Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Wipe those poor lips of hers

Oozing so clammily.

The country house was not far and Margaret's long, nerve wracking journey was almost at an end. She had visions of her father hunting her down and dragging her back to London. Every delay in their departure as they made their way south kept her on edge. Jonas had said little but his presence was enough to calm her erratic nerves.

"You've been unusually quiet, Mr. Davies," Margaret teased, as a way to keep her mind from the reason for her sudden trip to the country.

"Have I?" Jonas asked in a dismissive manner. He smiled when their eyes met. "Perhaps your company is all I need."

She slapped him playfully. "We should talk of something," Margaret said, with a raised eyebrow. "How is your work at the university? Is it all you expected?"

Jonas chuckled, almost nervously and actively avoided her steady gaze.

"Peter told me you were well suited there," Margaret pressed.

"Yes."

Margaret laughed but it faded quickly. "I do believe you are deceiving me," she said, "Very well." She adjusted her cape, pulling it in tighter around her shoulders. "I will keep my comments to the weather."

"Forgive me, Miss Marshall," Jonas said. "At one time I felt my work at the university suited me well"

"Is that no longer the case?" She gave a sly smile. "Have you found another place of employ?"

"No, not exactly." He avoided her gaze, his self-assured demeanor gone from his tone. Margaret's smile faded. "Why do you think I was free to escort you as I have? Would I not be expected at work in the morning?"

Margaret had not thought of that. She was so used to her family being free to come and go as they pleased, never limited by hours of work or demands of employers. She had not thought to ask if Jonas needed leave from work.

"You have not left your position, not for me?" She shook her head partly from disbelief, but partly from disproval. "Jonas, how could you? Assisting a professor is a superior position...." Margaret's protest was short lived when she saw the disparaging look on Jonas' face. "Oh. You did not resign."

"They terminated me last month."

"Last month! Jonas, why did you not say something? How have you been able to meet your obligations?" She did not mean to behave so familiar but she was shocked to find him in such circumstances while knowing where she had found him the day before.

Jonas returned to the arrogant demeanor she recognized. "I do not patronize gentlemen's clubs for the girls, Miss Marshall. I am well adept with a hand of cards."

"Jonas!" She could not say what disturbed her more, the fact that he admitted to playing cards for money or that he was so well versed at the games that he was able to sustain himself. Margaret let out a deep breath. "Luck runs out," she said, after a long pause. "Peter will help you, when he gets back to London," she insisted. "I know he will."

"Your confidence reassures me." Jonas gave a half smile.

They sat in silence for some time, allowing the rocking of the carriage to lull them into a near sleep. The day was late with the last rays of sun creating a pink aura over the farm land in the distance. They had been either in a train or coach for most of the day and the November chill crawled beneath their skin. Margaret regretted not accepting the fur wrap the coachman had offered at the start of the journey.

She shuffled closer to Jonas, slipping her arm under his and bracing herself against the rocking of the carriage by leaning into him. As the carriage rolled through the dark town the only building elaborately lit was the tavern, the others remained dark and dreary in the deadness of night.