sell. It was a by-the-books failed robbery, I’d say.”
“I agree with you, about the journalists.” Bacchus folded his hands together. His sleeves seemed more fitted, as did the shoulders of his frock coat. Goodness, was it possible for the man to get even larger now that the siphoning spell wasn’t sucking his strength away? “But you are an aspector, and if your attack is related to the other crimes, it could be a serious matter.”
Ogden chuckled. “Then the culprit is indeed getting desperate.”
Bacchus seemed to consider this.
“And you?” Elsie tried, still struggling to discern his state of mind. “You’re well? Outside of the duke’s health?”
He nodded. “Very well.” There was an intonation in the words that warmed her, like he was thanking her yet again for his newfound vivacity. “As for the duke, time will tell.”
Of course, Bacchus was going to leave eventually, no matter how long he stayed. From what he’d told her on the way to Ipswich, he had no interest in furthering himself with the London Physical Atheneum. His real life was in Barbados, where he didn’t have to fake an accent or complain about frigid weather. She knew that—had reminded herself of it often—and yet she was glad he’d come to see her. Perhaps he would stop by again before sailing the River Thames. Perhaps.
The small talk ran low, and Elsie heard the front door open downstairs. Ogden must have heard it as well, for he stood, tugged down his shirt, and offered a hand to their guest. “I thank you for looking out for us, Master Kelsey. It’s unnecessarily kind of you.”
He nodded. “I hope your eye heals quickly.”
They ventured downstairs, Elsie wringing her hands together, and had just turned toward the studio when Emmeline, flustered, came barreling down the hall. “M-Mr. Ogden, Nash is here for you.”
“Tell him now is not a good time.”
The blond-haired man appeared in the hallway behind her, dressed casually in a linen shirt with no cravat or waistcoat. “Sir, if I might—”
“Not now, Nash.” Ogden didn’t shout it, but he might as well have. The venom in his voice gave Elsie pause, and even Bacchus looked askance at him.
The deliveryman looked offended—even enraged—for half a second, but he didn’t say anything as he turned and strode away, exiting through the studio door. Elsie thought he’d slam it, but he didn’t.
Emmeline sighed in relief.
“My apologies.” Ogden rubbed his forehead, then again adjusted his shirt. “I suppose last night has caused more stress than I care to let on. Nothing some work won’t fix.”
He nodded politely to Elsie and Bacchus before following Nash’s footsteps into the studio.
“I . . . Why don’t we exit through the back door, hmm?” Elsie offered, exchanging a look with Emmeline she hoped said, Make sure Ogden is all right.
She led the way, and Bacchus followed silently behind her, though he might as well have been a wolf breathing down her neck, the way he loomed. At the back door, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Emmeline hadn’t strayed, she whispered, “You’ve no luck figuring out who did it?” She was very close to him—close enough to detect a spell, if he still had one. The faintest scent of cut wood and oranges danced around her, no longer seasoned by that earthy note of the temporal rune, and she again thought about the feel of his chest beneath her hand. She cleared her throat and willed her skin not to flush.
It took Bacchus a moment to answer—she hadn’t been very specific, so she didn’t blame him. “No. I will look into it, but I fear it will be a fruitless endeavor. It happened long ago, and I cannot even connect which continent it happened on.” He sighed and slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
“How very strange.”
“Are you honestly well, Elsie?” His eyes seemed too knowing for some reason, like they could burrow beneath her skin. She dashed her traitorous thoughts away, fearing he’d pluck them right from her head. “You are unharmed? You have no concerns?”
She thought of Ogden’s flaring temper, so unusual for him. “I’m certainly concerned,” she admitted. “But what is there to be done? The man, thief, whatever he may be, is gone, and none of us got a good look at him. The constable can’t search for a person with no description. And the truthseeker didn’t seem interested.”
“They alerted the High Court?”
The front door opened and closed, meaning Nash was on his way again. “Ogden is an aspector. It’s procedure, apparently,