The Chemickal Marriage by Gordon Dahlquist Read Free Book Online Page B

manners aged him next to a man like Chang, but if one only looked at his face –
    Miss Temple started, deep in her own mind. Svenson had stepped closer to the stove and rubbed his hands.
    ‘I am growing cold after all.’
    ‘It
is
cold,’ replied Miss Temple, holding out her hands as well. ‘Winter is the guest who never leaves – who one finds lurking behind the beer barrel in the kitchen.’
    Svenson chuckled, and shook his head. ‘To keep your humour, Celeste, after all you’ve seen.’
    ‘I’m sure I have no humour at all. Speaking one’s mind is not wit.’
    ‘My dear, that is wit exactly.’
    Miss Temple reddened. When it was clear she had no intention of replying, the Doctor knelt and scooped more coal into the stove.
    ‘Mr Cunsher has not come. He may be hiding, or in pursuit – or taken, in which case we cannot remain here.’
    ‘How will we know which? If we leave, how will we find him?’
    ‘He will find us, do not fear …’
    ‘I do not like Mr Cunsher.’
    ‘Upon such men we must rely. How long did it take until you trusted Chang?’
    ‘No time at all. I saw him on the train. I
knew
.’
    Svenson met her determined expression, then shrugged. ‘Harschmort is too perilous until we know more. Our struggle has become a chess match. We cannot strike at king or queen, but must fence with pawns and hope to force a path. Your Mr Pfaff –’
    ‘Went to a glassworks by the river, which led him somewhere else.’
    ‘And Mr Ramper went to Raaxfall. Phelps and I have hopes to waylay Mr Harcourt as he leaves the Ministry –’
    ‘We should go back to the Boniface,’ Miss Temple said. ‘As it is watched, my arrival may provoke one of these pawns to action – which you and Mr Phelps can observe. I will be safe with Brine, and with any luck Mr Pfaff will have returned.’
    ‘Spelt out like that, I cannot disagree.’
    She smiled. ‘Why should you want to?’
    Breakfast was quick and cold, well before dawn. Fog clung to the stones. The streets on the far side of the tower were of a piece with the tents on the common they had passed in the night – even at this hour crowded with faces from other lands, tiny shops, carts, mere squares of carpet piled with copper, beadwork, spices, embroidery. Miss Temple found herself next to Mr Phelps. Unable to shed her distrust, yet feeling obliged because of the Doctor’s alliance, she did her best to strike up a conversation.
    ‘How strange it must be, Mr Phelps, to be so uprooted from your life.’
    The pale man’s expression remained wary. ‘In truth, I scarcely note it.’
    ‘But your family, your home – are you not missed?’
    ‘The only ones to miss me are already dead.’
    Miss Temple felt an impulse to apologize, but repressed it. Behind them Svenson listened to Mr Brine describe his service abroad, apparently spurred on by the dark faces around them.
    ‘When you say “dead”, Mr Phelps, do you refer to your former allies – Mrs Marchmoor, Colonel Aspiche and the others?’
    Phelps’s lips were a thin, whitened line. He gestured at the market stalls. ‘Have you spent all your hours in that hotel? Do you not see how we are stared at?’
    ‘I am not unaccustomed to dark faces, Mr Phelps, nor their attention.’
    ‘Have you not perceived the disorder in the streets?’
    ‘Of course I have
perceived
it,’ said Miss Temple. ‘But disorder and unrest have always been the lot of the unfortunate.’
    ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Phelps replied under his breath, angry but not wanting to draw attention. ‘Everything you see – the fear amongst these colonials, the anger of the displaced workers, the outrage with the banks, our paralysed industry – all of this comes directly from my misguided efforts. And your virtuous ones.’
    ‘I do not understand.’
    Phelps exhaled, a chuff of clouded air. She saw the strain in his eyes, a vibration of guilt. He did not like her, she knew, but, more, Phelps did notlike himself. She gave the man credit for his