Thief of Shadows

Page 43

Winter stepped back, blinking. “Take care, Joseph.”
The boy’s eyes were sparkling. “I will, sir.” He ran into the home, but an instant later poked his head outside the door again. “And I’ll write you, sir. I promise.”
He was gone then and Winter stared at the door, his throat thick, wondering when next he’d see Joseph Tinbox again. Would the boy thank him for sending him to sea? Or curse him?
Winter tilted back his head, feeling the first ice-cold drops of rain spatter against his face. Either way, he’d make the same decision again.
“I thought I’d had your word to leave the home, Makepeace.” Viscount d’Arque’s voice came from behind him.
“You do, my lord.” Winter turned slowly, gesturing to the closed kitchen door. “You’ll notice that I’m on the outside of the home.”
D’Arque stood with his friends the Earl of Kershaw and Mr. Seymour in the alley behind him.
The viscount grunted suspiciously. “Well, see that you stay away. I can always renege on this bargain.”
“No, you can’t,” Winter said pleasantly. “You gave your word as a gentleman. Renege and I’ll make sure the news that you broke your word is in every breakfast room by noon the next day.”
D’Arque looked startled by the sudden steel in Winter’s voice. Good. The man needed to learn that he couldn’t play with lives.
Mr. Seymour cleared his throat. “If you’re not here to visit the home, Mr. Makepeace, then why are you here?”
“I believe I could ask the same of you,” Winter said. “I do notice both you and Lord Kershaw hanging about the place quite a lot.”
Lord Kershaw stiffened, clearly offended by Winter’s familiar tone, but Mr. Seymour merely smiled sheepishly. “You’ll have to forgive us gentlemen of leisure, Mr. Makepeace. An orphanage is quite fascinating in its own way. ’Sides, we heard that the Ghost of St. Giles delivered a pack of feral children here the night before last. Kershaw and I thought we’d see what it was about.”
“Ah, then your mission is not so very different from my own,” Winter replied. “I’m interested in finding out who was holding these children. To that end, I thought I’d search again the place where the Ghost found them.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Seymour looked eager. “You know where they were found by the Ghost?”
Winter nodded, watching the man. Only Seymour seemed interested in the illegal workshop. Kershaw was yawning and d’Arque merely stared into space as if thinking of something else.
“Then with your permission I would like to accompany you and investigate the site as well,” Mr. Seymour said.
Winter frowned. “I had thought to go alone…”
“But two pairs of eyes are better than one, don’t you think?” Mr. Seymour asked.
“True.” Winter glanced at the other two gentlemen. “Would anyone else like to participate in our investigations?”
Looking bored and impatient, d’Arque, shook his head. Lord Kershaw raised his eyebrows haughtily. “I think not.”
Winter nodded and turned to Mr. Seymour. “Then shall we proceed?”
“NO,” ISABEL SAID with all the authority she could muster, which as it happened, was quite a lot. It was early—much too early for fashionable calls—but Louise had arrived just after Isabel had risen.
Louise’s pretty eyes opened wide. “But I’m Christopher’s mother. He should be with me.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought at first as well,” Isabel murmured as she poured tea. She’d invited Louise into her sitting room to discuss Christopher. “But then I considered the matter and realized that wasn’t quite true.”
Louise blinked. “You can’t mean I’m not his mother.”
“In a way I do, actually.” Isabel held out the teacup and the other woman took it absently. “You see, Christopher has lived with me ever since he was a baby. I provided for him, saw that he was clothed and fed and had a competent nanny, and lately I’ve enjoyed his company as well. You, on the other hand, see him once a month, if that, and have never thought to inquire about his welfare.”
“I… I’ve been busy.” Louise’s mouth looked mutinous.
“Of course you have,” Isabel soothed. This next bit was going to be tricky. “But that’s just it, don’t you see? You have a busy social life with so many things to do. Do you really want a little boy around, getting in your way?”
Louise’s brows drew together.
“And I”—Isabel waved her hand, indicating her town house—“have this great empty house. It just makes sense that I keep Christopher and raise him. And besides, I’ve come to love him.”
Louise’s brow cleared. “Well, since you put it like that…”
“Oh, I do,” Isabel murmured. “Have some more tea.”
“Thank you.” Louise stared down at her cup, looking very young. “I can visit him still, can’t I?”
Isabel smiled, relieved and so happy she felt like twirling about the room. Instead she said, “I’m sure Christopher would like that.”
Fifteen minutes later, Isabel watched as Butterman shut the door behind Louise.
She turned to the butler. “Has my carriage been called?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Good. Please inform Pinkney that I wish to go out.”
She paced restlessly until the lady’s maid appeared and then hurriedly entered her carriage. The ride to St. Giles was uneventful, which made her even more impatient when at last they arrived.
Isabel stepped down from her carriage outside the home and found herself looking around eagerly for Winter. Silly! Just because he wasn’t at her house—had gone out without a word to her, in fact—didn’t mean he’d left her. Of course, his bag was gone, too, but one ought not to panic over that. He’d left behind his clothes—what there were of them—and surely such a frugal man wouldn’t just abandon wearable clothes.
Would he?
She took a deep breath, steadying herself before she mounted the steps to the home. Harold followed at a discreet distance behind her. She’d thought they’d reached a new accord last night, but perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps, despite his protestations, she’d driven him away with her theatrics. Wretched thought!
Well, she could at least inspect the home while she was here. Lady Hero, Amelia, and the younger Lady Caire were all still away; Lady Phoebe was a girl and could hardly act alone. That left her to see if Lady Penelope was dressing all the boys in primrose coats or making the children march in circles or any other idea that flew into her scattered brain.
Isabel knocked on the front door.
Usually it was opened at once, but there was a very long wait this morning. Isabel tapped her toe, glanced at the sky to see if it was about to rain, and started when something crashed inside.
She raised her eyebrows at the still-shut door.
Which suddenly opened. One of the smaller girls—oddly still in her night rail—stood there with her thumb in her mouth, staring at Isabel mutely.
Isabel cleared her throat. “Where is everyone, darling?”
The child pointed down the hall behind her.
Well. Isabel raised her skirts and prepared to enter.
“Shall I stay out here, my lady?” Harold asked anxiously.
Isabel looked at him and then back into the home from which an odd screeching sound was coming. “I think you’d better come in with me. You, too, Pinkney.”
The lady’s maid had been loitering near the bottom of the steps but now climbed them reluctantly.
The hallway looked normal enough—if one discounted the long smear of something green at child height. Isabel peered closer. The smear looked suspiciously like pea soup. The sitting room was empty—except for a broken bowl on the floor—and the kitchen seemed normal enough save for the angry muttering of Mistress Medina. Something thundered across the ceiling overhead, and Isabel picked up her skirts and hurried up the stairs.
She was nearly to the top when Soot came tearing past, closely followed by Dodo, trailing a long red ribbon tied around her neck. They went roaring down the stairs, and then Isabel heard the scrabbling of dog and kitty claws on the marble floor below before a scream and a crash from the kitchen.
Oh, dear.
She ran the rest of the way up the stairs and to the first classroom, skidding to a stop in the doorway and ducking only just in time as a small missile went whizzing past her head.
Sadly, Harold wasn’t so quick.
“Ow!” Harold picked up something from the floor. “They’re flinging walnuts, the little buggers!”
Pinkney clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle a giggle.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Harold,” Isabel said faintly, for she was busy staring in horror at the classroom. Who knew that such well-mannered, sweet children could do… well, this.
To one side, a pitched battle was going on between some of the younger boys, apparently without any rules at all, for they were using slingshots, pillows, and what looked like the remains of their breakfast porridge. On the other side of the room, relative quiet reigned as the babies who could just walk intently painted the wall with more porridge and what looked like jam. In the middle, a bunch of girls had made a maze of tables and benches and were busy hopping from one to the other, screeching at the top of their lungs.
And in the midst of all this, Lady Penelope stood, her face a mask of stunned confusion. “Children,” she pleaded. “Children, please.”
As Isabel watched, a glob of porridge hit Lady Penelope’s lovely hair and stuck, sliding a bit over her left ear.
Naturally, Isabel started forward, ready to confiscate slingshots, yank girls down from tables, and wash a passel of babies. She opened her mouth, about to give a stern command… and then she thought about what she was doing. If she saved Lady Penelope now, helped her run the home and discipline the children, then there would never be a need to call Winter back to the home.
“Oh, Lady Beckinhall!” Lady Penelope had caught sight of her. She held out dainty white hands pitifully. “Surely you know what to do with children? I sent Artemis down to fetch Lord d’Arque or Nell or the cook or one of the maids or anyone, but she hasn’t returned. You don’t think they’ve captured her, do you? Tied her up and stuffed her under a bed?”
Lady Penelope essayed a laugh, but it came out more a frightened titter.
Isabel looked at her gravely. “I’m sure I have no experience with children, my lady, but in any case I wouldn’t be able to help. Mr. Makepeace has only ever been the one who could control these children. Didn’t you know? They come from St. Giles.”
“But… but…” Lady Penelope raised her hands to her head and unfortunately found the porridge stuck there. She let out a scream that for the moment made all the children pause.
Isabel backed from the room. “Oh, dear. I expect I should go find Miss Greaves, oughtn’t I?”
She whirled and was halfway to the stairs before she heard the wail from Lady Penelope. “Waaaiiit!”
Isabel climbed back down the stairs much more sedately than she’d come up, Harold and Pinkney trailing along silently. She tried the sitting room again first, and then went back to the kitchens.
Miss Greaves sat at the kitchen table with the cook, a pot of tea between them. Miss Greaves leaped to her feet at the sight of Isabel. “Oh, my lady. I was just… just…”
“Having tea, it looks like,” Isabel said soothingly. “I wouldn’t mind a cup myself. Harold, can you find Lord d’Arque for me and request he come speak to me?”
The footman nodded and trotted from the kitchen.
“Now, then.” Isabel sat and poured herself a cup of tea before glancing up at the cook and Miss Greaves. “How long has it been like this?”