The Gentleman and the Lamplighter by Summer Devon Page B

friends since I’ve seen you often enough.”
    Giles only said, “Ah.” He’d been buried deep in misery for so long he hadn’t remembered the world outside himself existed. He had never noticed this man before.
    “You like the exercise?”
    Giles snorted.
    “I asked myself why you were out in all sorts of weather.”
    Giles almost said
And
why is it any of your business?,
but amended it to the less offended “Why would you care?”
    “That’s my sin, curiosity.” Banks sounded remarkably unconcerned. “I go about five miles twice, night and day, and see puzzling things. You’re one of them. So why do you walk?”
    It was none of the man’s affair and he was rude to even be falling into conversation with a man so far above his station. But Giles didn’t speak because he couldn’t think of an answer that wasn’t stupid or, worse, saccharine.
    The lamplighter didn’t sigh or shift position; he might have turned to a statue as he simply waited. Banks was close enough that Giles could hear his breathing and smell him, too. Wool, tobacco, sweat, and night air was a rather pleasant mix.
    Apparently Giles would have to say something, or shoo the man off—or walk away. “Restlessness,” he said at last.
    “Ah, I should not have asked.”
    A bit late to recall proprieties, Giles thought, but then Banks continued, “I’d hoped you were some sort of gentleman spy racing from one secret location to another, carrying out some nefarious deeds.”
    That startled a laugh from Giles. “Nothing so interesting.”
    Banks shifted from boot to boot. “Real life is never so interesting as the penny dreadfuls or plays. Still, a man can hope for some adventure—as long as it is someone else encountering the horrible pirate cannibal.”
    “Horrible pirate cannibal?” Giles grinned. “You read this nonsense?”
    “Whenever I can. Something to think about when walking. A man I know declares it rubbish for the mind and says a person’s brain won’t thrive—like bad food and drink won’t nourish the body.”
    “Who’s that?”
    “A bookseller, Abrams near the Strand.” Banks made a soft disparaging sound. “But you look at some of those Shakespeare plays that are just as silly. Fairies, twins, and such.”
    “You read Shakespeare?”
    “Naw. I’ve watched some now and again.”
    “That seems rather …” He was going to say it seemed rather outside of what a working man might enjoy, but what did he know of a lamplighter’s preferences? “Is that your favorite sort of entertainment?”
    “If I’m in funds, I’d rather go over to Wych Street and the Opera Comique. They have a bang-up show just now,
The Pirates of Penzance
.”
    Arms up, resting on the pole, the lamplighter twisted his body from side to side and Giles wished he could see the details of John Banks better.
    “What do you do for your entertainment, Mr. Fullerton, besides walk? Read?”
    “I read for pleasure a few years ago, but now I don’t have the inclination.” What did he do for pleasure? Nothing came to mind.
    Banks dropped to his heels in a crouch and straightened again. He did it a few times. “Are you engaged in some sort of exercise program?” Giles asked.
    “A bit of moving around helps a man stay limber, as you know.” Banks heaved a sigh and leaned against the large pot. “Truth is, I fell off m’ladder a couple streets back. I was halfway up and a cat startled me with a yowl. I turned too fast, hadn’t steadied the ladder on the cross bars well enough, and bang. There I was, sprawled on the cobblestones. Moving seems to help keep the stiffness away.”
    “Are you all right?”
    “I am, though I’d best come up with a more interesting story for the scrapes on my side or get laughed at. I’m a clock-lighter, you see, and the fish-tail men look down on our sort as it is.”
    Giles wondered what he was talking about but ventured, “You might blame those blood-thirsty cannibals of yours. You could claim a tribe of them