Courting Trouble by Jenny Schwartz

stowed in his pocket, but the experimental working models of various parts were gone. The intense heat would have melted them into misshapen blobs. Likewise his heavy trunk of books might have survived an ordinary fire, but not this explosive, fierce blaze. Nazim had attacked his work and his dreams. Even the Diwali illumination project Felix Coldwall had left with him for study and an opinion on its revolving arm was gone. Damned anarchist.
    But what froze the blood in his veins was that it could have been worse, much worse. His arm tightened around Esme. She was more precious than any invention.
    “So what was the fire?” she asked. “A threat? A warning? Oh! We all left the house. Jed, we left the house. All of us. When we heard your workshop had exploded, everyone ran into town. Nazim had the perfect chance to search for Lajli.”
    “I’m surprised she didn’t run into town with you.”
    “But she isn’t there. That’s the point. If Nazim was watching the place, he’ll have seen us running into town and probably took the opportunity to search the house. He’ll know she’s not hiding there.”
    “Hold on. What do you mean, Lajli isn’t in the house?”
    “When I went upstairs, I checked her room to see if she’d settled in comfortably. I found a note addressed to me. I have it here.” She fished it out of her pocket and gave it to him. “I showed it to Gupta. He thinks the note is genuine, that she has slipped away to do heaven knows what. But if she is to be safe, Nazim has to believe Lajli is tucked away at home.”
    He read the brief note as Esme hurried him along the street. They were almost running as the mansion came into view.
    “I can’t believe we left it unguarded. What if Nazim is still in there? Jed, do you have a pistol on you? No, why would you? Dad keeps a couple in his desk, or I can sneak upstairs to get mine. Or maybe we don’t need a pistol. There’s a cattle whip hanging coiled in the cloakroom.”
    He’d never seen her so distraught. His anger against Nazim grew.
    “We’ll manage,” he said calmly, conscious of the knife tucked into his ankle sheath. They stepped through the front gate and stopped. “Or maybe we don’t have to.”
    “Owens.”
    For a minute, Jed thought she was going to hug the stocky man standing guard on the steps. By the frightened widening of his eyes, so did Owens. But at the last moment, Esme instead crouched and hugged his dog, the “hellhound” she’d requested present itself for duty. The dog, well accustomed to Esme from her frequent visits to the animal sanctuary, endured the hug with surprising equanimity.
    “How long have you been here?” Jed asked Owens.
    “I watched them all run into town. Since Miss Esme asked for Brutus to guard the house, we stayed to do so. No one’s gone in or come out.” He paused. “Glad to see you’re alive.”
    “Thanks,” Jed said.
    “Thank you, Owens.” Esme gave Brutus a final pat. “Could you stay on guard a little longer, till the others return, so you can introduce them to Brutus?”
    He nodded. A hand signal sent the dog out on a circuit of the yard and garden.
    Jed and Esme went inside. He automatically headed for the library, but she tugged him aside.
    “While no one’s here, I’ll show you the secret entrance to Father’s workroom.” She glanced at him, waiting for his argument, his defense of the proprieties.
    But he had none.
    Her eyes looked bruised, their brilliant blue deepened with worry for him. He wasn’t leaving her alone in the house, not even with Brutus on guard. Nazim had shown himself too ruthless, too reckless, to risk leaving Esme alone.
    He followed her into the parlor. For all his frequent visits to the house, it was a room he’d never seen used. Guests tended to congregate in the drawing room or library. The air of the parlor had the cool, dry scent of disuse, redolent of lemon oil and beeswax from the highly polished furniture and paneled walls. A fine Turkish carpet