“Then why are you no longer employed as a lassie snatcher?” Winter asked neutrally.
Alf’s bread was all ready, jam running out of the pinched sides, but he just stared at it. “It were one o’ the young ones, name o’ Hannah. ’Ad ginger ’air, she did. Not more’n five or so. Chattered a lot, like, wasn’t afraid o’ me or nothin’, even though ’er auntie ’ad sold ’er to us. Me an’ Sam took ’er to the workshop and she seemed fine enough. …”
“Fine?” Godric growled low. “They work those girls, beat them, and hardly feed them.”
“There’re worse.” Alf’s words were defiant, but he wouldn’t meet Godric’s eyes. “Bawdy ’ouses, beggars what’ll blind a babe to make ’er more pathetic.”
Winter shot Godric a quelling look. “What happened to Hannah, Alf?”
“Just it, innit?” Alf dug his dirty fingers into the folded bread until red jam oozed out. “She weren’t there next time I come by. They wouldn’t tell me what ’ad ’appened to ’er. She were just … gone.” Alf looked up then, his eyes angry and wet. “Stopped it then, didn’t I? Ain’t gonna be part o’ ’urting wee little lassies.”
“That was very brave of you,” Winter said softly. “I would think the lassie snatchers would not be pleased by a defection.”
Alf snorted, finally picking up his messy bread and jam. “Don’t know ’xactly what defection is, but they’d be glad enough to see me put to bed wif a shovel.”
“Tell us where they are, who they are, and we’ll solve the problem for you,” Godric growled.
“Ain’t just one place,” Alf said, speaking seriously. “There’s three workshops I knows of, and prolly more’n that.”
“Three?” Winter breathed. “How could we not have known?”
“Sly ones, ain’t they?” Alf shoved the bread into his mouth and for a moment was mute as he chewed. Then he swallowed. “Best do it at night. They’ve guards, but everyone’s sleepier at night. I can show you.”
“We’ll have to move fast,” Godric said, looking at Winter and receiving a nod. “Can you show me tomorrow night?”
“Aye.” Alf took the rest of the cut bread and shoved it into a pocket of his coat. “Best be off, then, ’adn’t I, afore ’tis light out.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay here,” Winter offered.
Alf shook his head. “Kind o’ you, but I don’t like staying in such a big place.”
Godric frowned. “Will you be safe?”
Alf cocked his head, smiling cynically. “Worried I won’t be back tomorrow? Nah, no one’s can catch me if’n I don’t want. Ta for the tea.”
And he was gone out the kitchen door.
“Damn it, I should follow him,” Godric muttered.
But Winter shook his head. “We don’t want to scare him off. Besides, I saw the dragoons in the back alley earlier.”
Godric swore. “They followed me.” That would make getting home more difficult than usual. He looked at Winter. “Do you really think the boy’s safe until tomorrow?”
Winter shrugged as he put away the bread. “It’s out of our hands now.”
And Godric supposed he’d have to be content with that knowledge until tomorrow night.
THE SOUND OF male voices outside her window woke Megs from a restless slumber. She blinked sleepily, glancing about her bedroom. It was light, but so early Daniels hadn’t yet come to wake her and help dress her.
Megs rose and wandered to the window, parting the curtains to look down on the courtyard. Godric stood, wrapped in a cloak, talking to a man in a tricorne. Megs stared. There was something about the other man, something about the way Godric stood so stiffly that made her uneasy.
Then the man in the tricorne looked up at the house and Megs gasped.
It was Captain Trevillion.
As she watched, his hand shot out suddenly, wrenching Godric’s cloak open.
She whirled and found her wrapper, pulling it on as she ran from the room and down the stairs, her heart in her throat. Would Godric’s costume be enough for the dragoon captain to arrest him?
But when she tumbled breathlessly into the entry hall, her husband was closing the door behind him as serenely as if he’d just returned from a chat with the king.
“Godric!” she hissed.
He looked up and she froze.
It was subtle, but she could read the signs now—his mouth thin and tense, his eyes a little narrowed. He wasn’t serene, not really. He looked both tired and angry.
She didn’t remember descending the rest of the stairs, only her hands rising toward his face, wanting to give comfort.
His own hands blocked hers.
She blinked, focusing on his eyes, and saw that he stared at her blankly.
He hadn’t forgiven her for the night before, then.
“What happened in St. Giles?” she asked in a small voice. She wanted so badly to touch him, to make sure he was whole and well. “Why did Captain Trevillion let you go?”
“Godric.” Mrs. St. John’s surprised voice came from the stairs and Megs turned to see that both she and all three of Godric’s sisters stood there.
Moulder appeared from somewhere. “Sir?”
“Why is everyone up so early?” Godric muttered.
“Have you been out?” Sarah asked quietly.
“None of your business,” her brother said flatly, walking toward the back of the house.
“But—” his stepmother started.
“Don’t question me,” he growled without looking back, and disappeared down the hall.
Mrs. St. John looked helplessly at Megs, her eyes shining with tears.
“I’ll talk to him,” Megs said with all the reassurance she could muster before hurrying after Godric.
If it weren’t for her mother-in-law and those tears, she would never have dared beard him again this soon after the disaster of last night. She’d hurt him badly, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t want her nearby.
Well, he’d just have to put up with her anyway.
She opened the door to his study without bothering to knock.
Inside, Godric was pouring himself a glass of brandy and talking to Moulder. “The usual place. Make sure you’re not followed.”
“Yes, sir.” Moulder looked relieved to scurry from the room.