“Of me, Nicholas?”
“God willing. In truth, it all seems a dream to me now.”
Chapter Thirty
Avice stared, shoulders hunched, and said, “You’re all pink, Emma. And sweaty. But it was quite chilly last night. You must have much thicker blankets than me.”
“Hush, Avice,” said her mother. “You really are an ignorant child sometimes. You must take after your Papa.”
“I don’t,” said Avice. “I’m just like you, Maman. And don’t tell me no. I’ve seen all your wonderful new clothes since Papa died, and the lovely food with honey and raisins and proper spices, and real loaves of sugar in the pantry, and the hundreds of extra candles, and far less time spent in chapel. Father Godwin looks positively lost and lonely these days. And Maman, those sleeves. They’re long enough to dust the floors, and there’s real rabbit fur all the way up inside. So you see, you’re just like me after all.”
“It certainly isn’t simple rabbit,” said her mother. “And you will not mention wagers again, Avice, not even indirectly. Indeed, that’s quite enough chatter for now.”
Adrian interrupted. “I’m sure it will be a great disappointment to all you ladies,” he said with firm deliberation, “to know that I’ve decided to stay. With Nicholas about to scurry off, I feel at least one sober masculine presence is imperative. I intend staying until I escort my sister back to Nottingham.”
“How nice,” said the baroness without noticeable conviction.
Emeline said, “Nicholas is out at the stables organising his departure. But he’ll have supper with us before he leaves.” She looked directly at Adrian. “You’ve been so very nice, sir, offering to come here and look for Nicholas when he was missing before. But I know where he’s going this time. At least, I have some idea. Nicholas trusts me to stay on my own. And now there’s Maman. So we can look after Sissy, truly we can. You don’t have to stay.”
“Searching for murderers and clues and such nonsense. Pooh,” said Adrian. “And as for Nicholas’ trust, I put no more store in his opinions than I do in my sister’s. I must tell you, madam, London is a dangerous place.”
“And I’m so looking forward to going there,” sighed Avice.
The spring sunshine was sinking a little behind the gables. Moss had crawled over the stable thatch, merging with the reeds and oozing green shadows down to the neat clipped edges. Nicholas was leaning against one of the stalls, regarding his liard’s impatience. The horse kicked at the stable door. Nicholas smiled. “I feel the same, my friend, and these fools make me all the more eager to be gone.”
Rob was quarrelling with his brother, and the new boy Wolt was watching with the first smile he’d managed since leaving Gloucester.
“Pompous codsprick,” spat Harry. “Just ’cos you took up with ’is lordship afore I did, don’t make you no more special now. We’s both needed, ain’t we m’lord?”
“Desperately needed. Needfully desperate,” said his lordship. “Otherwise I’d send you both back to the tenements with pleasure.”
David Witton shook his head. “You’re sure of this, my lord? It’s an odd package we’ll seem, I think, which could make us too conspicuous.”
“And another package of oddments left indoors,” agreed Nicholas. “Eccentricity is my destiny, it appears. But I know what I want, David, and this, sadly, is it.”
It was David who later arranged the filling of two saddle bags and gave further instructions to the grooms. The boy Wolt regarded the baggage sumpter with misgivings. “You’ll ride it, or you’ll walk,” David said, reading the boy’s thoughts.
Wolt looked increasingly haggard for his twelve years. “No one shows no sympathy,” he mumbled, “nor even for a poor motherless lad like me.”
“Brainless whelp,” said David Witton. “I’d shown you less sympathy than his lordship chooses to, a motherless child himself at a younger age than you, and who offered you employment even though you possess no skill of any kind except feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Just shows, dun’it,” said Wolt, retreating from the hooves around him. “Don’t no one else care – so if I feels sorry for meself, wot’s only right and just.”
“And if I kicks you up the arse, ’tis only fair the same, since you gets on me bloody nerves.” Harry turned from Wolt to David. “Since his lordship don’t like explaining too much, maybe you’d like to give us some idea of where we’re going later? Seems strange to me, leaving at dusk. The London gates is likely locked, and there’ll be no way to get to the tenement after that ’cept by river. And with five horses, the river’d make less sense than all the rest.”
“We’re not going back to the tenements,” David said. “We’re heading south. It’s the coast we’ll be seeing, not the city. And a fair view over to France, perhaps.”
Harry went pale in the sunshine, and nervously scratched at his neck. “Don’t trust them Frenchies. Don’t trust them big oceans neither. As for boats – there’s not a sane man would trust one of them. We ain’t going to France is we? For I might reckon on changing me mind and going back home.”
“Take no heed,” Rob interrupted. “My brother will do what I tells him.”
“There are no plans for us to head for France yet,” frowned David. “But there might just be plans for France to head for us. It’s the possibility of French invasion we’re investigating, and you’ll keep that a secret for now by the way. No cause for panic.”
Harry gulped, staring at Rob, who was grinning. “Don’t tell me you ain’t dreamed of bashing a few Frenchie heads from time to time,” Rob said. “I shall have my knife right ready for the first foreign voice I hears.”
“Which is probably why his lordship didn’t tell you,” nodded David, “and why I should not have told you either. So forget what I said and help me with these panniers.”
With the sunshine oozing through the mullions, Avice and Sysabel remained only half awake, curled together on the wide guest bed, covers discarded. “Maman’s idea,” whispered Avice, “is interesting. This disappeared boy, the son of that dreadful woman. What if he killed Papa?”
“What would he do that for if your father was paying his mother?” objected Sysabel. “Disapproval? But I don’t think sons of whores think that way.”
“How many sons of whores do you know?” objected Avice, sitting up a little and rubbing her eyes. “But why would a whore’s son from Gloucester want to kill Peter, and how would he even know Peter existed?”
“Peter would never have had anything to do with such people.”
Avice sighed. “You know, everything’s just too complicated. There’s Emma – she was in love with Peter for ages and she hated Nicholas. Even after the wedding she thought he was hideous. Now suddenly she thinks he’s an angel.”
“Peter was the angel. Nicholas – well,” Sysabel shook her head. “He’s nice sometimes. But compared to Peter, he’s very shallow.”
“I never really knew Peter. But a little while ago I started thinking I was in love with your Adrian. Oh, don’t laugh. He was so smart and wise and kind and I dreamed of romance. Romantic love sounds so – glorious. Dressing up and kissing and having a man really smile at you – wanting you. Instead of just sitting around being ignored and bored all day every day.” Avice screwed up her nose. “But since getting here, Adrian’s just cross all the time and I don’t think he even likes me. He’s not kind anymore. And I don’t think he’s wise either.”
“He’s not interested in women,” said Sysabel. “He’s too serious and he acts as if he’s my father. I wish he’d just go away.”