Freddie chuckled and stepped slightly to the side so she could come beside him. “I think I’ve had enough of getting you in trouble,” he admitted ruefully. “This trip, at least.”
“Well, there’s a relief,” she replied drily. “Why the change of heart?”
Freddie shrugged again.
And said nothing.
“That’s not an answer,” Rosie scolded.
He frowned at her. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”
That surprised Rosie, and she considered that for a moment. Freddie was certainly more reserved than many boys his age, but he hadn’t usually been reserved around her. On the contrary, they had confided much in each other over the years that they had been family.
They had an unspoken agreement that what was given in confidence was never to be used in a fight between them. It was their way of fighting fairly, she supposed.
Or as fairly as Gerrards ever did, anyway.
“Is this about what I said this morning at breakfast?” Rosie asked, taking any derision out of her tone. “Because I am sorry about that, you know.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t mean it… that way,” she explained. “I didn’t realize how it would sound until I said it.”
“I know,” Freddie repeated.
Rosie nodded in satisfaction, but she didn’t feel much of it in her heart. Her apology was accepted, it seemed, but Freddie’s expression was still unreadable.
She didn’t particularly want to delve into his personal matters, but it wasn’t in her nature to let things alone either. If there was something she could do to help, she would do it. And if there wasn’t, she could at least distract him.
“So what is it, then?” she pressed as they turned down another corridor, heading for the older part of the house. “You might as well tell me.”
Freddie stopped for a moment, and Rosie was mildly concerned that he might yell at her for interfering and give up on helping her find the presents.
But he surprised her by turning to her with a clear countenance. “I’m feeling a bit lost.”
Rosie blinked at him. “In the house?”
He rolled his eyes and laughed once. “No.”
“Oh, good,” she said with a smile of relief. “Because if you’re lost in trying to find these presents, you would be the worst guide ever.”
“I still might be, you never know.”
They grinned at each other for a moment of united amusement.
Rosie looked at Freddie carefully. “How are you lost?”
He sighed and gave her a reluctant look. “Promise not to tell?”
She gestured for him to go on, as that had been a given, in her estimation.
“I’m not sure where I fit in,” he admitted in a low voice. “Here, I mean. With the family.”
Rosie winced audibly. “Freddie, I said I didn’t mean…”
“I don’t mean you,” he interrupted quickly. “I know what you meant. But despite that, you’re not the only one who has said something like that.”
“In our family?” Rosie demanded in outrage. She couldn’t think of a single person in the family who would do that, but it could be nothing more than a thoughtless comment that was being taken in the wrong way.
“No!” Freddie exclaimed, shaking his head. “For heaven’s sake, Rosie, how many times can you be wrong?”
“Apparently quite a few. What are you talking about then?”
“School!”
There was utter silence in the corridor for a long moment while Rosie processed his answer.
People at his school were…
Her brow snapped down and she found herself wishing it were ladylike to snarl. “Who?”
Freddie looked a little wary at her expression. “You don’t know them.”
“Yet,” she spat. Then she jerked at his words. “Them? More than one?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he grumbled. “I forgot how you get.”
“Tell me!” Rosie insisted firmly. “Tell me who and tell me what.”
Freddie shook his head slowly. “You only get one, Rose. Do you want to know who or do you want to know what?”
“Both!”
Now he folded his arms and smiled tightly at her.
Waiting.
Ugh, she’d taught him that trick, and she never thought he would use it against her.
Figures.
“It’s not as though I could do much about it,” Rosie grumbled, her temper fading in the face of defeat. “I’m leaving for Kent right after Twelfth Night, whatever that means, and won’t be able to do anything.”
Freddie laughed. “Kent is not that far from London. I know you, and you would find a way.”
“It’s amazing how easy it is to bribe servants in some places,” Rosie admitted with a quick smile. “Very well, tell me what was said, then.”
He shifted his stance. “Well, I don’t remember the exact wording of any of them, but it was suggested repeatedly that being adopted by my stepfather is not the same thing as being his child.”
Rosie considered that with a tilt of her head. “Technically true, as you know, but why should that matter?”
“Right, nothing we don’t already know,” Freddie agreed, waving it off. “But their point was that emotionally, it’s not the same. And in family matters, it’s not the same. And as far as worth in the family, it’s…”
“Not the same,” Rosie finished darkly.
Freddie nodded and shrugged. “At first I ignored them all. I knew what my parents felt for me, and I knew it wasn’t true. But the more I heard them, the more they sunk in. I don’t think Papa would treat me any differently than he would Livvy or Matthew or Amelia intentionally, but sometimes I just wonder.”
Rosie let the silence hang in the air for a moment, then peered at her nephew in thought. “Do they know that you have an estate in Northumberland as your inheritance and that you are helping to plan it all out?”
“No,” Freddie said at once, shaking his head in jerky movements. “No, they don’t know anything about it. They only like to tell me that I cannot inherit, as I’m not the actual firstborn. They don’t know who my real father was…”
“Say birth father,” Rosie insisted before he could go on. “Colin is your real father, and I’ll never ever say differently, no matter what torture is thrust upon me.”
Freddie smiled warmly at that, then furrowed his brow. “Who is going to torture you over information about me?”
“I’m preparing for many eventualities where your future is concerned.”
“But torture?”
“They may use you to get to Ginny, who would be the real problem. Don’t worry about it.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.” He cleared his throat. “My birth father, then. Mama was very careful, nobody knows who he was.”
“I don’t even know that,” Rosie admitted.
“So torturing you would be fruitless.”
“Very.”
“Good to know.”
Rosie tried not to smile now, as there were still a few other points to make. “So they don’t know about the estate. Marvelous. Do they know that your future is already secured at Oxford or Cambridge?”
“No…” he answered hesitantly. “I don’t talk about that either.”
“So all these imbéciles know is that you are an adopted Gerrard.”
Freddie considered that, then nodded. “I suppose so.”
Rosie scoffed loudly. “Well, that’s not exactly a stretch of intellect there. They know absolutely nothing about you, Freddie, and nor, apparently, do they know anything about Gerrards. Don’t give them the satisfaction of actually considering anything they have to say. You’re obviously much smarter than them, and probably will score higher in all of your exams, which will irritate them, but they can live with the disappointment of their own lives. You’re Colin’s son, and you’re a real Gerrard, which makes you my nephew, much as I hate to admit that.
”
Freddie flashed her a smile. “Thank you, Aunt Rose.”
There it was again.
But this time it made her smile.
Just this once.
“You’re not the only one who’s lost, you know,” Rosie told him as they walked on once more.
“No?”
She shook her head. “We’re all a bit lost. Me, Bitty, Ginny… Maybe not Ginny, she always seems know exactly what she’s doing and where she stands.”
“Too right,” Freddie muttered.
“But with the growing families,” Rosie went on, “we’re wondering if having three younger sisters to tend as well might get a little… troublesome.”
“You are a troublesome lot,” Freddie informed her with a teasing nudge to her side.
She nudged him back and harder. “You know what I mean.”
“I think so.”
“We don’t want to get pushed aside, but we don’t want to put ourselves ahead of their children either.” She shrugged one shoulder. “They didn’t ask for us or our guardianship, so I can’t blame them if…”
“What do you think is going to happen, Rosie?” Freddie overrode gently. “They’re going to send you all away?”
It sounded pathetic when someone else said it aloud, but the fear of exactly that was real.
“I already am away,” Rosie whispered.
Freddie grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop. “Hold on. You think they sent you away to get rid of you? What are you, Humphrey?”
Rosie laughed at the unexpected comparison.
“Girls go to finishing schools, if they think it’s best,” Freddie reminded her. “Aunt Marianne asked you about it repeatedly, you could have said no at any time.”
“I wanted to go,” she admitted.
“So…?”
“I can’t stop myself from wondering.”
Freddie stared at her, gaping. “Rosie, you’re back in London with the family so often it’s like you never left. And I am fairly certain that half of the meetings Papa and Uncle Kit have with solicitors are actually trips to see you.”
“They are,” Rosie confessed with a fond smile. “It’s almost embarrassing.”
He gestured widely, as if the answer should be obvious. “Trust me, the three of you are not going anywhere. And there is no before the children or after the children. You said we’re a family, and in families seniority only matters in how we go into dinner or are presented.”
“There’s a seniority for going into dinner?” she asked wryly.
She knew there was, but in their family, it was first come was first served.
Freddie rolled his eyes and continued down the corridor. “You need to go back to school. There’s a lot of finishing to do with you.”
“I’m only fourteen!” she protested. “According to Kit and Colin, I’m still a child.”
“You are.”
“I’m two years older than you.”
“A pity, then, that your maturity does not reflect that.”
Rosie snorted at the comeback, and nudged Freddie hard again.
But really, that had been particularly witty.
For a boy of twelve, he really was very bright.
She would never tell him that, of course, but she could think it.
Freddie led her to a set of stairs she hadn’t seen before, and they wound down a narrow, pokey stairwell. It was older than most of the rest of the house, and much less fine.
“A servants’ stair?” she asked dubiously.
That earned her a scornful look. “Rosie Gerrard, are you too finished for exploring a servants’ stair?”
She sniffed at that. “No.”
“Did you think the servants were going to take the presents to the music room? Or perhaps the ballroom? Oh! Perhaps the library?”
Rosie scowled at him and shoved him forward. “Go on, I’ll follow.”
He turned back and held up a finger. “Do not push me down the stairs or lock me in.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her heart. “I promise.”
“Why don’t I find that comforting?” he muttered, going down the stairs anyway.
Rosie followed, as promised, and didn’t even think of pushing him or locking him in.
Dark and cramped places were not exactly her favorite things. She wasn’t afraid of them, merely hesitant. Cautious. Apprehensive.
Oh, all right, she was a little afraid of them, but Christmas was at stake, so she would get over that.
Besides, any terrifying creature or lurking villain would take the first victim possible, and that was Freddie.
He would die nobly and honorably and in defense of her.
At least that was what she would tell everyone.
“Huh,” Freddie said when he reached the bottom.
“What?” Rosie asked sharply, still feeling along the wall on her way down.
“Nothing is down here.”
That gave Rosie pause. “What do you mean nothing is down here?”
“What further explanation do you need?” Freddie asked as Rosie came down the last stair. He gestured around him. “No gifts. I would have sworn this would be the place they would take them, but…”
Rosie frowned and looked around. The room was cluttered with various things, old trunks and broken furniture, but whatever its original use had been, it now only seemed a place to put things that were no longer necessary, for one reason or another.
But Freddie was right. No presents in sight.
“Blast,” Rosie hissed, putting her hands on her hips. “They must have really hid them somewhere.”
Freddie nodded. “And we don’t have time to put out a full search.”
She sighed and rubbed at her brow. “I suppose we will just have to see what happens tomorrow morning.”
“Or sneak down after everyone else goes to bed and look for them then.”
Rosie turned to him in surprise. “Frederick Gerrard, you are a devious person.”
He grinned and shrugged easily. “I know. Nobody ever suspects it.”
They turned to look around the room. “I wonder what is in these trunks,” Rosie said as she moved towards one.
“Corpses,” came the reply.
She threw Freddie a look. “You would say that just as I’m about to open it.” She turned back to the trunk and wiped some of the dust from it.
“Careful,” Freddie warned.
Rosie nodded, then opened the trunk. She stared inside for a moment, then felt a wild grin spread across her face. “Freddie, I need your help.”
Chapter Fifteen
"What do you mean we’re going to improve eyes?”
“What’s wrong with our eyes?”
“Not improve eyes, nonnykins. Improvise.”
“Sounds the same to me.”
“Ginny, we don’t have time for that.”
“Well, it does.”
Rosie looked at Freddie for help, knowing he had a more patient temperament than she did, and might be able to make progress where she had not.
“Improvise,” Freddie said with a nod, stepping forward, “means… Well, it means to make it up.”
Ginny’s eyes widened and she looked at Rosie. “You want us to make it up?”
Rosie nodded, smiling now. “Yes. We will pull everything out of this trunk and see what we can use. Then we’ll make up a theatrical with them, but our actual lines will not be written down at all. We will just play along with each other.”
Bitty reached into the trunk and fingered a blue silk. “So it would be like playing make-believe, except people are watching.”
“Yes,” Rosie said with excitement. “Exactly. It will be silly and amusing, and I think everyone will like it.”
Ginny seemed to think about that. “What if I forget what I want to say?”
Freddie grinned at her. “It won’t matter. We’ll just play along.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Are you still going to be a sheep?”
Freddie looked
at Rosie expectantly.
Rosie rolled her eyes. “Not unless we need a sheep.”
“That’s fair,” Freddie allowed.
“We might need a sheep,” Bitty quipped with a light laugh. “I’m terribly fond of sheep.”
“I prefer goats,” Ginny announced with a sniff.
It took all of Rosie’s strength to avoid rolling her eyes yet again. If she had to hear about the goat one more time, she would pay Mr. Matthews out of her own allowance to keep the blasted animal.
“Let’s see what’s in here,” Freddie said quickly, correctly reading Rosie’s expression.
The girls dug in and Rosie held her breath. Surely there would be things within they could make up some sort of story about. It didn’t have to be a good story or even one that made any sense. It just had to be better than the ideas she’d tried to put down on paper, and that would not take much effort at all.
“Ooh!” Bitty squealed as she pulled the blue silk fully out of the trunk.
It wasn’t an article of clothing so much as a measure of fabric. An unfinished wrap, perhaps? Whatever it was, Bitty was going to use it, and no one would be surprised by that.
Freddie pulled out a tricorne hat that he seemed particularly delighted by and propped it on his head with a smile.
Ginny pulled out at least two pairs of gloves, though they were slightly soiled. She made a face of consideration, then laid them aside as she reached in and pulled out a toy sword that drew a smile from her.
Rosie would have to mind that.
Ginny and swords, wooden or not, seemed a rather dangerous idea.
They continued to pull item after item from the trunk, some bringing laughs like the monocle, and others expressions of disgust like a tarnishing piece of gaudy jewelry. There were plenty of items to choose from, more than enough to do a theatrical with, but what they had would be mostly silly, and even the silliest theatricals needed legitimate props or pieces to tie everything together.
Rosie frowned at the items strewn about the room, chewing her lip in thought.
“Do you think we need to use some of our own items?” Freddie asked as he considered everything as well.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think that our clothing would make much of a difference. But there’s nothing here we can use for the little ones. And I just need… I don’t know.”
A Gerrard Family Christmas Page 17
