Page 9 of Better Than a Duke
“Have you seen young Edmund about? The boy claims to reside at Grove House with the Baverstocks.”
“Parsley said you’d inquired about him. If he is living at Grove House, it’s something that’s come about recently. I could send a note to their butler, if you wish to confirm the lad’s tale.”
“Do so. Discreetly. Edmund seems cheerful enough, but I feel the need to confirm whether his tale of abuse is even partly true. Please have Parsley escort him safely home when he departs.” He paused. “And new friend or not, the rules still apply; Rebecca is to remain on the property unless Mrs. Brubbins or I am with her.”
“As you say, my lord.”
“Oh, and I’ll be attending the Forsythe ball this evening, so dinner will be just Rebecca and Mrs. Brubbins.”
Butler lifted his eyebrows, then swiftly frowned them back into shape again. “Voluntarily attending, my lord?”
“Not entirely.”
“Ah.” Rocking back on his heels, the butler nudged another portrait up on one side. “Might I inquire after her name, my lord?”
“Lady Pauline Grenedy.” He sighed, starting up the stairs.“I do need to remarry eventually. Rebecca needs a mother.” He paused. “And she didn’t annoy me horribly despite my mother ambushing me with her.” She’d been rather… perfect, as a matter of fact. Poised, composed, and competent.
“As you say, my l—”
Someone pounded on the front door, quite possibly with a tree trunk.
“Good heavens.” Butler left the crooked painting and strode over to pull open the door. “I say. There’s no need—” He paused for a heartbeat. “Good morning, Miss—”
He staggered backward as a female shoved past his shoulder and charged into the house. “Where is my son?” Her delicate jaw clenched as hard as her fists around the handle of a garden shovel, and her gaze shifted from Butler to pin Beckett with a basilisk glare. “Edmund!”
“Your son?” Beckett asked, descending the half dozen stairs he’d managed. “He said he was an orphan. A mistreated one.”
Her green eyes narrowed, and she pointed the sharp end of the shovel at him. “And you didn’t bother to confirm that information before you kidnapped him? Edmund!”
She was attractive, he noted, but her badly wrinkled green-and-brown muslin walking dress and her golden hair springing loose from its pins made her look more like an escaped bedlamite than a mother searching for a child. “I did not kidnap him,” Beckett stated, keeping a wary eye on the shovel. “I offered him breakfast.”
“A meal he was to be allowed to eat at Grove Houseafterhe finished the mathematics lessons he neglected to complete yesterday.” She stalked up to Beckett, lifting her chin and lowering her weapon. “So which is it? Are you a kidnapper, or are you harboring a fugitive?”
This was what it felt like to stand before a hurricane, Beckettreflected, noting that she was petite for a Fury or a Valkyrie, or whatever form this goddess of mayhem had assumed. “Evidently it’s the latter, though at the moment I only have your words and his words, which contradict each other, Mrs.…”
“Silbern. Iris Silbern.”
“Mrs. Silbern. I’ve resided next door to Lord Harold and Lady Margaret Baverstock for a number of years, and I’ve never seen you at Grove House. I suggest we resolve this by going over there together to make certain it’s not you attempting to kidnap young Edmund.” He started for the door. “Shall we?”
She stomped in front of him, blocking his path with the shovel. “Of course I don’t reside there, for heaven’s sake. Well, I do, but only since this morning.” Blinking, she scowled again. “I am not explaining myself to you. Produce my son at once.”
“No!” Edmund’s voice came from up the hallway. “I’m not going back there. Aunt Lady Margaret keeps making me rub her feet! And you were supposed to be here two days ago.”
The woman’s shoulders lowered, and for a moment Beckett thought her legs might give way. “Oh, goodness, Edmund,” she breathed, clear relief flooding her face. She handed the shovel to Beckett and walked forward. “I’m sorry about the foot rubbing and my being delayed. I had to box the rest of our things, amid a bit of… difficulty. But I’m here now.”
“I’ve been busy myself,” the boy stated, even with clenched fists looking as if he wanted to run into his mother’s arms.
“Yes, I heard. You’ve been digging a hole in the Baverstocks’ garden, haven’t you?”
“I’m making an escape. Once I reach the sewers, I mean to live with the rats and be their king.”
“Ah. That’s well and good, I suppose, but what do you mean to do after that?” she asked, her lips solemn except at the upturned edges of her mouth.Chaos tamed,Beckett mused tohimself, enjoying the exchange immensely, and understanding Mrs. Silbern’s worry with a clarity that pinched his own heart.
“After I become the rats’ king?”
“Once you have a rat army, you’ll need a place to train them, feed them, and you’ll need a strategic place to which you can retreat if things go badly,” she went on.
Beckett’s mouth twitched as he tried to hold back his own smile. She had some skill in arguing with imaginative children. “Not to mention how cold the sewers get in the winter,” he added. “I’ve seen rats with frozen whiskers.”
