Never Kiss a Toad

Chapter Twenty-Five: Part 2

Tugging the new shirt and coat on and turning to unbutton his falls, Toad agreed, "Then I am delighted you have brought the gold brocade, as it has never fitted properly. I will be pleased to replace it once lost to hellfire."

"You haven't the blunt to even replace your tattered underclothes, Abersham," Piero snorted, pointing at Toad's worn-thin woollen drawers, while Toad hopped on one foot swapping out his trousers, "much less the wardrobe you bought on your father's account."

"Piero!" the conte snapped, "Have you no more decency than to speak of a nobleman's smallclothes?"

"No more decency than Abersham," Piero sniggered, "who brawls with peasants in shoddy taverns and spends the night in gaol."

Toad made a rude gesture to Piero, but grinned as he did it. The conte was far from grinning, however. "Hold your tongue, Piero. I have no more patience with you."

"Do not be so hard on your brother, d'Alvieri, when he has proven himself so adept at his studies. You were much more fun last evening while we were celebrating."

His lips twitching, the conte shrugged. "Good marks for one term hardly make up for years as the bothersome younger brother. But I shall defer to you for the moment, Abersham, as you are responsible for the miraculous appearance of the miscreant's sense of duty. For that, I am deeply indebted. As such, since there is not enough time for you to return to England for Yuletide, you shall come to the castle with us when we leave after your examinations. My mother would be ashamed should I not insist."

"And my mother does not wish me lonely at Christmas, so I will accept your kind invitation, and offer our family frigate to make the trip, so you are not subject to the unwashed hoi polloi on a return steamship."

"Excellent," Piero said, grabbing the flask from his brother and taking a sip before pointedly putting it back in his coat. "Captain Hawley promised to teach me some tricks with a sabre, but we did not have time on my shipboard rotation." With another grin, he added, "Tricks he has not taught Abersham or his mother, so I may finally win a match against our friend."

With that, the lock in the door clicked and Penchley returned alone, with a handful of paperwork. "You may take your leave, my lord, and I have arranged that you shall not have to present yourself before a magistrate."

"Outstanding, Pinchman. I am most grateful."

With an injured frown, the man corrected, "Penchley, my lord. Percival Penchley. I am pleased to be of service, and I do hope you will remember me to your mother. It has been many years since we last spoke. She is a remarkable woman. Quite formidable, indeed."

His mother would have no memory of this catch-fart, but it would not do to appear ungrateful to the man who had so handily secured Toad's freedom.

"Yes, yes, of course I will tell her." With a quick bow, he turned to Blakeley, "Have you hired a hack?"

"We have the coach I hired for my stay, Abersham." The conte gestured for Toad, Blakeley, and Piero to precede him out of the room, then turned his back and left Penchley standing in his place.

***

When the carriage pulled up in the street a few steps from his apartment building in the harbour quarter, after dropping Penchley at the consulate first, Toad mustered the most charming smile he could, to keep Blakeley from further comment, and excused himself to Piero and the conte. "We have all had too little sleep. But I can meet you later... dinner again, since we never made it last night?"

After they agreed, he took long, fast strides up the street, leaving Blakeley to follow at his own pace, and ran the four flights to his apartment, two stairs at a time. He opened the door to the main room, neatly painted in a cool green and comfortably, if modestly, furnished. The apartment was a fraction of the size of his Paris pied-a-terre, the furnishings cheap and well-used. The space offered only a living area, a small bedchamber, and a mysterious room in which Blakeley lurked and, presumably, slept. It didn't even have a close stool; only a chamber pot and screen in the corner. But by comparison to the gaol, it was princely.

Regardless of what he had told his friends, Toad was in no mood to sleep. He had been sitting in the crowded corner of a rotting cell filled with stinking criminals all this time. He wanted to run, jump... even dance, if he were in any kind of condition to speak to a lady.

One glance in the looking glass put paid to that idea. Even if he were bathed and dressed in appropriate attire, his face would be bruised for days, perhaps weeks. His right eye was engorged and pinched closed, and his jaw stiff and swollen. The wages of gambling among the lower classes. Worse than the bruises, though, he hadn't beaten the 500 francs out of the thief's pockets before he was thrown in gaol, and he couldn't afford to lose it.

And brushing his hand against the letters still in his pocket, he could hardly go looking for a dance partner, in a ballroom or brothel. The recurring thought of Sal finding another man to share her wedding night was enough to put the thought of any woman and any amount of lost money right out of his head. He wished he had gone with Piero and the conte, so he might be halfway to drunk by now.

"Blakeley?" The servant came in behind him and reached for the jacket he was already shrugging off. "I'll be going out again. I'll need to bathe, clearly, and a clean suit of clothes. Nothing fussy. And a hack in an hour."

"My lord, I do recognize it is not my place to say so, but I'm afraid I must: you have only two days until your examinations begin, and you have a paper due in three, and you have now missed a full day and night of studying. Your father will be highly displeased if your performance is impeded by this episode."

"You are correct." Blakeley gave him a smug, but wan, smile. "It is absolutely not your place to say."

The manservant sighed.

"A walking suit, if you please, or I can dress myself. And bring me hot water for a bath."