Mistress Humboldt held out her cup, and Bennet silently poured tea for her and placed the cup back in her hand.
“But,” she continued, “Dick isn’t a mean man. Hard, yes, but not hard-hearted. As for the other man—Mistress Humboldt looked in Bennet’s direction—“perhaps it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
Bennet seemed bewildered. “What sleeping dogs?”
Will stopped eating. He looked between Bennet and the old woman. Damn. Harry had a feeling he knew what Mistress Humboldt was getting at. Perhaps it would be better to leave it alone.
Bennet caught some of Harry’s unease. He leaned forward tensely, his elbows on his knees, both heels tapping now. “Tell us.”
“Thomas.”
Shit. Harry looked away.
“Thomas who?” It seemed to hit Bennet all at once. He stopped moving for a second, then exploded out of the chair, pacing in the tiny space before the fire. “Thomas, my brother?” He laughed. “You can’t be serious. He’s a… a milksop. He wouldn’t say nay to Father if he told him the sun rose in the west and he shat pearls.”
The old woman compressed her lips at the profanity.
“I’m sorry, Nanny,” Bennet said. “But Thomas! He’s lived under my father’s thumb so long he has calluses on his buttocks.”
“Yes, I know.” In contrast to the young man, Mistress Humboldt was calm. She must have expected his reaction. Or maybe she was simply used to his constant movement. “That’s exactly why I name him.”
Bennet stared.
“A man so long under his father’s power isn’t natural. Your father took a dislike to Thomas when he was very young. I’ve never understood it.” She shook her head. “Lord Granville hating his own son so thoroughly.”
“But even so, he’d never…” Bennet’s words trailed off, and he abruptly turned away.
Mistress Humboldt looked sad. “He might. You know it yourself, Master Bennet. The way your father has treated him shows. He’s like a tree trying to grow through a crack in a rock. Twisted. Not quite right.”
“But—”
“Do you remember the mice he’d catch sometimes when he was a boy? I found him once with one he’d caught. He’d cut off it’s feet. He was watching it try to crawl.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Bennet muttered.
“I had to kill it. But then I couldn’t punish him, poor lad. His father beat him enough already. I never saw him again with a mouse, but I don’t think he stopped. He just got better at hiding it from me.”
“We don’t have to pursue this,” Harry said.
Bennet swung around, his eyes desperate. “And what if he is the sheep poisoner? What if he kills someone else?”
His question hung in the air. No one could answer it but Bennet.
He seemed to realize it was up to him. He squared his broad shoulders. “If it is Thomas, he’s murdered a woman. I need to stop him.”
Harry nodded. “I’ll talk to Dick Crumb.”
“Fine,” Bennet said. “You’ve helped us, Nanny. You see things nobody else does.”
“Maybe not with my eyes anymore, but I always could read a person.” Mistress Humboldt held out a wavering hand to her former charge.
Bennet grasped it.
“God save and protect you, Master Bennet,” she said. “It’s not an easy task you have.”
Bennet leaned down to kiss the withered cheek. “Thank you, Nanny.” He straightened and clapped Will on the shoulder. “We best be going, Will, before you finish those last two scones.”
The old woman smiled. “Let the lad take the rest. It’s been so long since I had a boy to feed.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Will stuffed the scones into his pockets.
She saw them to the door and stood and waved as they rode away.
“I’d forgotten how sharp Nanny is. Thomas and I could never get anything past her.” Bennet’s face darkened when he spoke his brother’s name.
Harry glanced at him. “If you want, you can put off talking to Thomas until tomorrow, after I’ve sounded out Dick Crumb. I’ll have to wait until nightfall to find him, anyway. Best time to catch Dick is at the Cock and Worm after ten o’clock.”
“No, I don’t want to wait another day to talk to Thomas. Better to do it right away.”
They rode for a half mile or more in silence, Will clinging behind Bennet.
“So once we find whoever’s doing this,” Bennet said, “you’ll be leaving?”
“That’s right.” Harry watched the road ahead but could feel the other man’s gaze on him.
“I was under the impression that you and Lady Georgina had an… uh… understanding.”
Harry gave Bennet a look that usually shut a man up. Not him. “Because, I mean, it’s a bit thick, what? A fellow just up and leaving a lady.”
“I’m not from her class.” “Yes, but that obviously doesn’t matter to her, does it? Or she’d never have taken up with you in the first place.”
“I—” “And if you don’t mind me being blunt, she must be pretty gone on you.” Bennet looked him up and down as if he were a side of spoiled beef. “I mean, you don’t exactly have the sort of face that women swoon over. More in my line, that.”
“Bennet—” “Not to blow my own horn, but I could tell you quite a tale of a delectable bird in London—”
“Bennet.”
“What?”
Harry nodded at Will, who was wide-eyed and listening to every word.
“Oh.” Bennet coughed. “Quite. Shall I see you tomorrow, then? We’ll meet and exchange information.”
They had neared a copse of trees that marked where the main road crossed the lane they traveled on.
“Fine.” Harry pulled his mare to a halt. “This is where I must turn off, anyway. And Bennet?”
“Yes?” He turned his face and the sun fell full upon it, tracing the laugh lines around his eyes.
“Be careful,” Harry said. “If it is Thomas, he’ll be dangerous.”
“You be careful as well, Harry.”
Harry nodded. “Godspeed.”
Bennet waved and rode off.
Harry spent the rest of the daylight hours laying low. When dusk fell, he made his way to West Dikey and the Cock and Worm. He ducked his head as he entered and scanned the crowd from under his low hat brim. A table of farmers, smoking clay pipes in the corner, burst into boisterous laughter. A weathered-looking barmaid dodged with practiced ease a heavy hand aimed at her rump and made her way to the counter.
“Dick in tonight?” Harry bawled in her ear. “Sorry, luv.” She pivoted and shouldered a tray of drinks. “Maybe later.”
Harry frowned and ordered a pint from the counterman, a lad he remembered seeing once or twice before. Was Dick hiding in back or was he really not in the building? He leaned on the wood counter while he thought and watched a gentleman, obviously a traveler, judging from the mud on his boots, enter and stare bemusedly around. The man’s face was handsome but long and bland, rather like a goat’s. Harry shook his head. The traveler must’ve missed the sign for the White Mare. He wasn’t the Cock and Worm’s usual type of customer.
The boy slid Harry his mug of ale, and Harry rolled a few coins back. He moved over and took a sip as the traveler came to the counter.
“Pardon me, but do you know the way to Woldsly Manor?”
Harry froze for a second, his mug at his lips. The stranger hadn’t paid him any attention; he was leaning over the counter to the boy.
“Say again?” the boy shouted. “Woldsly Manor,” the stranger raised his voice. “Lady Georgina Maitland’s estate. I’m an intimate of her younger sister, Lady Violet. I can’t seem to find the road—”
The boy’s gaze darted to Harry.
Harry clapped his hand on the other’s shoulder, making the stranger start. “I can show you the way, friend, soon as I finish my ale.”
The man turned, his face brightening. “Would you?” “No problem at all.” Harry nodded at the boy. “Another pint for my fri
end here. I’m sorry, didn’t catch your name?”
“Wentworth. Leonard Wentworth.” “Ah.” Harry suppressed a feral smile. “Let’s find a table, shall we?” As the other man turned, Harry leaned over the counter and murmured urgent instructions to the boy, then passed him a coin.
An hour later, when the middle Maitland brother strolled into the Cock and Worm, Wentworth was on his fourth pint. Harry had been nursing his second for some time now and felt as if he needed a bath. Wentworth had been quite forthcoming about bedding a fifteen-year-old, his marriage hopes, and what he would do with Lady Violet’s money once he got his hands on it.
So it was with some relief that Harry spotted the red Maitland hair. “Over here,” he shouted at the newcomer.
He’d only spoken to Lady Georgina’s middle brother once or twice, and the man hadn’t been all that friendly. But all of Maitland’s animosity was reserved for Harry’s companion at the moment. He made his way to them with a look that would’ve sent Wentworth running, had be been sober.
“Harry.” The redheaded man nodded at him; only then did Harry remember his name: Oscar.
“Maitland.” Harry nodded. “Like you to meet an acquaintance of mine, Leonard Wentworth. Says he seduced your younger sister this last summer.”
Wentworth paled. “Now w-w-wait a—” “Really?” Oscar drawled. “Indeed,” Harry said. “He’s been telling me about his debts and how her dowry will help settle them, once he’s blackmailed her into marriage.”
“Interesting.” Oscar grinned. “Perhaps we should discuss this outside.” He took one of Wentworth’s arms.
“May I assist you?” Harry asked. “Please.”
Harry took the other. “Uhh!” was all Wentworth got out before they frog-marched him through the doors.
“I’ve got a carriage over here.” Oscar was no longer smiling.
Wentworth whimpered.
Oscar casually cuffed him over the head and Wentworth subsided. “I’ll take him to London and my brothers.”
“Do you need my help on the road?” Harry asked. Oscar shook his head. “You’ve got him pretty far gone with drink. He’ll sleep most of the way.”
They heaved Wentworth’s now-inert body into the carriage.
Oscar dusted his hands. “Thanks, Harry. We owe you.” “No, you don’t.”
Maitland hesitated. “Well, thanks, anyway.”
Harry raised his hand in a salute, and the carriage pulled away.
Oscar poked his head through the retreating carriage window. “Hey, Harry!”
“What?” “You fit in.” Oscar waved and ducked back.
Harry stared as the carriage barreled around the corner.
GEORGE DIDN’T SLEEP WELL ANYMORE. Maybe it was the life growing inside of her, making its presence known by disturbing her sleep. Maybe it was the thought of the decisions she must make soon. Or maybe it was wondering where Harry was spending the night. Was he sleeping under the stars, shivering in a bundled up cloak? Had he found sanctuary with friends somewhere? Was he keeping another woman warm tonight?
No, best not to think of that.
She rolled over and stared out her black bedroom window. Maybe it was just the chill of the autumn air. A tree branch rattled in the wind. George drew the covers up to her chin. She’d found Harry’s latest gift earlier when she’d prepared for bed. A small, rather funny eel. She’d thought it a snake at first, before remembering the fairy tale. Then she could see the tiny fin running along the creature’s back. Did that complete her collection? He’d made all the animals the Leopard Prince had obtained for the princess. Perhaps it was his way of saying good-bye.
A shadow shifted outside her window, and the frame slid smoothly up. Harry Pye swung a leg over the sill and climbed into her room.
Thank goodness. “Is that how you’ve been getting in and out?”
“Mostly I’ve been sneaking in the kitchen door.” Harry gently shut the window.
“That’s not nearly as romantic as the window.” George sat up and hugged her knees to her chest.
“No, but it’s a lot easier.” “I had noticed that it’s a three-story drop to the ground.”
“With prickly rose bushes at the base, my lady. I hope you saw those, too.” He strolled to the bed.
“Mmm. I did see the roses. Of course, now that I know you were merely using the kitchen entrance…”
“Not tonight.”
“No, not tonight,” George agreed. Oh, how she loved him. His green, ever-watchful eyes. His words, so carefully chosen. “But, even so, I’m afraid it has shattered some of my dreams.”
Harry’s lips twitched. His mouth sometimes gave him away.
“I found the eel tonight.” She nodded at her dressing table.
He didn’t follow her gaze. Instead, he continued to watch her. “I have one more.” He held out his fist and opened his fingers.
A leopard lay on his palm. “Why is it caged?”
George took it from him and looked closely. The workmanship was incredibly cunning. The cage was all of one piece but separate from the leopard within. He would’ve had to whittle the animal inside the cage. The leopard in turn wore a miniscule chain about its neck, each link carefully delineated. A tiny, tiny crown hung from the chain.
“It’s marvelous,” she said, “but why did you carve the leopard in a cage?”
He shrugged. “It’s enchanted, isn’t it?” “I suppose, but—” “I thought you’d ask me why I’m here.” He paced to the dresser.
She’d have to tell him soon, just not yet. Not while he seemed on the verge of flight. George set the caged leopard on her knees. “No. I’m just glad you’re with me.” She poked a finger through the bars and gently moved the leopard’s necklace. “I’ll always be happy when you come to me.”
“Will you?” Harry was looking down at the carved animals.
“Yes.” “Hmm,” he murmured noncommittally. “Sometimes I’ve asked that question of myself: Why I keep coming back when I’ve already said good-bye.”
“And do you have an answer for yourself?” George held her breath, hoping.
“No. Except that I can’t seem to stay away.” “Maybe that’s your answer, then.” “No. It’s too simple.” He turned to look at her. “A man should be able to lead his life, make his decisions, in a more reasoned way. I said I would leave you, and so I should have.”
“Really?” She set the leopard on the little table beside her bed and propped her chin on her knees. “But then what are emotions for? The good Lord gave them to men just as much as he gave intellectual thought. Surely He meant us to use our feelings as well?”
He frowned. “Emotions shouldn’t hold sway over reasoned thought.”
“Why not?” George asked softly. “If the Lord gave us both, then surely your emotion—your love of me—is just as important as what you think about our match. Perhaps it’s more important.”
“Is it for you?” Harry began to walk back to the bed. “Yes.” George lifted her head. “My love for you is more important than the fears I might have of marriage or of letting a man have dominion over me.”
“What fears are those, my lady?” He had reached her bedside again. He stroked a finger down her cheek.
“That you might betray me with another woman.” She leaned her cheek on his hand. “That we might eventually grow apart and even come to hate each other.” She waited, but he didn’t try to allay her worries. She sighed. “My own parents didn’t have a happy marriage.”
“Nor did mine.” Harry sat on the bed to take off his boots. “My mother betrayed Da for years; perhaps for the whole of their marriage. Yet he forgave her again and again. Until he could forgive her no more.” He removed his coat.
“He loved her,” George said softly. “Yes, and it made him weak and eventually led to his death.”
She could no more reassure him than he’d been able to reassure her. She wouldn’t ever betray him with another man; she knew that. But who was to say she wouldn’t lead to h
is destruction in another way? Did loving her make Harry weak?
George studied the caged leopard. “He gets free, you know.”
He paused in unbuttoning his waistcoat and raised his eyebrows.
She held up the carving. “The Leopard Prince. He’s freed in the end.”
“Tell me.” He shrugged off the waistcoat.
She took a deep breath, and said slowly, “The young king brought the Golden Eel to the father king, just as he had the other gifts. But the Golden Eel was different.”
“It was ugly.” Harry started on his shirt. “Well, yes,” George admitted. “But besides that, it could speak, and it was wise. When the father king got it alone, it said, ‘Tush! That weakling no more stole me than the wind did. Listen now, tell the young king that the beautiful princess will only marry the man who wears the golden chain with the emerald crown on it. Then you will have the man who has done all these wonderful things. That man and no other shall be her bridegroom.’ ”
“I’m beginning to suspect you are making parts of this fairy tale up, my lady.” Harry tossed his shirt to a chair.
George held up her hand. “On my honor as a Maitland. This is exactly how Cook’s aunt told it to me in the kitchen of my town house over tea and crumpets.”
“Huh.”
She leaned back against the headboard. “So the father king marched back to the young king and told him the Golden Eel’s words. The young king smiled and said, ‘Oh, that’s easy enough!’ And he didn’t even have to return home, for he’d brought the Leopard Prince with him. He went to the Leopard Prince and said, ‘Give me that chain that hangs about your neck.’ ” She paused a moment to watch as Harry started to unbutton his breeches. “And what do you think the Leopard Prince said?”
He snorted. “Shove it up your”—he glanced at her—“nose?”
“No, of course not.” She frowned severely. “No one talks like that in fairy tales.”
“Perhaps they ought.”
She ignored his mutter. “The Leopard Prince said, ‘Impossible, my liege, for if I remove this chain, I will soon sicken and die.’ The young king replied, ‘Well, that’s a pity, for I’ve found you quite useful, but I need the chain now, so you must give it to me at once.’ And so the Leopard Prince did.” George looked at Harry, expecting a protest, a comment, something.