Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

‘Oh. Dear boy.’ Her eyes grew leaky. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ve got a niece and brother in Edinburgh – there’s no love lost there, but they’ll have to take me in if I come knocking. But it won’t come to that. Richard has caught his share of foreign diseases before. He’ll be back here for your monthly dinners in no time, and I’ll treat you both to a whole roasted goose when he is.’ She squeezed his shoulders. ‘You just focus on your studies, won’t you? Do good work, and don’t worry about the rest.’

He was never going to see her again. No matter how things fell out, this at least seemed certain. Robin fixed his eyes on her gentle smile, trying to memorize this moment. ‘I’ll do my best, Mrs Piper. Goodbye.’

He had to compose himself for a moment on the street before he could summon the nerve to walk into the tower.

The faculty offices were on the seventh floor. Robin waited in the stairwell until he was sure the hallway was empty before he darted forth and slid Professor Lovell’s key into the lock. The correspondence in the office was much the same as he’d found in Hampstead: letters to Jardine, Matheson, Gützlaff, and others on war plans for the coming invasion. He shuffled some into a pile and stuffed them into his jacket. He didn’t have the faintest clue what Hermes might do with them, but some proof, he assumed, was better than none.

He’d just locked the door behind him when he heard voices from Professor Playfair’s office. The first belonged to a woman, demanding and loud. ‘He’s missed three consecutive payments, and I haven’t been in touch with him in months—’

‘Richard is a very busy man,’ said Professor Playfair. ‘And he’s still overseas on the annual fourth years’ trip, which I’m sure he told you—’

‘He did not,’ said the woman. ‘You know he’s terrible about such things, we never know where he’s going. He doesn’t write, doesn’t even telegraph, he sends nothing for the children. You know, they’re starting to forget they have a father.’

Heart pounding, Robin crept to the corner of the hallway, remaining just within earshot. The staircase was just a few feet behind him. If the door opened, he could flee to the sixth floor before anyone saw him.

‘That must be, ah, very difficult,’ Professor Playfair said awkwardly. ‘Though I must say this isn’t a subject on which Richard and I converse frequently. You’d be better off taking it up directly with him—’

‘When’s he expected back?’

‘Next week. Though there’s been some trouble in Canton, I’ve heard, so it may be a few days earlier. But I truly don’t know, Mrs Lovell – I’ll send word when we hear anything, but for now we know as little as you do.’

The door opened. Robin tensed to flee, but morbid curiosity kept him bolted in place. He peeked out from around the corner. He wanted to see, to know for certain.

A tall, thin woman with grey-streaked hair stepped into the hallway. With her were two small children. The older one, a girl, looked about ten and had clearly been crying, though she concealed her sobs in one fist while she clenched her mother’s hand in the other. The younger child, a boy, was much smaller – perhaps only five or six. He tottered out into the hallway as Mrs Lovell said her goodbyes to Professor Playfair.

Robin’s breath caught in his throat. He found himself leaning further out into the hallway, unable to look away. The boy looked so much like himself, like Griffin. His eyes were the same light brown, his hair similarly dark, though it curled more than either of theirs.

The boy met his eyes. Then, to Robin’s horror, he opened his mouth and uttered in a high, clear voice, ‘Papa.’

Robin turned and fled.

‘What was that?’ Mrs Lovell’s voice carried over towards the staircase. ‘Dick, what did you say?’

Professor Lovell’s son babbled something in response, but Robin was flying too quickly down the stairs to hear.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Ramy. ‘I didn’t know Professor Lovell even had a family.’

‘I told you he had an estate in Yorkshire!’

‘I thought you were making that up,’ said Ramy. ‘I’ve never seen him take a vacation once. He’s just not – not a family man. How’d he stay home long enough to conceive?’

‘The issue is, they exist and they’re worried,’ said Robin. ‘He’s apparently been missing payments to his estate. And now Playfair knows something’s wrong.’

‘Suppose we paid them off?’ asked Victoire. ‘Forged his handwriting and sent the money ourselves, I mean. How much does it take to maintain a household for a month?’

‘If it’s just the three of them?’ Letty thought for a moment. ‘Only about ten pounds.’

Victoire blanched. Ramy sighed and rubbed at his temples. Robin reached to pour himself a glass of brandy.