Merrick tipped his chin. “Of a sort. More of an…apprenticeship, I suppose you’d call it.”
Tommy leaned in closer. “This have anything to do with that magick you did?”
“It does. Spells are part of the training of any Knight of the Order.”
“You’re talking about some kind of vampyre-hunting club?” Tommy was trying to stay stone-faced, but Merrick could see the excitement glinting in his bright blue eyes.
“More of a secret regiment.” Merrick laid down his cards and leaned forward as well. “We call it the Order. It really does go back to the original Knights who worked for Arthur, believe it or not. Magick has been around a long, long time. These days, we get paid by the government for hunting not just vampyres, but other things…feral werewolves, rogue wizards, sometimes even human criminals no one else has been able to catch.”
“Paid?” Tommy sat up a little straighter.
Merrick nodded. “Paid well, once the training is done.” Most of the founding families of the Order held some sort of title, but even those Knights without a family fortune like Merrick usually ended up well-off landowners by the time their service was done—or in some cases their heirs did.
The lad’s enthusiasm visibly waned. “And during the training? Just ’ow long does that take?”
“About a year after you finish university.”
“University?” Tommy’s cackle of cynical laughter caught the attention of a few onlookers, so he paused a moment before lowering his voice and continuing. “For the likes of me? Sorry, guv, but you’re out of your gourd.”
Merrick shook his head. “Not with me as your sponsor, and the Order behind you. It would depend on your abilities, of course, but University is usually part of the package. You’d come live with me, have a tutor to prepare you while we start your training.” Merrick tried not to wince at the thought of having a young hellion sharing his quiet, peaceful home. It couldn’t be helped.
Tommy bit his lip. “I can’t,” he said finally, and Merrick could see the tears he tried to blink back. “I got responsibilities.”
The other children. Merrick nodded gravely—he’d been expecting this, wouldn’t have respected Tommy much at all if he’d left the others on their own. “We’ll come up with something, son. My aunt assures me she can find good homes for them all. Don’t forget, the escaped undead may have seen you. Wapping probably isn’t safe for any of you anymore.”
“No.” Tommy shook his head sadly and held out his hand. “No splittin’ us up. The girls would never go for that. Thanks for the offer, though, guv. Anytime you need a ’and down ’ere in Wapping, you look me up.”
“There’s five of you altogether, right?” Merrick began to panic. He knew nothing about children. Not planning to have any of his own, at least not until he’d left active service, he’d never seen the point in learning about the species. Growing up in a Knight’s household was a hard life—even harder for a Knight’s wife, which was why Merrick didn’t have one. Although he’d been a small child, he’d watched his mother wither a little more each time his father left on a mission until she finally gave up and died.
Tommy nodded. “That’s right. Five.”
The words came out of Merrick’s mouth before he could stop them. “Then I guess you’ll all have to come live with me. Wink and my aunt should get along like a house afire.” If they didn’t end up killing each other—or Merrick—first.
Shrieks of laughter and running footsteps pounded in the upstairs hallway as Merrick stepped inside his townhouse. Wincing at one particularly loud war whoop, he handed his hat and cane to Mountjoy, his butler, before retreating to the sanctity of his library. At his gesture, Mountjoy followed Merrick into the quiet haven, his long, lined face looking remarkably like that of an offended bloodhound.
Things weren’t much better in there. Though presently empty, the place showed signs of recent occupation. A stack of rare first editions was piled haphazardly on the floor, one open with the spine splayed ominously and a glob of what looked and smelled like melted peppermint stick on the pages. Piers. Merrick’s working miniature steam locomotive had been disassembled and lay in the middle of a now oil-stained rug. Wink. His mother’s music box was flat-out missing. Nell. Finally, shards of what might have once been his grandfather’s porcelain snuffbox littered another corner. Jamie. Lord knew what Tommy had been up to. Probably rooking half the staff out of their wages in a card game.
“Have the staff remove all fragile ornaments from the public spaces until further notice,” Merrick said to Mountjoy.
“We already have, sir. I believe that was a teacup.” Mountjoy looked down his nose and sighed as though he were in a great deal of pain. “The new, inexpensive china, purchased by the crate. You’ll be relieved to note the music box and snuffbox are safely locked away.”
“And let’s keep this room locked, shall we?” Now that Mountjoy mentioned it, even the paintings were missing from the library. How had Merrick failed to notice that? There was another crash upstairs that made his skin crawl. Ah yes—he’d been distracted.
“At once, sir.” Mountjoy nodded. He moved to the mechanical sweeper in the corner of the room and cleaned up the china shards while Merrick carried the candy-coated book over to his desk to assess the damage. Having a houseful of children had been every bit as distressing as he’d imagined. Perhaps he could move into his club until his aunt and the staff got the little buggers under control. That shouldn’t take longer than a year. Ten at the outside. He could live in rooms for that long, he was sure of it.
A high-pitched scream echoed through the corridors of Merrick’s townhouse, followed by the sharp crash of porcelain splintering on the marble floor. The whoop of elation shifted into a howl of pain.
“Oh, hell, somebody’s crying.” Merrick shoved past the wide-eyed butler as he dashed out into the hallway. While he didn’t particularly enjoy having the urchins in his home, he certainly didn’t want them hurt. Poor little blighters had been through enough of that already in their short lifetimes.
Merrick reached the foyer in seconds to find Piers and Jamie, the two youngest boys, kneeling at the base of the grand staircase amid the shattered remains of Chinese porcelain and several broken umbrellas. Seamus McCann, a fair-haired, nine-year-old pickpocket better known as Jamie, clasped his left arm up against his chest and made a manly attempt to contain his sniffles. Ten-year-old Piers Jenkins picked a shard of pottery from his friend’s knee and wrapped his handkerchief around the other boy’s leg. Piers’s pale thin face was tight with concern, his hazel eyes wide, and for once, he was missing the clockwork monkey that normally sat on his shoulder.
After sweeping aside the broken china with his boot, Merrick knelt and nudged Piers aside, his glance quickly taking in the rapid swelling of Jamie’s wrist. The odd-shaped lump undoubtedly indicated a broken bone.
“Mountjoy, summon the surgeon,” he called. “And fetch some ice.” He searched Jamie’s gray eyes carefully for signs of shock. “Is the arm the worst of it, lad?”
Jamie nodded. “I’m s-s-sorry ab-bout the s-stand, s-sir.” He cringed back from Merrick as he spoke.
Piers added, “Please, sir, it was an accident. We’re ever so sorry.” His use of proper English was dead perfect. Did he think that would influence Merrick’s behavior?
Probably. Both boys leaned back from Merrick as if certain they were about to be beaten within an inch of their lives, and the idea made him even angrier than he already was. “We’ll discuss the damage to the house later,” Merrick growled. “Jamie, can you move your feet and toes?”
Jamie obediently did. As his shoes and stockings—the brand new ones Merrick had just purchased according to the receipts Dorothy had left piled on his desk—had gone missing somewhere along the way, it was clear to see all ten toes were in proper working order.
“Very well.” Merrick carefully lifted the child and carried him into the library where he laid the boy down on a sturdy sofa. “Any other bits of
china sticking in you anywhere?”
“I-I d-don’t think s-so.”
“All right. Let’s look at that knee while we wait for the surgeon to set your arm.” By this time, Merrick was conscious of the other children having gathered in the room behind him. Slowly, he untied the knotted handkerchief, keeping his eyes fixed on Jamie, even as he spoke over his shoulder. “Tommy, would you remind the others that this is why it’s not a good idea to slide down the banister?”
“Yes, sir,” Tommy said. “Is Jamie all right?”
Merrick studied the inch-long cut on Jamie’s knee and decided it probably wouldn’t require stitching. Healing powers were not part of a Knight’s repertoire, but he’d seen enough battle wounds to be a fair diagnostician. “I think a broken arm’s the worst of it. My friend Mr. Wallace is a good surgeon. He should be able to set it so there’s no permanent damage.”
Mountjoy opened a hidden panel on the bookshelf beside Merrick’s desk and filled a towel full of the small ice cubes from the dispenser. After knotting the towel, he handed it to Merrick before turning back to the compartment.
Merrick laid it in Jamie’s lap and helped ease the boy’s forearm down on top of the bundle.
“Sir Merrick?” Mountjoy was at Merrick’s elbow with a snifter. “This always helps you before a visit from Mr. Wallace.”
Merrick took the brandy and held it to Jamie’s lips. “Drink up, lad. It will taste like the devil, but it will help numb the pain.”
Sputtering, Jamie swallowed the ounce or so Mountjoy had poured.
Moments later, Mrs. Granger, the housekeeper, hurried in. The woman’s lips were drawn into a disapproving frown, but her eyes softened a little as she looked down at the injured child. Stern, devout and disapproving of Merrick’s bachelor lifestyle, she did have a weakness for youngsters, or so Merrick remembered from his own childhood. Amazingly, she’d been housekeeper that long. Without another word, she pulled a mechanical sweeper from a cupboard and completed the task Mountjoy had begun before the commotion, then pulled the wheeled brass machine out into the hallway, the motor and the clatter of broken china adding background music to the situation, which was rapidly turning into a farce.
The children all seemed to be talking at once. Tommy tried to convince Mountjoy to pour him a glass of brandy, while Wink—Winifred Carter, the fifteen-year-old technological genius behind George and numerous other mechanical toys the children had brought with them—exclaimed over the vacuum-powered sweeper, and Piers tried to get a book from one of the higher shelves by climbing the ones below it. The former chimney sweep was still not altogether recovered from a bout of pneumonia, but he could climb like nobody’s business. He was also the most wickedly intelligent child Merrick had ever met—frighteningly so, in Merrick’s opinion. In another corner, Piers’s half-sister, Nell was talking to someone—human or spirit, Merrick had no idea. The twelve-year-old girl, whose father had been from India, or some other place with dark-skinned natives, was a natural medium.
The sharp clapping of hands cut through the clamor. “All right, everyone else out of this room.” Dorothy’s voice rang with steel. Merrick hadn’t even realized she’d entered the room, though he was grateful she had. In a fight, he’d seen this group working as a team under Tommy’s direction, but outside of combat, Dorothy seemed to be the only one capable of riding herd on the children, and that control was tenuous at best.
Dorothy motioned toward the hallway and the vacuum sweeper was silenced. “Mrs. Granger, take these children to the kitchen and feed them. Once they’ve eaten, please give them each some useful task to keep them occupied. Children, you will accomplish every chore she assigns you if you wish to have any puddings whatsoever for the next week. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” It was Nell who answered.
“We should stay with Jamie,” Wink argued.
“Do you trust Sir Merrick?” Dorothy’s tone was pointed.
After a round of indrawn breaths, dead silence filled the crowded room. Merrick turned from Jamie to see each of the other four studying the toes of their new shoes. Finally it was Tommy who spoke, looking up to meet Merrick’s gaze. He took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I do.”
Merrick was touched. Considering the lengths he’d gone to avoid his new charges, he didn’t deserve such confidence.
“Me too,” piped in Jamie from the couch, albeit weakly. “’E’s all right.”
“Very well. Then trust him to take care of your brother. What Jamie needs now is quiet, and for that, the rest of you must remove yourselves from this library. Is that clear, ladies?” Dorothy cast her dark gaze on Wink and Nell, until both girls gave reluctant nods.
On that note, Mrs. Granger and Mountjoy herded the four momentarily subdued youths out of the library, shutting the thick oak door with a near-silent snick.
Something had tightened in Merrick’s chest when not one of them quibbled over Dorothy’s use of the term brother. Despite what he knew had to be widely disparate backgrounds, these five had indeed forged a closely knit family. It wouldn’t be easy to be considered a part of it—if one wished to, that was.
No. He shook off the thought. These children weren’t his family—they were simply a responsibility he’d chosen to accept. It was important to remember that.
Later, the surgeon had been and gone, Jamie had been put to bed, and Merrick sagged back into his chair in the library, a frazzled Dorothy right beside him.
“You’re right,” he acknowledged, pouring them both a healthy measure of brandy. “We need a governess—or six.”
His aunt didn’t even pretend to be too ladylike to consume the spirits. She took a healthy swig. “Yes. Immediately.”
“It won’t be easy,” he reminded her. “Most of those children are gifted, in one way or another, and there are Order issues to be considered.” Nell saw ghosts, Wink’s mechanical aptitude extended beyond the range of natural genius, Jamie occasionally had glimpses of the future, and Piers was just bloody brilliant. In addition, any governess he hired would also have to be up to the task of training them in the manners of the gentry. After all, as his wards, they’d be expected to move in his social circles one day.
“Don’t worry, dear.” Dorothy patted his hand. “I know just the person.”
Chapter Three
Caroline leaned back against the smooth cordovan leather of Miss Hadrian’s private carriage, turned her head and tried not to sigh at the luxurious, nearly sensual feel of it beneath her cheek. She hadn’t traveled in this sort of comfort since she was sixteen years old. Not even when she’d gone places with her employers—the children and governess were generally relegated to a less elegantly appointed conveyance. Although this ride was only from one neighborhood of London to another, she was determined to enjoy every fleeting second.
It had shocked her to receive a letter last night from Miss Hadrian—Caroline really couldn’t think of the older woman by her first name, no matter how many times she was told to do so. The note had been brief and to the point, just as one would expect from such a straightforward woman. Miss Hadrian’s nephew had recently come into guardianship of five children, aged nine to fifteen. The eldest boy would have a tutor, but a governess was desperately needed for the other four.
Caroline had lain awake all night, pondering the wisdom of accepting this invitation. On the one hand, she desperately needed the position. On the other, she was terrified at the thought of working in a household that included Sir Merrick Hadrian. After her first brief meeting with the man, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind—or dreams—for weeks.
The carriage pulled to a halt in front of a Georgian stone mansion that made Caroline gulp. She’d known the Hadrian family was wealthy, but she hadn’t envisioned quite this degree of magnificence, especially for a mere baronet. Still, she held her head high as the liveried footman helped her alight. She kept it there as a dignified butler looked down his long nose at her while she entered through the front
door, rather than the rear entrance reserved for servants, or aspiring ones. She’d been surprised as well, when the carriage had stopped at the front of this dwelling, but since it had, she was going to act like she deserved it.
“Caroline, dear, I’m so grateful you could come.” Miss Hadrian hurried into the foyer just as the butler was taking Caroline’s serviceable gray cape. The older woman clasped Caroline’s hand warmly in her own and held her arm to guide her down the wide, imposing hallway.
As usual, Miss Hadrian was dressed in understated elegance. Her deep blue gabardine day dress was made from the finest fabrics, but boasted a single flounce to the skirt and simple braided trim in lieu of the usual ribbons and ruffles. She also wore far fewer petticoats than was the norm for women of her social class. In such company, Caroline didn’t feel quite so dowdy in her brown serge dress, trimmed only by a small ivory lace collar with a tiny brown-and-green ribbon at the throat. It was her newest costume, though it was no more flattering than any of her others. Flattering was not something she strove for when meeting prospective employers.
“You really couldn’t have been available at a more opportune time.” The paneled corridor was unexpectedly free of any knick-knacks or even paintings, though there were several nails still showing where paintings would once have hung. Odd. Had the Hadrian family fortunes taken a sudden reversal? “You’ll understand why I thought of you when you meet the children, my dear. You are exactly what they need.” There was a harried note in Miss Hadrian’s voice that Caroline had never heard before. Certainly something was amiss in this household.
The two women entered a pleasant sitting room, though it too, was devoid of any decorative items save a single bronze urn and a pair of small silver statuettes on the mantelpiece. The furniture was expensive and covered in quality fabrics, so whatever reverses had occurred must be quite recent.
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