“Away fromthe edge? Of the cliffs? Where we were last night?”
“Yes, I took him for a ride there this morning. Don’t you think you’re being a bit overprotective?”
“Overprotective?” She looked at him and suddenly felt strangely calm. She scanned the nearby ground.
He watched her, puzzled. “What are you looking for? Dropped something?”
She gave him a limpid look. “I need a large stone.”
“A large stone?”
“Yes, you said it would be better to hold a large stone in my fist the next time I punched someone.”
“Ah,” he said. “I see. You’re upset. You’re worried about the boy, but there’s no need, I assure—”
Callie looked at him. She was not sure what kind of expression she had on her face, but it seemed to have a satisfactory effect. He backed away.
“I’ll just nip back and fetch him, shall I?” Gabriel emitted a shrill whistle and his horse returned at a trot, his reins trailing. “Back in a trice,” he said as he mounted with a lithe movement and galloped back the way he had come.
Callie watched until he disappeared from sight, then hastily ran upstairs to dress. She kept looking out of the window, fear and fury warring within her. Nicky was out there alone on a cliff top. Anything could happen.
“Ow, yer hurting me!” a young voice complained as Callie reentered the kitchen. Mrs. Barrow was struggling with the child, stripping him of his clothing while Barrow trudged back and forth with pails of water.
“I’ll hurt you worse if you keep wrigglin’ like that, me lad!” Mrs. Barrow snapped. “Look at the state of you! You’re a disgrace!”
“He’s not badly hurt, then?” she asked Mrs. Barrow.
“The nose isn’t broken, just bloody. I don’t think there’s any other injury, but who can tell with such a filthy little beggar? What’s your name lad?”
“Jim—ow!” The child, for Callie saw he was not much older than Nicky, tried to fend her off, but Mrs. Barrow was more than a match for him.
“Pour in the hot water, now, Barrow,” she instructed over her shoulder. “It won’t be as hot as I’d like, but it won’t be cold, neither—keep still, you young devil!”
“Stop that! It ain’t decent!” the child tried to snatch back the shirt she’d ruthlessly stripped from his skinny frame.
“The amount o’ dirt on you is what’s not decent, young Jimmy, me lad! I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got potatoes growing in his pockets, ma’am!”
“I have not!” The boy looked at Callie. “I haven’t, lady, truly I haven’t! Make her let me go, please.”
Callie gave him a helpless look. She was worried about her own son. This child’s fate did not concern her; he was in good hands with Mrs. Barrow. This child was perfectly safe.
She glanced out of the window, knowing there hadn’t been enough time for him to return, but unable to quell the anxiety in her breast.
Mrs. Barrow continued, undaunted, “There’s enough dirt on you to grow a dozen potatoes. You’re havin’ a bath, whether you like it or not.” She yanked his ragged trousers off.
“Oyyy!” the boy yowled and desperately tried to cover his miniscule private parts. “I’m not getting in no bath! I’m not!”
“It’s that or boil you in the copper with the sheets!” responded Mrs. Barrow fiercely.
“Boil me in the copper!”Jim’s wide, shocked eyes stood out against the black grime of his face.
“With the sheets, that’s right.” Over the boy’s head, Mrs. Barrow winked at Callie. “A good boiling in lye would kill all that nasty vermin you’ve got living on you! Fleas and nits and who knows what else? I’d do it, too, only Barrow said a bath would be kinder. But if you’re going to argue…”
Amidst howls of protest Jim was dumped into the tin bath and scrubbed from head to toe, with no allowances for modesty. Each time he opened his mouth to protest, soap got in.
Callie was caught between the domestic comedy-drama unfolding before her and anxiety about her son. Nicky was scared of horses; why would he agree to go for a ride?
What if they had been followed? What if Count Anton’s men found Nicky by the cliff top, alone and unprotected? Without witnesses.
