He hung his head. “No, ma’am. They won’t expect me back quick after oldJarvis took a whip to me.”
Beth could tell from the way he moved that his punishment had not beenbrutal, but she offered sympathy. “Oh dear,” she said. “Did you dosomething very bad?”
He nodded, head still lowered. He couldn’t be very old, Beth thought.Not much over ten. She sat on the ground close to him. “I’m BethArmitage,” she said. “What’s your name?”
He looked down at her with a frown as if the question posed a problem.“I’m Robin,” he said at last, slightly defiantly. “Robin Babson.”
“Well, Robin. Why don’t you sit here for a moment and tell me what’sbeen going on. Perhaps we can prevent further punishment.”
He sat down and grimaced. “Don’t reckon,” he said morosely. “Me and oldJarvis don’t get on.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Let go of an ‘orse. Viking. The marquess’s big stallion. He’s donesommat to his leg.”
“Oh dear,” said Beth, dismayed. She knew the value Arden placed on thathorse. “That does sound rather serious.”
“When he comes back he’ll kill me,” said the boy with a gulp. “That orget rid o‘ me.”
“The marquess?”
The boy nodded, fresh tears breaking out to streak his face.
Beth wished she could promise to intercede on the boy’s behalf butdidn’t think she had sufficient influence in that quarter. Despite theirtruce, she was not at all sure any words of hers would outweigh damage toArden’s favorite mount.
“How did you come to let the horse go?” she asked.
The boy looked up warily then obviously decided to trust. “He snappedat me. I got scared . . .” In a mumble he added, “I don’t like horses.Ruddy great brutes.”
Beth stared at him. “You don’t ? ? But then why are you working in thestables, Robin?”
“He put me there.”
“Who?”
“Lord Arden. He brought me in and gave me a job in the stables.”
Beth had only the faintest notion of what he meant, but one thing wasclear. “If you don’t like the work the marquess will surely find yousomething more congenial, Robin. Especially as you are not suited toworking with horses. I’ll speak to him ?”
“No!” exclaimed the boy, eyes wide. “Please, ma’am. Don’t do that. Hepromised I can work with his horses!”
“But you don’t like horses,” Beth pointed out.
The boy looked away, stubbornly mute, and Beth frowned in bewilderment.“So you don’t wish me to speak to the marquess on your behalf?” she saidat last.
“No, ma’am.” He stood and wiped his face on his sleeve. The effect wasto smear rather than clean. “I’m sorry for bothering you, ma’am. Pleasedon’t say nothing to him.”
Beth was genuinely touched. She suspected that this waif was as muchastray at Belcraven as she and, for some reason, as bound. “I won’t,Robin,” she assured him. “But if you need help you must ask for me and Iwill do what I can.”
“Thank ye kindly, ma’am,” he said and ran off.
Beth sighed. Would the marquess really beat the boy again, shewondered, and perhaps more severely? She didn’t like to think so, and yetmany masters would feel themselves well within their rights. She knew solittle of Arden, but she did suspect him to be capable of violence.
And what was she to do about it? She was so unused to-violence that shewanted to hide from it, to hide even from the thought of it, but shecouldn’t live like that.
Beth rose and stiffened her resolution. Despite the awkwardness of hersituation she would keep an eye on the matter of Robin Babson. She couldnot spend the rest of her life turning a blind eye to violence andcruelty, and Lord Arden would have to come to understand that.
The marquess returned on the day of the ball. When he strode into theduchess’ boudoir, where she and Beth were taking tea, Beth almost saw himas a stranger. He looked quite unlike the cold, forbidding despot she hadbuilt in her mind.
