Page 65 of A Much Maligned Miss

Romulus shoved his face against Gervaise’s cheekbone, purring loudly. “Shhh,” he scolded him in a whisper. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” Remus currently lay blissfully outstretched alongside his mistress’s still form. They made a well-matched pair. Romulus meowed again, insistently.

“Oh, very well,” Gervaise sighed in accents of long-suffering. He clambered naked out of the bed into the brisk morning air, casting about for his nightshirt. Then he remembered Caroline was wearing it. He turned back, wanting to see her in it but the bed coverings obscured the view.

Grabbing his banyan, he rapped the green silk around himself and tied the belt. “Perhaps you’re hungry,” he ventured, scooping up the troublesome cat and stepping into his slippers. Romulus meowed again and Gervaise made his way down the stairs with him in his arms, making his way into the scullery. He did not pause on the threshold this time, but pushed the door open and walked slap-bang in the middle of a conversation between Jeb and Reg.

“—and now she’s not speaking to me,” Jeb finished in aggrieved tones. “As if I can help it who my old mum invites to her table on a Sunday!”

They both turned to look at Gervaise. Jeb was still glowering ferociously, while Reg looked relieved by the arrival of a newcomer. Gervaise suspected Reg had little to offer by way of advice for his cousin’s domestic predicaments. “Mornin’, your lordship,” he said. “There’s tea in the pot if you want to pour a cup for Miss Caroline.”

“Ah, yes,” Gervaise answered. “Excellent. But first, I must see to this one.” He hitched Romulus a little higher. “Is there any of that horsemeat remaining?”

“’Orsemeat?” Jeb repeated sullenly. “I don’t know nothin’ about no ’orsemeat.” He looked to his cousin.

“I’ll ’ave a look round,” Reg said obligingly, opening and closing cupboards.

“Thank you. I’ll return presently.” Gervaise wandered out with the cat into the little courtyard and set him down on some scrubby grass to go about his business, while he smoked his first cigarette of the day. When they returned five minutes later, it was only Jeb sat sprawled in a chair, swigging tea from a mug.

Gervaise set Romulus down and after cautiously sniffing the jug of milk, poured some into a saucer for him.

“Reg has nipped out to see if he can spot the catsmeat seller,” Jeb volunteered grudgingly. “The store round the corner don’t open till nine.” He cast a disparaging look at Romulus who was now dipping a paw into saucer of milk. “There summink special about your cats I don’t know about?”

“Why do you ask?” Gervaise enquired.

“Never seen no one escort their cat outdoors for a piss before,” he answered scathingly.

Gervaise shrugged. “Well, perhaps I am not so careless with my belongings as you.”

“Wot the bleedin’ ’ell do you mean by that?” Jeb fired back, clearly taking offence.

Gervaise turned to look at him. “I meant,” he responded coolly, “that I do not wish my cats to wander off and get lost. So, yes, in answer to your question, I suppose they are valuable. To me.”

Jeb scowled and stared down at the table. He scrubbed a hand over his face and Gervaise noticed he had not shaved this morning and looked rather the worse for wear.

“Rough night?” he enquired idly as he picked over the cups and saucers. Really, he should have purchased a matching set for Caroline yesterday. Maybe he would buy her one today. A whole set, he decided recklessly.

Jeb grunted but would give no other reply, and as soon as the far door opened and Reg ambled in, he thrust back his chair and flung out of the room with a face like thunder.

“Don’t mind ’im,” Reg imparted. “’E’s ’avin trouble wiv ’is missus.”

Gervaise felt a surprising pang of fellow feeling. “Well, that can certainly put a blight on one’s day,” he murmured.

“’Ow was your French food last night?” Reg asked, passing over a bundle of newspaper. “It’s catsmeat,” he explained when Gervaise gazed down at it blankly.

“Ah! The food was top notch as always,” he replied, untying the string and tipping some of the cubed meat onto a plate, Romulus clamoring all the while.

“If you say so,” Reg replied doubtfully. “Only I ’eard them Frenchies eats snails and frog’s legs. Don’t fancy none of that meself.”

“Do you similarly avoid cockles and sheep’s trotters?” Gervaise enquired mildly.

“Ah, now that’s different!” Reg objected. “You can’t beat a nice, boiled trotter, and as for cockles, served with a bit of pepper and vinegar…” A wistful look entered his eye. “Beautiful, they are.”

“I will have to take your word for that,” Gervaise replied, retying the string on Remus’s share of the meat. Once he had poured Caroline’s cup of tea, he carried it upstairs in one hand, cradling Romulus in the other.

He found Caroline awake, stroking Remus’s outstretched belly.

“Do you know,” she began as he entered the room. “Initially I thought Remus would prove the more troublesome child, but he is turning out to be a perfect lamb. Whereas Romulus…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“What about Romulus?” Gervaise asked, rounding the bed and presenting her morning tea.