Page 87 of Beyond the Cottage

Ansel continued grinning across the sword. The woman stared back warily, as though he might be an actual lunatic.

“Listen to your friend,” she said.

Ansel widened his smile. “You’re wondering if I’m right in the head.” He gripped the blade, nearly drawing blood from his palm. “I’m not. If your sword comes within a foot of her again, I’ll snap your neck before you have time to swing it.”

“Just leave it,” Gretta said, tugging his arm. He remained where he stood.

Shrugging, the woman lowered her sword. “Fair enough. If she gives me trouble, I’ll take it out on you.”

With a final unhinged look, Ansel let Gretta pull him away.

“Okey dokey,” the woman said. “Frisk them and search their bags.”

Her companion patted them down, and after lifting a meager wad of cash from Ansel’s boot, he relieved Gretta and Philip of their money and pocket watches.

“Have a seat, friends,” he said.

Philip claimed an armchair. Gretta dropped to the chaise. As rational thought sluggishly returned, Ansel sat beside her and whispered, “Closer to me.”

She scooted nearer until their legs shielded the case.

“What have we got so far?” the woman asked over her shoulder.

Elbow deep in Philip’s luggage, the man replied, “More cash. A pearl-handled razor. A gold pen.” The items went into a burlap sack, and he descended on Gretta’s bag. “Hoo-boy, spun silver!”

Gretta squeezed her eyes shut.

“There, there,” the woman said. “If you can afford this fancy car, you can afford to replace a few baubles.”

“We’re not rich,” Gretta snapped. “Even if we were, it wouldn’t give you the right to steal our shit.”

A tinny snort came from the helmet. Keeping an eye on them, the woman opened a cabinet and desk drawers. When she ducked to look under the chairs, Gretta’s legs shifted.

To no avail.

“What’s that under your seat, handsome?”

“Nothing of value,” Ansel grated.

“Funny it’s the only thing you bothered to hide. Take it out and show it to me.”

Gretta’s muscles went taut beside his, but there was nothing for it. He hauled the case out and placed it on his lap.

“Open it.”

Jaw clenched, he obeyed.

The woman plucked out a bottle. The repellent shimmered in the sunlight, swirling like a galaxy of liquefied stars. “Pretty. What is it?”

“…Perfume,” Ansel said. “I’m a perfume salesman. It’s cheap stuff, but I felt compelled to protect my inventory.”

“He’s got babies to feed,” Gretta added. “That case is his entire livelihood. It’s on your conscience if his kids starve to death.”

The woman uncorked the bottle and took a sniff. “Doesn’t smell like perfume.”

“As I said, it’s cheap. I’ll…add more rose oil when we get home.”

“No need.” She recapped the bottle and slung the case over her shoulder.

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