The drop of phenolphthalein glittered at the end of the modified syringe like a glass cabochon before it dropped into a beaker of clear oily liquid that Zan stirred with a long glass rod. She continued to concentrate on the titration as Simkins cleared his throat and announced visitors.
“Zan, have you read the newspaper?” Sabina demanded, from the other side of her work bench.
She frowned as another drop fell into the beaker. “We get newspapers every morning. Ask Simkins. He has probably put them in the sitting room or the study.”
“No. I didn’t ask if you had any newspapers. I asked if you have read it.”
“The most extraordinary thing has happened last night,” Del added. “They’ve reported that the Temple in Old Amanthus has been completely gutted by a fire.”
After the third drop, the clear liquid in the beaker turned a bright red. She quickly turned the knob on the side of the modified syringe to prevent any more of the pH indicator from dropping into the solution and in a nearby notebook, wrote down how much lye she was to add later. Then she looked up at her friends. “Fire?”
“Yes, a fire,” confirmed Sabina. “And the entire lower level of the Cathedral was burned too. All of those wonderful stained-glass windows gone! The authorities have no idea how the disaster happened. You don’t suppose you and Mr. Caradon had anything to do with it?”
“I have no idea,” she replied with a straight face. “And I doubt Mr. Caradon has either. By the way, thank you for lending the clothes yesterday. I’ll have it cleaned and returned to you as soon as possible.”
“Oh no, Zan,” her friend said. “You should keep it. It looks good on you. And it will liven up your wardrobe.” Sabina pursed her lips. “You’re back in black again.”
“I don’t think I’m quite ready for color yet. Perhaps in a few weeks.”
Del shook his head. “But you know your uncle wouldn’t have wanted you to forever wrap yourself up in grief.”
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t.” She moved across the basement laboratory to a shelf where she examined the vials of liquids and powders.
“So, what happened last night?” asked Del. “You said you were going to this meeting with Mr. Caradon. Did it go well?”
Her mouth twisted as she remembered the dead Captain and the fight. “Not exactly.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs again. Simkins appeared. The old butler coughed and gave a disapproving glare. “Miss Hu, you have a visitor upstairs.”
“Another one?” she sighed. “Who is it this time? If it is the Museum director asking again about Uncle Elliot’s things, throw him out by the ear.”
The butler only shook his head.
She climbed up the stairs with her friends close behind her. When she emerged into the hallway, she saw a figure in an immaculate mahogany-colored suit waiting just outside the threshold to the sitting room. She felt her pulse quicken. So her patron had not forgotten her after he had accompanied her back to her residence early that morning and then turned back to disappear into the rest of the city.
“Mr. Caradon.”
“Miss Hu.” He then nodded to Del and Sabina behind her. They nodded back to her patron, looking puzzled. “You do remember we have an appointment?”
What appointment? She opened her mouth to deny it, but then momentarily paused. Instead, she said, “Of course. It nearly slipped my mind. Simkins, could you please get my hat and coat? And Del and Sabina, you’re welcome to stay here for lunch. It would be a shame if we let my cook’s work go to waste.”
“Is he making chicken and cucumber sandwiches?” asked Del hopefully.
“How crass!” Sabina exclaimed, slapping him on the wrist. “Stop thinking with your stomach. You’re going to eat Zan out of house and home!”
Once she was ready, she followed Caradon out of her house. His phaeton was waiting on the curb. He helped her up and once they were both seated, he slapped the reigns and the pair of horses leaped forward, cantering at a fast clip down the street.
When they turned on Tupet Road, she said, “We don’t have an appointment, do we?”
He slanted her a glance. “I wanted to see you. Hold onto your hat.”
“What…?” She barely had time to grab the top of her hat and the side of the seat when Caradon cried yah! and slapped the reins again, sending the pair of horses into a gallop. The phaeton roared down the road, past a cart and two slow moving carriages. People on the sides of the road yelled up at them, but she could not catch any of their words as they blazed past.
The vehicle stormed through the road, heading southeast towards the sea. As they approached the fork where Tupet turned east, he pulled in the reins and the horses slowed down to a trot and headed to the road that branched off west from Tupet, called Arellis. This road meandered along high cliffs that overlooked the sea. No one else was traveling the road, so Caradon stopped the phaeton.
The gray-blue sea hissed beneath them, under a windy, cloudy sky. The air smelled of brine as she turned her face outward. The waves rippled through the sea, occasionally breaking into white, foaming caps. She took off her hat and let the breeze tug at the loose strands of her hair. Of all the years that she had lived in Amanthus, she had never been up on the cliffs. She thought of her uncle’s ashes and wondered if any of it were in the wind. Or had his remains been blown halfway around the world already?
She turned back and caught Caradon staring at her, his eyes as gray as the clouds.
“What did you want to see me for?” she asked.
He reached out to run a finger down her cheek. “Last night was not a one time thing.”
“You mean burning down the Temple? I don’t know. I think one time is enough for me.”
“You know I don’t mean that.” His finger trailed lower to touch the jade fox pendant around her throat. “I wanted to say that you win.”
“Win? Win what?”
“On our first ride together, to the park, I said that foxes were wily creatures who were tricksters and seducers. You argued to the contrary.”
She felt a lump forming in her throat as she remembered her words. “Ah.”
“I’m not like my father,” he told her. “I won’t leave. And even if the Queen commanded it, I would take you with me.”
“Well, I suppose I could perform experiments overseas as well as here,” she said lightly. “Simkins would grumble about packing the instruments, but Mrs. Philomon would be absolutely livid with the extra work.”
He laughed at her quip and then pulled onto the reins for the horses to start in a canter again. “I don’t think that would be necessary.”
