Beau held up his hands, wiggling his fingers.
“Luckily for you, I can write quickly.” He pointed at the desk. “I bet there is some ink and paper. We could start right now. You tell it to me, and I’ll write it down.”
* * *
Maddy sat on the stairs, her heart slamming against her chest. She’d been lying in bed, awake since Lucy had crept down the stairs into the library. The child had always been a restless sleeper, and since an accident that had nearly claimed her life the year before, it had only gotten worse. Maddy had allowed her to use the library, teaching her how to light the lamp so she could read. Some mornings, she’d wake early to find Lucy asleep on the settee, a book still in her hands.
She never slept when Lucy went downstairs. Not soundly, anyway. While it was unlikely that any harm would come to the child safe within the bounds of Everwell, the chance was not zero. So she remained awake.
Besides, Beau da Silva was here. She was hyperaware of his presence, which she attributed to the same compulsion she had with Lucy. It was Maddy’s job to keep everyone safe, and she made sure she did it. So, when the telltale click of the door latch from Foster’s room broke the silence, Maddy was on her feet. She wasn’t light footed like Gemma, but she knew every squeak on those steps and how to avoid them, even though she was at least eighty pounds heavier.
She paused on the steps, allowing the darkness to envelope her, and listened. While she was not expecting anything untoward, she knew that some of the children who’d come into their care could not be alone in a room with a man without reliving a past trauma. Lucy, however, was not one of them.
Indeed, there seemed to be a natural affinity between the two as they discussed their favourite books. She was at once transfixed by their easy camaraderie, and yet strangely envious of it. Maddy had never found being with others easy. She always appreciated Gemma’s quiet, and Rimple’s capacity to carry on a conversation without her, while making Maddy seem effortlessly a part of it.
She couldn’t catch all the conversation from her perch on the stairs, and the moment she saw Beau’s form move toward her desk, she gripped the railing, prepared to run down the stairs and pull him away. The light from his taper shed just enough light for her to make out what he was doing… which was taking dictation from Lucy.
She found herself relaxing as she watched them, her head resting on the banister, staring off into the distance while snippets of quiet conversation wafted up the stairs. Before long, she found herself nodding off.
The sensation of a hand on her shoulder caught her off guard. She opened her eyes, an old instinct flaring inside her and she grabbed at her shoulder before springing to her feet.
“Good morning.”
Maddy’s eyes blinked as she focused on Phillipa Hartley, standing two steps above in her dressing gown. Maddy rubbed her hands over her eyes and stretched the kink out of her neck.
“What time is it?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
“About half past five,” came the reply. “Still early.”
In the summer, six o’clock was the hour when the house started to wake and get ready for the day, but the morning light had already cast a warm glow over the house. A quick check of the bedroom doors confirmed that aside from Phillipa’s and Maddy’s, the occupants were still asleep.
“How long have you been up?” Phillipa asked in hushed tones.
“Lucy had another restless night,” Maddy said.
“I see,” Phillipa said. “I assume she didn’t go back to bed?”
Dread dropped like a stone in Maddy’s stomach. There was a second staircase, originally build to be used by servants, near the kitchen that led upstairs, and continued right on to the third floor, where the children slept. Lucy and Beau could have returned to their respective rooms for the evening, without passing Maddy on the stairs.
Maddy rose, then padded down the stairs, stopping at the entrance to the library. On the settee was Lucy, curled up in her usual position, a coverlet pulled up over her, looking contented. Relief flooded through Maddy, relaxing the tension in her shoulders, when the sound of a gentle snore came from a corner to her right. There, sprawled in a chair, long legs stretched out, was Beau da Silva.
His mouth was half open, the sole hint of normalcy on an otherwise perfect form. A single lock of his chestnut brown hair fell across his forehead, and there was the distinct shadow of a beard on his chin, which somehow managed to make him look more appealing. Underneath his robe—which Maddie recognized as Foster’s—he was wearing one of Foster’s old nightshirts and thankfully, he’d had the presence of mind to throw on his trousers. But his feet were bare, and there was a generous amount of exposed skin at his neck where the nightshirt gaped open.
He was, even with his mouth hanging open and snoring to wake the dead, beautiful.
How Lucy even managed to sleep with that racket was something of a miracle.
“Well now,” Phillipa said behind her in a low voice, so warm Maddy could practically here the smile in it. “I’d say our new client has made himself quite at home.”
Maddy managed to drag her attention away from Mr. da Silva to her desk, where he’d been writing. Sitting in her chair. Using her pens. She sighed, trying to excise some of the nervous energy from her bones. She would need an hour in the carriage house with her fighting canes just to siphon this storm out of her.
She spun on her heel and stalked off to the kitchen. It was early, she was tired, and needed coffee to think straight. Or even to be civil. Phillipa followed, and in the way she had of knowing what Maddy needed, got the fire going in the stove while Maddy filled the kettle.
“Won’t he wonder why I’m going to guard him, Phillipa? Won’t he ask uncomfortable questions?”
“Maddy, my fierce warrior,” Phillipa said, reaching up to Maddy and gently cradling her face in her hands. “I know you just want to lock everything up tight and let nothing in. I wouldn’t be suggesting any of this if I didn’t think you could do it. Besides, Dominic’s been talking to Ben Miller at the Chronicle. He might uncover some valuable leads that will help bring this to an end sooner than later.”
At the mention of Benjamin Miller, Maddy started. The man had his nose in much of the city’s underground comings and goings over the years, and seemed unafraid to report on even the most sordid news that might tarnish the otherwise sterling reputations of the city’s elite. He’d even come to Everwell a few years ago, to do a piece for the paper.
