Chapter 11
In Which Introductions Are Made and an Opportunity (or a Rabbit) Is Seized; Followed by a Mad Dash in the Rain and a Possible Lightning Strike; And Wistful Thoughts about Shamrocks, Sausages, and Cucumbers Feature …
It was easy enough for Mina to work out which bedroom belonged to Tom, which one had been allocated to Christopher, and which one was the governess’s bedchamber.
Of course, it certainly helped that her trunks from the Parasol Academy had already arrived and been deposited in her new room; early that morning, before she’d teleported to Rose Cottage to collect Christopher, she’d sent a message to Kinsale House along with her luggage indicating that she would like to unpack her own things.
It wouldn’t do for maids to go through her belongings and discover items like her Parasol Academy Handbook (even though it would look like it contained nothing but gibberish unless one used a pair of ley-spectacles or a ley-lensed quizzing glass to read the text) or her spare pearl-handled knife.
She trusted that no one would wield her Parasol Academy–issued umbrella or parasol in a magical way as they appeared to be perfectly ordinary.
And of course, one had to know the precise incantation to use in order to become invisible or render someone temporarily confused.
As Mina settled Christopher into his new room, she couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that the Fae, in their infinite wisdom, had sent her a new type of magic to use.
The Glamify spell had worked remarkably well, and as the label on the bottle had proclaimed, it was easy to reverse.
As soon as Mina and Christopher had arrived at Kinsale House, Mina had simply uttered, “Unglamify” and both her physical appearance and Christopher’s had gone back to normal before she’d knocked on the door.
There was no way on earth that Cheavers could have followed her and the young viscount to Kinsale House in Eaton Square.
The only way Sir Bedivere could find out where Mina was now working—and where his ward was now residing—was if he staked out all of London, watching every square and every park around the clock (a virtually impossible feat), or he tried to force the knowledge from Mrs. Temple (an utterly impossible feat).
Even if the Parasol Academy headmistress suspected Mina had had a hand in the disappearance of young Lord Fitzwilliam, she would confront Mina about it directly and discreetly.
She would not allow the Parasol Academy’s reputation to be besmirched because one of its governesses had “gone rogue,” taking the law into her own hands.
“Where do you think Tom is, if he isn’t here, Miss Davenport?
” Christopher asked Mina as she finished putting the boy’s clothes away in the oak wardrobe and matching set of drawers.
He was sitting in the window seat of the wide sash window that overlooked Kinsale House’s lovely rear walled-garden.
“Do you think all the mean things the housekeeper said about him are true? That he’s a pickpocket? ”
Oh goodness. Christopher might be a quiet boy, perhaps even a little shy, but he listened and his powers of observation were keen.
Mina turned to face him. “Tom told me himself that he picked pockets. But up until Lord Kinsale took him in, he’s had neither family nor home.
I imagine he only took from others in order to survive. He’s not had an easy time of it.”
Christopher fiddled with Mr. Hopwell’s ears. “Stealing is wrong,” he said.
“I agree,” said Mina. “But I don’t think Tom had much choice.
Now that he’ll be living here, I’m certain he won’t need to take things that aren’t his anymore.
Not when Lord Kinsale will give him everything he needs—a warm bed, decent meals, and new clothes.
And of course, we can help Tom too by showing him kindness and understanding. ”
Christopher worried at his lower lip. “Tom won’t steal Mr. Hopwell, will he?”
“Well, ’oo’s this Mr. ’Opwell geezer, then?”
Mina spun around to discover Lord Kinsale’s ward lounging in the doorway of Christopher’s room. “Good afternoon, Master Tom,” she said with a welcoming smile. “I’m pleased to see you.”
The boy doffed his tweed cap, revealing his shaggy mop of sandy-brown hair. “Likewise, Miss Davenport.” Looking past her, Tom’s gaze settled on Christopher. “So is this the boy I’m goin’ to ’ave lessons wiv?”
“Yes. This is my cousin.” Mina beckoned Christopher over. “But allow me to make the proper introductions. Tom, this is Christopher Davenport. And Christopher, this is Lord Kinsale’s ward, Tom Fleet.”
Christopher smiled shyly at the older boy. “How do you do, Tom?” he said.
Tom chuckled. “’Ow do I do? No one’s ever asked me that before. I reckon I’m right as rain.” The boy marched into the room and plopped himself down onto the window seat beside Christopher. “I still don’t know ’oo this ’Opwell fellow is though.”
“Oh, this is Mr. Hopwell,” said Christopher, presenting his rabbit to the boy for inspection.
Tom scrunched up his nose. “’Ow old are you then? I fought you were seven.”
“I am,” said Christopher.
“So why are you cartin’ a toy rabbit about? An’ a purple one at that? Seems like a funny sort o’ fing to do.”
“I …” Christopher bit his lip for a moment. “Mr. Hopwell was a birthday present from my mama and papa,” he said. “I’ve had him since I was four. He … he reminds me of them.”
“Christopher is an orphan,” explained Mina gently.
Tom nodded. “Like me. At least I fink I’m an orphan,” he said to Christopher. “I ain’t seen me mum for four years, so I may as well be. Don’t know ’oo me dad was eiver.”
“You can borrow Mr. Hopwell anytime you like if you need a hug,” said Christopher. “He’s made of velvet, so he’s very soft.”
“Fanks, but I’m not the huggin’ sort,” said Tom. His gaze transferred to Mina. “So ’ow’s this all goin’ to work then? When are we supposed to ’ave these lessons? ’Cause I’m not always ’ere. I’m a busy lad. Got fings to do an’ people to see.”
“Well, there won’t be any lessons today,” said Mina in a reassuring tone. “We’ve only just arrived, and I haven’t even taken a look at the schoolroom yet. Who knows what we’ll find.”
“I’ll show you, miss.” Tom jumped up. “It’s just down from my bedroom and Christopher’s. It’s got lots o’ books an’ china knickknacks an’ such. Maybe some ink an’ pencils an’ a bit o’ paper in the desk. Not much else though.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Tom,” said Mina with an approving nod. “Lead the way.”
The boy, apparently eager to please, darted out of Christopher’s room into the hallway. Mina and Christopher followed. To Mina’s surprise, Christopher left Mr. Hopwell behind.
She’d take it as an encouraging sign that perhaps the boy was already starting to feel comfortable in this new house.
Indeed, Mina had begun to wonder, in quiet moments, if the boy’s close attachment to his stuffed toy was a sign that he was troubled.
He was always so quiet and agreeable and well-behaved, but she sensed he felt things deeply.
And he’d endured so much disruption of late.
His entire world had been effectively turned upside down.
Perhaps Tom Fleet would help him to come out of his shell.
The schoolroom was indeed close to the boys’ bedrooms. It was a decent-sized parlor-cum-study with a large oak desk—for Mina’s use presumably—and an assortment of chairs, occasional tables, a pair of glass-fronted bookcases that flanked the fireplace, and a set of large sash windows dressed with sea-green brocade drapes.
A Turkish rug covered the floor’s polished oak boards, and the gray marble mantelpiece sported the fine bone-china “knickknacks” Tom had mentioned.
While Christopher explored the room with Tom, Mina crossed to the desk and opened the drawers to ascertain what supplies were at hand and what she might need to ask the marquess for.
The bookcase doors were locked—not that that would present any problem if Mina used her leyport key to open them—but from what she could see, the books contained within were old almanacs and ledgers.
Kinsale House no doubt had a library somewhere—
A knock on the schoolroom door made Mina jump. Swinging around, she discovered Lord Kinsale—now suitably attired like a gentleman rather than a boxer—leaning one mountainous shoulder against the doorframe. Brutus sat by his master’s patent-leather-shoe-clad feet, eyeing her with keen interest.
“Miss Dav-Davenport,” the marquess said, greeting her with a wide smile. “I see you’ve found the school … the schoolroom.”
Brutus bared his teeth in what might have been the approximation of a canine smile or the precursor to a warning growl; it was a little hard to tell.
Ye cannot keep away from his lordship, eh?
First ye stow away on the Kinsale Cloud, then ye manage to sweet-talk yer way into a job here.
Cocking his head, he added, I saw ye drooling over me master in the ballroom.
Making big puppy eyes at him. I know what ye’re up to, Miss Davenport.
Ye want to be the next Lady Kinsale, don’t ye?
Mina sighed inwardly. A warning then. Ignoring the pug as the marquess was looking at her expectantly, Mina bobbed a curtsy. “Tom kindly showed me the way. I take it this is the room you’d like us to use for lessons?”
Lord Kinsale pushed away from the door and took a few steps into the parlor.
His gaze swept over the desk, the furniture by the fireplace, and the boys who were presently studying something in the garden below.
Brutus had joined them, his curly tail quivering as he stared out the window too.
“Is-is it all right? I w-w-wasn’t sure what you might n-n-need.
Like Tom, I’ve never had formal less-lessons myself.
Although, me mam t-t-taught me to read and write and do arith-arithmetic. ”