Chapter Three

Carne had lived in the modest whitewashed stone cottage his entire life, alone in it for the past four years. He’d ceased noticing what his house looked like, except when something needed urgent repair. When he lit the lantern and light struggled to reach the corners, Carne saw the place as Professor Singleton might. This well-heeled, educated Londoner had probably never set foot in a workingman’s home. He must be aghast at the crooked door that sagged on its hinges, the threadbare carpet worn through to the stone floor in spots, the rough-hewn wood furniture built to last through generations, the fogged window glass. The dwelling was humble, to say the least.

“What a quaint home!” Singleton exclaimed and didn’t sound as if he meant poor and dingy in place of quaint.

Carne shot a look at his guest to make sure he wasn’t teasing, but the tall man, whose head neared the ceiling, seemed sincere. Singleton gazed around with a wide grin on his face. “Just as I imagined it!”

“You imagined my house?”

“I only meant it’s exactly what I thought the interior of a cottage should look like. When I was a boy, I used to read stories, histories, really, of the Cornish coast, the shipwrecks, the mining, the piskies and buccas and knockers, all the local flavor. I was enthralled.” Singleton removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. “Over the years, I forgot my boyhood fascination. My friendship with the fellow I mentioned from Truro during my student days renewed my interest as he shared his own tales from the area.”

He placed the glasses on, and they immediately began to slide down his rather large nose. He impatiently pushed them up. “But it wasn’t until I’d graduated university, taught there for a few years, and decided I wasn’t particularly good at or happy with teaching that I began to plan this—well, I like to think of it as an expedition, exploring the British Isles rather than undiscovered lands. If my project here in Cornwall goes well, I’d like to travel to other overlooked corners of our land. You see…”

Carne stared at his visitor in amazement. The man didn’t hesitate to offer facts, thoughts, opinions, and even personal feelings to a complete stranger. He was like a child in his candor and exuberance, which was both refreshing and somewhat alarming. Didn’t Singleton know it was dangerous to tell a person too much about himself, that some people might take advantage of his openness?

Apparently not, for Singleton babbled on while Carne helped him carry the camera equipment and baggage into the house and install it in his sisters’ old room.

“To me there’s nothing more intriguing than tales from human beings’ collective past. I don’t mean the dates and battles from history lessons, but personal stories of people long dead. This brings history to vivid life and reminds us that people change very little despite any advancement in terms of society or technology. Love, lust, desire for power, comfort, home—all these needs never change, do they, Mr. Carne, er, that is Treleaven.”

Carne set down the heaviest trunk and faced his guest in the small room his sisters had shared for so many years. “Not a good teacher? You have lecturing down pat.”

Singleton turned red right to the tips of his ears in the way only fair-complexioned men did. “I’ve talked too much. Sorry. It’s a bad habit when I’m feeling nervous.”

Carne glanced at the lumpy bed, the rug his sister Liza had braided, the window that hadn’t been washed since his sisters left home. “Not much to fear here.”

Singleton dipped his chin and smiled as if to himself. “No. Not much. Only the master of the house.”

Carne pointed a thumb at his chest. “Me? Why would you be fearing me?”

Now Singleton laughed. “I must admit, it occurred to me as we rode through the darkness to your house that I’d placed all my trust in a man I’d only just met. Not a wise course of action in a strange place. I’ve been told often that I behave too impetuously—most recently by the university staff when I gave my notice at Cambridge on a whim, in their opinion.”

“You are rash,” Carne said bluntly. “But no harm will come to you beneath this roof, I swear.”

He found the professor’s utter honesty endearing. It certainly wasn’t a quality he was used to in a man—or woman, come to that. Nobody he knew talked like this Phillip Singleton. A stirring of…Carne didn’t know what, but something he’d never felt before, made him uneasy. He backed toward the door.

“I’ll leave ’e to unpack. Suppose you’re hungry? I’ll see what’s in the larder.”

“Capital! Add meals to my bill, and thank you very much, Mr. Treleaven.” Singleton beamed at him so brightly, Carne had to look away.

“Call me Carne,” he muttered before escaping the room to turn the fish he’d caught earlier into dinner.

*

Singleton must have calmed down, because he didn’t chatter through the meal, which was a pity. The more Carne heard, the more he could report back to the others in the Concern.

The former professor did seem to watch Carne. Every time Carne glanced his way, he met those bright gray eyes. Singleton’s gaze seemed fixed on Carne’s shoulder. Carne craned his neck to check his shirt, which seemed clean on that spot, or at least no dirtier than any other part of it. But then Singleton seemed to be staring at his mouth. Carne stealthily wiped his lips, which made the other man abruptly look away and…redden. Even in the dark room, Carne could see those cheeks flush.

A strong suspicion hit Carne, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He’d met a sodomite once, a superior snobbish fat gentleman who wore too much scent, too many rings, and clothes that were too tight. That gent had come to deliver a purse to the village, so no one had been eager to treat him badly. Even after he’d handed over the money, no one had attacked him because he also wore a gun. But the disgusted murmurs started the moment he’d left the Stoney Ground. Nancy. Sod.

Singleton was nothing like that man—except they each had more money than Carne could ever earn in a thousand years of fishing.

Yet instead of a superior air, Singleton behaved more like an eager child, and he seemed cleaner than the fat man. Come to think of it, he might be better washed than any man Carne knew. When Singleton had passed Carne to come into the house, there’d been a scent of petrol and smoke, but not sweat or grime. How could an active man stay so clean? Singleton must have bathed in the ocean.

Carne rubbed his mouth again. That earnest gaze had returned to his face, and it seemed to make his skin itch.

“Stop it,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re staring at me. Stop.”

“I am? Unintentional, I assure you.” Singleton murmured another apology and tilted his head back. For a gawky man, his throat seemed rather elegant, which wasn’t a word Carne often thought about anything or anyone.

Singleton stared up at the ceiling, and after a few seconds, started speaking about beams and roofs. “I don’t know enough about thatched roofs or any other for that matter. Such an essential part of life, and one knows so little of their production. I should see if I can discover a thatcher and determine if the method has altered over time. The small things in the world are so important and get lost without anyone taking note of changes.”

Carne picked up his spoon and ate another bite of his fish stew. He understood now that his quick temper had made the man nervous, and now he felt a little guilty, as if he’d slapped an eager pup—a purebred variety of animal far above Carne’s class.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, sir,” Carne grumbled when Singleton fell silent on the matter of trusses and rafters and shifted his attention down to the tabletop, quickly moving his gaze from the ceiling as if avoiding what came between, which was Carne.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Singleton said, addressing the chipped cup that held his portion of stew. “I stared because you are a person with a sort of magnetic attraction.”

“Here now! Stop.” He tapped the table and realized he imitated Gwalather’s most annoying mannerism. He curled his fingers into a fist. Singleton’s gaze came up and fixed on something over Carne’s shoulder.

He’s no threat to me, Carne thought. Physical or otherwise. I could break the fellow in half.

He softened his voice. “Mr. Singleton, you’d best not say another word. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’d do if you admit to wanting that sort of thing.”

Singleton’s eyebrows went up, and for the briefest moment, he met Carne’s eyes. “I said nothing about wanting anything in particular. I’m attracted to beautiful art. I’m attracted to the views of the ocean. I’m attracted to daffodils. I can admire from afar.”

“Daffodils,” Carne said and, despite himself, smiled. “You’re daft.”

Singleton’s answering smile was entirely too powerful.

“I’d best tidy this now.” Carne hauled himself to his feet and grabbed up the cups and spoons.

“May I help?”

“No, I’m particular about my washing up,” Carne lied. He did not want the man standing near him.

Singleton meekly stayed in his seat at the small table and didn’t say a word. Earlier in the day, Carne had wondered if the jabbering man could be quiet, and the answer was yes, far too silent, in fact.

Singleton folded his hands on the bare wood and watched Carne, but his attention seemed less direct now. He didn’t track him with the concentration of a hunter sizing up prey. If Carne hadn’t been so very aware of Singleton and his…predilections, he might not have noticed. When Carne stood at the sink with his back to his guest, his spine seemed to crawl as if that scrutiny brushed his skin.

Singleton cleared his throat, and Carne damned near dropped the plate he was drying. “I should make some notes,” Singleton said. “I’ll do my work in the room you assigned me. I don’t want to get in your way.”

“Nearly done,” Carne told him. “Off to bed when I finish this.”

“Oh, of course.” Singleton sounded mildly dejected. Surely he didn’t expect an invitation? No, of course not.

If Carne woke early enough, he might look through some of his guest’s belongings still out in the motorcar, see if he really had packed for a long trek about the country. Then Carne could give the Concern a more complete report.

Hell.

He grimaced at the realization he was at it again, trying to change the reality of a thing to make himself comfortable. Just as he’d prolonged his arrangement with Bea simply to keep himself from sinking into loneliness, even as he’d known she wanted more from him for a time now.

Sometimes he could justify just about anything to himself. He wanted to look through Singleton’s fancy leather cases because he was curious about a man so unlike any others he’d ever met.

Carne hung up the dish brush and the tea towel. He went outside and dumped the wash water.

When he reentered the cottage, Singleton still sat at the small table. The single light gleamed on his hair, the gold of his glasses, and glowed on his folded hands.

A sodomite, Carne reminded himself and shivered when he realized he wasn’t disgusted. Could a man catch that sort of fever? He had no one he could ask, except perhaps Singleton himself. Carne imagined the enthusiastic and thorough lecture he might receive. When he realized he was grinning at the thought, he muttered, “Night.”

He hurried into his room and shut the door, hard.