door. “Get in then.”
Spragg chuckled. He opened the door and climbed in, reaching out with both of his meaty hands to collect Miss Temple. Farquhar huffed again and hoisted her up, as if her weight meant very little. As Spragg’s hard fingers grabbed her arms and then her shoulders, Miss Temple saw her cloak fall quite away from the rest of her body, giving both men lurid views of her silken underthings. Spragg pushed her roughly onto the seat across from him, her legs awkwardly splayed and her hands groping for balance. They continued to stare as she collected the cloak tightly around herself. The men looked at each other. “We’ll get there soon enough,” Farquhar intoned to Spragg. Spragg merely shrugged, his face an unconvincing mask of disinterest. Farquhar closed the door of the coach. Spragg and Miss Temple gazed at each other in silence. After a moment, the coach swayed with the weight of Farquhar climbing up into the seat, and after another moment, leapt forward into life.
“I heard you mention Packington,” Miss Temple said. “If it is convenient, you may leave me off there, where I can meet the train with little trouble.”
“My goodness.” Spragg smiled. “She’s a listener .”
“You were not exactly whispering,” replied Miss Temple, not liking his tone—in fact, not liking Spragg at all. She was annoyed with herself for not managing her cloak when she entered the coach. Spragg’s gaze was positively crawling across her without shame. “Stop looking at me,” she finally snapped.
“Oh, what’s the harm?” He chuckled. “I saw you earlier, you know.”
“Yes, I saw you earlier as well.”
“Earlier than that, I mean.”
“When?”
Spragg picked a bit of grime from under his thumbnail. “Did you know,” he asked, “that in Holland they’ve invented glass that works like a mirror on one side, and a clear picture window on the other?”
“Really. Well, how do you beat that for cleverness?”
“I don’t think you do.” Spragg’s smile widened further into satisfaction, if not outright malice. Miss Temple blanched. The mirror where she’d changed her clothes, where she put on the feathered mask and licked her lips like an animal. They had watched her through all of it, watched her together, as if she were an Egyptian vaudeville.
“My Lord it’s hot in here.” Spragg chuckled, tugging at his collar.
“I find it quite cold, actually.”
“Perhaps you’d like a drink to warm you up?”
“No thank you. But may I ask you a question?”
Spragg nodded absently, digging in his coat for the flask. As he sat back and unscrewed the cap, Miss Temple felt the coach shift. They had left the cobblestones for the paved road that must lead to the border of the estate. Spragg drank, exhaling loudly and wiping his mouth between pulls. Miss Temple pressed on. “I was wondering…if you knew—if you could tell me—about the other three women.”
He laughed harshly. “Do you want to know what I was wondering?”
She did not answer. He laughed again and leaned across to her. “ I was wondering…” he began, and placed his hand on her knee. She swatted it away. Spragg whistled and shook his hand, as if it were stinging. He sat back and took another pull on the flask, and then tucked it away in his coat. He cracked his knuckles. Outside the coach was darkness. Miss Temple knew she was in a dangerous spot. She must act carefully.
“Mr. Spragg,” she said, “I am not convinced we understand one another. We share a coach, but what do we really know about the other person? About what advantage that person can offer—advantage, I must point out, that may remain secret from other interested parties. I am speaking of money, Mr. Spragg, and of information, and, yes, even of advancement. You think I am a wayward girl without allies. I assure you it is not the case, and that it is indeed you who is more in need of my assistance.”
He looked back at her, impassive as a fish
Spragg chuckled. He opened the door and climbed in, reaching out with both of his meaty hands to collect Miss Temple. Farquhar huffed again and hoisted her up, as if her weight meant very little. As Spragg’s hard fingers grabbed her arms and then her shoulders, Miss Temple saw her cloak fall quite away from the rest of her body, giving both men lurid views of her silken underthings. Spragg pushed her roughly onto the seat across from him, her legs awkwardly splayed and her hands groping for balance. They continued to stare as she collected the cloak tightly around herself. The men looked at each other. “We’ll get there soon enough,” Farquhar intoned to Spragg. Spragg merely shrugged, his face an unconvincing mask of disinterest. Farquhar closed the door of the coach. Spragg and Miss Temple gazed at each other in silence. After a moment, the coach swayed with the weight of Farquhar climbing up into the seat, and after another moment, leapt forward into life.
“I heard you mention Packington,” Miss Temple said. “If it is convenient, you may leave me off there, where I can meet the train with little trouble.”
“My goodness.” Spragg smiled. “She’s a listener .”
“You were not exactly whispering,” replied Miss Temple, not liking his tone—in fact, not liking Spragg at all. She was annoyed with herself for not managing her cloak when she entered the coach. Spragg’s gaze was positively crawling across her without shame. “Stop looking at me,” she finally snapped.
“Oh, what’s the harm?” He chuckled. “I saw you earlier, you know.”
“Yes, I saw you earlier as well.”
“Earlier than that, I mean.”
“When?”
Spragg picked a bit of grime from under his thumbnail. “Did you know,” he asked, “that in Holland they’ve invented glass that works like a mirror on one side, and a clear picture window on the other?”
“Really. Well, how do you beat that for cleverness?”
“I don’t think you do.” Spragg’s smile widened further into satisfaction, if not outright malice. Miss Temple blanched. The mirror where she’d changed her clothes, where she put on the feathered mask and licked her lips like an animal. They had watched her through all of it, watched her together, as if she were an Egyptian vaudeville.
“My Lord it’s hot in here.” Spragg chuckled, tugging at his collar.
“I find it quite cold, actually.”
“Perhaps you’d like a drink to warm you up?”
“No thank you. But may I ask you a question?”
Spragg nodded absently, digging in his coat for the flask. As he sat back and unscrewed the cap, Miss Temple felt the coach shift. They had left the cobblestones for the paved road that must lead to the border of the estate. Spragg drank, exhaling loudly and wiping his mouth between pulls. Miss Temple pressed on. “I was wondering…if you knew—if you could tell me—about the other three women.”
He laughed harshly. “Do you want to know what I was wondering?”
She did not answer. He laughed again and leaned across to her. “ I was wondering…” he began, and placed his hand on her knee. She swatted it away. Spragg whistled and shook his hand, as if it were stinging. He sat back and took another pull on the flask, and then tucked it away in his coat. He cracked his knuckles. Outside the coach was darkness. Miss Temple knew she was in a dangerous spot. She must act carefully.
“Mr. Spragg,” she said, “I am not convinced we understand one another. We share a coach, but what do we really know about the other person? About what advantage that person can offer—advantage, I must point out, that may remain secret from other interested parties. I am speaking of money, Mr. Spragg, and of information, and, yes, even of advancement. You think I am a wayward girl without allies. I assure you it is not the case, and that it is indeed you who is more in need of my assistance.”
He looked back at her, impassive as a fish
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