The Troublesome Apprentice (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 1)

by Liza O'Connor

  A loud knock interrupted their play. Xavier cursed as Vic called out. “Yes?”

  “Are you decent?” Claire asked.

  “Not really,” Vic replied as she stared at Xavier poised above her like a hungry lion.

  “Well close your eyes, for I’m coming in,” the young woman warned and entered.

  “Claire!” Vic complained, trying to cover Xavier’s body with her own.

  “Sorry, but Gregory planned to send in Jonas, and I thought you’d prefer me,” she explained and sat a serving tray holding a box next to the bath. She left the room, laughing.

  Xavier reached into the box and smiled as he pulled out a condom.

  Chapter 43

  Vic woke in the morning with Xavier beside her, studying her face with great pleasure.

  “I had no idea a human could be this happy,” he admitted. “Loving you has completely transformed me, Vic.”

  “The same here. I had resigned myself to work in a dreary old bank, living a life of abstinence.”

  He smiled. “You do realize sometimes your job as secretary will be tedious as well?”

  “It hasn’t yet.”

  “Today may break your streak of fun and merriment, for if all has gone according to plan, when we go to work, we shall discover a large quantity of items to sort through and return to the proper owners. Each one will require a letter telling the recipient their extortion is over. So rise and shine, pup. We need to get you fed and off to work.”

  When they entered the office, the smell of bacon and ham wafted from upstairs. Unwilling to tell Davy they had already eaten, they both had a second breakfast as Davy explained the meats were a gift from Inspector Stone for their assistance yesterday.

  Xavier frowned and set down his fork. “I’ll start sorting the boxes.” He glared at Vic. “If you aren’t at the typewriter by 7:30, you’re fired.”

  She opened her mouth to protest and reconsidered. Today was payday and she wanted to be around to write her check.

  ***

  As she typed the same letter over for the thirtieth time, she almost wished Xavier had fired her. She stopped for a moment to massage her fingers.

  Xavier looked up from his desk where he had the more interesting job of learning everyone’s worst secrets before he placed the information into an envelope and hand wrote the address. “Well, I’ve discovered how Lord Conrad managed to insert himself into Burke’s Peerage giving legitimacy to his claim he was a Scottish Earl. The publisher of this compendium of who’s who in nobility was being blackmailed by Conrad.”

  “For what?”

  “That is not your concern. Your task is to type.”

  “May I not handwrite letters for a bit? My fingers are cramping and the tips are numb.”

  He stopped his snooping and massaged her hands. She closed her eyes and groaned from the pleasure of his touch.

  “Better?”

  She nodded.

  “Good, back to work. You are falling behind and no one will sleep until all these items are delivered to their proper owners.”

  She stared in horror at the multitude of boxes and packages yet to have letters. Certain he only postured when he declared no sleep until the work was done, Vic returned to her job. As the evening wore on and the clock chimed ten, she realized he had actually meant his ridiculous declaration. Around midnight she fell asleep on the typewriter. She had some vague memory of him chiding her that foreheads cause typing errors and now she would have to retype the page all over again.

  In her delirium, she recalled pleading, “Send me into interrogation, just don’t make me type.”

  ***

  Her heart rendering plea had worked. She woke in Xavier’s bed in the morning. He was not beside her, nor did it appear he had ever come to bed. She dressed and went downstairs where she found him typing and cursing in a steady rhythm. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, ”damn!” tap, tap, tap, tap, ”damnation!” tap, tap, tap, tap, “bloody hell!” tap, tap, tap, tap, “damn!”

  She was amazed all but two stacks of envelopes remained.

  When he finished the letter and stuffed it in the envelope, he gave her a surly glare. “Had a nice sleep did you?”

  “Yes, so why don’t I take over and you go to bed.”

  “I don’t dare, or you’ll stop typing and go upstairs to eat breakfast.”

  “I won’t. I’ll see these finished first,” she promised him.

  He studied her with his bloodshot and fatigued eyes.

  “I give you my word.” She kissed him on his forehead.

  “Never give your word unless you mean it.”

  “I truly give you my word! Now go!” She pushed him from the chair.

  “Impudent pup!” he grumbled. “Waits until the job is nearly finished before showing up all fresh and ready to enjoy the pleasure of completing the task.”

  ***

  Xavier’s fatigue was nothing compared to poor Davy. He stumbled in for the next batch of letters, wobbling like a drunken man, lids barely open. “I wish I had a replacement,” he muttered and stumbled out to hand deliver more envelopes of reprieve.

  As Vic finished the last letter, a sense of relief that the task was done overwhelmed her. She stared at her fingers covered with puffy blisters that burned like fire with the slightest touch.

  She sent Davy off with the last batch before returning upstairs to cook breakfast.

  Vic had no idea how to cook but hunger drove her to try. Clearly, the bacon did not care for novice chefs and retaliated with blistering shots of hot oil. At her third yelp of pain, Xavier entered, roughly shoved her aside and removed the pan from the stove.

  “Damn it, Vic, does the fact you don’t know what you are doing ever stop you from trying?” Xavier asked in exasperation.

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe it should!” He returned to his room, pulling her with him.

  “I’m not sleepy,” she said as he pulled her into bed with him.

  “I am, but it seems I cannot sleep without you safely beside me,” he complained and pulled her tight against his chest and fell off to sleep.

  She woke when Davy complained about someone leaving the stove on. She would have joined him and apologized for their fire hazard, but she couldn’t escape Xavier’s arms. Even in sleep, he hadn’t relaxed his grip on her.

  By noon, her stomach demanded food and the angry growls woke Xavier. He sighed and released her. “Go wake Davy up and send him out for lunch,” Xavier grumbled.

  “I’ll do no such thing.” She changed into unwrinkled clothes from her tiny space in his closet. “I will retrieve lunch on my own. Davy has had the least sleep of all of us.”

  “Damnation!” Xavier declared and sat up. “Why must acts of kindness be accompanied with so much torture?”

  Vic stared at her fingertips. “You are right about that.”

  He reached out and pulled her closer so he could examine her hands.

  “Be careful, they hurt.”

  “Did you burn them cooking the bacon?”

  “No, it’s from typing,” she grumbled. “These are from the bacon,” she stated pointing to red spots on the back of her hands.

  He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her stomach. “Are all people so difficult to maintain, or are you especially challenging?”

  “I believe I may be more difficult than most. I remember Gregory telling Aunt Maddy there was no point planning my future after Oxford for I was sure to kill myself during my first week there.”

  “Ha!” he exclaimed. “So this isn’t my failing.”

  The revelation seemed to cheer him immensely; enough that he dressed and accompanied her on her sojourn to the market.

  When they returned, despite her protests, he woke Davy and demanded he stop loafing about and come eat lunch.

  She’d hoped Davy would ignore him, but the poor man dragged himself from bed and joined them at the kitchen table.

  Xavier stared at each of them. �
��I know we’ve all had a miserable and exhausting thirty hours, but as we sit here, Davy near death, Victor with his blistered fingers, and me with a head ready to split in two, let us think of the hundreds of people who slept well for the first time in so long, they can barely remember life before hell. Let us ignore the fact many of them are molesters of children and murderers who deserved every moment of their torture. Let us focus on the few good men, who had momentary lapses in judgment. For their release from hell—for those chosen few—we dedicate our weary bones, our blistered fingers, and our splitting heads.”

  Vic was not particularly pleased with his speech. “Can we not return the murderers and those who harm children to hell?”

  “All in good time,” he promised her.

  Chapter 44

  Davy brought in the paper for Vic to take to Xavier. Suspecting her employer napped at his desk, she took the liberty of reviewing it first for any pertinent news.

  She turned directly to her favorite column, which was in the gossip section. The columnist, Arweena Toovain, wrote in an absurdist style remarkably similar to Albert Finn’s. His column today made her blistered fingers worth the pain.

  Davy had left the front door open on this warm day, giving her fair warning when a gaudy carriage pulled up outside. Upon sight of the man getting out, she withdrew her gun from the desk and placed it in her lap. Had Lord Conrad discovered who released his birds?

  The angry fop entered the office and glanced about. His sneer indicated he did not approve of their simple abode. When he finally focused on Vic a thin smile came to his lips. “I am here to speak to Xavier Thorn.”

  “And what is the purpose of the visit?”

  “None of your concern.”

  “I cannot provide you an appointment without a reason for your visit. You see, all lines of the appointment schedule must be completed.”

  “I want him to review an investment I recently made,” Lord Conrad snapped. “Now take me to him.”

  “We have several different fee structures for investment analysis. If you will provide me the name of the company, I can determine which fee structure applies. And in all cases there is a fifty pound fee for your first consultation.”

  “Yes, yes, fine,” Conrad snapped. “Now let me speak to Mr. Thorn.”

  “I can schedule you time, and when you arrive, please bring a check in the amount of fifty pounds to cover the first hour.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed with rage. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  Vic smiled at him. “Yes sir, I do. Which is why we will require payment up front.”

  “What?” he bellowed.

  “Perhaps you have not read today’s paper?” Vic opened it and passed it over to Conrad.

  Rumor has it that a certain Lord whom we will call by the initials of RC is nearly bankrupt after several disastrous investments. Evidently, in an attempt to recoup his losses, he sold every vowel he possessed and placed over a million pounds on an unknown horse in the French Derby, foolishly betting against the well-known Saltise curse. Sadly, for the gentleman, the gods of fate are not so easily intimidated or, dare we even say, blackmailed. The horse came in second, leaving our grand Lord in ruins. After all the kindness and generosity he has mete out throughout the years, I have no doubt those elected will come to his aid. Unless the miraculous release of papers from his office has set them free so they may fly high into the trees and send nothing but white droppings upon his head. We can only dream…

  Conrad pressed his hand against his chest.

  “Are you having a heart attack, sir?” Vic asked with cheerfulness. “Should I call a doctor? He will no doubt wish to be paid in advance.”

  Conrad cursed her as he rushed from the office, bellowing at his driver to take him home at once.

  ***

  Xavier stepped out from his office, walked to the front door and locked it. “You were very foolish to taunt him.”

  “I couldn’t resist.”

  “Thank God for his attack or I fear he might have snapped you in two before I had a chance to come to your rescue.”

  Vic laughed. “You are always picturing yourself one step from rescuing me.”

  “That is precisely the complaint I am making…yes.”

  Scooting her chair back, Vic held up the small derringer. “I assure you, had the bastard even leaned across the desk I was prepared to use this.”

  Xavier sighed and knelt down beside her. “And what happens when they throw you in jail for shooting a Lord and with the barest of searches discover your secret?”

  Vic stroked his face. “Then you can come to my rescue.”

  He snared her hand and squeezed hard enough she cried out in pain.

  “Now you know how I felt standing at the door, with terror crushing my heart,” Xavier said. “I have tried my damnedest to be fair. I have allowed you more freedom than any secretary has ever known. But when you taunt murderers for your amusement, I must draw a line.”

  Resentment at his scold pushed away her former good humor.

  “Don’t scowl at me, damn you! I have rights here, as well. Or stated another way, you have obligations.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I love you, and you must never take risk beyond what is absolutely necessary to do your job.”

  The concern in his voice touched and shamed her. “Don’t cry,” she pleaded and pulled Xavier to her, covering his face with kisses.

  He pushed away. “I’m not in danger of crying, you little fool; I am damn near ready to strangle you.”

  “And you would be in the right to do so,” Vic admitted. “I was wrong to taunt Conrad. You have frequently complained about the risks I take, but you have never spoken of my obligations—our obligations to one another. It is a fair rule. Neither of us should take unnecessary risks, for we cannot survive without the other. To bring harm to myself is to harm you, and vice versa.”

  Xavier pulled her out of the chair. Certain he planned to take her upstairs, confusion set in when instead, he led her to his office and filled her arms with boxes of research they had gathered on Lord Conrad. Once he had Vic loaded down like a mule, he bellowed for Davy.

  “Couldn’t you have called him before you made me your beast of burden?”

  “Had you not taunted Lord Conrad, I no doubt would have been so considerate.” He turned her around and marched her out of their office.

  To Vic, it seemed an eternity before Davy had the carriage ready. When Xavier called out their destination, Vic cringed.

  “Please don’t make me go to Scotland Yard. I’m not up to another interrogation.”

  “That is the least of your worries.”

  ***

  Loaded with her box of research, she followed Xavier inside Inspector Stone’s office. Another three hours of torture was a poor reward for all her hard work and effort.

  Stone came to the door, took the box from her arms, and set it on his desk.

  “Did you see the paper today?” he asked Xavier.

  “No, my secretary was too busy taunting murderers with it.”

  Stone passed the paper to him.

  Xavier glanced at the article and tossed the paper aside. “May I assume you are freed of your chains?”

  Stone glanced at Victor before replying. “Scotland Yard is not influenced by any political factions. The First Minister and the Secretary of the House called me this morning to remind me.”

  “Good. The box of research might interest you, but understand me, if you dare interrogate my secretary for all his hard work, it will be the last time I bring you anything.”

  “We do not interrogate people for doing research,” Stone assured them. “Yesterday, you and Victor were involved in a crime…as victims, but nonetheless you were involved and Miss Hell insisted Victor had brought the bag with him. I had no choice but to allow the cogs of justice to roll forward without interference. However, I have spoken to my men about certain aspects, and I have fired one.”

  “Who?”
/>
  Vic sighed and forced herself to speak up. “I don’t believe the men who interviewed me should be fired, sir. They did their job very well. Good work should never be punished.”

  Stone smiled at her. “Thank you, Victor. I appreciate hearing that. The man fired interrogated Xavier.”

  “Don’t thank my employee. I’m in the process of teaching him no good deed goes unpunished. Show the inspector your fingers, Victor.”

  Vic held out her hands.

  “My men didn’t do this, did they?”

  “No, I got them from typing letters.”

  “Hundreds of letters,” Xavier replied. “All so a few good men could return to being good men.”

  Stone placed his hand on the box. “Did you find out who Conrad is?”

  “Victor not only found out who Conrad is, but Candor as well. Do you remember his observation Candor was simply Conrad misspelled?”

  “No,” Stone replied.

  “I made the observation in your office, sir, not here,” Vic reminded him.

  “Well, you would have ignored it if he had made the observation here. Intuitively, Victor knew the answer, before he began, which is why he wanted to see your file on Candor.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Stone asked Vic.

  Xavier answered before she had a chance to reply. “Two reasons: first, we still lacked evidence, which you so stubbornly insist upon, and second, you could have done nothing with the information, even if you had received it.”

  “But I can now.” Stone smiled at Victor.

  “Do not smile at my employee again, Stone. I do not wish him to forget no good deed goes unpunished. If you start rewarding him for good work, he’ll probably spend all his spare time obtaining evidence on several child molesters and serial killers who were also set free by those blistered fingers.”

  “Will you run through the key points of your research for me?” Stone asked.

  Vic joined him at the box, pulling out data and explaining its importance in the trail from Candor to Conrad. When she finished, Stone remained quiet for several moments as he reviewed certain documents.