Mr. Ludwig crawled away from Duncan’s outstretched hand. “Good grief, what is wrong with you?”
Duncan lowered the hand Mr. Ludwig had refused and straightened his waistcoat instead, which had ridden up, exposing an inch of his shirt underneath. “You cannot change time by changing the clock, nor can you change rules for your own gratification, Mr. Ludwig.” He pointed at the victimized clock. “Both practices cheat the partners of your time. It is my responsibility as senior junior clerk to ensure honesty and punctuality.”
He walked to the clock, but then remembered he needed to verify the time on his pocket watch, which Mr. Ludwig had thrown to the opposite side of the room. He changed course, and Mr. Ludwig crawled quickly out of Duncan’s path.
Duncan picked up the watch and flipped open the battered cover before raising it to his ear. He smiled with relief and made eye contact with Mr. Ludwig. “You are lucky that it is still working, otherwise I would have demanded you pay for the repair. This is a verge fusee and was used by my father when he served in the King’s navy.”
He walked back to the clock and compared it to his pocket watch. He adjusted the hands back to the proper time of 5:49. Duncan preferred clocks with a minute hand and was glad that the one at the office had one.
When he turned back, he saw Mr. Ludwig was standing but still staring at him, in what Duncan interpreted as a slightly cowering posture.
“There is a trickle of blood coming from your nose,” Duncan said as he crossed back to his desk. “You have five minutes to see to it in the washroom, then I expect you back at your desk. We will stay until 6:40 to make up for the lost time of this altercation and necessary cleanup.” Duncan was entrusted with the office keys, so he would have to stay late as well, but then he usually stayed late proofing and correcting Mr. Ludwig’s work.
Mr. Ludwig left the room without saying a word, but Duncan did not understand why he took his coat and hat with him. At 6:08, Duncan went to check on him on the washroom, but there was no indication Mr. Ludwig had even gone to the back of the office. Perhaps Mr. Ludwig had thought Duncan meant that he should see to his injury in the washroom at the apartments he shared with his wife a few blocks away. Duncan should have been clearer in his instructions, but the miscommunication did not change the fact that Mr. Ludwig had still cheated the partners of his time.
Duncan worked until nearly seven o’clock on the Carillon account. Mr. Ludwig had been the original clerk assigned to copy the figures, but he had scratched out two mistakes, which was unacceptable for a clean copy. Mr. Cromley, Mr. Ludwig’s uncle, had told Duncan several months ago to stop bringing complaints to him about Mr. Ludwig, specifying that he was running out of patience with Duncan’s dissatisfaction. Well, Duncan was losing patience with staying late at the office; Elizabeth was ornery when he finally arrived home and would sometimes snub him for the whole of the evening. Mr. Ludwig was coming to work late more often too, which did not bother Elizabeth but certainly contributed to Duncan’s late hours.
More and more often, Duncan found himself considering how things might be different if he were the one setting hours and expectations. If he owned the Burrow Building, he could open his own accounting office and finish his work at the same time every evening. Elizabeth would like that, too.
However, the only way he could own the building would be if he received the inheritance from Lord Howardsford, which required he marry a woman of genteel birth. There were some women at church who fit the parameters, but he had tried several times over the years to speak to them, and it had never produced satisfying results. Women, he had determined, did not generally like him. Elizabeth, Delores, and Hazel seemed to be the only exceptions. He did not want to marry a woman who did not like him, and he was quite sure Elizabeth would not like for him to be married any more than Duncan would. What if the woman he married did not like Elizabeth?
Duncan finished his work and tidied first his desk and then Mr. Ludwig’s, which was always left scattered and unaligned. He retrieved his coat and hat from the rack designated for his articles, exited the office, and locked the door.
Three doors down from Perkins & Cromley was Ye Old Pub, where Delores had his dinner wrapped in paper and waiting for him, a daily service for which he paid her weekly each Monday. He thanked her and went out again—it was very loud in the pub in the evenings.
Delores had been Catherine’s friend first, but then Catherine had died, and now Delores was Duncan’s friend. She liked to talk to him about his problems and sometimes gave him advice on how to rectify a situation that had gone awry, but she knew that he did not like to linger when the pub was busy so he knew it would not hurt her feelings that he had left so quickly. The door just east of the pub was painted dark brown. He used another key on his ring to unlock it, then walked up the narrow stairs and unlocked the door on the right side of the small landing.
The door on the left side of the landing allowed entry into the rooms rented by Mr. MacDonald, who was a Scotsman. Duncan enjoyed talking to Mr. MacDonald about history as he was very well educated on the subject. Mr. MacDonald was a glover, so he knew quite a bit about fabrics and construction. He also had a fair mind for practical math, though he did not play number games.
Sometimes Mr. MacDonald would drink too much and become very sad about his wife who had left him. Duncan would make him strong coffee and make him eat bread, like he had learned to do with Catherine when she drank too much, and sit with him until he fell asleep. Sometimes it took most of the night, and Duncan would be very tired the next day, but Mr. MacDonald was his friend and very lonely without his wife, so Duncan did not complain and made sure to always have coffee and bread on hand.
This circumstance had not happened for nine days, which meant there was a high probability that Mr. MacDonald would get drunk in the next few days. He rarely went more than a fortnight. Duncan made a note to buy bread tomorrow and plan to eat dinner with Mr. MacDonald.
Elizabeth was waiting when Duncan let himself into the apartment and immediately began vocalizing her complaints at his lateness.
“I know, I know,” Duncan placated as he tried to cross the floor despite her determination to prevent it. “It was Mr. Ludwig again. He is as useful as a box of rocks—good for propping open a door but not much else.” He smiled at his joke and looked at Elizabeth for a reaction, but she only blinked her green eyes and yowled again.
“I punched him in the nose today,” Duncan said, still feeling a bit of a rush about it. Da had started teaching Duncan how to hit when he was five years old, teaching him more techniques of defending himself as Duncan grew older. Catherine had expressed concern over Da encouraging violence, but Da had said, “If there’s ever been a boy who needs to stand up for himself, it’s Duncan. He’ll be drawing the wrong sort of attention all his life.” Back then, Duncan hadn’t understood how he was any different than other boys, but as he’d grown older, he’d become more aware.
Duncan appreciated routine and rules, he was not shy about sharing what he knew, and he did not feel the penchant for gossip and small talk that wasted so much time. He believed in working hard and finding one’s own amusement rather than expecting other people to entertain him, and he was quick to point out when rules were broken. Those differences often led other boys to assault him out of irritation or annoyance or just not understanding Duncan’s position.