Phoebe rubbed at her forehead with one thumb, exactly like Ross used to, and Hugh smiled – maybe not entirely gone as this young girl was truly her father’s daughter.
“He would have been proud of you, Phoebe.”
“I’ve not done anything. I couldn’t help with your investigations or–”
“You have coped with his loss with such strength. A loss that no young girl should have to face. And you never once surrendered the courage of your convictions in your father’s innocence. Ross always said that to have the courage of your convictions was a cornerstone of this profession. That it was needed in order to remain committed to integrity and truth. You have your father’s strength and courage in abundance.”
A smile wobbled. “Thank you, Uncle Hugh.”
“Now, my blackbird, hop over to the dressing table, will you, and bring me that brass inlaid box.”
She did as bid before bouncing back onto the bed.
Hugh opened the lid, lifted out the clover cufflinks and then held them forth within his palm. “I think you should have these now.”
“No.” Phoebe shook her head. And folded her arms. “They are yours.”
Hugh attempted his best overbearing stare. Rather devalued by the dowdy nightshirt. “He gifted them to me when I had a dangerous mission, said they brought luck and they did, but I feel they belong with you now.”
With fingers tapping on her black velvet sleeves, Phoebe’s overbearing stare was rather superior. “No.”
Stalemate.
Until those black eyes narrowed. “I know…” She hummed and hawed before reaching for the cufflink with the missing emerald. “We shall each have one.”
“A fine idea, my blackbird of paradise. And since I’m bound to this bed till…eternity if Amelia has her way.” He dramatically sighed. “I’ll ask Cruik to have two identical boxes made for them.”
“Thank you, Uncle Hugh. And being bedbound is for your own good, you realise, as when you were twelve years old with a broken ank–”
“Yes, yes. I’ve been reminded of that many a time.”
She sniggered. “I’m so happy you’re to marry Amelia.”
A strident knock accompanied an even more strident, “Ahem! Are you decent, Hugh?”
“Lady Kemble!” Phoebe sprang off the bed.
The handle turned and a purple bonnet popped around the door. “Ah ha! There you all are.” And in a dress the colour of spring violets, she strode to his bedside.
“You look a little peaky, my gal. Have you been crying?” Aunt rested a hand to Phoebe’s shoulder. “Are you well?”
“Yes, my lady.” A wide smile tugged at his ward’s lips. “I think I shall be very well from now on. I had a letter from the Home Office. They will honour my father with an award and name it after him.”
“What splendid news.” Aunt drew her into a gentle hug. “We can all be so proud. And I’m so proud of you.” She patted her shoulder. “So how is our patient today? Not very patient according to Amelia. That poor girl.”
They both turned but Hugh merely eyed them, head cocked to one side, fingers tapping.
After a buss to his forehead, Aunt perched on the chair. “Odds boddikins, I recognise that look. It signifies trouble.”
A giggling Phoebe sat on the end of the bed.
“I was just wondering…” Hugh waggled his eyebrows. “I need some assistance with a cunning plan of deceit, subterfuge and hoodwinking.”
“Hmm,” said Phoebe. “Will you let me borrow your polemoscope?”
Cunning indeed.
“Done.”
Phoebe patted his foot through the bedsheet. “Then, Uncle Hugh, you’ve come to the right people.”
