Chapter Two
“I’ll wager you two shillings that I can put ten biscuits in my mouth,” young Edmund’s voice came from the direction of the kitchen.
“At the same time,” Rebecca, longtime foe of trickery, added.
Following the voices and laughter, Beckett stepped into the large room in time to see his daughter solemnly shake hands with the young self-styled orphan. “At the same time,” the lad agreed.
“Are you leading this young man astray?” Beckett asked, catching Mrs. Brubbins’s amused smile and nodding.
“I’m leading him to biscuits,” Rebecca stated, pushing a plate of the sweet treats in front of Edmund. “Ten. All at the same time.”
“Is this the first wager?” Beckett asked, leaning against the wall beside the governess.
“Lady Becks won the first wager by stuffing five biscuits into her mouth. Master Edmund has challenged in an attempt to win his shilling, plus hers, back again.”
“Have you met him previously?” he said, lowering his voice.
She shook her head. “I thought I glimpsed a boy peering through the gaps in the garden wall once or twice, but this is the first time I’ve seen him emerge—though of course I’ve only been here a week.
He’s well-mannered, seems well-educated, says he’s a starving, ill-treated orphan, and claims to be ten years of age. ”
“No, you can’t break them first. Whole cookies, Eddie.”
The boy made a growling sound that caused dry biscuit crumbs to shoot out of his mouth. That made Rebecca giggle, which made the boy giggle, and pieces of butter biscuit went all over the kitchen table. “No fair!” Edmund coughed. “You made me laugh!”
“I win.” Rebecca held out her hand, palm up. “Two shillings.”
“I don’t have two shillings. I only had the one, and you won it off me already.”
Rebecca scowled at him. “You can’t make a wager if you can’t cover it. That’s proper wagering rules.”
“Well, I would’ve won if you hadn’t made me laugh, and then I would have my shilling back.”
That seemed sound reasoning. Digging into a jacket pocket, Beckett produced two shillings.
“I’ll cover your wager, Edmund,” he said, flipping the coins one at a time to Rebecca, who caught them out of the air.
He tossed an additional one to the boy. “And I’ll make you whole again, as my daughter knows quite well how many biscuits fit in her mouth at one time. ”
“Thank you, Lord Hentrose.” Swiping his blond hair out of his eyes, the boy pocketed the coin. “I don’t generally wager with females, but Becks is a prime article.”
“We’re making some space in the library so I’ll have my own shelf, because my books won’t all fit in my bedchamber,” Rebecca said, bouncing out of her chair. “Do you want to see where they’re going to go?”
“I like to read about horses and Derby racing. Do you have any of those?”
“I have so many books about horses that Papa says altogether they weigh more than a horse.”
With Rebecca in the lead, the two young ones ran out of the kitchen. “Two of them, now,” Mrs. Brubbins said, hurrying after them. “Already thick as thieves. We’re all doomed.”
Snatching one of the untouched biscuits and grinning, Beckett left the kitchen to go upstairs and change clothes for Parliament. A little additional chaos in exchange for Rebecca having someone nearby with whom to play seemed a fair trade.
Halfway to the foyer, he found the butler straightening portraits along the wall. “It looks like we’ve had a gale blow down the hallway, Butler.”
“If we’d been a ship, my lord, I fear we might have capsized.”
“Have you seen young Edmund about? The boy claims to reside at Grove House with the Baverstocks.”
“Parsley said you’d inquired about him. If he is living at Grove House, it’s something that’s come about recently. I could send a note to their butler, if you wish to confirm the lad’s tale.”
“Do so. Discreetly. Edmund seems cheerful enough, but I feel the need to confirm whether his tale of abuse is even partly true. Please have Parsley escort him safely home when he departs.” He paused.
“And new friend or not, the rules still apply; Rebecca is to remain on the property unless Mrs. Brubbins or I am with her.”
“As you say, my lord.”
“Oh, and I’ll be attending the Forsythe ball this evening, so dinner will be just Rebecca and Mrs. Brubbins.”
Butler lifted his eyebrows, then swiftly frowned them back into shape again. “Voluntarily attending, my lord?”
“Not entirely.”
“Ah.” Rocking back on his heels, the butler nudged another portrait up on one side. “Might I inquire after her name, my lord?”
“Lady Pauline Grenedy.” He sighed, starting up the stairs. “I do need to remarry eventually. Rebecca needs a mother.” He paused. “And she didn’t annoy me horribly despite my mother ambushing me with her.” She’d been rather … perfect, as a matter of fact. Poised, composed, and competent.
“As you say, my l—”
Someone pounded on the front door, quite possibly with a tree trunk.
“Good heavens.” Butler left the crooked painting and strode over to pull open the door. “I say. There’s no need—” He paused for a heartbeat. “Good morning, Miss—”
He staggered backward as a female shoved past his shoulder and charged into the house. “Where is my son?” Her delicate jaw clenched as hard as her fists around the handle of a garden shovel, and her gaze shifted from Butler to pin Beckett with a basilisk glare. “Edmund!”
“Your son?” Beckett asked, descending the half dozen stairs he’d managed. “He said he was an orphan. A mistreated one.”
Her green eyes narrowed, and she pointed the sharp end of the shovel at him. “And you didn’t bother to confirm that information before you kidnapped him? Edmund!”
She was attractive, he noted, but her badly wrinkled green-and-brown muslin walking dress and her golden hair springing loose from its pins made her look more like an escaped bedlamite than a mother searching for a child.
“I did not kidnap him,” Beckett stated, keeping a wary eye on the shovel. “I offered him breakfast.”
“A meal he was to be allowed to eat at Grove House after he finished the mathematics lessons he neglected to complete yesterday.” She stalked up to Beckett, lifting her chin and lowering her weapon. “So which is it? Are you a kidnapper, or are you harboring a fugitive?”
This was what it felt like to stand before a hurricane, Beckett reflected, noting that she was petite for a Fury or a Valkyrie, or whatever form this goddess of mayhem had assumed.
“Evidently it’s the latter, though at the moment I only have your words and his words, which contradict each other, Mrs.… ”
“Silbern. Iris Silbern.”
“Mrs. Silbern. I’ve resided next door to Lord Harold and Lady Margaret Baverstock for a number of years, and I’ve never seen you at Grove House.
I suggest we resolve this by going over there together to make certain it’s not you attempting to kidnap young Edmund. ” He started for the door. “Shall we?”
She stomped in front of him, blocking his path with the shovel. “Of course I don’t reside there, for heaven’s sake. Well, I do, but only since this morning.” Blinking, she scowled again. “I am not explaining myself to you. Produce my son at once.”
“No!” Edmund’s voice came from up the hallway. “I’m not going back there. Aunt Lady Margaret keeps making me rub her feet! And you were supposed to be here two days ago.”
The woman’s shoulders lowered, and for a moment Beckett thought her legs might give way.
“Oh, goodness, Edmund,” she breathed, clear relief flooding her face.
She handed the shovel to Beckett and walked forward.
“I’m sorry about the foot rubbing and my being delayed.
I had to box the rest of our things, amid a bit of … difficulty. But I’m here now.”
“I’ve been busy myself,” the boy stated, even with clenched fists looking as if he wanted to run into his mother’s arms.
“Yes, I heard. You’ve been digging a hole in the Baverstocks’ garden, haven’t you?”
“I’m making an escape. Once I reach the sewers, I mean to live with the rats and be their king.”
“Ah. That’s well and good, I suppose, but what do you mean to do after that?
” she asked, her lips solemn except at the upturned edges of her mouth.
Chaos tamed, Beckett mused to himself, enjoying the exchange immensely, and understanding Mrs. Silbern’s worry with a clarity that pinched his own heart.
“After I become the rats’ king?”
“Once you have a rat army, you’ll need a place to train them, feed them, and you’ll need a strategic place to which you can retreat if things go badly,” she went on.
Beckett’s mouth twitched as he tried to hold back his own smile. She had some skill in arguing with imaginative children. “Not to mention how cold the sewers get in the winter,” he added. “I’ve seen rats with frozen whiskers.”
“And that’s not even taking into account that the rats might already have a king.
” She straightened, sighing. “I just arrived from Shropshire, Edmund, not ten minutes ago. Tollins thought you were in the billiards room, Mr. Fredericks said you were in the kitchen, Mrs. Diffle said you were with Mr. Fredericks, and you nearly scared my hair white when you weren’t anywhere. ”
With a grimace the lad walked up and hugged her around the waist. “I’m sorry, Mama. But I’m not rubbing Aunt Lady Margaret’s feet again.”
“You won’t need to. I’m here for foot rubbing and to assist Aunt Margaret with her recovery.”
“Who’s Aunt Lady Margaret?” Rebecca asked, walking over to fold her arms over her chest and lean back against Beckett. “And what is she recovering from?”
“Gout,” Edmund supplied. “Her toe almost fell off.”
“Oh, that’s horrible! Someone would have to make her a wooden toe.”
“I could carve her one. I have a knife.”
“And that is another chat we need to have, then.” Mrs. Silbern took hold of her son’s hand, her gaze meeting Beckett’s as she turned back to the door. “You do not have permission to keep my son from me. Ever. Good day. No. Not good day. Just … day.”