by Meara Platt
She washed the boy’s hands and face, especially his hands since they were sticky from the honey cake, and then helped him out of his clothes into his nightshirt. He hopped onto the bed, sticking his feet over the edge as she rolled the socks over his wiggling toes. A warming brick had been placed at the foot of the bed, but Rafe was too short to reach close to the heat it gave off.
However, he would be quite comfortable. One of the footmen had recently stoked the fire and left enough wood beside the hearth to allow the marquis to keep it going through the night.
“Let me tuck you under the covers and then I shall read to you.”
He scrambled under the counterpane and grinned at her in expectation. “What is the boy’s name in the story?”
“His name is Arthur.” She brushed a few stray curls of dark hair off his brow. “But I have an idea. What if I call him Rafe instead?”
The boy liked that idea, especially when ‘Rafe’ drew the sword from the stone and became England’s next king. Taffy embellished the scene, taking up the fire iron and pretending it was the sword. “When young Rafe pulled out the sword, it began to hum so loudly, the noise could be heard throughout the hills into the neighboring villages. Everyone ran toward the highest hill where the boy stood with sword raised high in his hand.” She raised the fire iron as she read. “Three cheers for King Rafe! Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!”
Rafe called out the final cheer. “Hip, hip, hurrah for me!”
They both laughed heartily as she returned the fire iron to its proper place. When she turned back toward the bed, she noticed the marquis standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest and a warm smile on his face. “Thank ye, lass,” he said with a surprisingly humble sincerity.
She blushed and stared down at her toes. “It is my pleasure, my lord. Master Rafe is a wonderful boy.”
“Aye, he is that.”
He moved into the room, simply dominating it with his presence. “Rafe, what do ye think? Time to sleep. Taffy will finish reading the story to ye tomorrow.”
The boy looked disappointed, but he nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
“That’s a good lad. Ye ought to get yer rest. We’ve had a long day. I’m sure Taffy has, too. Ye’re dismissed, lass. We’ll see ye in the morning.”
“Yes, my lord.” She would need to be alert and at her best in the days to come. If she could have guarded them by night, she would have done so. But Mr. Barrow had several other runners positioned outside the main house and their responsibilities were to stand watch from sunset to sunrise.
All Taffy needed to do before retiring to her own bed was take a turn along the ground floor and make certain all the doors and windows were securely locked.
The marquis crossed the room and came to her side as she was about to leave through the hidden panel opening to the servants’ stairwell. “I’ve checked every door and window in the house,” he said softly. “They are all secured now. But I’d like to take another turn at daybreak, before the staff is awake and stirring. Is it asking too much for ye to come up here that early and stay with Rafe?”
She nodded. “Not at all. I’ll be here, my lord.”
“Thank ye, lass. I’ll be up and dressed.” He cast her a melting smile.
She cleared her throat. “Good night, Lord Falkirk.”
Since the marquis had already inspected the house, she hurried upstairs to her attic chamber and prepared herself for bed. The top floor is where the maids quarters were located, and the lower floor housed the men in service to the duke – butlers and footmen. The head butler and housekeeper had their own separate quarters. The kitchen’s scullery maids slept in the lowest level near the kitchen.
Taffy had been given one of the best attic rooms, a corner one that provided a sweeping view of the front of the house, the road leading up to it, and a side view of the various outbuildings.
She had trained herself to be a light sleeper, so she often woke at intervals throughout the night. She would do the same tonight, for there was a full moon and a clear sky to provide sufficient illumination to make out any shadows stalking close.
She usually slept in her shift and woolen stockings. Her maid uniform and boots were kept within her immediate reach in the event she had to jump out of bed fast and chase after a trespasser. There was a secret pocket sewn into her uniform to hide the pistol she always carried.
Tomorrow she would question the marquis and try to find out all she could about this villain who wanted him and his son dead. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the lives of his brothers being in jeopardy or those of any nieces and nephews. The report she’d read had mentioned that the marquis, Gavin Carstairs by name, was the heir. His brother Gareth was the spare. And there was another surviving brother called Adam who was a vicar in a village in the Cotswolds by the name of Wellesford. There had been two other brothers who’d died during the Napoleonic War.
To her, it seemed that Lord Falkirk’s brothers would be the first ones under suspicion, especially Gareth who had children of his own and would be next in line if something happened to the marquis and Rafe. Yet, the report seemed to indicate the brothers had been ruled out.
Perhaps this was a scheme of revenge against their father, the Duke of Inverness. But the report mentioned no attempt on his life nor had it mentioned he’d received any threats. It appeared the only ones under threat were the marquis and his son. “So, not a matter of inheritance,” she muttered to herself.
He had been married and was now a widower. The report also stated Rafe was his legitimate offspring. Could this revenge plot have to do with his wife? This was one aspect missing in the report.
Of course, it had been hastily prepared and no doubt overlooked many important facts. Still, she found it troubling that there was not a single detail about their marriage. She did not know whether theirs had been a happy one. “It must have been,” she muttered while undressing. “Sweet mercy. Who would not be happy with such a man?”
She placed her uniform and boots within easy reach of her bed as she continued her musing. Perhaps this nasty business was about a venture gone bad that had ruined one of his partners and caused the man to lose his wealth and family.
She wasn’t certain how to raise the topic of potential villains, for men the stature of the marquis did not confide in housemaids. But she sensed he’d been watching her and was coming to think highly of her.
She hoped so.
Would it be enough to bring him around to answering her questions?
She had to press him now, for she doubted there would be much time to gain his confidence before the villain struck again.
She drifted off to sleep, those thoughts still whirling in her mind, and awoke several times during the night to peer out the window. All seemed quiet. Unfortunately, the house was too big to hear what was going on downstairs or in the other wing.
Shortly before cock’s crow, she washed and dressed, and made her way to the servants’ stairs leading to the large guest chamber.
She climbed this narrow staircase and knocked softly when she reached the panel that opened into his room. “My lord, may I come in?”
“Aye, lass,” he said in a whisper, opening the panel. “Thank ye. Rafe is still asleep. He was calmer last night than he’s been in a while. Ye put him at ease and he’s taken quite a liking to ye. He dinna stop talking about ye. Chattered like a magpie, the lad did.”
She smiled, and made the mistake of looking at him, for her gaze was now riveted to his handsome face and she could not look away. “I’ve developed a fondness for him, too.”
He motioned for her to enter. “Ye have a good way with children. Do ye have any of yer own? Ye hardly look old enough.”
“No children. No husband. No siblings.” She saw the sliver of an opening in the conversation and took it boldly. “Obviously, you’re married. Perhaps Rafe is missing his mother and I remind him of her.”
The warmth in his eyes fled, leaving ice in his gaze. “Ye’re nothing l
ike her, lass.”
He turned away to collect his jacket and don his boots.
“My lord, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. Of course, I am nothing like that fine lady. Nor would I ever dishonor her–”
“Leave it alone, Taffy. Dinna speak about her to my son, either.”
She took a deep breath, not yet ready to let the matter drop. “I won’t. But it would be helpful to give me a hint of the topics I may or may not raise with the lad. He is scared.”
“I am acutely aware of that fact.”
She took another deep breath, knowing he was not going to like her next words. “Being aware of a problem and doing something about it are two separate matters. Your son is starved of motherly affection. You may tell me not to mention it. You can tell your son not to speak of it. But you cannot order him to stop feeling it.”
He stared at her, his rage evident in the crystalline blue of his eyes.
Was he going to hit her?
She’d hit him right back if he dared.
But he merely clenched his fists at his sides. “Bollocks, lass. Ye’ve got a mouth on ye, haven’t ye? Ye sound like a Sassenach, but I would no’ be surprised if ye were born a Scot.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I do not know who my parents were. I’m an orphan, but taken in by a very kind family when I was about your son’s age. I took on their family name out of respect for them since I had no information about my own. So I go by Ralston now. Taffy Ralston.”
“Och, Taffy. I’m sorry for snapping at ye again, lass.” He tucked a finger under her chin and held her gaze. His anger had melted away. “How did they come up with Taffy? Ye must admit, it is an unusual name.”
She nodded. “I liked sweets. The first few weeks after they brought me to their home, I wouldn’t eat anything but that. Treacle cake. Hot cross buns. Turkish taffy. They decided Taffy suited me.”
“Do ye know yer birth name?”
“No. They called me Raina at the orphanage because they found me on their doorstep in the pouring rain. One made up name is as good as another. And I did not wish to be called Raina Ralston.” She rolled her eyes. “It simply did not suit me. I liked Taffy Ralston better.”
He was back to smiling at her. “Let me take a turn through the house before the rest of the staff begin to stir. The scullery maids wake first, I believe. I’ll start with the kitchen and make my way back upstairs. Wait here for me, Taffy. I’ll return within the hour.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “If the boy is still asleep when I am done, I’ll tell ye about his mother.”
She dared not say anything to make him change his mind, so she simply nodded.
“One more thing, Taffy. Are ye handy with a pistol? I dinna like to leave ye here without any protection. Yesterday, ye asked me where I hid my weapons.”
“I would still like to know. But you needn’t worry about my being defenseless.” She decided to confide in him, hoping he would then be more amenable to confiding in her. “I carry a pistol on my person at all times.”
She showed him the hidden pocket and the weapon tucked in it. “But I’ve also made note of other potential weapons in the room. The fire iron and ash shovel. The candlesticks. The stool and small chairs. With your permission, I’d also like to show Master Rafe the servants’ stairs. I want him to be able to run and hide if necessary while I hold off the villain.”
He sucked in a breath. “Lass, I dinna know who ye are. But one thing is for certain, ye are not anyone’s housemaid.”
He took an intimidating step toward her.
“Who in bloody blazes are ye?”
CHAPTER THREE
GAVIN MADE HIS way downstairs to the scullery in the gray light of impending dawn and then methodically walked through every room in the house, checking doors and windows for any signs of tampering. He thought all his caution might be futile, for Hartland was too large and so many people walked in and out of its many doors throughout the day that anyone could slip in unnoticed, even with the staff on alert.
That no one had broken in last night was a small reprieve. But what was to prevent a determined villain from sneaking in at any point during the day? The man could easily lose himself in a house of this size, especially if he stole a footman’s livery. Who would look twice if he walked about in the elegant, dark blue coat and gold breeches they all wore?
By the time Gavin returned to his guest quarters, his mind was made up. He no longer cared who Taffy was, for he needed to confide in this surprisingly clever girl. If the Duke of Devon trusted her enough to engage her and then assign her to attend to his room, then clearly she was more of a secret guard than a housemaid.
He trusted the duke’s judgment. Coupled with how much she’d already impressed him in the care of Rafe, this was good enough for him.
The guest quarters had an alcove that served as an informal sitting room. It had a small writing desk and several comfortable chairs. They’d chat there. He strode into his bedchamber and immediately searched for Taffy.
She was seated on a stool close to the hearth. The impression given was that of a maid who wished to warm herself by the fire while the boy slept. In truth, her position gave her a full view of every possible entrance to the room. The door, obviously. The windows. The hidden panel leading to the servants’ stairs.
Her hands appeared to be folded on her lap, but a closer look revealed one was actually tucked in the secret pocket of her gown. If that wasn’t enough, she was within easy reach of the fire irons, and the stool she was sitting on could be tossed at a villain if it became necessary. “Come with me, Taffy,” he said in a whisper as he quietly shut the door. He did not wish to wake his son who was sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
It eased his heart to see this, for the lad had been restless and fitful ever since this villain had made his first attempt on their lives, sometimes crying in the middle of the night so that Gavin would have to take him in his arms and rock him gently back to sleep.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered, following him into the alcove. She took the chair that gave her a clear view of the boy in bed.
This girl misses nothing.
He remained standing, casually leaning a hip against the desk as he shook his head and chuckled softly. “Time for us to speak frankly, lass. Who are ye?”
“Taffy Ralston, just as I’ve told you. Every word I’ve said about the orphanage and my family is true, I give you my oath.”
He shook his head again. “I meant yer profession. Clearly, ye’re verra good at what ye do and it has nothing to do with tidying my guest quarters. Ye’re a trained guard of some sort. Tell me.”
She blinked once. Twice. Obviously assessing the situation and deciding what to tell him. He notice a softening in her lovely aquamarine eyes and knew she had resolved to trust him. “My lord, I am a Bow Street runner.”
He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I dinna know they hired young ladies.”
“They do. Only a few of us. I work for Mr. Homer Barrow, one of the finest runners you will ever encounter. He taught me all I know.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Where is Mr. Barrow now?”
“Close by. The Duke of Devon engaged his services during the month to quietly watch over his family and guests during the yuletide celebrations. Seeing as there is so much coming and going, and thieves who might be drawn to Hartland by said coming and going, he thought it prudent. When he learned of your situation, he merely kept us on for an extra few weeks.”
“This relieves me greatly, lass. Now when you say Mr. Barrow is close by, just what is his role?”
“During the day he keeps his eye on the town, checking the inns and taverns for any strangers. He is most resourceful. I’m sure he’s established a rapport with every innkeeper and tavern owner, with every blacksmith, ostler, and shopkeeper within five miles of here. They know he and the duke will reward them generously for alerting him to any strangers.”
�
��And nights? What does he do?”
“He and Mick, that’s his most trusted runner, scout the grounds of Hartland for sign of any intruders.”
“Does this man ever sleep?”
She nodded. “Of course. We’ve all become accustomed to grabbing a few hours of rest whenever we can. On this assignment, his sleep will be mostly during the day because it is most likely your villain will approach Hartland by night.”
“I see.”
“I’ve notified Mr. Barrow of the presence of your son. Be assured, the boy is now under his watchful eyes and those of his team, as well.”
He ran a hand through his hair as he considered what she’d told him. “How many on your Bow Street team?”
“Ten of us in all, my lord. I shall point them out to you as we encounter them throughout the day. I do not wish to be obvious about it. We are all trying to go about our assignments unobtrusively.”
Unobtrusively? He did not think there was a man breathing who would overlook this beautiful girl, but he did not remark on it. Surprisingly, she did not appear to realize just how beautiful she was. There was an earnest innocence about her that he liked very much and inspired his trust. “Thank ye, Taffy. Sincerely.”
“It is our duty, my lord.” She cleared her throat. “But it would make our task so much easier if you allowed us to help you identify this villain. Right now, I feel as though we are guarding you and Master Rafe from a wraith. An unseen ghost. We can be so much more effective if we know who we are dealing with.”
“Verra well.” He wasn’t pleased to be divulging information about his private life. Her questioning would concentrate on the personal aspects, it would have to if she were to do her job properly. Since she was ready to risk her life to protect him and Rafe, he could do no less than cooperate and be honest with her. “What do ye wish to know?”
“When did these attacks begin?”
He moved to the chair opposite hers and settled in it stiffly. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “About three weeks ago. I was planning a trip down to London and decided to take my son with me. However, I did not plan for him to stay in London with me. I have too many responsibilities there and did not think I could spend much time with him.”
