The Curious Case of Simon Todd

by Vanessa C. Hawkins

  All the steam powered engines burping exhaust into the air swallowed the town in a thin cloud of fog, at least in the places where engines were most prominent. This included the turbines just on the precipice of the town’s limits, where large mechanical weathervanes pumped energy into Darlington. They were powered by the stream of the river on days when the wind was less accommodating.

  Darcy thought it was endearing to see some of the children in short pants and high socks hiding amidst the fog, calling out to their fellows to find them. It seemed a lot of them were supposed to be on their way to school by the tone their mothers used when calling after them. He was also quite sure, that above the cough of the pipelines, he could also hear the morning bell, calling the youth to attend their education.

  The party left Darlington shortly after noon. The small road that had been Main Street was transformed from a cobble-stoned, quaint thing into a dusty width perfect for a wagon or two, albeit with a tight squeeze involved. Now with more girth to maneuver, and less pedestrians with full skirts and children hovering about the ankles, the party converged into two neat rows. Miss Baxter and Mr. Dashing led the way, the donkey in the center, while the other two gentlemen, one scowling, one quite content, took up the rear. It appeared to Mr. Darcy that good Simon Todd didn’t have a particular fondness for the moustachioed gunslinger, and that it especially got worse the closer Dick seemed to be in proximity to the young lady.

  Maybe it’s a matter of territory? Jane mused. Though could a young girl really be considered such a thing? Mr. Darcy wasn’t sure.

  The rest of the day involved a few well-mannered conversations, some empty pleasantries, and some idle banter. The Great Plains garnered a few willowy clouds to keep the sun from being too hot, as well as a touch of wind here and there to keep the joints from becoming too moist with perspiration. Sunny spring was quickly leading into an agreeable summer, and it was evident in the farmlands and people they passed.

  Twice there were merchant caravans, one of which offered up a few apples to the party. Three times they saw farmers. Two had taken a moment to wipe their brow and wave to the wayfarers. One was on his porch, playing a jaunty tune.

  They ate as they walked, munching on some bread and raisins Miss Baxter had packed on her donkey, and taking a few draughts from Mr. Dashing’s flask. Even Simon seemed to lighten up a bit after that. Following tea time at four o’clock when they stopped at a brook to rest their legs, everyone was in high enough spirits to press on a bit further.

  It was when they had begun setting up tent that Mr. Todd’s mood began to sour.

  They had settled in a small valley in the crescent of a copse of Bellhat plains trees. In this part of the country Bellhats were a common sight amid the verdant grass and golden fields. They were comprised of very thin, yet large leaves and tapered at the top, making the tree look rather bell-shaped. They were good shelter against the rain and provided cover from a chilly breeze. Though at the moment the weather was quite amicable, it was prudent to expect the worse.

  So, as it was, Simon and Mr. Darcy unloaded their meagre packs at the base of a large Bellhat while Dick Dashing was being aided by the young Miss Baxter to complete his pavilion. Both Simon and Mr. Darcy, perhaps due to the pleasantness of the weather, had plum forgotten to pack any sort of tent. They were at the task of unloading blankets as the sun began to set behind them.

  “Are you alright?” Jane asked, removing his topcoat and folding it properly.

  “I am not,” Simon replied, smoothing out his sleeping bag and removing a teapot. In fact, he was quite beside himself. Mr. Dashing had packed such a rather large tent which meant he must have thought to share it with somebody. It wasn’t proper for a young girl to share such a space with a scoundrel! He knew he had to prevent it, but the coward in him was well… cowering.

  Mr. Darcy loosened the buttons on his too stiff collared shirt. How humans lived day to day in such attire he couldn’t fathom. He’d have to buy a more travel friendly wardrobe when he got to Piper’s Toss.

  “Care to extrapolate?” In the books Jane read, humans always wanted to share their frustrations with others.

  Simon looked his way, contemplating the use of a confidant. He hadn’t ever had one before, and what with all the things that had been happening unloading at least a small bit of distress would be a relief. He doffed his hat, loosening his tie before standing straight again with teapot in hand.

  “I don’t wish to be any part of a scandal is all, whether I’m a bystander or otherwise.”

  Jane quirked a brow as Simon continued in a whisper. “Dick with his pavilion,” he explained. “And poor Miss Baxter in her naiveté won’t expect anything vile when he offers to share it with her. It’s got me in a great deal of moral turmoil.”

  Mr. Darcy remembered some of his books outlining the importance of marriage before some humans could mate. It was meant to be romantic and was tied into several religious beliefs they held. For dragons, he thought it would be quite bothersome.

  “Well then, why don’t you say so? You don’t wish to embarrass anyone?”

  Mr. Todd nodded. “I don’t wish to embarrass Miss Baxter. Poor thing, she probably won’t even realize.”

  Jane was proud he had guessed correctly.

  “But,” Simon continued. “I promised to protect her. I promised her father.” Behind him, the pavilion was almost completed as night settled.

  “Well, you must do what your conscience dictates, Mr. Todd. In the end, your deeds, whatever you choose to do, will surely whisper that you did it all for her.” Mr. Darcy was pleased. Simon seemed quite smitten with his choice of language.

  “You’re quite right. She’ll understand. I’m only looking out for her after all.”

  “Like you promised.”

  “Like I promised!”

  This Mr. Darcy was quite the confident, Simon thought.

  Now all Mr. Todd needed to do was interpose himself between the two and make sure that an offer was never brought up! If it was? Simon would just have to step in and remind Dick about how improper it was. There was nothing to it! In fact, Simon felt his nerves settle as he wandered over, teapot still in hand. His tie had been removed for the day, his hat off and hair slightly mussed, but he felt all put together now.

  Mr. Dashing and the jolly Miss Baxter were just hammering the last spikes of the pavilion into the ground with tiny wooden hammers. Though it was late spring, the leaves from the Bellhat tree littered the ground like large papery fans. Simon felt the crunch of them underfoot, and it made the desire for a cup of tea grow stronger in his belly.

  “You look like you’ve almost finished,” he said to Miss Baxter. “It’s awfully kind of you to help.”

  The young girl stood upright, wiping her brow with the back of her forearm. Her sleeves had been pulled up, and the lacy cuffs dangled off her elbows like doilies.

  “I don’t mind at all.” She smiled.

  “She’s a good one, that Miss Baxter,” Dashing called from the other side. Simon could almost see the plume of smoke slithering up from the man’s cigar. He had been smelling it all day, wafting to the back of their contingent like a translucent banner. Another moment and Mr. Dashing exclaimed their work was a job well done. Simon watched as he made his way to the front where they were standing. He had removed his old duster and was wearing a faded blue button shirt beneath.

  “Terribly sorry about how big it is. I suppose I could share it if I wanted.”

  Here it was. Simon felt his teeth grind together at this inevitability. He already had a pot of ideas ready in his mind, filled with things to say and sudden retorts. Now all it needed was a good stirring.

  Mr. Dashing looked back, first at Miss Baxter, and Simon was quite certain into her bodice, and then to Mr. Todd himself. “Did you wish,” he began, looking at the young lady.

  “That’s alright,” she said straight away, waving an arm as she turned towards the fire.

  Simon had his mouth open, about to launc
h into some kind of argument. His words were stolen in a moment and in the next, he turned to see Miss Baxter’s back silhouetted in the firelight.

  “Well! More for me I guess.” Dashing laughed, clapping his hands. “I just need to clean my pistol. If you don’t mind Mr. Todd, set some tea aside, won’t you?”

  Simon was at a loss. He felt like a coat rack that had been snubbed by the very coat he thought to hold. Though, by not being burdened by said coat, he was eased of a lot of responsibility he had just a moment ago been dreading. It was a topsy-turvy feeling, and one that made it slightly difficult to proceed by himself.

  So instead, he listened to Mr. Dashing and went off to prepare the tea.

  Jane Darcy and Miss Baxter had already begun to make themselves comfortable. Even Salvador, who was smelling very similar to overly ripe cheese at the moment, was asleep in the ring of light pooling around the bonfire.

  Simon bent to retrieve his pack and a few pans he had stuffed within. Miss Baxter had already laid a few ingredients to the side: turnips, carrots, an onion, a few dried rashers of pork. It would make for a good stew, Simon thought. But first, he’d prepare the tea.

  “So, who taught you to read, Mr. Darcy?” the young lady asked as the gentlemen retrieved the book he had been reading at the Obsidian Brier that morning.

  “Oh.” Jane smiled. “I suppose I taught myself.”

  “Really? You never went to school as a boy?”

  Mr. Darcy looked contemplative a moment. “I did, but not until much later in life. My mother coddled me, treated me like an infant for far longer than she ought to have.”

  Simon could see the memories in both of his companion’s eyes as he set the pot down to boil. Darcy no doubt thought about his mum, Miss Baxter about her mother, Rebecca. For a moment, Simon pictured the girl’s mother in his mind’s eye as well. Rebecca had always been quite beautiful.

  “What about your father?” she asked.

  Jane smirked, skimming the pages of his book until he located the ribbon marker.

  “Just me and my mother, I’m afraid. But we came from a good family. Nice inheritance and a proud bloodline.” He looked up at her. “We lacked for nothing. Really.” Satisfied with the conversation for the moment, Mr. Darcy looked down into his book.

  Miss Baxter, polite as always, didn’t press further, though she did wonder about a man’s life growing up without a father. Her own dad was probably just finishing up supper and washing his socks in the basin before bedtime. He’d have to be up early tomorrow to milk the cows and receive the call for ice. The ice box was already melted down. If he didn’t get the call tomorrow he’d have to wait a few more weeks until the ice man revisited. Oh, but there were lot chores to be done. She just hoped he’d remember them all.

  “Tea?” Simon offered, passing to her a ceramic cup. Miss Baxter hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had an entire kit dedicated to tea. Bundled in a small leather case was a tin tea infuser, a few small tin boxes filled with loose leaves, as well as a milk and sugar tin and a teapot. Strapped to the top were several little spoons, and tucked into one corner were three other ceramic cups. They were all very mini and quaint and reminded her completely of a young professor’s briefcase. Only, a bit more brief.

  “You are well prepared, Mr. Todd,” she said, taking the small cup and inhaling the scent of jasmine.

  Simon laughed, waving his hand as he went to retrieve another for Mr. Darcy. “Not enough to bring a tent. Mr. Dashing’s beat me there, I’m afraid.” Simon was still feeling like a ninny for forgetting it in the first place.

  “Well, we can all sleep under the stars together tonight,” she offered.

  “Well,” Simon stuttered, sitting on a log situated close by the fire. “If you get…” he cleared his throat when his voice grew hoarse. “If you get cold I’ve a spare blanket.”

  “Oh. Why that would be wonderful.”

  Mr. Todd was thankful it was already dark, and the fire was burning. His red face was more easily disguised. As befitting the party cook, Simon went about peeling, skinning and slicing all the vegetables for the stew while blissfully wandering in his own thoughts. He had a few spices tucked away in one of his tea canisters, and so sprinkled a few on top for flavor. Even if his ghostly state made it impossible to taste, if this was to be his job, Simon thought he might as well be good at it.

  Mr. Dashing rejoined them sometime before supper. Having seemingly polished his pistol to his liking, he seemed much more apt for conversation. Sitting down on a rotund boulder set before the fire, Dick shared in the meal with the rest of them, and even Jane Darcy put his book down long enough to engage in friendly, though mostly idle, gossip.

  Though Mr. Todd had grown up around Darlington with his mother and father, much more interesting origin stories were passed around. Dick had been brought up at sea; ilk of some woman named Myra Seakettle and a ship Captain called Dirk. He was never a bastard, he explained, for a Captain was law onboard his own ship and could marry anyone he deemed worthy, even himself.

  “And so he did, to my mother, the very night he got her with yours truly! Myra always said that Captain Dirk was made of a good amount of seafoam. She always said, ‘Dick, you truly are a stallion of the sea.’”

  Sea Monkey, Simon thought, but smiled anyway.

  Miss Baxter and Jane also re-lived some of their youth. Mr. Darcy spoke briefly of his mother, but mostly of his time spent sequestered away reading books. Miss Baxter talked about Rebecca, but only until her eyes were glassy and she quite suddenly trailed off, to the complete understanding of everyone around her. Simon half wished his life were more exciting, but his parents were both still well and alive, not that he was complaining mind you, and he hadn’t grown up on a ship or alone in a library of books. He was just Simon Todd, an allergenic, young accountant who bought his family’s home when they relocated to Ebonguard a few summers ago.

  By the by, the gibbous moon began to retreat behind the clouds. As the fire pit began to burn away to embers, the four companions decided it was bedtime and moved towards their designated spots to settle in. Simon had packed two woolen blankets for the endeavor, and a sack to hold his clothes and act in tandem as a pillow. The night was still holding fast to the balmy weather and as he left to change into a light pair of pyjamas and a nightcap. The cool breeze invigorated tired muscles.

  Miss Baxter was already dressed into her nightclothes when he returned. As she sat upon the ground combing out her long, yellow hair, Simon felt quite embarrassed. She looked resplendent in a long, thick nightdress with scalloped lace along the collar and cuffs. In fact, her attire quite matched that of Mr. Darcy, though the bespectacled gent’s nightshift was noticeably less frilly.

  “Well,” Jane said, pulling his own blanket up to his chin and removing his scarlet colored glasses. “Till morning then!” He was lying right at the base of the tree, using the trunk as a means to gently elevate his head. Simon was a little more away and into the field. Mr. Todd was worried about insects and spiders crawling down the trunk when he slept.

  “Um,” he said a bit unsurely, watching how Miss Baxter’s long hair flowed like gold beneath her brush. She was sitting rather close to him and the left over embers from the cook fires slightly illuminated her figure beneath her clothes. Simon picked up his second blanket and offered it to her. “In case it gets chilly later,” he said.

  Miss Baxter regarded him. Her shepherd’s crook was off to the side. Salvador the donkey was still lying down, but had his eyes wide open. Simon hoped he didn’t do the same. Though Mr. Todd was a ghost, albeit a tangible one, he did find he slept rather well. He supposed the old saying rang true in that regard. Nothing slept better than the dead.

  “Why don’t we share it?” she suggested.

  For a moment there was a ringing sound in Simon’s ears. One could suppose it was similar to when a loud noise suddenly went off and temporarily deafened you. For a good few seconds, it was as though the world had turned off, and the resonance o
f her words echoed eternally in his auditory canal like a shout in a rather large room.

  To accompany his temporary deafened state, was the blurry whirl of images and responses catapulting around in his brain like a manic tornado. It was like his brain, his own personal library of reference, had just undergone a serious earthquake and several hapless librarian workers, all looking like Mr. Todd, were scrambling to set the tomes in place before anyone noticed. Of course, in all the kerfuffle was Simon Todd himself, looking for the appropriate response amid a catastrophe of internal mayhem.

  “We-uh…” that was no good. He found his chin was wagging but no sound was coming out fluently. Damnation, Mr. Todd! Pull yourself together!

  “Well,” he had to speak slowly. “I suppose it could be alright to share if…,” He hesitated. He was a gentleman after all! He wouldn’t take advantage of her naiveté. “If we made sure to face back to back.”

  Miss Baxter laughed. “Oh Mr. Todd, you’re too funny.”

  He smiled back, feeling a bead of sweat dribble down his forehead as she moved to sit beside him. He could smell the sweet perfume of her skin and the fresh scent of the forest alighting on her hair. Simon watched as she began to spread the blanket out before them, and as he settled himself on the ground, images of them together in a proper bed tugged at his mind. They were sweet thoughts, hardly scandalous, and never with the young Miss Baxter’s hearty bosoms on display. No. He wasn’t, after all, a delinquent. No. Though he did wonder where that nice little choker had went off to.

  “Oh, I can’t handle it!” Came a booming voice.

  Simon looked up with lidded eyes. Mr. Dashing, in his underclothes and stained undershirt, was throwing open the front of his tent, worry and apology in his eyes. “The gentleman in me just won’t have it!”

  Simon felt his eyes flit over to the young girl, half settled in the blanket with him. He could almost feel the warmth of her body. Once they were settled in, it couldn’t be helped if he had accidently moved or turned just so that perhaps his shoulder touched hers now could it?