Silence kicked the lower shelf.
“Goggie!” Mary Darling said from behind her.
“No, sweetie,” Silence said, “those are crows.”
“Goggie!”
A thump came from the windows.
Silence turned, alarmed that Mary might’ve fallen, but the toddler was still standing against the windows. And on the other side was a very familiar dog wagging his tail like mad.
“Lad?” Silence whispered. She swiftly crossed to the glass doors and looked out. Dusk was gathering, but she thought she saw something flash in the trees beyond the lawn. “Oh, my goodness.”
There were guards, of course. The first thing Lord Caire had done on reaching his country residence was hire several strong men from the village to patrol the grounds. Silence craned her neck and saw two men just disappearing around the far corner of the house. She knew from watching them that they wouldn’t be back around to this side again for another ten minutes or more.
That is, if they didn’t reverse their course.
Hastily she found a pencil and flipped through the Latin book until she found a blank page. Silence wrote a short note to Temperance and left the book on a table, opened to the note. Then she scooped Mary up in her arms and went out the French doors. Lad immediately began jumping around them like a maddened hare, but fortunately he seemed to know enough not to bark.
“Where is he?” she hissed at the dog, feeling like a fool.
Lad pricked his ears forward and then turned to look at the trees.
Well, that was clear enough.
Silence darted across the lawn, arriving at the tree line breathless and with her heart beating in a staccato rhythm. She peered into the dark copse, but didn’t see anyone. Disappointment seeped into her chest. Perhaps she’d been mistaken at the flash. Perhaps Lad had somehow followed them from London. Perhaps—
A hand clamped over her mouth.
“Hush,” Michael murmured.
She nodded.
He lifted his hand and then just watched her. He was different—his clothing dark and plainer than any she’d ever seen on him. His coat was brown, his hat a simple black tricorne. And he’d covered his extravagant hair with an anonymous white wig, making his face appear leaner, his cheekbones sharper. His black eyebrows winging up so starkly against the white of the wig made him look more Satanic, more stern than ever.
“Will ye come with me?” he whispered.
And she answered without hesitation. “Yes, please.”
WINTER SIGHED SILENTLY as he watched another elegantly dressed lady pick her way down the narrow alley leading to the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. Lady Penelope wore an elaborately worked yellow silk gown with an embroidered jacket, and a velvet cloak thrown over her shoulders. The lady held her skirts high as she carefully stepped along, the jewels on her slippers winking in the sunlight. Behind her, Miss Greaves trailed, much less richly dressed and holding a silly little white dog in her arms. Winter eyed the winking jewels on the slippers sourly. The cost of those slippers could probably keep the home in coal and candles for an entire year.
At least he no longer had to worry about Silence, now that Caire and Temperance had her safely hidden at Caire’s. Still that didn’t quite make another day wasted with silly society ladies bearable.
“Oh, they do look splendid, don’t they?” Nell Jones commented beside him.
Winter coughed. “Indeed.”
“The children are so looking forward to singing for the ladies,” Nell said. “And they’ve become quite good at singing the same words at almost the same time.”
Winter arched an eyebrow. The last time he’d passed the classroom while the children were practicing, the sound had not been exactly melodious.
“And Joseph Tinbox has memorized the psalm he is to recite,” Nell went on. “If only we have enough biscuits for all the ladies! That last batch didn’t turn out quite right.”
Winter, having spent years dining upon the products of inexperienced cooks—the girls of the home did most of the cooking—knew better than to ask what exactly had happened to the last batch of biscuits. “I’m sure the biscuits will do very well.”
Nell flashed him one of her quick smiles. “Well, I just hope so. I wouldn’t want to let you down, sir.”
“You won’t, Nell. That I’m quite certain of,” Winter said as he stepped forward to welcome Lady Penelope Chadwicke and her outrageously expensive slippers.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Makepeace!” Lady Penelope exclaimed. She wrinkled her nose as she let her skirts drop. “I do think you should do something to make the street cleaner. Perhaps you could see about having it repaved?”
“The home is only temporarily housed on this street, Penelope, dear,” Miss Greaves murmured. “Perhaps we should save large projects like repaving the street for the permanent residence.”
Winter shot Miss Greaves a grateful look. The lady smiled shyly back at him and he noticed that her eyes were a rather lovely dark gray.
“Oh, I suppose that’s the practical thing to do,” Lady Penelope said with a pout. “But I do think practical things are so boring, don’t you, Mr. Makepeace?”
Winter opened his mouth, a little bemused by this frivolity, but was saved from having to reply by the sound of hooves clattering on cobblestones.
A trio of mounted soldiers pulled their horses to a halt before the home. The lead soldier, riding a huge black horse nodded formally.
“Sir, ladies. Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Winter Makepeace?”
Winter felt everything within him still. He looked up into the man’s face. The officer wore the standard white wig like his men. Beneath, his pale blue eyes were sharp and intelligent. His face was long, with deep lines incised on either side of his mouth, giving the impression of a man who had been so hardened by life that he no longer made concessions for those less capable than himself.
“I am Winter Makepeace.”
The officer nodded. “Permit me then to introduce myself. I am Captain Jonathan Trevillion of the 4th Dragoons.”
“How do you do?” Winter said quietly. The ladies still stood by him, looking curiously up at the soldiers, but he made no move to introduce them to Captain Trevillion.
The other man noticed the omission with a tightening of his thin lips. “My men and I have orders to arrest any criminals we discover in St. Giles, with particular attention paid to the murderer called the Ghost of St. Giles.”
“Murderer?” Nell exclaimed. “But the Ghost has never been proved to murder anyone!”