He could always join Billy Stiles in his criminal enterprises, assuming he didn’t end up killing him, which was seeming more and more likely. They were both in search of the money Judge Belding had hidden away, and despite Billy’s smiling assurances, there was no way the two of them were going to share it. Billy had no qualms disposing of inconveniences, and Rafferty had it in mind to be very inconvenient indeed. With Stiles gone, the rest of his men would fall in line, and he could have a rich, happy life. After all, there was no such thing as having too much money, despite his own healthy assets. The only problem was...he didn’t want to. He’d been in the game too long—he wanted something else, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what.
Jane and Betsy were in the servants’ hall when he reached it, scrubbing away at the long table that should have fed at least a dozen servants, and they greeted him shyly. They were whores and pickpockets, and he’d had some doubts about bringing them into the Manning household before he realized there wasn’t much left to steal. Anything of value had already been sold, and besides, the two girls were in awe of him. They’d think twice about displeasing him by pocketing their employers’ silver. Though, in truth, he was their employer, not the Mannings.
He moved on to the kitchen, where Bertha was plucking one of the quails Jenkins had brought, and he realized the household needed at least one more servant for the kitchen, to help Bertha and to wash the dishes. Young Polly might do for that, he thought. He’d make arrangements in the morning.
Bertha was unaware of the treat in store for her, and she jerked her head in the direction of the girls. “Those two girls are terrible.”
He raised an eyebrow. “They’re not helping?”
“They can clean,” she said grudgingly. “Wouldn’t trust ’em for a minute.”
“They won’t take anything, I can guarantee it,” he said, already accustomed to Bertha’s dour attitude.
“No one can guarantee servants won’t steal.”
“I can. You want me to finish with that quail?”
She looked at him then, a suspicious expression on her face. “I’ve never heard of a butler helping out in the kitchen.”
“Well, this isn’t an ordinary household, and I’m not an ordinary butler.”
“You’re certainly not.” She shoved the carcass at him and he rolled up his sleeves. “How’s Miss Georgie?”
“She’s fine. Her feet hurt, but the salve I used should fix her up.”
There was a dangerous silence. “You put salve on her feet? Her bare feet?” Bertha intoned with awful menace.
“I did. And don’t tell me that now I have to marry her—I didn’t touch her above her ankles.”
Bertha hooted with laughter. “The day I see a Manning marry a butler will be the day I give up on the world. She’d be sent to live on the streets before such a catastrophe.”
He didn’t react. “Well, then it’s a good thing I was simply treating her injuries since no one else in the household seems to care about her.”
“You care about her?” Bertha demanded in horror.
“I don’t like to see any innocent thing hurting.” He was starting to find this conversation highly annoying.
“And that’s exactly what she is. An innocent, and you’re to keep your wicked hands off her.”
He sighed. “I have no interest in putting my hands on her. She’s a child.”
“She’s twenty, practically on the shelf.”
“And I’m thirty-one and not interested in virgins.”
He half expected Bertha to explode, but she was a smart old bird. She simply nodded. “Make sure you don’t change your mind.”
There was a noise outside the green baize door, and Bertha was suddenly alert. “Christ!” she said in disgust. “It’s herself.”
Before Rafferty could ask, the door flew open and a vision appeared. For a moment he thought it was a particularly colorful version of Miss Norah Manning, but a moment later, he realized his mistake. The woman standing there in sapphire silk, dripping with jewelry, was at least twenty years older, for all that she was as great a beauty as her daughter.
“Cook!” she announced in a deep, extravagant voice. “I’ve come to check on the household!” Her magnificent gray eyes focused on him. “And this must be the new butler I keep hearing about.”
He rose from his seat at the table and his dead bird and bowed low. “Rafferty, Lady Manning.”
The woman let out a trilling laugh. “You are a handsome one, aren’t you? And so tall! I do like a tall man.”
Rafferty wondered whether he dared stoop. She came closer, smelling of expensive perfume, and he could see that her jewels were paste. Excellent copies, but fakes nonetheless. He wondered if she knew.
