Chapter 5
As she watched the two children tossing a leather ball to each other, Agnes pulled the hood of her cloak up in an attempt to break the cold wind that blew off the river.
She was running out of ideas to occupy two very bored children while they waited on the faceless men in Whitehall to decide their fate.
Without the daily routine of visiting their father, they spent the morning in lessons and in the afternoon braved the cold, cheerless streets.
How long will they keep us waiting? The children need to be home among familiar faces and routines, not here in this dangerous, verminous city.
Yet it had been three days since James’s execution, and still she waited for permission to leave the city.
What was there to decide? She was the children’s aunt, there could be no question that she would be a suitable guardian.
The longer the decision took, the more her hope evaporated, along with the contents of her purse.
She had sold a ring James had given her to help ameliorate their condition, but that small cache of coins had all but run out.
She barely had enough coins for a couple more meals, let alone the outstanding board owed to the innkeeper.
Her fingers circled the chain around her neck.
It would break her heart to part with the locket, but if needs must …
Lizzie’s patience with her small brother proved to be finite and after he fumbled the ball in his pudgy fingers once again, she let out a squawk of indignation.
‘You are too little! Aunt Agnes, please play with us.’
Summoning a bright smile, at odds with her sombre mood, Agnes picked up the ball and threw it to Lizzie.
‘That’s enough,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back.’
Tossing the ball in the air as she walked, Lizzie chattered about her favourite games and how they should set up a swing in the garden at Charvaley. Agnes walked beside her, holding Henry’s small hand.
‘Would Father mind if we used the oak tree? Oh, I forgot.’ Lizzie stopped, her mouth trembling and her blue eyes filling with tears.
The ball fell from her hand and ran unregarded down the filthy street.
A thin boy in ragged clothes stepped out of a doorway and retrieved the ball from where it had come to rest against a pile of horse excrement. He looked at it, wrinkling his nose before dunking it in a water trough.
Lizzie flew at him. ‘How dare you touch my things, you horrible, dirty boy!’
‘I never … Here … ’ The boy took a step back, holding the ball in his hand.
‘Aunt Agnes, he tried to steal our ball. Give it back at once!’ Her blonde curls shaking with outrage, Lizzie put her hands on her hips and glared at the urchin.
The boy seemed to be rooted to the ground, apparently unable to speak or move in the face of Lizzie’s anger.
‘May I be of assistance?’
A dark shadow fell across them, and Agnes looked up to see the man she had passed on the stairs of the inn the previous day.
An involuntary shiver ran down her spine as she took in his dark clothes, tanned face and the scar that ran across the right cheekbone, giving him a faintly sinister look.
However, the smile that curved his lips and the twinkle in his light grey eyes alleviated his ferocious appearance.
‘Thank you, but I think there has been a misunderstanding —’ Agnes began.
The boy looked up at the stranger. ‘I weren’t stealing,’ he said. ‘It rolled away and I just gave it a clean. Honest, Cap’n!’
The man held out his hand and the boy dropped the object of dispute into it. With a courtly bow, the man presented it to Lizzie. ‘Yours, I believe?’
Lizzie had the grace to colour. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.
Agnes prodded her charge in the back. ‘I think you owe this boy an apology,’ she said.
Lizzie’s back straightened and the colour in her cheeks heightened. ‘I will not apologise to this … this street urchin.’
The dark man frowned. ‘But why ever not, mistress? He saved your ball and cleaned it for you. Didn’t you, Matt?’
The boy, Matt, curled his lip in derision. ‘I’ve no use for a stupid ball,’ he said. ‘Why’d I want to keep it?’
‘Apologise, Elizabeth,’ Agnes said, employing the tone that her young charge would recognise as an order.
Lizzie sniffed audibly and looked down at the filthy cobbles. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
Matt said nothing; he just stared at Lizzie with wide, fascinated eyes.
The man laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Matt?’
‘‘Pology accepted,’ the boy responded, with the same amount of enthusiasm with which the apology had been tendered.
The man looked up and caught Agnes’s eye with a half smile that seemed to say Children! and she wondered what this filthy bit of street refuse had to do with the dark, elegant stranger.
‘Matt, I’m glad you are here. I have a task for you,’ the man said.
The boy visibly brightened. ‘Yes, Cap’n. Anyfing I can do for you!’
‘Thank you for your assistance, sir,’ Agnes said with a small curtsey.
He touched his fingers to the brim of his broad hat, around which a magnificent white feather curled.
‘My pleasure, mistress. Good day to you, and to you, Mistress … ?’ He bowed to Lizzie.
Lizzie straightened and dropped a well-rehearsed curtsey. ‘Lady Elizabeth Ashby,’ she said.
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.’
Lizzie continued. ‘And this is my brother, the Marquis of Chesterton, and my aunt, Mistress Fletcher.’
The man made suitable obeisance to all three distinguished personages.
‘I am plain Master Lucas,’ he responded, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, ‘and this is Matt. If you will excuse us, Matt and I have errands to perform.’
Lizzie gave Matt a haughty glance and he responded with a rude gesture as he walked away.
Lizzie giggled and the three of them stood watching as the man, with his hand still on Matt’s shoulder, marched the boy into the crowd and out of sight.
‘Do you think he is a highwayman?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Good heavens, Lizzie. What makes you think that?’ Agnes enquired.
‘Or a pirate,’ put in Henry.
‘I am sure he is nothing more than a respectable merchant. It’s starting to rain. Inside now!’
‘Mistress Fletcher.’ The innkeeper’s wife waylaid her, handing over a folded and sealed letter. ‘Message for ye.’
Agnes turned the letter over, her fingers tracing the seal of the Commonwealth in the heavy wax.
Gathering up her skirts and her charges, she hurried back to her room before breaking the seal and scanning the contents.
For a moment the words danced before her eyes as she tried to take in the meaning of what she was reading.
She let out her breath, unaware she had been holding it.
Far from being the consent to the custody of the children she had expected, she had been summoned to attend a hearing of the Committee set up to determine the custody of the children of the late Lord Elmhurst and matters pertaining to his estate.
The time stated was for two hours hence.
Her heart sank. This could only mean one thing — the news would not be good.
She took several deep breaths and turned to study her limited wardrobe. It would all be fine, she told herself. She was the children’s aunt. There could be no question of the children remaining in her care. Tomorrow, they would be on the road back to Charvaley.