Point of Honour by Madeleine E. Robins

Author:Madeleine E. Robins [Robins, Madeleine E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Historical, Women Sleuths
Amazon: B006JR838E
Publisher: Forge Books
Published: 2005-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

They rode without much conversation; the journey was not a long one. By early afternoon they had arrived on the outskirts of town and found rooms in an inn in the shadow of St. Clement’s Church, across the Magdalen Bridge. At Miss Tolerance’s insistence, Versellion stayed at the inn while she went out into the city to find an Italian scholar. As she had never been in Oxford before, she expected that this would be a task which consumed her for several hours: one could not, after all, stand on street corners crying out for a scholar as if one were hawking strawberries or cockles. Versellion, who had spent a year at Oxford without emerging with anything so undignified as a degree, told her to inquire first at the coffeehouse on Queen Street and, if she had no joy there, at the Bear, in Alfred Street. She left him ordering a vast dinner, his manner very much at odds with the broken-down coat he wore.

As the university was nearing the end of Trinity term, the streets teemed with young men, most gowned and with the heavy, anxious look of students facing examination. Miss Tolerance began to wish she had kept her good coat and breeches—a common laborer such as she looked had less chance of disappearing in a crowd like this. There was no point in repining; better to suit her words—and accent—to the clothes she wore. The host of the Queen Street coffeehouse, however, displayed no democratic sympathies; he was plainly prejudiced against Miss Tolerance by her plebeian look.

“What’s the like of you want with a don?” he growled.

Miss Tolerance had thoughtfully provided herself with a story. “I’ve a letter from a—a signorina in Italy. My brother’s gone to fight for the Queen, and not a word have we had till now, when I get a letter from this …” She paused as if remembering. “This Constanzia, naming my brother. But I can’t make heads nor tails of it. I’d pay one of them teachers to read it to me.”

The man shook his head. “Not my job to remember who tutors in what,” he said, and turned his back on her.

Miss Tolerance bit down on her frustration, finished her coffee, and took herself off to the Bear, where she was pleased to find a far more egalitarian spirit. The barman clearly noted her gender and, as clearly, decided it was none of his business; for the price of a pint of bitter for each of them, he regaled Miss Tolerance with his opinions on which starving tutor to approach first. After discarding this one, then that one, for reasons no clearer than “He won’t do, will he?” the barman at last offered Miss Tolerance the name and direction of a tutor named Deale who roomed in Leckford Road. Having provided this information, the barman went on to explain Mr. Deale’s situation, antecedents, and family troubles. Apparently the tutor, when in funds, spent his coin at the Bear.

At last, with thanks, Miss Tolerance escaped this torrent of information and left the Bear.

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