Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“The new governess starts today,” Bram said as they left the parlor.
“I didn’t get to meet her at the interview, and I’m not pleased about that,” Mungo said. He had come home and found they’d employed someone without him.
“You were off doing something, and Ivy and I were more than capable of making this decision. Gray came also, and as you know, he works at Scotland Yard, so he is the best person to judge if Miss Downing is of good character.”
“You can’t tell such a thing from a single interview,” Mungo protested.
“The decision has been made, so be nice. She’s a pleasant, efficient woman, or so her references said.
She’ll be teaching the younger ones what to expect if they ever wish to enter society.
It’ll be their choice if they do, but as their older siblings—and as Ivy and I are both involved in society—it’s only fair they know what to expect. ”
Mungo felt that familiar flare of protectiveness he always got when he thought of the youngest Nightingales, especially Anna, the child who had come to them from an orphanage and lived with them ever since.
“We’ll protect Anna, Mungo, no matter what she chooses. But everything will be explained to her. There will be no secrets or surprises. I won’t allow her to be hurt again.”
He knew she would be hurt eventually because life did that, but they’d do everything they could to soften it. She, like him, was born outside this family, and like him, they’d welcomed the little girl in.
“Now,” Bram said, “go for a walk. Clear your head. When you come back, I expect your mood to be less dark. I’ll introduce you to Miss Downing, as she is due to arrive shortly, and you will be polite, as she will live in this household for some time.”
“We’ve no room. It’s full already.”
“We have the attic, which Bud and the children have been readying. It is now a comfortable space,” Bram said. “There is plenty of money, also, to make changes. I have drawn up some plans I think will suit, and I want to discuss those with you, if the decision is to stay and not move.”
Mungo grunted something and then left. He didn’t want a governess to enter their household and change things. Nor did he want to move, so he would be pushing to have renovations made to this home. He loathed change because he couldn’t control it. Control was important to Mungo.
He stepped out the front door, headed through the gate, and out onto the street.
The Nightingales had made their home in a small London crescent, a looping street that circled back on itself. In the middle sat a park where there was always something happening, like art classes, knitting circles, and dogs running wild.
He looked across now and heard a child’s squeal. Lottie. The older children had taken Bram and Ivy’s daughter out to play. Two dogs were also running around in circles, adding to the mayhem. Both were members of the Nightingale clan.
The new rotunda took up pride of place in the center and looked ridiculous, as far as Mungo was concerned, but as he’d no say in the matter, he’d kept silent.
Now, when they held the Crabbett Close games, Mr. Greedy could stand up there so his voice carried clearly to everyone gathered.
The children loved it, too, as they were often seen running around inside it.
When the family had found the Pavlov fortune, life had changed for many people, not least of all the residents of Crabbett Close.
Turning right so he didn’t pass Tabitha Varney’s house, he headed down the road away from the house. That woman, who’d had plenty of new dresses made with her money, had made it quite clear she saw him as a future husband, a notion he didn’t reciprocate, but that did not appear to deter her.
The houses here were an eclectic mix. Some were elegant brick townhouses like the Nightingales’, while others were more modest. Some were two or three stories, others single, but each was full of life.
Across the street, Flora Nightingale, cousin of the family, lived with her husband, Ram, who drove Mungo crazy but whom he secretly liked.
“Well now, if it isn’t Mr. Mungo!”
He turned to look into the small garden where Mr. Greedy and Mr. Peeky sat sipping liquid from chipped mugs.
“Bit early to be drinking, isn’t it?”
“Well now, good day to you, Mungo, and I’m sure it’s the correct time to imbibe somewhere in the world,” Mr. Peeky replied.
The members of this community were an odd lot who liked to involve themselves in each other’s lives. If you had a problem, there was a high chance someone in Crabbett Close would be able to solve it for you—whether you wanted them to or not.
“Come and join us. You look a little tight around the eyes,” Mr. Peeky added.
The door behind them opened, and out stomped Mavis Johns, wrapped in a thick gray shawl.
“I wouldn’t mind a wee dram,” Mungo said as Mavis took a mug off the tray at Mr. Greedy’s feet and crouched. Mungo’s knees protested at the sight.
“You would?” Mr. Peeky said, and his expression of shock mirrored that of his two companions.
Of course, they’d invited him to drink with them often, but, clearly, he’d always refused. He knew his reputation was as the grumpy Scotsman who kept to himself, and usually he had no problem with that, unless his bad manners slapped him in the face like today.
“Bring yourself in, then,” Mr. Greedy said. “Sit down and have a dram with us. We’re celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?” Mungo didn’t sit. He took the glass and stood before them.
“This is our fifteenth year of holding the Crabbett Close games, and cause for celebration,” Mavis said. “So you’ll drink with us to that, Mungo.”
The Crabbett Close games were infamous. You never knew when someone would call them, or what they’d entail that day, but eating dreadful food, drinking unidentifiable liquors, and performing ridiculous rhymes or dares would be on the list. Mavis had a habit of winning, much to the youngest Nightingale brother, Theo’s, eternal frustration, which was why he had now joined her team.
Mungo sipped and was grateful for the taste of Mr. Peeky’s spiced rum.
“So what’s got you upset, then?” Mr. Greedy asked.
“How do you know I’m upset?”
“It’s in the eyes,” Mavis said. “Usually you’ve got that blank expression, but today... there’s a storm brewing in those blue depths. Even your hair looks angry.”
They stared at him hard, and Mungo withstood it, like he did most of the odd things that happened in this close.
“Well now, who would this be?” Mr. Greedy was looking over Mungo’s shoulder, so he turned and did the same.
A woman was approaching, carrying two bags. The governess.
She wore a bonnet of dull gray and a long jacket to match. On her feet were neat black boots. In fact, neat was the single word he would use to describe this woman until he got to her face.
The air got stuck in his throat as he tried to exhale, staring at her soft, pale skin with a faint pink flush to her cheeks from the cold wind.
“Good day to you,” Mr. Peeky called.
She stopped and smiled, and Mungo had to force himself to breathe.
That smile reached her eyes, and their deep brown seemed to come alive beneath soft arched brows and were accentuated by the sweet curve of her upper lip.
He hoped to Christ he was wrong about her being the new governess.
Mungo rarely felt an instant attraction to a woman, but he did now.
“I’m Mr. Peeky, and this is Mr. Greedy, and our Mungo.”
“I’m Miss Downing.”
Damn.
“Are you the new governess, then?” Mavis asked.
“She is,” Mungo said with his eyes still on her. Did he know this woman? Something about her was unsettling him. She was beautiful, yes, but there was something more, and that was the reason he couldn’t stop looking at her.
“Mungo lives at 11 Crabbett Close too,” Mr. Greedy said. “You’ll love it here. We are a friendly lot.”
The woman’s eyes snapped to his and widened. It wasn’t common name, but he didn’t think it warranted such a reaction.
“Another for the Crabbett Close games,” Mr. Peeky added, sounding happy about that. “Everyone will be pleased.”
Mungo had to give the woman credit—she kept that smile on her pretty face even though she had no idea what they were talking about.
The crunch of carriage wheels had them all looking at the entrance of Crabbett Close.
He’d been tense when he’d met Miss Downing, but that feeling had just increased significantly. Why were two constables driving that carriage into Crabbett Close? He recognized the blue tailcoat with armlets, white gloves, and top hat they both wore.
Mungo stepped out of the garden and onto the road and now stood beside Miss Downing, watching it approach. It rolled to a stop beside him, and the man seated next to the driver jumped down.
The constable was big, with a bullish neck and a mean look in his eyes. Mungo disliked the man even before he barked out, “We are seeking a Scotsman called Mungo. Do you know where he is?”
“Aye, you’ve found him.”
“You’re under arrest, sir.”
“For what?” These words came from Mr. Greedy, who was now standing at his side, along with Mavis and Mr. Peeky.
“Assault.”
“Who did I assault?” Mungo gritted out. The only person he’d assaulted lately was the man on the foggy night when he rescued the woman from his clutches.
“A nobleman two weeks ago on a Thursday in Dobbins Lane. He was simply walking home, and you grabbed him and then attempted to rob him,” the constable said.
“Oh dear.” The words came from Miss Downing, which made Mungo look at her. She was now pale as his morning porridge.
“What is amiss, lass?”
Her eyes went to his and widened further. “It was you,” she whispered.
“Me what?”
But before she could answer, the constable spoke again. “You’ll come with us now, sir, to the watchhouse.”
“Go to 11 Crabbett Close, Miss Downing. They will look after you,” Mungo said.
“Sir—”
“Mavis, take Miss Downing and inform Bram at once what has happened,” Mr. Greedy said, cutting her off.