed in. “We can fit up that little room next to your study, Richard. Tally and Jonathan can work in there.”
She turned to Tally. “There is a door between the two rooms. Lord Chelmsford can go into Richard’s study, as though to confer with him, and can easily slip unseen into your studio.”
She beamed at the small group around her, pleased at her arrangements.
“Dear lady”— Jonathan laughed—“what an admirable conspirator you make. If I were you, Thurston, I’d hire her on at your department.”
“What a splendid idea,” responded Richard, sweeping his wife into the curve of his arm. “Perhaps we should put her in charge of Plots and Schemes, junior division, of course. But,” he continued, “do you suppose we could be Cat and Richard to you from now on? I have a feeling, my lord, that we are likely to find ourselves on a somewhat familiar footing in the days to come.”
“Another splendid idea—Richard, if in return you will drop that infernal ‘my lord.’ ” My friends call me Jonathan, you know.”
The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation, and it was late when Jonathan took his leave. At the doorway Tally laid a tentative hand on his sleeve.
“My I— Jonathan, I read the chapters you sent.”
“And... ?” he queried, the corners of his mouth lifting.
She shook a finger at him in mock severity.
“I have no intention of pandering to your already swollen consequence, my lord, so I shall simply say that your work is ...” she capitulated with a shy smile. “It’s the best satire I’ve ever seen.”
Jonathan’s response was not the pseudo-modest disclaimer she expected. Instead, his eyes lit with pleasure.
“I think it’s pretty good, myself,” he replied, with a grin, “but it’s always nice to hear one’s good opinion of one’s work confirmed. I’m glad you like it,” he added, suddenly serious. “Your opinion matters to me, Tally.”
Tally felt the blood rush to her cheeks and hastened to change the subject. I do have one small problem, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for your assistance.”
“Ask away; I’m at my collaborator’s beck and call.”
Tally described her difficulty with the locales described in Town Bronze, and Jonathan promised to visit the Thurston home on the next day.
Having provided herself with a plentiful supply of candles, Tally worked far into the night to prepare several sketches for Jonathan’s perusal on the morrow.
When she finally laid down her pencil, she stretched
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