Page 3 of Copper Script
“It’s an aggregate of impressions,” Wildsmith said.“Your writing betrays your past, your character, the mood you were in at the time.I need a page at minimum to get a sufficient feel.”
“And what do you do this for?”Aaron enquired.
“Money.It’s ten shillings per half hour.”
“I meant, what’s the purpose of your service?”
Wildsmith leaned back in his chair.“That depends on the client.Sometimes people want to know more about prospective employees, or spouses.Maybe you can’t get along with a colleague and you don’t understand why.I can give you an insight into their feelings that might help you.”
“Based on what?You say it’s a scientific study, but what’s your qualification?”
“Are you here under duress, Mr.Thurloe?”Wildsmith asked.
“I beg your pardon?No, I’m not.”
“You chose to approach me.I didn’t solicit you, and nobody is forcing you to believe in my work or use my services.You’re welcome to ask questions, but a bit less aggression, if you please.”
Aaron took a steadying breath.“Excuse me.You came highly recommended, but I can’t help feeling sceptical.”
Wildsmith tilted his head, acknowledging the words rather than accepting an apology they both knew Aaron hadn’t made.“To answer your question, there is no degree course in graphology, though there are plenty of very well-researched works on the subject.I’m self taught.My clients serve as my references, and if you think I’m entirely off target, you can always refuse to pay.”
“You allow that?”
“I can’t easily stop you,” Wildsmith pointed out.“Why don’t you tell me what you’re after?If you tell me your concerns—if you’re considering people for a job, or a lodger, or what-have-you—I’m more easily able to look for what you want.”
Or what I want to hear,Aaron thought.“I’d rather not give details about the individuals.I’ve three letters I want to you to have a look at.”
“If you prefer,” Wildsmith said indifferently, and reached out his hand.Aaron made to pull the letters out, then paused.“Wait.What about the ethics of this?”
“What ethics?”
That said it all.“You’re reading private communications for one thing.And you’re passing judgement on people you haven’t met, who haven’t consented to have you look at their hands.”
“If you think the materials ought to stay private, don’t show them to me.You chose what to bring.I do guarantee discretion, and if it’s any help, I don’t much look at the words: it’s the shape of the letters, the feel of the hand that interests me.And as for passing judgement—you’ve come here for me to do this.If you have qualms, the door is behind you.”
“You don’t have qualms?”
“I have rent.”
Blunt, not to say a touch aggressive.He had what Aaron’s father would have calledfront, a way of meeting the world jaw-first.Aaron had no objection to that; he found bluntness more appealing than charm.Not to mention that Wildsmith’s presentation of himself as a practical man doing a job came across as more convincing than any amount of highfaluting scientific claims.
Wildsmith probably knew that very well.
Aaron gave it a second, allowing himself to look torn, then he handed over the first paper.
Wildsmith took his time, those light brown eyes—ochre, Aaron thought might be the word—roaming over the text for several minutes.His mouth moved slightly, so far as Aaron could tell under the horrible moustache.The silence stretched.Aaron was good at silence, and very capable of sitting in a room with a suspect till their nerve broke, but he had to admit that Wildsmith was doing an excellent job of ignoring him completely.
He looked around the room again.It really was bare.His own digs weren’t precisely cosy, but he had a photograph of his sister’s wedding, and a reproduction Constable on the wall.Admittedly that had been a gift from his sister as a joke when he joined the police force, and he only hung it out of habit, but it was there.
Wildsmith looked up at last, and scrunched his face up, as if blinking something away.Aaron thought it looked affected.
“This is a very decent man,” he said.“I assume man, the hand looks extremely—”
“Man, yes.”
“He’s—what’s the word—stolid.I think he’s the sort of fellow you could tell about a problem in confidence, though I don’t know if he’d come up with any particular ideas himself to fix it because he’s not imaginative at all.Really not.Almost whatever the opposite of imaginative might be, actually.”He squinted at the paper.“I bet he’s terrifically practical in whatever he does.Probably he’s good with his hands.In personal terms, I expect he’d be a solid friend.Maybe you wouldn’t go to him for advice on your love affair, but I expect he’d buy you a pint while you talked about it.Not a romantic husband, I wouldn’t think, but a useful one.How can I put this: I bet he’s never bought his wife flowers in his life, but he’d happily dig her a rose bed if she wanted one.”
Aaron felt himself jolt, and cursed internally as those bright, light eyes caught the motion.Wildsmith gave it a second without comment, as if waiting for him to speak, then moved on.“At work, this is probably one of Nature’s NCOs.He won’t come up with brilliant new ideas that change everything, but he will make sure it runs to the best of his ability.I wouldn’t expect him to handle disagreements with any particular flair, but I doubt you’ll find him in a fight either.Insults tend to bounce off men this self-sufficient.In a word, he’s reliable.”
