“Neville, have you seen the children?” Priscilla asked as they went along the hallway.
“Edgar will bring them up to our rooms as soon as he has explained how they must behave.”
“I meant my children.”
“Oh, our children.”
She smiled and slipped her arm through the crook of his. “I love hearing you say that.”
“I was uncertain if you would. After all . . . I mean, they are yours and Lazarus’s children and . . .”
She was just as astonished as she had been when her aunt flushed. Neville was always glib, able to talk his way out of any predicament and charm his way into every heart, even Aunt Cordelia’s, although her aunt would never admit the truth.
Stroking his arm beneath his dark coat, she said, “While Lazarus is still in my heart, I have come to love you. It is the same with the children. After all, Leah wanted to call you ‘Papa Neville.’”
“Which she seems to have, quite fortunately, stopped doing.”
“You can protest all you wish, but I think you rather liked it.”
He put his hand over hers and squeezed it gently. “I like being a part of your family, Pris.”
“Our family.”
“Which is quite possible, if we ever get some time alone together.” He gave her a wink.
“Oh.” Now it was her turn to be flustered. She had not given thought to adding to her family, but the idea of having a child with Neville had an undeniable appeal. She knew he would be an excellent father. Regaining her aplomb, she added in a more customary tone, “That shall never happen until we obtain the information that Mr. Cross needs.”
“Which is why I sought you out, Pris.” He scanned the corridor in both directions, then lowered his voice. “I want to spend some time following up on some ideas I have.”
“What ideas?”
“I checked the horse Miss Verlyn rode, but I want to spend some time talking to the stablemen. They may have seen something that I did not.”
“An excellent thought.”
He gave her a deep bow. “I am glad you think so, my lady.”
With a laugh, she said, “Hurry and ask your questions. The sooner we have the answers—”
He silenced her with a fiery kiss. As she quivered, he whispered in her ear, “The sooner we have the answers, the sooner a kiss is only the beginning to what we will share.”
She smiled sadly as he rushed away along the hallway. Only a beginning? Mayhap, but she could not imagine now how this search would end.
PRISCILLA PACED between the balcony doors and the windows that gave her a view of the gardens. She watched for the children and for Neville. It had been almost an hour since she had last spoken with him.
Agatha’s eyes followed her. Sitting in the middle of the main room, she was obviously amused by Priscilla’s anxiety because she asked, “Wot are ye fearin’, m’lady?”
“Nothing. Just eager to see my children.”
“Ye saw’m only a few days ago.”
“I know, but it seems longer than that.” She paused and looked at Agatha. “Do you have children?”
“Me?” She gave a sharp laugh. “None of the little ones for me. That would put an end to my freedom to do as I please.”
“Children do add complications to one’s life, but the love they give in return is worth far more.”
“That be easy for ye t’say, m’lady. Ye ’ave servants and a ’usband to take care of ye. Me? I don’t ’ave either.” She stood. “All ’avin’ children means to me are more empty mouths to feed. Got enough with m’granny.”
Priscilla was surprised by this bit of information. “Who is taking care of your grandmother while you are here?”
“Cross will.”
Priscilla did not try to hide her astonishment. “And you trust him?”
“’e said ’e would make sure she ’as food, and ’e will.” She tugged at her apron, readjusting it. “Not that ’e will go ’isself. Too busy for that, but ’e will send someone. We take care of our own.”
“What of Edgar?”
“Wot of ’im?” Agatha returned with sudden heat. “Why are ye askin’ me ’bout ’im? Wot ’as ’e said to ye?”
Before Priscilla could reply, the door from the hall crashed open. A pair of lads, each about ten years old, rushed in, followed by another, mayhap a year older. The first two fell to the carpet, wrestling and yelling. The third cheered them on.
Without hesitation, Priscilla waded in and gripped the shirts of both boys on the floor. She pulled them apart, shoving each toward a different chair. The other boy started to back away, but she pointed to the settee. For a moment, she thought he would not obey; then he grudgingly perched on its very edge.
Her son Isaac, she noted, had been one of the two in the bruising match. Blood stained his shirt, but it must have come from the other lad. Telling Agatha to make sure the boys did not leave, she went into her bedchamber to get a wet cloth for the bleeding boy. She heard a crash behind her. She grabbed the ewer and rushed into the main room. Two boys fought on the floor again.
“Isaac Flanders! Stop right this minute!” she ordered.
He did and earned a punch in the face for his obedience.
Shoving the ewer into the hands of the third boy, she separated the two as she had before. “And stay apart,” she ordered as she gave them a shove toward the chairs. “If you have so much excess energy, I am sure the stablemen can find a way to help you work it off with a shovel and a filthy stall.”
Both boys grumbled and did not look at each other. She glanced back again and again as she went to collect some towels from the washstand in the bedroom. As she returned, she shot a scowl at the one boy who dared to open his mouth. Fortunately it was Isaac, and he was well-familiar with that expression. He snapped his mouth closed and said nothing.
She dipped one towel, then another in the ewer before handing one to Isaac and another to the boy he had fought. She looked between the two unfamiliar boys. “Names.”
“Donald,” said the taller of the two strangers, the one who had watched the fight. “And ’e’s Theo. Ye know yer own son, I reckon.”
Priscilla did not react to his bibble-babble. “Agatha, you know these boys. I assume I just heard the truth.”
“Yes.” Agatha folded her arms in front of her and scowled at the boys. “Did ye fail to ’eed everything I told ye? Ye need to behave like a fine lord’s sons.”
“We were,” retorted Theo. “When a fine lord’s son needs his dubber shut, Donald is the lad t’do so.”
“Isaac,” Priscilla said, motioning toward him.
Glaring at the other boys, he slowly got up and walked to her. She put her hands on his shoulders, surprised, as she had been for the past couple of months, to realize how he was growing. His face was beginning to lose its childish roundness and gain the stern, strong lines of his father’s.
She bent so their eyes were even. “A Flanders does not resolve problems with fists. You heard your father say that after Leah got into that brangle with the Stadler boy.”
“But Leah is a girl. She should not fight. I am a boy, and I should not have to listen to presumptuous puppies say nasty things about my sisters.”
“Nasty?” She recalled her aunt’s consternation.
Isaac’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He said Daphne was such a prattlebox that Lord Witherspoon’s ears were sure to fall off.”
“And you struck him for that?”
“Well . . .” He dug his toe into the rug.
“You have said much the same yourself.”
“But she is my sister!” He jabbed a finger toward the other boys. “It is a man’s job to defend the women in his family.”
“Who told you that?”
“Neville.”
Turning him to face the others, she said nothing. She did not need to. He knew what she wanted him to do.
“I am sorry I hit you, Donald,” he said, sounding not at all sincere.
Agatha scowled at the boys, and Donald mumbled something.
Priscilla decided that was the best she could hope for and smiled. “Agatha, please take the boys up to the nursery that the Rossingtons have graciously given us use of.”
“We are not babies!” Donald stamped his foot against the floor. “We be tired and would like to try some of m’lord’s fine wine.”
Priscilla acted as if she had not heard a word. “Make sure Donald and Theo are bathed, Agatha, and have dressed in decent clothes before they leave the nursery. It will be assumed that they will join us for a few minutes before the adults sit down to dinner.”
“Me?” Agatha gasped. “All by m’self?”
“You can ask for help, but if one of them says the wrong word, you and Edgar and those boys will be given your congé so fast you will not know you have left the house until you pass the gate.” She let her shoulders ease from their taut pose. “Do what you can, Agatha. I know Edgar agreed to this absurd idea to impress Cross, but there is nothing we can do to change the situation now.”
“Men!” muttered Agatha as she shooed the boys out of the room just as Daphne and Leah entered.
Priscilla hugged both of them at once. Daphne, the older at sixteen, was as neat as if she had spent the day in front of her glass, tending to her toilette. Leah, her younger daughter who was thirteen years old, was a complete rump, her hair ribbons askew. Her gown was stained from the grass, as if she had been wrestling with the boys. She had not, Priscilla knew, but the child never seemed to be able to keep clean.
The door opened again. Isaac burst in, shut the door and leaned back against it. His grin was as wide as his eyes.
“What now?” asked Priscilla.
“I think I should avoid the nursery for the rest of the afternoon,” he said, chuckling. “They are furious with me.”
“What did you do?” Leah could hardly contain her excitement. “I hope it was dreadful because they are dreadful boys.” She cocked her head. “But then again, all boys are dreadful.”
“I used to think that, too,” Daphne said as she sat gracefully. “I changed my mind when I met Burke.”
Leah and Isaac rolled their eyes.
“Mama,” her son said, “if she mentions that drumbelo once more—”
“Burke is neither boring nor fat!” Daphne jumped to her feet. “Say one more word, and I will tote you up to the nursery myself and let those boys beat some sense into you.”
“Enough,” Priscilla said. “There have been enough beatings already.”
Daphne sat again and folded her hands prettily in her lap. “Thank you for rescuing us, Mama.”
“Rescue you?”
“From Aunt Cordelia.”
She frowned at her older daughter, but her lips twitched. “Daphne, you must learn to be more circumspect.”
“With you?”
“No, of course not.” She hugged her daughters again, then her son who, for once, did not wiggle out of her hold. “Was staying with your aunt truly horrid?”
“Absolutely unbearable!” announced Leah.
“She kept checking to make sure I had brushed my teeth,” Isaac complained.
“Just as I do.” Priscilla ruffled his light brown hair.
“But you are my mother. That is your job. She is my great-aunt.” His nose wrinkled, and she was amazed how his expression was a younger version of Neville’s. All of them had been changed by Neville’s return to their lives.
As if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, Leah asked, “Where is Uncle Neville?” She grinned. “I mean Papa Neville.”
Both Daphne and Isaac giggled.
“Neville,” Priscilla answered with a smile, “must have missed you when he went to the stable.”
“Why did he go to the stable?” Daphne asked. “To learn about what happened to the youngest daughter here?”
Priscilla shook her head as she sat on the settee. “I should have guessed you would hear about what happened as soon as you arrived.”
“Before,” Isaac corrected her. “We stopped to change horses at a coaching inn, and it was all everyone talked about. Everybody was afraid of being the next target.”
“If this continues,” Priscilla said, “no one will go out after dark.”
“Mayhap that is not a bad idea.” Leah dropped beside her, drawing her feet under her. “We heard about how the highwayman stopped you and Uncle Neville. It must have been frightening.”
“It was not pleasant.”
Isaac jumped to his feet and swung his fists at an invisible foe. “If an old highwayman tried to stop me, I would—”
“There is no need for further violence.” Priscilla put her hands over his. “There has been enough already.”
“Why did you want us to come here? Why did you have us come here with those dreadful boys?” asked Daphne.
Those were the questions Priscilla had been waiting for. She wished she could pretend nothing was amiss, but she would not lie to her children. Neither would she tell them the threat Mr. Cross had made. Her children had been caught up in the investigation of past murders, but she continued to try to protect them from the most sordid aspects.
“Did you consider I might miss you?” she asked.
“Or worry that Aunt Cordelia would drive us mad?” returned Daphne.
Soon they were laughing together, and Priscilla had avoided telling them more than they needed to know. When she sent them to rest before tea, Daphne lingered in the room.
“Mama, why did you ask Aunt Cordelia to bring us here?”
Telling her much the same information she had her aunt, she watched Daphne’s face grow long with dismay.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“No.” Priscilla shook her head, then paused. “Wait. There are a few things you can do. I want you to act as if you have nothing on your mind but the party and the Season.”
“But why?”
“Because that is how the baron’s daughters act, and I want you to act just like them. Mayhap, they will be comfortable enough with you that they mention something they have not told their parents or Neville and me.”
“You think they are hiding something from you?”
“Not intentionally, but they may not have thought of sharing it with anyone.”
“I will do my best, Mama.”
“One other thing. Keep yours and Leah’s traveling boxes closed and locked.”
“Locked?”
“Yes, and I will check Isaac’s to be certain that his is as well.”
Daphne frowned. “But, Mama, why? Do you believe that someone in Rossington Hall would take something?”
“I think Mrs. Betts has the household staff firmly under control, but locking your boxes will be a reminder not to unpack too much. I doubt we will be here much longer, and I do not want you to leave some of your possessions behind.”
Her older daughter’s frown deepened, and Priscilla guessed Daphne was not swallowing her clankers. Why should she? The excuse was lame at best. Even so, Daphne nodded, but the curious glance Daphne gave her suggested that Priscilla had lost every bit of her mind. Mayhap she had, but she was determined none of her family would be the next target for the highwaymen’s killer.
Chapter Fifteen
BY THE TIME Nevil
le had finished his conversations with the workers in the stable, it was time for tea. Once again, it was being held in the pavilion. He paused where he could watch those inside without being seen. Behind him, Edgar was silent.
Lady Rossington was seated by Aunt Cordelia. Priscilla’s aunt looked vexed, and he guessed it was because Lady Rossington’s monologue made it impossible for Aunt Cordelia to slip in comments of her own. At the same small table, Priscilla sipped her tea as if she did not have a single care.
At the second table, half of the baroness’s daughters prattled about the invitations their mother had sent to neighboring estates. The rest seemed fascinated by whatever Daphne said. He had no doubts that they were asking about what to expect when they went to London.
He chuckled quietly when he looked at the third table where Agatha was trying to keep order among the three boys and Leah. All the children behaved when someone looked in their direction, but the second Agatha’s attention faltered, one child or another did something that guaranteed them a scolding . . . if they were caught. Not just the two lads sent by Cross, but Leah and Isaac who sported a bruise on his cheek. Where had that come from?
He dismissed the question, knowing he’d learn the answer later, and studied the children. The newcomers acted as if they and Priscilla’s children had been tie-mates since their first breaths. All giggled and aped Agatha when her back was turned. He would have enjoyed sitting with the youngsters and teaching them a few acting tricks, if he had not discovered so much unsettling information at the stables. Information he needed to share with Priscilla.
Edgar cleared his throat, and Neville said without turning, “Agatha could use your help with those boisterous youngsters. I still have no idea why Cross sent them here.”
“They are two more pairs of eyes.”
“They are too young to be trusted with any serious task.” He looked over his shoulder, and the thief would not meet his eyes. “Was it Cross’s suggestion or yours?”
“Are you questioning our leader’s decision?”
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