only sound in the room the purring of the cat and Will eating his scone.
“As it happens,” she said slowly, “I’ve been thinking on these sheep
killings myself.” She pursed her lips. “Bad things they are and evil
because while it hurts the farmer, it merely bothers Lord Granville.
Seems to me that what you really should be asking, young man, is who has
the heart to do this.” Mistress Humboldt took a sip of tea.
Bennet started to speak. Harry shook his head.
“It takes a hard heart to not care that others are hurt along the way to
getting at the lord.” Mistress Humboldt tapped a shaking finger on her
knee to punctuate her point.
“A hard heart and a brave one as well. Lord Granville is the law and the
fist in this county, and whoever goes against him is gambling their very
life.”
“Who fits your description, Nanny?” Bennet leaned forward impatiently.
“I can think of two men that answer, at least in parts.” She wrinkled
her brow. “But neither are quite right.” She raised her teacup to her
lips with a wavering hand.
Bennet shifted in his chair, jiggled one leg up and down, and sighed.
Harry leaned forward in his own chair and selected a scone.
Bennet shot him an incredulous glare.
Harry raised his eyebrows as he bit into the scone.
“Dick Crumb,” the old woman said, and Harry lowered the scone. “A while
back, his sister, Janie, the one who’s weak in the head, was seduced by
the lord. A terrible thing, preying on that child-woman.” The corners of
Mistress Humboldt’s mouth crumpled in a frown. “And Dick, when he found
out, why, he nearly lost his head. Said he’d have killed him had it been
any man but the lord. Would have, too.”
Harry frowned. Dick hadn’t said he’d threatened Granville’s life, but
then what man would? Surely that by itself . . .
Mistress Humboldt held out her cup, and Bennet silently poured tea for
her and placed the cup back in her hand.
“But,” she continued, “Dick isn’t a mean man. Hard, yes, but not
hard-hearted. As for the other man—Mistress Humboldt looked in Bennet’s
direction—“perhaps it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
Bennet seemed bewildered. “What sleeping dogs?”
Will stopped eating. He looked between Bennet and the old woman. /Damn./
Harry had a feeling he knew what Mistress Humboldt was getting at.
Perhaps it would be better to leave it alone.
Bennet caught some of Harry’s unease. He leaned forward tensely, his
elbows on his knees, both heels tapping now. “Tell us.”
“Thomas.”
/Shit./ Harry looked away.
“Thomas who?” It seemed to hit Bennet all at once. He stopped moving for
a second, then exploded out of the chair, pacing in the tiny space
before the fire. “Thomas, my /brother?/” He laughed. “You can’t be
serious. He’s a . . . a /milksop./ He wouldn’t say nay to Father if he
told him the sun rose in the west and he shat pearls.”
The old woman compressed her lips at the profanity.
“I’m sorry, Nanny,” Bennet said. “But Thomas! He’s lived under my
father’s thumb so long he has calluses on his buttocks.”
“Yes, I know.” In contrast to the young man, Mistress Humboldt was calm.
She must have expected his reaction. Or maybe she was simply used to his
constant movement. “That’s exactly why I name him.”
Bennet stared.
“A man so long under his father’s power isn’t natural. Your father took
a dislike to Thomas when he was very young. I’ve never understood it.”
She shook her head. “Lord Granville hating his own son so thoroughly.”
“But even so, he’d never . . .” Bennet’s words trailed off, and he
abruptly turned away. Mistress Humboldt looked sad. “He might. You know
it ourself, Master Bennet. The way your father has treated him shows.
He’s like a tree trying to grow through a crack in a rock. Twisted. Not
quite right.”
“But—”
“Do you remember the mice he’d catch sometimes when he was a boy? I
found him once with one he’d caught. He’d cut off it’s feet. He was
watching it try to crawl.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Bennet muttered.
“I had to kill it. But then I couldn’t punish him, poor lad. His father
beat him enough already. I never saw him again with a mouse, but I don’t
think he stopped. He just got better at hiding it from me.”
“We don’t have to pursue this,” Harry said.
Bennet swung around, his eyes desperate. “And what if he is the sheep
poisoner? What if he kills someone else?”
His question hung in the air. No one could answer it but Bennet.
He seemed to realize it was up to him. He squared his broad shoulders.
“If it is Thomas, he’s murdered a woman. I need to stop him.”
Harry nodded. “I’ll talk to Dick Crumb.”
“Fine,” Bennet said. “You’ve helped us, Nanny. You see things nobody
else does.”
“Maybe not with my eyes anymore, but I always could read a person.”
Mistress Humboldt held out a wavering hand to her former charge.
Bennet grasped it.
“God save and protect you, Master Bennet,” she said. “It’s not an easy
task you have.”
Bennet leaned down to kiss the withered cheek. “Thank you, Nanny.” He
straightened and clapped Will on the shoulder. “We best be going, Will,
before you finish those last two scones.”
The old woman smiled. “Let the lad take the rest. It’s been so long
since I had a boy to feed.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Will stuffed the scones into his pockets.
She saw them to the door and stood and waved as they rode away.
“I’d forgotten how sharp Nanny is. Thomas and I could never get anything
past her.” Bennet’s face darkened when he spoke his brother’s name.
Harry glanced at him. “If you want, you can put off talking to Thomas
until tomorrow, after I’ve sounded out Dick Crumb. I’ll have to wait
until nightfall to find him, anyway. Best time to catch Dick is at the
Cock and Worm after ten o’clock.”
“No, I don’t want to wait another day to talk to Thomas. Better to do it
right away.”
They rode for a half mile or more in silence, Will clinging behind Bennet.
“So once we find whoever’s doing this,” Bennet said, “you’ll be leaving?”
“That’s right.” Harry watched the road ahead but could feel the other
man’s gaze on him.
“I was under the impression that you and Lady Georgina had an . . . uh .
. . understanding.”
Harry gave Bennet a look that usually shut a man up.
Not him.
“Because, I mean, it’s a bit thick, what? A fellow just up and leaving a
lady.”
“I’m not from her class.”
“Yes, but that obviously doesn’t matter to her, does it? Or she’d never
have taken up with you in the first
“I—”
“And if you don’t mind me being blunt, she must be pretty gone on you.”
Bennet looked him up and down as if he were a side of spoiled beef. “I
mean, y
ou don’t exactly have the sort of face that women swoon over.
More in my line, that.”
“Bennet—”
“Not to blow my own horn, but I could tell you quite a tale of a
delectable bird in London—”
/“Bennet.”/
“What?”
Harry nodded at Will, who was wide-eyed and listening to every word.
“Oh.” Bennet coughed. “Quite. Shall I see you tomorrow, then? We’ll meet
and exchange information.”
They had neared a copse of trees that marked where the main road crossed
the lane they traveled on.
“Fine.” Harry pulled his mare to a halt. “This is where I must turn off,
anyway. And Bennet?”
“Yes?” He turned his face and the sun fell full upon it, tracing the
laugh lines around his eyes.
“Be careful,” Harry said. “If it is Thomas, he’ll be dangerous.”
“You be careful as well, Harry.”
Harry nodded. “Godspeed.”
Bennet waved and rode off.
Harry spent the rest of the daylight hours laying low. When dusk fell,
he made his way to West Dikey and the Cock and Worm. He ducked his head
as he entered and scanned the crowd from under his low hat brim. A table
of farmers, smoking clay pipes in the corner, burst into boisterous
laughter. A weathered-looking barmaid dodged with practiced ease a heavy
hand aimed at her rump and made her way to the counter.
“Dick in tonight?” Harry bawled in her ear.
“Sorry, luv.” She pivoted and shouldered a tray of drinks. “Maybe later.”
Harry frowned and ordered a pint from the counterman, a lad he
remembered seeing once or twice before. Was Dick hiding in back or was
he really not in the building? He leaned on the wood counter while he
thought and watched a gentleman, obviously a traveler, judging from the
mud on his boots, enter and stare bemusedly around. The man’s face was
handsome but long and bland, rather like a goat’s. Harry shook his head.
The traveler must’ve missed the sign for the White Mare. He wasn’t the
Cock and Worm’s usual type of customer.
The boy slid Harry his mug of ale, and Harry rolled a few coins back. He
moved over and took a sip as the traveler came to the counter.
“Pardon me, but do you know the way to Woldsly Manor?”
Harry froze for a second, his mug at his lips. The stranger hadn’t paid
him any attention; he was leaning over the counter to the boy.
“Say again?” the boy shouted.
“Woldsly Manor,” the stranger raised his voice. “Lady Georgina
Maitland’s estate. I’m an intimate of her younger sister, Lady Violet. I
can’t seem to find the road—”
The boy’s gaze darted to Harry.
Harry clapped his hand on the other’s shoulder, making the stranger
start. “I can show you the way, friend, soon as I finish my ale.”
The man turned, his face brightening. “Would you?”
“No problem at all.” Harry nodded at the boy. “Another pint for my
friend here. I’m sorry, didn’t catch your name?”
“Wentworth. Leonard Wentworth.”
“Ah.” Harry suppressed a feral smile. “Let’s find a table, shall we?” As
the other man turned, Harry leaned over the counter and murmured urgent
instructions to the boy, then passed him a coin.
An hour later, when the middle Maitland brother strolled into the Cock
and Worm, Wentworth was on his fourth pint. Harry had been nursing his
second for some time now and felt as if he needed a bath. Wentworth had
been quite forthcoming about bedding a fifteen-year-old, his marriage
hopes, and what he would do with Lady Violet’s money once he got his
hands on it.
So it was with some relief that Harry spotted the red Maitland hair.
“Over here,” he shouted at the newcomer.
He’d only spoken to Lady Georgina’s middle brother once or twice, and
the man hadn’t been all that friendly. But all of Maitland’s animosity
was reserved for Harry’s companion at the moment. He made his way to
them with a look that would’ve sent Wentworth running, had be been sober.
“Harry.” The redheaded man nodded at him; only then did Harry remember
his name: Oscar.
“Maitland.” Harry nodded. “Like you to meet an acquaintance of mine,
Leonard Wentworth. Says he seduced your younger sister this last summer.”
Wentworth paled. “Now w-w-wait a—”
“Really?” Oscar drawled.
“Indeed,” Harry said. “He’s been telling me about his debts and how her
dowry will help settle them, once he’s blackmailed her into marriage.”
“Interesting.” Oscar grinned. “Perhaps we should discuss this outside.”
He took one of Wentworth’s arms. “May I assist you?” Harry asked.
“Please.” Harry took the other. “Uhh!” was all Wentworth got out before
they frog marched him through the doors. “I’ve got a carriage over
here.” Oscar was no longer smiling. Wentworth whimpered. Oscar casually
cuffed him over the head and Wentworth subsided. “I’ll take him to
London and my brothers.” “Do you need my help on the road?” Harry asked.
Oscar shook his head. “You’ve got him pretty far gone with drink. He’ll
sleep most of the way.” They heaved Wentworth’s now-inert body into the
carriage. Oscar dusted his hands. “Thanks, Harry. We owe you.” “No, you
don’t.” Maitland hesitated. “Well, thanks, anyway.” Harry raised his
hand in a salute, and the carriage pulled away. Oscar poked his head
through the retreating carriage
window. “Hey, Harry!” “What?” “You fit in.” Oscar waved and ducked back.
Harry stared as the carriage barreled around the corner.
GEORGE DIDN’T SLEEP WELL ANYMORE. Maybe it was the life growing inside
of her, making its presence known by disturbing her sleep. Maybe it was
the thought of the decisions she must make soon. Or maybe it was
wondering where Harry was spending the night. Was he sleeping under the
stars, shivering in a bundled up cloak? Had he found sanctuary with
friends somewhere? Was he keeping another woman warm tonight?
No, best not to think of that.
She rolled over and stared out her black bedroom window. Maybe it was
just the chill of the autumn air. A tree branch rattled in the wind.
George drew the covers up to her chin. She’d found Harry’s latest gift
earlier when she’d prepared for bed. A small, rather funny eel. She’d
thought it a snake at first, before remembering the fairy tale. Then she
could see the tiny fin running along the creature’s back. Did that
complete her collection? He’d made all the animals the Leopard Prince
had obtained for the princess. Perhaps it was his way of saying good-bye.
A shadow shifted outside her window, and the frame slid smoothly up.
Harry Pye swung a leg over the sill and climbed into her room.
/Thank goodness./ “Is that how you’ve been getting in and out?”
“Mostly I’ve been sneaking in the kitchen door.” Harry gently shut the
window.
“That’s not nearly as romantic as the window.” George sat up and hugged
her knees to her chest.
“No, but it’s a lot e
asier.”
“I had noticed that it’s a three-story drop to the ground.”
“With prickly rose bushes at the base, my lady. I hope you saw those,
too.” He strolled to the bed.
“Mmm. I did see the roses. Of course, now that I know you were merely
using the kitchen entrance . . .”
“Not tonight.”
“No, not tonight,” George agreed. Oh, how she loved him. His green,
ever-watchful eyes. His words, so carefully chosen. “But, even so, I’m
afraid it has shattered some of my dreams.”
Harry’s lips twitched. His mouth sometimes gave him away.
“I found the eel tonight.” She nodded at her dressing table.
He didn’t follow her gaze. Instead, he continued to watch her. “I have
one more.” He held out his fist and opened his fingers.
A leopard lay on his palm. “Why is it caged?”
George took it from him and looked closely. The workmanship was
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