“A wretched session. Rows and rows of perfect blockheads, jabbering away about ‘tradition’ and drowning out the few beacons of science and reason in the room. It is enough to drive a man out of his mind.” Renfrew frowns. “But listen to me prattle on, when it is you who should be talking. You have a tale to tell, Mr. Cooper! Half of England is looking for you — including your father who has rushed back from Ireland and is calling for a closure of the borders! Last anyone heard you were abducted by Gypsies. Though there are other rumours even more outlandish than that! It is good to see you are safe. But out with it: what on earth happened to you?”

Charlie looks at the square, grave face of his teacher and does not know how to answer. So he does what he always does. Charlie smiles.

“I am hungry, Master Renfrew.”

Renfrew laughs. “So am I. Well, I suppose it can wait until after dinner. To table then. I see you have met my niece. Eleanor, please set another place, there’s a good girl. And here, let me wash up. You, too, might benefit from the application of soap, Mr. Cooper. Please tell me, my good boy, that you are not covered in Soot.”

ф

Dinner is a rather frugal affair of bread, cheese, and pickles. The bread is a few days old and there is no butter, nor any dessert. Renfrew has sat Charlie across from him and his niece by his arm. The Master of Smoke and Ethics says a short prayer before he cuts the bread, and eats in almost ritual silence. Charlie finds himself working hard not to make any noises with knife and fork. The little girl, too, eats with extravagant care and never raises her eyes from her plate. At one point she stops eating abruptly, puts down the slice of bread in her hand, and reaches to her chest to once again engage the little wheel that rises out of the harness like a growth. The action is followed by a strange, jerky shudder. Again, the girl’s eyes fill with tears. Her uncle watches all this nonplussed; he turns to her and asks her quite gently, “Did you smoke, my dear?”

The girl whispers her answer rather than speaking it, her eyes on the table.

“I thought I felt the seed of it.”

“You did well. You may go now and retire. It is well past your bedtime.”

Obediently, the girl pushes her chair back very carefully, rises, collects her plate and cutlery, and leaves the room: each action performed with an exaggerated slowness as though fighting the temptation for haste. When she has left, Renfrew, too, puts down his knife and fork and turns to Charlie.

“A lovely child. My brother’s daughter. Her parents died when she was but an infant. I have come to be very fond of her. How old would you say she was?”