Page 43 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Well,” he shrugged. “you know London.”
“That I do.” She glanced back to him and saw a small brown paper wrapping in his hand. “What is that?”
“Ah, it is a gift.” She could see him blushing; he was likely embarrassed that he had brought it at all, least of all wrapped it. “I confess I do feel foolish, yet I found pause to think of you along Piccadilly.” He thrust the package towards her most awkwardly, eager to get it out of his hands.
“Oh?” she did not know yet what to expect from the wrapping.I do love a mystery.
“It is not a large thing.” he went on, trying to cover up his blushing with blubbering. She found it rather touching, how confused he was over a little present.
Leah undid the twine that held the paper together and let the sheet fall to the floor. She held in her hands a copy ofFrankenstein,and she felt faint over it.
It was not that she craved to read the book so intensely that she was weak with excitement, nor that she had been given a gift by a gentle Duke. What took hold of her so was the fact that he had actually listened to her, remembered her, and thought of her.
Never before in Leah's life had someone given her a gift the likes of which she had explicitly desired and expressed that desire. That bridge into a world where people listen and care for one another without resorting to thieving and murder caused her much distress.
Suddenly the book was so much more than a novel between leather bindings. It was a testament to her personage; it represented that she existed in any other capacity than a cog in Riphook's machine. It was a welcoming to another world, and Leah had no idea of how to approach it.
You must get yourself to France.Leah tried to steer her mind back on course, yet all she could do was clutch the book and gape.
“Are you alright?” Kenneth's voice snapped her forth from the trance, and she jumped a bit in her bed.
“Quite.” she said briskly, running her hand down the novel's spine. “Thank you, really, I don't know what else to say.”
“What else is there to say?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Kenneth blushed even more. “I only meant – it's nothing.” and he shook his head vigorously.
“Suit yourself.” Leah palmed the book over in her hands one more time. “What were you doing in London, anyhow?”
“I had to meet my uncle for a business hearing.”
“A hearing?”
“Like a trial, only not for a criminal case.”
“For one of your ships?”
“Not my ship, but yes.” Kenneth let out a long slow breath. “She belonged to the East India Company.”
“Where is she now?”
“Sunk off the horn of Africa.” Kenneth rubbed his eyes.
“So, you pay them money, correct?”
“Well, that is one option. I must read through all of these testimonies,” he gestured to the papers he carried. “Then I must judge if they deserve to be reimbursed.”
“Why would you not? Is that not what they pay you regularly for?”
“It is.” Kenneth admitted. “Although if we determine that the vessel was lost due to negligence on the captain or crew's behalf, the claim will be denied.”
“So that is the decision you must come to? Whether it was the fault of a man or the sea?”
“Essentially, yes, and it is not an easy task. I must either find commonality or discrepancies between the testimonies. I confess it is work that I dread, yet as I am reminded it is important, necessary work.”
“You sound as if you are trying to convince yourself of that, rather than me.” Leah laughed a bit, adjusting in the bed. “Perhaps I could help you.”
