“In Lavender’s office in the tower, where she claims to have been since she left the shop. I’ve locked her up anyway. The sewing room was closed, so she has no witnesses. Jack didn’t see her when he came looking, but he didn’t look in the office. She says she entered through the tower, where no one noticed—most likely sneaking in because Lavender doesn’t like her in there. Lady Elsa is considering feeding mushrooms to both of the shrieking cats.”
Hunt snorted and waved him off.
In the hall, Rafe saw Fletch with clock parts spread around the landing and the long case pulled out from the wall. Rafe left him alone. His partner had actually been a help today. He could use that assistance in restoring law and order, should the village ever become more than a scattered group of shacks and old women. That day hadn’t arrived. The major was entitled to hide behind clocks.
When Rafe finally reached his kitchen, Verity threw her arms around him in relief. He hugged and kissed her, much to the amusement of his staff and young wards. He was too grateful for her sanity and warm welcome to care what anyone thought.
“Eat.” His dainty wife shoved his big bulk into a chair. She didn’t have to shove hard. The servants set food and drink in front of him. Daphne climbed in his lap and pinched a piece of his bread, warming his tired heart.
He was home. All the horrors of the day were worth it to protect this slice of heaven he called his. After years of war, he hadn’t believed normality existed. He might not have complete peace yet, but he had this.
“Who’s tending the pub?” he asked in between mouthfuls.
“Parsons and the Jameson children. It takes a thief to watch a thief, apparently. I’ll empty their pockets after they go to bed, just in case.” Verity refilled his mug.
“We’re to lock them up tonight,” he warned. “They’re witnesses.”
“Food and warm bed and they won’t complain. They’re terribly neglected, I fear. They’ve been told they’re stupid so often that they believe it.” Verity gathered up Daphne and Daniel to send them to bed. “They’re not stupid if they can count coins, and they can.”
“How’s Kate?” Rafe asked when Verity returned. He’d emptied his plate and needed to patrol his domain before he could fully relax.
“Bridey and Damien are staying with her, out at the farm. She’s shaken, but now that you’ve locked up Hugh, she’ll be fine. I don’t know if today settled her ghosts or just stirred them up. Time will tell.” Verity took his plate.
Rafe knew Kate had a right to her ghosts, but she’d been remarkably brave today. He should consider the good parts of a day like this, even if he had to dig for them. “Damien has arranged for Kate’s eldest to come home from school for the week after Easter. It will do her good to see him.”
By the time he arrived, the crowd in the pub had diminished to just a few customers, but even that was more than last week. Henri’s tavern had the Saturday night revelers. Rafe’s pub—he really needed to give it a name—offered a quieter alternative.
Parsons, the ex-convict, proudly showed him the cash box. “Can’t rightly do the numbers, but I made marks for each pint and half-pint so you’s can see I didn’t steal any.”
Rafe hid his laugh. The man was trying. “I appreciate you stepping up. How did the pup do?” He nodded at the boy sluggishly wiping down tables. His younger sister lay half asleep on a table in the corner, sucking her thumb.
“Ain’t much of a worker, but ain’t much of a thief, either. Caught him once trying to nab a coin, slapped his hand, told him he’d earn more if he did his tasks. So guess you owe him.”
Rafe paid his clerk his fair share of the evening’s profit and chose a shiny silver six-pence to give the boy whose name he still didn’t know. The boy watched him with suspicion as he approached.
“Parsons said you earned your fare tonight. I thank thee.” Rafe passed over the coin. “Do you have a name?”
“Henry.” He bit the coin and approving, shoved it in his pocket. “Where’s our ma?”
“The captain has had to detain her and your aunt and Mr. Morgan until we hear their side of the story. Mrs. Russell has beds made up for you and your sister. I’ll show you to them.”
“They ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” With red-rimmed eyes, the boy looked prepared to cry, even though he had to be twelve or older.
“That’s what we need to prove.” Rafe tried to sound reassuring, but the child’s life was likely to be completely upended. “Can you use one of Mrs. Russell’s scones before you tuck in?” He headed for the little girl.
The boy nodded warily. The girl yawned. Rafe wanted to pick her up and drop her in bed so she might have a decent night’s sleep. He thought they probably ought to be dunked in sheep dip first but that was Verity’s decision.
“Are we goin’ home now?” she asked, dragging after her brother as they crossed to the kitchen. “To the big house?”
Big house? Kate’s house? Rafe opened the door and led them into the warmth of a kitchen with hot ovens. “Not tonight. Why don’t you wash up at the sink?” He set a stool in front of the tin tub so they could reach it and pumped water in. One of the maids added a small bar of lye soap.
Ignoring the question, Verity stood beside the pair to help them wash. “Wash your face, too, Miss Betsy. And behind your ears.”
Betsy, so that was the girl’s name. Rafe should have asked his wife. She’d been their teacher this past week or more.
The pair didn’t know what to do with the thick cream and jam Verity set down with the stale scones. But once they learned, they gobbled every crumb and licked their plates. Rafe knew what it was to be hungry. Children shouldn’t ever have to be that empty.
“Where did you live before you came here?” Rafe asked as he took the old nightshifts Verity handed him and led the pair to the spare room in his family quarters.
