by Jo Goodman
“No.” Lily lowered her hand. “It is nothing.”
Sherry stood at the foot of the bed. “Ponsonby reports you have torn two stitches.”
“That is the same she said to me. I do not want you to send for the physician. There really is no need.”
“She told me you would say that.”
“Your housekeeper is very thorough.”
“I believe she is, yes.” He regarded her a moment longer. “Are you certain there is no urgency? Has the tear caused you no distress?”
“There is discomfort. Pain, if I am careless, but you know I am no hothouse flower, my lord, and I would prefer that you did not treat me as such.”
There was a pause as he considered the request. “As you wish.” He clasped his hands at his back, rocking forward just once on the balls of his feet before he was still. “It occurs to me that there have been no introductions,” he said. “I am Sheridan.”
“M’lord,” she said, inclining her head respectfully.
“You will not give me your name?”
“You must know it. The children will have told you.”
He shrugged. “I should like to hear it from you.”
Sensing there was a trap here, Lily still did not know how to avoid it. “Rose,” she said carefully. “I am called Miss Rose.”
“I did not inquire as to how you are called,” he said mildly. “I asked for your name.”
Color flushed her cheeks. “You think I am lying.”
“Not at all. I am quite certain you have told me the truth, but it also circles a truth you do not wish to reveal.”
Lily said nothing. She did not want to look at him but knew she did not dare look away.
“Do you deny it?”
Instead of answering, Lily’s small chin came up. She challenged him. “Does it matter what I say? I think it is your intention to discredit me, else why would you ask a question to which you seem to believe you know the answer?”
Sherry smiled faintly. “Parry and thrust. Conversing with you has rather a lot in common with a fencing match.”
“You wound me, my lord.”
His dark eyes saluted her. “Touché, Lily.”
For a moment she simply could not breathe, then she drew her knees back, closer to her chest, and tucked the tented coverlet under her. The effect, she supposed, was like a fox seeking the safety of its earth. It chipped at her pride to know Sheridan would also see it in that light, yet she doubted she could have done it differently.
“The children told you,” she said without inflection.
“Yes. But only because they thought you were dying.” When he saw her faint, mocking smile, he added, “They believed God should hear prayers said to your true name.”
The smile vanished. “Mayhap you wish they had been less earnest.”
A small crease appeared between Sherry’s brows as he considered the sudden flattening of her mouth at this mention of prayers. “It did not occur to me. May I have leave to call you Lily?”
She shrugged.
Sherry waited. “Shall I call you Miss Rose, then?”
“I suppose you may call me whatever you wish.”
“You have still another name, Miss—?”
“Rose,” she said, responding to his questioning inflection without hesitation. “No other names. I am Lily Rose.”
He was tempted to salute her for the alacrity of her response. There was a certain sly lilt in her voice that fairly challenged him to take exception. That alone decided him not to press. “Very well,” he said. “Miss Rose.”
Lily thought she should not be so pleased to have diverted him, or at least that she should not show it. It was no easy thing to temper her smile.
“Gloating is unattractive,” he said.
“Of course,” she said, composing herself. “You are right.”
“Thank you.”
Lily’s eyes narrowed slightly. She thought she detected a hint that he was amused by her. He was much better than she in schooling his features, and he had perfected a shuttered glance that gave little away and a maddeningly neutral tone of expression, but she could not acquit him of enjoying himself once again at her expense. She might have accused him of such if her stomach had not rumbled uncomfortably. Knowing that it was a perfectly natural response to hunger did not lessen her embarrassment.
She drew her knees closer to her chest. “Pardon me. I do not—”
Sherry waved aside her apology. “It is the exact purpose of my return,” he said. “To discover if you are prepared to eat something. Ponsonby says she did not inquire.”
The anticipation of food caused Lily’s stomach to rumble again. “I should like something, yes.” She realized she did not even know when she had last eaten.
“Of course. Cook will prepare something for you. You’ve had little more than broth spooned into you for far too many days.” He inclined his head and prepared to make his exit.
He was half the distance to the door when Lily’s softly spoken thank you reached his ears. She knew because it caused him an infinitesimal pause in his step. She thought he might turn—hoped that he would—but he didn’t, and then he was gone.
Staring at the closed door, Lily was uncomfortably aware that she suddenly felt more lonely than alone. Because nothing good could come of dwelling on it, she ruthlessly pushed the sense of it aside and opened her mind to the important matters that must occupy her.
Chief among them was her own survival.
There was no question but that she would have to leave. Less clear was whether the children should accompany her. It was not unreasonable to suppose that Sheridan would instruct his housekeeper to find some position for them. They might shovel coal and fill his fireplaces. Midge could blacken his lordship’s boots. Dash could run errands. And though he might chafe at being forced to wear the livery, Pinch would make an excellent tiger.
It would be a good life for them, better than she dared hope and beyond their expectations. By every sensible measure, they should leap at the opportunity for such good fortune. Lily was less certain they would do so.
Bringing the thing about would take considerable cleverness on her part. They were children, so they could behave foolishly, but they were not fools. She would be lucky if she could manage to stay even a half step in front of them.
Then there was the complication of Sheridan. His lordship would not be easily gulled if it came to that. Everything must needs be his own idea, or at least he should believe it was.
Closing her eyes, Lily sighed. It was all very tiring. She simply hadn’t the strength of body or will to stand long against an opponent like Sheridan. They had fenced, sure enough, but Lily knew better than to believe he had not also been considerate of her and that he was simply assessing her skills. If he had judged her to be a stronger opponent, he might very well have run her through.
The thought of being stuck again did not in any way please her. She placed one hand over her injury, reminding herself that he’d played some role in her acquiring it. She should have already told him how it had all come about. That was no secret she meant to keep, but whether or not he believed her was entirely his choice.
The arrival of her repast ended Lily’s musings. It was brought to her by a young woman possessing both brisk efficiency and a suspicious temperament. Lily immediately felt the housekeeper’s influence.
She unfolded her knees so the maid could place the legged tray over her lap. When the cover was lifted, Lily breathed deeply of the aroma of warm milk and porridge. What she lifted first to her lips, though, was the cup of tea.
“Thank you,” she said. “You are very kind to bring it to me.” Lily saw her thanks did nothing to allay the maid’s distrust. If anything, the girl was given to deeper suspicions.
“I’m doing what I was told,” she said. “There’s no cause for you to be thanking me.”
“I would have gladly taken my meal in the servant’s hall.”
“What makes you think you’d be we
lcome there, a baggage like you?”
Lily’s fingertips tightened on her cup, but she did not respond to the provocation. “Are the children about?” she asked instead.
“Underfoot, you mean.”
Lily did not contradict her. “May I see them?”
The maid was at the foot of the bed now, smoothing the blankets and remaking a rumpled corner with a neat tuck. She paused. “That’s not for me to say, is it? They come and go as they please, so it’s up to them, I suspect.”
That surprised Lily and concerned her as well. “His lordship does not allow them free rein of his home, I hope.”
“Do you take him for a fool, then?”
“No, I—”
“Because he’s not.”
Lily thought the maid’s stout assertion was in aid of convincing herself. “I only meant the boys are likely to get up to some mischief if not taken in hand.”
“Mischief? Now, if that ain’t calling a downpour a bit of drizzle, then I’ve never stood in the weather.”
Alarmed, Lily set down her cup. “What have they done?”
“What haven’t they done is more the thing. Into the larder, they were, and the meat safe, and Mrs. Renwick’s tarts and custards. They put sugar in the saltcellars and salt in Mrs. Ponsonby’s tea. They rearrange the linens, smudge the silverware after it’s been polished, and drop coals like bread crumbs when they’re carrying the scuttle to the hearth.”
Lily was very careful not to smile. “So it is the servants’ hall where they’ve been allowed free rein.” She watched the maid stiffen indignantly, but there was not much she could say when it was patently the truth. Lily suspected Sheridan’s staff was in no small way responsible for provoking the boys.
“They are the very devil’s seed,” the maid said.
Ducking her head quickly so she would not catch the girl’s eye, Lily applied herself to her meal. She felt the maid’s hesitation, as if she wanted to say more, but then she seemed to think better of it and backed out of the room. Her hasty retreat made Lily smile. “If they are the devil’s seed,” she said, a chuckle softly edging her voice, “then surely I must be his handmaiden.”
Sherry had forbidden the boys to go to Lily’s room the night before. This was not done as punishment for any particular offense—indeed, he was blithely unaware of their offenses against his staff—but because he had determined his own brief encounters with Lily had exhausted her. He had no doubt she would disagree with his estimation, which further supported his decision not to include her in making it.
The boys knew, though, that she had been awake long enough to get herself out of bed and into trouble and that she had been served her first meal. Such particulars as they had about her condition were courtesy of one of the maids, and they were fairly dancing with excitement to see Lily when they applied to Sherry for permission to do so.
Sheridan was not optimistic that they would obey him, so he was pleasantly surprised when he found them huddled outside the door to her room the following morning. He was certain one of them had had an ear pressed to the door a moment before he’d stepped into the hallway. They came to attention rather too quickly to have been applying themselves to some good purpose.
Sherry subjected them each to a careful examination. They were clean, if not polished. Tucked in, if not neatly pressed. They had parted their hair crookedly, but that was less important than the fact that they had combed it. It was a good effort by three children who had not seen the sense of it before.
“Impressive,” Sherry said. He could see the compliment pleased them, but they were far too anxious to offer more than an uneasy smile.
“Do ye think she’ll know us?” Midge asked. “Dash ’ere thinks we look like toffs an’ she won’t see us for ’oo we are.”
Sherry gave them all a second critical glance. “I do not like to disagree with Master Dash, but I believe you have not yet achieved membership in the Brummel set.”
They regarded him blankly.
“It means she will recognize you.”
“Oh, then yer lordship should ’ave said that.”
“I thought I did,” Sherry said, but his comment was meant more for himself than for them. “Is Dr. Harris with her?”
Pinch nodded. “’E’s been in there ever so long. Wot do ye make of it?”
“I expect it’s because he is thorough.”
“We should go in,” Dash said. “’E might need us to fetch something.” To support this point, he added, “You did.”
“I am certain Harris has all his medicines and tools in his bag.”
Dash looked as if he might object, but laughter from inside the room arrested his attention. “Oh, she will pop ’er stitches for sure. On no account should ’e make ’er laugh like that.”
Sherry was inclined to agree, though he also had the unexpected and unwelcome thought that if there was going to be laughter, then it should be he, not the physician, who aroused it. Unwilling to make that notion the subject of contemplation, Sherry placed his hand on the doorknob. It turned under his palm without effort from him.
Harris opened the door wide. “So it is just as we thought,” he said. “Four of them come to beg an audience.”
Four? It was not what Lily thought. She had anticipated only three. When the physician stepped to one side, she saw Sheridan was with the boys. Lest the children doubt that she was happy to see them, she thrust aside her regret that they were not alone and opened her arms wide.
“She will be overrun,” Sherry said to the doctor as the boys bounded for the bed.
Harris turned to observe the reunion. All three boys clambered onto the bed, and all of them stopped short of throwing themselves into that welcoming embrace. “It appears your worries are without foundation. The lads show remarkably good sense.”
Sherry had to admit that they did. Instead of dropping like felled trees, they wound themselves around her as gently as ivy. Pinch got the half circle of her right arm, Dash and Midge the left. It was impossible to know who was truly clinging to whom, and Sherry concluded that in the end it was of no consequence. One was vine. The other lattice. He supposed it was the need of one for the other that was important.
“Makes me quite envy them,” Harris said, glancing sideways from the affecting scene on the bed to Sheridan. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
It made Sherry feel like an intruder as well. He tilted his head toward the hall and indicated they should both step outside. When the doctor followed, he closed the door.
“I have missed you terribly,” Lily said.
“We wasn’t the ones gone away,” Pinch reminded her. “Ye left us.”
“I suppose I did.”
“’Ow’d ye let ’im stick ye,” Midge asked. “Ye always was as light on yer feet as I am wi’ my fingers.” He held five digits up for her inspection and wiggled them. “So ’ow’d it ’appen?”
“He didn’t stick me.”
“No,” Dash said. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”
Lily lowered Midge’s hand and held up her own. “I swear it’s true. Do you think I’d allow a macaroni like him to plunge his shiv in me?”
Dash giggled. “’E is a toff, right enough, but not a bad sort. Still, I didn’t believe ’e was innocent, even when it looked like ’e was ’elpin’ ye, I was wonderin’ if ’e still meant to finish wot ’e started at the Garden.”
“That’s why we stayed wi’ ye,” Pinch said. “In case ’e decided to try an’ make a proper job of it. Slept right ’ere in this room every night but last.”
“Why not last night?”
“’E forbid it.”
Lily’s head lifted along with the eyebrows. “You thought he might still mean to kill me, but you stayed away because he forbid it?”
“Well, ’e ’as a way about ’im that ye don’t want to cross,” Pinch admitted sheepishly. “And we was comin’ to trust ’im a little.”
Lily knew precisely what Pinch meant. “It’s all rig
ht.” She gave his narrow shoulders a light squeeze. “I don’t think he’s a bad sort either. He seems to have treated you well.”
“Except for the proper drubbin’,” Midge said. “There was no cause for ’im to ’ave us scrubbed until we was as white as the Dover Cliffs.”
“You’ve never been to Dover, Midge.”
“No, but I ’eard ye tell about it. The cliffs are fair to gleamin’ in the sun, you said, and so were we. Everyone stared.”
She laughed. “What torture has been inflicted on you poor boys. You have my deepest sympathies, but you will find them insufficient to release you from telling me what you were doing in Covent Garden that night.”
“Wot night?” Dash asked.
Lily caught him by the chin and made him look at her. It was enough.
“Oh, that night.”
“Hmmm. Why were you there? I thought I had your promise.” She glanced at each of the others. “And yours. And yours, too.”
“Ye did,” Dash said. “But we give our word to Ned Craven as well. ’E ’ad need of us that night. Said we should find a mark wi’ a quid that wouldn’t be missed.”
“Ned? Then why was he . . .” She stopped herself from asking the impulsive question and chose another tack. “Did Craven say why he needed a quid?”
Dash shrugged. “Why does ’e ever? Drink or gamin’.”
“’Ores,” Midge said. “Sometimes it’s ’ores.”
“Thank you, Midge,” Lily said wryly. “I will speak to Craven about releasing you from your word. You can depend upon it.” Even if the boys were able to secure employment with Sheridan, there were hundreds more like them in Holborn for Craven to exploit. She could manage perhaps another three or four under her protection. “So Lord Sheridan was the mark you chose.”
It was Pinch who nodded. “I fancied ’im to be good for the quid. We all did. Couldn’t expect wot come of it, though. That was a bit of an eyepopper, seein’ you fall on ’im that way.”
“For me also,” Lily said.
“So ’ow’d ye get stuck?” Pinch asked.
“Inattention, Pinch.”
“But ’ow?”
“And ’oo?” asked Midge. “If it wasn’t ’imself wot did it, then ’oo?”
