Phoebe put her chin up. “I believe I have all the necessary skills, sir. Or do you not think so?”
“I wouldn’t dare to dispute it,” he said, throwing up his hands in laughing disclaimer.
“Will you not see the children now? While Olivia is dressing?”
“Is the baby awake?”
“If he isn’t now, he soon will be. I’ll fetch them straightway.”
Cato, smiling, watched her hasten back up the stairs. Babies were still mysteries to him. He was beginning to feel comfortable with Nicholas, who at fourteen months walked quite steadily and had a few words, but the baby, Charles, Cato’s fifth child, who had been born soon after their move to the island, still alarmed him with his fragility. The mothers of his other children had never attempted to interest him in the daily progress of their infant offspring. Phoebe, however, was a very different character, unique in her way of viewing the world. She had made it clear from the first that he was to be a deeply involved parent whether he liked it or not. Cato found that on the whole he liked it.
“We’ll be goin‘ to the Barkers, then, shall us, m’lord?”
“In a short while, Giles. When I’ve talked with Lady Olivia. There’s no hurry, I believe.” Cato raised an eyebrow.
“No… no, sir.” Giles sounded disconsolate. He couldn’t abide wasting time.
“Have you dined, my lord?” Bisset had been hovering at the rear of the hall and now moved forward.
“No, we have ridden since dawn. But just bring me bread and cheese in my study… and ale, if you please.” The butler bowed and Cato went into his sanctum. A small pile of sealed documents sat on his desk, awaiting his return. He picked them up and ran his eye over them. The writing on most he recognized. A missive from Cromwell, another from Governor Hammond, another from the governor of Yarmouth Castle. The last, however, was addressed in a hand he didn’t know. He turned it over. The wax seal bore the imprint of a coat of arms that was also unfamiliar. He reached for his paper knife just as the door opened.
“Here we are, my lord.” Phoebe came in carrying on her hip a fat rosy baby sucking a dimpled fist. A toddler in short coats held her free hand. Little Earl Grafton regarded his father solemnly for a moment as if deciding his next move, then dropped his mother’s hand and advanced with a gleeful little chuckle, reaching up his arms.
Cato lifted him and swung him through the air. The child shrieked with delight and presented his cheek for his father’s kiss.
“Charles was wide-awake and, like his brother, is in great good humor.” Phoebe nuzzled the top of the baby’s head. “Greet your papa, little one.”
Cato set down his son and heir and took the infant as he was clearly supposed to do. The baby wobbled in his arms and it took him a minute before he felt he was holding him in a natural fashion.
Phoebe watched attentively. She was determined that Cato should learn how to manage his babies and bit her tongue on anxious words of advice.
“Olivia says she will be down shortly.”
Cato nodded. The infant was gripping his father’s finger, and Cato was astonished at the strength and determination of the grip. He reached behind him on the desk and gave Nicholas his great seal. The child sat down under its weight and began examining it intently.
Phoebe smiled and glanced curiously at the missives on the table. “Anything of importance, do you think?”
“I haven’t opened them as yet. There’s one in a hand I don’t recognize.” He tried to pull his finger free, but Charles only clung tighter.
“Was the fighting bad?”
“More of a nuisance than anything. The king’s supporters won’t give up easily. I’m afraid there’ll be another attempt to rescue His Majesty from the island.”
He looked over the baby’s head and smiled slightly. “It means I’m going to be needed here to work closely with Colonel Hammond. All the king’s supporters on the island must come under suspicion. So if you’ve a mind to, you and Olivia may join the court, such as it is, in the castle. The colonel and his lady have issued a most cordial invitation for this evening. It might provide you with some amusement.”
Phoebe’s nose wrinkled. She had neither the time nor the inclination for the trivialities of court life and knew that Olivia despised the games as heartily as she did.
“There’s to be a poet there, I believe,” Cato added, seeing her expression. He was well aware of her disinclination for formal gatherings. “You might find him amusing, although in all honesty I don’t believe Mr. Johnson is a very good poet. But you could talk meter and the various merits of prose and rhyme with him.” His smile was somewhat cajoling.
Such a diversion might serve to take Olivia’s mind off her melancholy, Phoebe reflected, if only as an irritant. “Yes, of course. One evening wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.”
Cato laughed. “You are too obliging, madam wife.” He handed the baby back to her. “After I’ve seen Olivia, we’ll visit the Barkers and I can express my gratitude in proper form, then we can put this unfortunate business behind us.”
If only it were that simple. Olivia had a long way to go, whatever she might say, before she could put her encounter with the pirate behind her. Phoebe reached down a hand to pull Nicholas to his feet. He showed some reluctance to yield up the seal, and Cato gently took it from him, giving him instead a blunted quill pen that Nicholas regarded with immediate favor.
Phoebe said, “I’ll talk to Olivia about going to the castle. Make sure she feels up to it.”
Cato turned back to his letters as the door closed behind his wife and sons. He slit the wafer with the unfamiliar seal and opened the sheet.
Godfrey, Lord Channing, equerry to Colonel Hammond, presents his compliments to Lord Granville. His position as equerry has given him some information about His Majesty that he thinks Lord Granville would be interested to hear. Lord Channing most earnestly begs the favor of an interview at a time and place convenient for his lordship.
It was signed with several flourishes in the style of the old court.
Cato frowned, trying to remember if he’d ever met the man. The renewed fighting had kept the marquis from Carisbrooke Castle in recent weeks, so it was possible he hadn’t encountered a new equerry. The name was familiar, though. The Channings were an old and well-respected lineage, with estates in Wiltshire, Cato thought. But why, if the man had information relating to the king, didn’t he report it directly to Governor Hammond? An intriguing question and one certainly worth pursuing.
There was a knock at the door and Cato laid the letter down on the desk. He went swiftly to open the door.
He regarded his daughter with close concern. Always pale, she looked almost ghostly today. So wan and fragile. He put an arm around her, drawing her against his chest, gently stroking her hair. “My poor child, what a dreadful time you’ve had. Come and sit down.” He drew out a chair for her, then perched on the desk, examining her anxiously.
“Can you tell me what happened? Or will it tire you too much?”
“No, no, of course not.” Olivia offered a hesitant smile before embarking on the story she had perfected with Phoebe.
“Phoebe said you wish me to accompany you when you visit them,” she said at the end of her recital.
“I think, if you can manage it, it would be a courtesy,” Cato said.
“They are simple folk,” Olivia said. “They’re not free with their words.” She could only hope that they had been well enough briefed by Anthony to say no more than the minimum.
“But generous with their spirit,” Cato said. “How lucky for us all that they found you.” He shook his head, his eyes still searching Olivia’s pale countenance. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry since I received Phoebe’s message.”