The worth of the opinions of others

Are worth what we ascribe to them

"I didn't think your sort would be in a place like this. Thought you'd be to busy dancing naked in some cemetery somewhere to talk to the fairies!"
The derision in the man's voice, a man that Abigail was quite sure she had never had the misfortune of seeing in the past, as he made this remark towards her employer was almost embarrassingly obvious. From this, she could presume that he was trying to cause a scene in the otherwise relatively quiet little cafe. A quite little cafe that they had chosen specifically because it was precisely that, quiet, and so they might have had something of a chance to actually breathe for once. Why she had thought they would ever end up actually getting the chance to breathe was beyond her, as it presented itself as a statistical improbability - or some other phrase her employer and friend might have dismissed it away as - at the best of times. 

Jackaby blinked his odd eyes in the slow way one might when they needed to take a second to collect their thoughts. This was hardly the first time that a passerby had tossed some unpleasant remark at him when he was out there minding his own business, nor could he think it would the last time, and so it did not bother him all too much. Instead, he set his gaze upon the fellow with a steadiness that Abigail knew, and knew from experience, was immensely unsettling to be caught in for too very long.

"What?" the near incredulous sounding Seer remarked, "Why would anyone choose a waning moon if they wanted to talk with fairies? Clothed or otherwise?" A beat. "And a cemetery? That might draw the occasional ghoul if you're lucky, or perhaps exceptionally unlucky depending on the circumstances, but certainly not the sort of fairy one would want to come across." There was a particularly patronising note to his voice as he said all this, as if it should have somehow been obvious. As he spoke, he dipped his finger into his teacup - which housed tea that Abigail was quite sure was still far too hot to be dipping one's fingers into - and swirled the contents. "Really, sir, if you intend to patronise me, do it correctly otherwise it just makes you out to be the fool and that's just a little embarrassing, isn't it?" 

Now, the Seer would have been quite content in leaving the matter as this, brushing it aside like he had so many, many times in the past, and he would have too, if he was not aware of his assistant's discomfort. It was a discomfort that she was trying very hard to pretend she wasn't feeling, but unfortunately that did not necessarily work around her employer. If anything, it actually made it just that little bit more obvious than if she was just out there willingly wearing whatever she might have been feeling at any given time, or so she had been told. 

"It is rather fortunate that you came by when you did," Jackaby continued with a smile that seemed far closer to a grimace than an actual smile, making the pointed effort to lock eyes with the man, not letting the fact that he stood above him to give any sense of power whatsoever, "Do tell your aunt that she had gotten her sugars and salts mixed up recently. It is understandable, of course, what with the recent death of her husband and whatnot leaving her all out of sorts but I cannot imagine salty coffees have been doing her any favours in that regard either." Every part of this had the distinctive purpose of declaring that Jackaby, with no uncertain terms, knew far more about the life of the stranger before him than the man knew about him. "Now, do be off, won't you? I'm sure you're missing out on, oh, I don't know, whatever it is dull and uninteresting sceptics waste their dull and uninteresting Wednesdays doing." 

There was such a conviction in the way the detective waved his hand to shoo the man away, the light of a nearby gaslamp setting his rings to twinkle pleasantly, that the man actually did leave. Perhaps he was, as Jackaby had decided he ought it be, just very embarrassed about the whole interaction and so was better off doing anything but being seen near them. This was a thought that left Abigail giggling before she realised that she even had a giggle forming.

"Sir, it's Thursday." was the only review that she offered her employer.

"Is it?" came the reply, blinking in a genuine surprise, "Well, then he had a lot of dull things to catch up on if he doesn't want to be behind."

"And the uninteresting things?" asked she, raising her own teacup to her lips to poorly obscure the upcurl of her lips.

"That too, if he has time. One thing at a time though, Ms. Rook, it won't do anyone any good if those sorts of people," this was said in a tone to mock the way he had previously been addressed, "Who are lucky to get one or two full thoughts a day are out running about trying to do more than they can."

There was a comfortable enough silence that came over the table after he said this. While the little teacakes they had ordered - having decided that it felt odd to get a full meal, but also it was necessary to have something to eat to refuel. Chasing rodents that had the ability to go invisible and disappear and reappear at will was not the easiest work, even for those among them that had the ability to see them even when they were less than visible - had gone a little cold, they were still more than decent enough. Considering the least stressful meals they would have had back home would have comprised of sliced fruits - pears, at present - and various jams on bread that managed to avoid going stale by, it seemed, sheer willpower alone, Abigail was more than willing to tolerate a cooled cake that was apparently better served warm.  

There was a little clink when the detective set his teacup down, drained to all but the final mouthful, which he would leave as it was. This was a habit that Abigail had picked up at some point, but she could not recall for the life of her when she first started doing it. It just seemed the correct thing to do.

"Why do you do that?" the investigative assistant asked rather vaguely.

"What? With the tea?" came the reply, this having been the most immediate occurrence, "Leaving a mouthful brings good luck, and goodness knows we need all the good luck we can get at the moment."

"No, not th- really? Well, I rather think that more people should be doing that then, if we do need luck," she had begun to protest, but let herself get caught in the intrigue, "But no, not the tea. All that business back then."

"What business?" asked he, raising a particularly cinnamony teacake to his mouth as he asked.

"With that man before. Doesn't that bother you? What they think about you, I mean?" she replied as nonchalantly as she could.

"Do you think that about me?" he asked in return.

"No! Of course not, sir!"

"Then that is what is more important," Jackaby stated, waving a hand dismissively, "As I have told you before, I have long since ceased concerning myself with the way things appear to others, these opinions are often formed by the uninformed and so are wrong. The only worth that an opinion another person might have is the worth that we ascribe to it, and I know I rather think your opinion, one shaped by experiences and have had the opportunity to be challenged, is far more important than those of someone I cannot imagine ever settling down to share a cup of tea with. If they wish to be wrong, that is rather their business and not my own, and it will not serve me any benefit to wear about me the opinions of those who are wrong."
The final word of this was punctuated by him bringing his fingertips together pleasantly.

"Now, Ms. Rook, I rather think we have dillied and dallied quite enough for one afternoon. If you have finished, I dare say it would be in our best interest to be off, I have left Douglas sorting files and I am sure he is looking for an excuse to stop for a while."

And so, with the last few teacakes vanished away without any particular grace behind it, both the mad detective R. F. Jackaby and his invaluable assistant - and dear friend - Abigail Rook took their leave, disappearing into the comings and goings of the New Fiddleham street for the brief while before they could return to the comfortable madness of their house. Comfortable madnesses were far more fun than anything dull and uninteresting that ordinary people concerned themselves with.