Page 15 of An Artful Dodge
I gave him a smile, and he put a hand on the doorknob and paused. “Your hair looks different. It’s pretty.”
I’d already forgotten. I touched the braids. “Sarah did it. She insisted.”
He pulled the door open, and we stepped inside.
The room was warm from the fire at the hearth. A young woman greeted James by name and directed us to two seats at the end of a long, lively table. As I unbuttoned my coat, I looked about and felt unexpectedly shy.
This was nicer than anywhere I’d ever eaten. It was still what people called a public house, but it had a more prosperous air than the taproom at Elephant and Castle, with a gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace, turned silver candlesticks that would’ve fetched at least a pound each at Mr. Ardle’s, and two oval oil portraits over a broad sideboard. The tables were wood but shiny with veneer and polish rather than rough planks. Along the wall nearby stood a wooden slatted rack draped with theTimes, theFalcon, theExaminer, tidily folded. At the hearth stood armchairs draped with antimacassars, and the orange flames sprang properly upward instead of smoking. Sconces and lamps cast a steady light over the smooth plank floor swept clean. Several people called to James, and the barkeep waved from across the room.
“My lodging house is around the corner,” James explained as he took my coat and hung it on a rack beside us. “So I’m here quite a lot.”
“The food looks delicious.” I observed the filled plates of the other diners. Fish in a creamy sauce, potatoes with herbs, and some sort of long green vegetable I didn’t recognize.
“It is,” James said as he took his seat across from me. “There’s only two dishes each night, but Augustine is French, so they’re all good.”
“Oh,” I said uncertainly. So far as I knew, I’d never eaten French food.
Glasses of wine appeared before us, along with a handwritten card listing the day’s offerings.
He picked up his glass and raised it toward me. “I brought you here because there’s something special on Saturday and Sunday nights.” His eyes were warm and sparkling in the light from the lamps.
“What?”
A piano chord struck up, and I turned to the corner of the room. There sat a young man of perhaps fourteen or fifteen, gangly, with large hands and wire-rimmed spectacles that rode halfway down his thin nose. His eyes were on the keys, and he played without music.
“It’s Augustine’s son,” James murmured. “He’s a student at the Royal Academy in Tenterden Street. He’s why they moved to London.”
A series of chords rolled out, and then the boy began a melody that I’d never heard, something haunting and slow, something that roiled my heart. I listened, mesmerized, until the end. There was polite applause, and he began another.
I turned back to see James pleased at having surprised me. “I thought you’d like it,” he said. “I remember you sitting on the stoop at Three Boars when Mack used to play.”
“That’s right.” I dragged up the memory from years before, when Ma was still alive. “They wouldn’t let me in.”
His dark eyebrows rose. “Because back then it was a brothel upstairs.”
I laughed. “That’s right, it was.”
“Bonsoir,” came a woman’s voice, musical. Beside us stood a slender woman of about forty, with dark hair and eyes, a narrow nose. She wiped her thin hands on her apron.
“Bonsoir, Augustine.” James stood and kissed her on both cheeks. “This is my friend Kit Jimeson.”
“Enchanted,” she said, and I smiled back.
“Would you like the beef or the fish tonight?” she asked. Her accent was like lace, making our English words prettier.
I hesitated.
“We could have one of each, so you can taste both,” James offered, and I nodded.
Augustine said something approving in French and took the card from the table before she whisked away.
I turned my attention back to the pianist. He was so young his cheeks were pale and smooth as a girl’s. What would it be like, to be so talented at making something beautiful?
The song ended, and he rose, gave an awkward little bow, and pushed his spectacles back up his nose.
“I heard about Josie,” James said. “It’s a rotten thing.” His expression altered. “Though I heard from Benny she was in her cups.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” I said uneasily. “I heard she ignored Bea’s warnings.”
