Griffin’s left eyebrow lifted a fraction while his gaze remained frank and assessing. It seemed to him the boy grasped most of what he’d said well enough, but he had to be sure. “Do you understand?”
Nat nodded. When that response appeared to have been judged inadequate, he found enough spit had formed in his mouth to permit him to speak. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good. Then perhaps you can tell me what it is you hoped to learn by visiting the top of the stairs.” As Nat was dressed in his nightclothes, Griffin thought he could safely assume the boy had not meant to leave the hell. Also, the servants’ stairs would have been more the route to take in that event.
Nat was not proof against the long, expectant silence that followed. “I could not sleep for the noise.”
“It is frequently noisy. A cup of warm milk at bedtime will help you sleep. I will instruct Cook to make you a posset. You might have rung for it yourself, yet the noise drew you out of your room. How did you imagine that would help?”
Nat flushed a little and for the first time his eyes darted away. He pressed his lips together until they all but disappeared.
“Did you wish to find Miss Cole?” asked Griffin. When Nat offered up a single shoulder shrug, Griffin realized he’d hit close to the mark. He tried again. “Were you looking for me?” When the boy’s head shot up and the most alarming expression took shape on his face, Griffin realized his question had missed the target entirely. “Very well. You werenotlooking for me. I can surmise that you were not in need of one of the staff else you would have used the bell, so that brings us round to Miss Cole again. As much as I appreciate the challenge to my gray matter, it would be ever so much better if you would simply speak on your behalf.”
Nat said nothing.
Griffin sighed. “As you wish. I will have the posset sent to your room. Drink it all.” He stood. For the first time since entering the room, he felt awkward and uncertain of what should be done. “Nanny Pritchard used to tuck me in. When I was your age or thereabouts, I pretended I wanted none of it, but she managed the thing anyway. Do you…” He hesitated, wondering if Nat would make his own feelings known. He was encouraged when the boy neither blanched nor shied away and decided to save both of them from asking the question. Instead, he approached the bed and indicated that Nat should remove his slippers and robe. He took away the basin and held up the covers while the boy crawled under them, then made a neat cocoon around every part of him but his head.
“Good night.” He tousled Nat’s hair. The texture was fine and silky. “You may sit at breakfast with me and Miss Cole, if you like.”
Nat stared up at him. “Do you mean it, sir?”
“Yes, of course. I find it less confusing if I say only what I mean. I am also appreciative when others do the same.”
“Then I should like it, sir.”
Griffin nodded. He was on the point of leaving the room when he caught a hint of Nat’s small voice adding, “Above all things.”
There was no breakfast room or family dining room in the hell. The rooms that had been intended for such use had long been turned over to gaming. So it was that Griffin, Olivia, and Nat took their breakfast in Griffin’s study at a table carefully cleared for just that purpose.
Olivia watched with amusement as Nat’s eyes darted about the room. The child was evidently impressed that so much in the way of clutter was tolerated. He had been gently warned upon his entry that he should not touch anything, and to his credit, his hands had not left his sides. He’d made one slow, but complete circuit of the room, gazing at the books with something like yearning in his face, making a cursory examination of the porcelain and jade figurines crowded together on the drinks cabinet, and finally pausing to study his own narrow face in the mirror above the mantel. Olivia did not think she would ever forget how he’d turned his head, just so, to better make out the line of his scar. Her own attention had darted to Griffin then, and she saw that he had been riveted by the very same.
“I imagine you are wondering how Lord Breckenridge finds anything,” Olivia said. “It remains a mystery to everyone, including his lordship, but if he wants a particular item, he knows precisely where to go.”
Nat bit off a piece of toast and chewed thoughtfully. “The Castle of…” He paused, his tongue working around a word he didn’t know.
Griffin set his cup down and arched one eyebrow sharply. “Otranto.Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Otranto.Yes. That’s the one.”
“That is too easy.” He pointed to the stack of books to the right of the chaise. “Third up from the bottom. It is not a particularly good representation of a Gothic novel, but it helps support the candelabra nicely.”
“He is rather too confident,” said Olivia, finding her voice after a moment’s astonishment had left her without words. “I would not trust him. It is all right if you wish to look.”
“No, that’s where it is. I remember.”
Olivia looked from Nat to Griffin. Her accusing glance took in both of them. “You arranged this. I have never heard ofThe Castle of Otranto.”
“Horace Walpole,” they said as one, but Griffin was looking at Nat oddly while Nat was sinking his small teeth into a muffin the size of his fist.
Olivia excused herself from the table and went to the stack. Dropping gracefully to her haunches, her gray morning dress wreathing her like smoke, she counted three up from the floor and tilted her head to read the spine. “You are both unnatural.”
She returned to the table and regarded Nat with an expression only marginally less surprised than Griffin’s. “You have read the book?”
“Only the side of it.”
Griffin found he could only shake his head. “He is a quick study, I think. What else did you observe, Nat? Can you tell me, for instance, where I might findThe Vicar of Wakefield?”
Nat licked at the muffin crumbs above his lip as he applied considerable thought to this challenge. He closed his eyes, scanning the room in his mind’s eye, and said slowly, “Bottom shelf. Left side. Between four and eight from the far end, I should think.”
