Page 14 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Radnor flung the journal onto Georgie’s desk, opened to the page that showed the diagram he needed. “He put it sideways, blast the man.”
They spent the rest of the morning producing what Radnor called a trough battery. The problem with the vertical pile, Georgie gathered, was that the weight of the disks caused liquid to be squeezed out of the quilt pieces and to leak down the sides, causing a short circuit. By laying the pile on its side, they could add more disks but take the pressure off the electrolyte.
Late in the afternoon, Georgie heard the painstakingly soft footsteps outside the door, signaling a delivery of the inevitable ham, apples, and bread. His stomach turned. Even if he had to forage in the woods he would have a decent meal tonight.
“Do you know,” he said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I can see myself through another supper of ham and bread.”
Radnor bent over his battery, not paying attention.
Georgie rose to his feet. “Two weeks of ham is quite enough. I’ll have a proper dinner or I’ll know the reason why.” He headed for the door.
“No, damn it, we’re working.”
“You can carry on without me. You got along perfectly well before I came, I’m sure,” he said, knowing it was a lie and hoping Radnor did as well. “I’ll be back in a tick.”
“You’re my secretary, damn you.” Oh, Georgie had his attention now. “You can’t mean to saunter off like this.”
“I assure you, that’s precisely what I mean to do. Although I’m gratified to know that my presence means so much to you.”
Radnor looked like he wanted to smash something. But he didn’t, and Georgie thought that restraint might amount to something close to a compliment.
“Sod off, then,” the earl said, returning to the box he was insulating.
“No.” Georgie put extra acid into his voice. “ ‘Sod off’ is not the correct response when somebody has gone to a great deal of trouble and spared you a headache. While I’m gone, reflect on what you actually meant to say.” He took his topcoat and hat off the hook and swept out of the room.
Radnor didn’t even look up, damn the man.
Georgie hadn’t meant to lose his patience. But Radnor could guess again if he thought he was going to keep Georgie on prison rations and not even properly thank him.
Stepping out onto the crumbling ruin of a terrace, he pulled his topcoat more tightly around him, guarding against the wind that blew in from the sea. He headed towards a lane that he hoped led to the village and threw a glance over his shoulder at the looming bulk of Penkellis. There was something altogether unsettling about a house that was unlocked, unguarded, and unrobbed. The locks—when there even were locks—were the sort that any enterprising child could pick. Even now, Radnor’s dog, who Georgie had put outside earlier that afternoon, was attempting to push his way back in through one of the flimsy garden doors. Georgie gave him even odds to force the rusted hinges, even without the use of any hands.
He must have watched the house a second too long, because the dog stopped his housebreaking efforts and came bounding towards him, evidently mistaking eye contact for an invitation. The mongrel—he was so shaggy and so extremely large that Georgie refused to believe he could be a proper breed of dog—proceeded merrily along the lane like they were old friends, keeping an appointment.
“Bugger off back to the house,” Georgie tried. The dog regarded him with a lolling tongue that Georgie supposed was a counterargument.
And really, the dog had the whip hand in this situation, because there wasn’t a damned thing Georgie could do, unless he wanted to go back to the house and get the earl to fetch his monster of a dog. If Georgie returned now, he’d quite ruin all the work he had put into making a dramatic exit. It was one thing to work for a temperamental bastard, quite another to work for an ungrateful one.
Georgie needed to step away before he found himself trying to seduce his employer. He had noticed Radnor’s flushed cheeks, his darkened eyes, the way his entire body seemed to prickle with awareness every time their hands accidentally brushed. Getting hanged for sodomy was not going to improve his current situation, Georgie reflected grimly.
In the village, he posted a letter to Jack, saying that Lord Radnor was rude and awkward but hardly seemed mad, and reassuring his brother that he had no intention of returning to London quite yet. He had meant to get supper at the inn, but when he approached that establishment, he looked back to see Barnabus gazing at him wistfully. Oh, sod it all. He shouldn’t care about whether the dog would have to wait outside in the cold.
All the same, he walked back towards Penkellis. There was more than one way to get a hot meal. He approached a cluster of cottages, probably the homes of farm laborers. At the nearest cottage, a woman stood in the doorway, scattering feed for the chickens that clucked around her. Georgie fished a shilling out of his pocket.
“Good evening,” he called, doffing his hat and fixing an innocuous smile on his face. Not wanting to alarm her, he stayed a good two yards outside the weather-beaten wooden fence that enclosed the garden. Barnabus eyed the chickens with a hungry gleam but didn’t move any closer.
The woman looked up from the chickens and eyed him warily. Then she saw Barnabus and her expression darkened. She looked to be about forty, maybe a few years older. Even in the fading sunlight, Georgie could see how worn her dress was, how dingy her apron. It had been a hard year across the country, and he guessed these people hadn’t had it any better than most.
“And what do you want?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“May I trouble you for some eggs or cheese?” He played with the coin in his hand so she’d be sure to see it, a gesture that suddenly made him homesick for the streets of London.
The woman’s gaze traveled from Georgie to the dog. “You come from the castle?” Her Cornish accent was so thick, Georgie had to strain to understand.
“From Penkellis? Yes. I’m his lordship’s new secretary.”
With one hand she shielded her eyes from the sun that hung low in the sky behind Georgie’s head. “Have they no eggs at Penkellis?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
