As she closed the book, the children grumbled in disappointment.
“Oh, please, Lady Emily, couldn’t we ’ear another story?” a young lad seated toward the front asked.
“I’m sorry, Will, but I’m afraid it’s almost time for lunch.” Her gaze went to Peter, cool and unreadable. “And it seems we have a visitor you might want to say hello to.”
As one, the children all turned, and upon seeing Peter they let out glad cries and jumped to their feet.
Before he could move or say a word, he was instantly surrounded by a laughing, chattering group of boys and girls, each one vying for his attention.
“Oh, Peter, you’re ’ere!”
“Did you bring us anything, Peter?”
“I want to ’ear all about that murderer you captured! I bet you bloody well showed ’im not to mess wiv Bow Street, didn’t you?”
“Children, please.” Peter looked up to see Rachel McLean, a plump, dark-haired woman with kind brown eyes, coming toward them, shaking her head in fond exasperation. “You must give him a chance to breathe. I’m sure he’ll be glad to answer all your questions. But Lady Emily is correct. Right now it is time for luncheon.”
She turned to Peter with a warm smile. “I’m so glad you stopped by, dear. You will be joining us for lunch, won’t you?”
He clasped her hand and raised it to his lips with a jaunty grin. “My dear lady, I assure you I would feel quite deprived if I wasn’t invited.” He winked at the children. “And I promise I shall fill you all in on every bloody detail of my London exploits. I’m sure you’ll want to hear all about the time I chased the notorious Nine-fingered Ned into the sewers and brought him to justice with the business end of my trusty knife blade. I keep one of his nine fingers in a jar next to my bed, don’t you know?”
They all cheered, and Mrs. McLean rolled her eyes. “Saints preserve us, they’ll all be having nightmares.” She shooed the group on their way with both hands. “All right, then. Back to the Park so we can all wash up.”
They all started to troop up the lawn toward the house, their voices raised in excitement, and Peter turned to find Emily coming toward him, her storybook tucked under one arm.
Tilting her head, she looked up at him with a raised brow. “Nine-fingered Ned?”
He shrugged. “They’re a bloodthirsty lot. I’m afraid they’d find the real tales of what I do rather boring.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
There was an instant of silence, then Peter cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets, not quite certain how to go about phrasing what he wanted to say next. “About last night…I want to apologize—”
Emily’s expression closed up. “I’d rather not discuss last night, if you don’t mind,” she interrupted him, her jaw tightening visibly. “It would be better if we both put it in the past and pretend it never happened.” She narrowed her eyes, holding his gaze with her own as if trying to convey the seriousness of her conviction. “And I’m certain we’ll both make sure it never happens again.”
Though he’d intended to tell her the very same thing, Peter couldn’t help but feel a sharp spurt of anger at her words. She spoke with such assurance. Would it be that easy for her to forget what had passed between them? “Yes. Of course. I was just going to say that myself, as a matter of fact.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree.” There was another short span of silence, and when she spoke again some of the tension seemed to have seeped out of her. “Why are you here, Mr. Quick? Not that I’m unhappy you’ve stopped by to see the children, but I can’t help but feel that’s not the only reason you’ve come.”
So they were back to Mr. Quick. Last night she’d called him Peter. “It’s not. Langley said you would be here, and I was hoping to talk you into coming with me to visit Lord and Lady Fulberry later this afternoon. The sooner I interview them, the sooner I can start making some progress on this case.”
Emily crossed her arms, hugging the book against her chest as she studied him. Then she gave an affirmative nod. “Certainly. We can depart first thing after lunch, if you would like.”
She began to turn away, but before she’d gone more than a step or two after the others, something stronger than his need to keep distance between them compelled him to call her back, to hold on to her company for just a moment longer.
“Seeing you read to the children brings back memories.”
She froze mid-step at his statement. “Oh?”
“Mmm.” He strode forward to stand next to her once again. “I can remember watching you read to the Rag-Tags all those years ago, the looks on their faces as you carried them off to a different place and time with the power of your words. For just a short while they could believe they were someone else, living a better life.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “You made a difference in our lives then, Emily, and I never thanked you for that.”
He watched as pearly white teeth sank into her lower lip, her expression uncertain as she examined every inch of his features. Could she take nothing he said at face value?
As if she had finally determined the sincerity of his words, her mouth slowly curved in a genuine smile. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s something I enjoyed doing. Something I still enjoy doing.” She indicated the book in her arms with an inclination of her head. “I try to come and read to the children here at Willow Park at least once a week. And I usually spend an hour or so working with a few of them on their reading and writing skills if I have the time. They’re so eager to learn.”
“I’m sure they all appreciate your help. I know the McLeans do. They were just telling me the other night at dinner that they didn’t know what they would do without you, especially since Deirdre has been unable to be available as much of late due to her current difficulties.”
Emily flushed and looked away. “Yes, well…thank you for saying so.” Tightening her hold on her book, she glanced toward the house, where the rest of the group had just reached the circular drive. “I suppose we’d best hurry if we don’t want to be late for luncheon.”
Peter nodded, but just as he started to fall into step beside her, a slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Looking back, he noticed for the first time that someone occupied a tree stump farther back in the grove of willows, several feet away from the place where the rest of the children had been sitting to listen to Emily’s story.
Benji.
As usual, the young man’s nose was buried in a book, but his posture was stiff and guarded, as if daring anyone to come near him.
“Why don’t you go ahead, Lady Emily,” Peter suggested, his brow furrowing as he studied the lad’s closed expression. “I’ll join you shortly, but I see someone I need to speak with first.”
Emily took note of the direction of his gaze and her eyes clouded. Peter braced himself for her disapproval. After her reaction the other night, he was well aware how she felt about his interference in any matter involving Benji.
But she surprised him.
“If you can,” she said softly, “please try to talk him into joining us for lunch? He’s been avoiding the rest of the children for the last several weeks, and I can’t believe that it’s good for him to be alone so much.”
He nodded, then waited for her to walk away before he started toward Benji.
The boy must have heard his footsteps in the grass, for he closed his book and looked up as Peter approached him, his eyebrows arching above his glasses in an expectant manner. “Finally decided to pay us a visit, did you?”
There was no missing the sarcasm in Benji’s tone. Peter crouched down on his haunches next to the lad and propped his elbows on his knees, struggling to come up with the right words to say. “You should know I would never return to Little Haverton without stopping by to see all of you. This is my home, my family.”
Benji lifted a shoulder in a careless manner, but didn’t reply.
For a second or two, all was quiet, the only sound the twitter of
birds in the trees overhead. Then Peter spoke again. “You know, Lady Emily was hoping you’d join us for lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Perhaps not, but she says you’ve been keeping to yourself for the last few weeks, and she’s worried about you. They all are. It might put their minds at ease if you would at least attempt to be a bit sociable. This separating yourself from everyone isn’t like you.”
A muscle tightened in Benji’s jaw and he looked away, gazing out over the pond. The silence stretched, and Peter was just beginning to think he would have to prod the boy again when he spoke.
“I don’t belong with them.”
The words were said so inaudibly that at first Peter wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly. When the statement finally registered, he felt his jaw drop in astonishment.
“Don’t belong? Benji, you belong here just as much as anyone. Why would you say such a thing?”
The boy shook his head and reached up to rake his fingers through his blond curls. “It’s just something I’ve always known. But lately—” He stopped, then gathered up his book and got to his feet, his eyes bleak behind the lenses of his spectacles. “Forget it. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“But it might help if—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
With that, Benji stormed off in the direction of Willow Park, leaving Peter staring after him.
Chapter 12
Over two hours later, Emily found herself riding alongside Peter as they made their way toward Lord and Lady Fulberry’s home on the outskirts of Little Haverton.
Reaching up with one hand, she brushed a stray curl back off her forehead, her bonnet having long ago tumbled off to hang down her back by its strings, and contemplated her companion from the corner of her eye.
He was such an enigma to her, she mused. Long ago she’d come to the conclusion that he couldn’t possibly have been the sort of man her young heart had once believed him to be. That he couldn’t honestly have cared for her and her family or anyone at Willow Park or he would never have left Oxfordshire—and her—the way that he had, without a word of explanation.
But observing him today, she’d been forced to concede that she just might have been mistaken in her assumptions. At least as far as the Willow Park residents were concerned. Talking and laughing with them at the lunch table, regaling them with tales of his life as a Bow Street runner, he’d seemed so happy, so content. To her consternation, he’d fit in as if he’d never left. And it was obvious the boys and girls adored him. To them, he was their hero. Just as he had once been hers.
Never before could Emily remember feeling so confused.
For the rest of their visit to the Park, she’d found herself unable to keep her eyes from this man who had caused such an upheaval in her life, both four years ago and in the last few days since his return. It was as if some strange magnetic pull beyond her control drew her gaze to him.
And more than one person had noticed her preoccupation with him. She’d seen Mrs. McLean send her several knowing looks, and Jenna had even pulled her aside before she and Peter had departed to comment on it.
“You keep staring at ’im like a cat at the cream,” her friend had pointed out with a sly grin as they’d watched him saying good-bye to everyone.
“What utter nonsense,” Emily had sniffed, deliberately turning her back on the sight of Peter as he’d shaken hands with Rachel McLean’s big, redheaded husband, Angus. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t. But you know, it might not be so terrible if you was to give ’im another chance.”
“Another chance to what? Break my heart? Leave me behind again without a second thought? I don’t think so.”
Jenna’s face had turned solemn. “Em, Peter’s a good man. If nothing else, seeing ’im with the children today should ’ave proven that. Everyone seems to love ’im. Even your brother and ’is wife like ’im. Shouldn’t that tell you something?”
It didn’t matter that her friend had only been repeating what she herself had been thinking. She wasn’t quite ready to accept that her judgment of him could have been so far off the mark. “I don’t know, Jenna. I don’t know what to think.”
“I ’ate to say it, but maybe you ought to just come right out and ask ’im why ’e left.” The younger girl had laid a sympathetic hand on Emily’s arm. “Until you do, it will always be there between you. And you never know. ’E might ’ave ’ad a very good reason for what ’e did. Doesn’t ’e at least deserve the benefit of the doubt?”
Jenna’s words echoed in her head now, and Emily scowled, her hands tightening on her reins. There had been more than ample opportunity over the years for Peter to explain his actions to her, but he had never gone out of his way to do so. Obviously it hadn’t been that important to him or he wouldn’t have spent his past visits to Oxfordshire avoiding her.
But you never sought him out, either, Emily, a little voice in the back of her mind hissed. You never bothered to ask him for his side of the story.
But did she really want to know the answer? Did she really want to find out that the reason behind his hasty departure from Little Haverton had nothing to do with a lack of caring on his part, and everything to do with her?
At one time, Peter had given her every reason to believe they would be spending the rest of their lives together. But somewhere along the way, things had come undone. Perhaps he had changed his mind and decided he didn’t want her after all. But if that had been the case, why hadn’t he come to her and told her the truth?
She didn’t know. The only thing she was certain of was that it was getting harder and harder to ignore the feelings he was still capable of stirring in her. And after that kiss last night…
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Peter’s warm, husky voice jolted Emily out of her reverie, and she gave a startled jump before taking a deep breath to steady her suddenly fluttering pulse. Certain her face must be an alarming shade of red, she turned to look at him, praying that he would think the sun was responsible for the color in her cheeks.
“I was just wondering about your conversation with Benji,” she said, attempting to keep her voice calm and even. It wasn’t a complete lie. She had been worrying about what had transpired between the two of them at the pond after she had left them. Peter hadn’t mentioned it and the boy had never reappeared. “He never did join us for lunch.”
“No. He made it clear he wasn’t interested in doing so.”
Glad to have something else to turn her mind to, she sighed and shook her head. “I just don’t understand it. Benji has always been so cheerful, so willing to spend time with the other children, especially the younger ones. Now, all of a sudden he can’t stay far enough away from them.” She bit her lip. “You don’t suppose it has something to do with the robberies, do you?”
“I don’t know. It could. I’m assuming Constable Jenkins has questioned him?”
“Once, along with a couple of the other older boys. But the odious man spent the whole time trying to intimidate one of them into confessing, so Tristan wouldn’t allow it again.” She would never forgive herself if what she was doing had led to Benji’s present moroseness. She could well see how being suspected of a crime he’d had nothing to do with could make the boy resentful. Especially when he’d struggled so hard to better himself.
Peter frowned. “Sooner or later, I may have to question them again, if only to make sure I’ve covered all the same ground the constable has. But I don’t believe for a minute that Benji had anything to do with it. Or any of the other children, for that matter. This thief is more than likely an adult. Someone who knows his marks personally and knows them well.”
Emily felt herself go cold at his words. “What makes you say that?”
“For one, he seems to be well aware of the routines of his victims. He knew what night Lord and Lady Tuttleston would be away from home and used that to his adv
antage. And from what Constable Jenkins has told me, Lord and Lady Fulberry always throw a rather large dinner party the week before they are scheduled to depart for London every Season. I think the thief deliberately chose that night to break in knowing that they, as well as their servants, would be occupied seeing to their guests.”
He was getting much too close, Emily thought with a flare of panic. Uncomfortably close. “But couldn’t anyone determine that just by asking a few subtle questions here and there, or by observing the victims for a while? I mean, isn’t it possible the culprit could be someone unknown to the victims?”
One of Peter’s tawny eyebrows shot upward and he studied her with interest as he replied. “Perhaps. But there is also the fact that the thief appears to know exactly where each of the victims kept their valuables and went straight to their location, something that wouldn’t be common knowledge. In the case of the Tuttlestons, he had something specific in mind. Lady Tuttleston’s necklace. And whoever it was knew she kept it in her jewelry box, not her husband’s safe.”
“A servant might have that kind of information,” Emily insisted, determined to offer up at least a measure of doubt as to his theory.
“True. And I haven’t ruled them out. But all of Lord and Lady Tuttleston’s servants have alibis for the time of the break-in. Of course, that doesn’t eliminate the possibility that they could be working with someone on the outside, someone they passed their information on to. And if I can compare that scrap of cloth I found to some of their clothing, I might luck out and find a match. Although I doubt the thief will wear the same clothing during the day as he does during his break-ins.”
“We still don’t even know whether that scrap has anything to do with the thief,” Emily argued. “It could have been blown there from somewhere else entirely.”
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