Page 59 of Nature of the Crime
The drafty guestroom at the inn on Liverpool Street felt nearly sweltering later that night when Hugh at last entered. He found Sir sprawled upon the bed, snoring. When a loud clearing of his throat failed to wake the lad, Hugh clapped his hands. Sir cracked a single eye lid.
“Lawks, I’m listening. You don’t have to bring the bloody roof down.”
He shook his head but would let Sir’s impertinence slide. It had been a hellishly long night, and even though Sir had not been the one out on a fisherman’s hooker in the frigid weather, he’d had the task of making sure Mrs. Plimpton did not slip away. When she attempted just that, Sir chased her through the streets, whistling to some soldiers he saw along the way and shouting at them to apprehend her on Lieutenant Edmunds’sorders. They had, and the innkeeper now sat in the small guardhouse outside the Grand Shaft, which was usually reserved for drunken soldiers who couldn’t make the spiraling steps back up to barracks.
Hugh had questioned her at length after he returned from theSea Wolf, and when she learned that Sin had planned to sell Becky to the doxy traders, she had broken down. Money had been her endgame; blackmailing the dowager duchess. Not the pitiful fate Becky would have endured had St. John’s plan gone right.
Hugh wasn’t entirely certain he believed her. Now that her beloved Sin was dead, she might have been willing to say anything to lessen her own culpability. But at least the young woman had been found easily enough, even in the dark, thanks to the pealing of that handbell. Becky had come aboard her father’s boat without injury, and with more luck than Audrey had, she’d been wearing all her winter wrappings when St. John had taken her.
Hugh had kept Audrey tucked into him the entire time it took to return to shore, then to the inn. When her shivering had ceased during the carriage ride from the harbor, Thornton had grown worried rather than relieved. Her temperature, the physician had whispered, could have dropped so significantly that her body was entering a stage of failure. At the inn, Greer took one look at her mistress and threw herself into action. She was no longer numbed by the small dose of laudanum the innkeeper had tricked her into drinking and had been preparing for Audrey’s return. In a whirlwind, she’d taken Audrey to the back room off of the kitchen and shut the door. She’d emerged a few minutes later with Audrey’s damp clothing, from her stockings to her stays, and then disappeared again. A hot bath had already been prepared, with Greer only needing to warm it alittle with some more water, which had already been boiling on the stove.
With the maid’s assurance that Her Grace would be just fine now, Hugh had stepped away. News of Mrs. Plimpton’s arrest arrived, and he and Edmunds left for the guardhouse, leaving Thornton behind if Audrey needed him.
In that moment, he’d envied his friend. To be able to help her, to fix what ailed her, was his only desire, and yet he could not do that. Hell, he hadn’t even been there to save her from St. John.
No, she had done that herself.
He’d felt something bubbling inside him then and after a few bewildering moments, finally understood what it was: Pride. He was exceptionally proud of her. The infuriating woman was as brilliant as she was prone to trouble.
Now, as he removed his cravat, which had started to look like a sagging jowl, he asked Sir how the dowager duchess was faring.
“She was complaining about all the hot broth Greer was pouring down her throat,” Sir said, sitting up with a stretch of his arms. His feet were nearly at the foot of the bed, and Hugh noted he’d not removed his boots. With a sigh, he ignored it. Impertinent servants seemed to be his stock and trade. Though Sir was not truly a servant. He wore the livery, but it was something he’d been meaning to discuss with the lad.
“We are leaving in the morning,” he announced.
“Brilliant, I was starting to miss Baz.”
Despite Sir’s sarcastic remark, a part of Hugh suspected that the boy did miss sparring with the persnickety valet.
“When we return to London, I am increasing your tutoring sessions with Mr. Fines.”
Sir suddenly snapped fully awake and glared. “What have I done to deserve that?”
Hugh busied himself at the wash basin, and with a shrug of one shoulder replied, “You’ve proved you are no servant.”
“I’m a bloody great ‘un!” he shouted, testing his newly maturing vocal cords as he leaped from the bed and to his feet.
Hugh barked laughter. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. No, Sir, you do not have a future as a servant, and it’s best we admit it now.”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw the boy red faced, eyes popping. Hugh grinned.
“Oh, come off it. You are already reading Basil’s copies of Shakespeare, you can do numbers in your head better than my solicitor, and your tongue is about as sharp as your brain. You’re arrogant and bored, that’s what you are, Sir. You will attend Eton or Harrow. Take your pick.”
Silence met this short outburst. Sir blinked, as if not comprehending. The scowl slowly disappeared, replaced by something else. Not pleasure or anything close to happiness.
“I can’t.”
Hugh turned from the wash basin. “What do you mean? Of course, you can. You have the brains?—”
“It’s not that. I know I’m smarter than most of your lot. I just…can’t. I don’t belong at some posh boys’ school.”
Hugh took a few prolonged moments to dry his hands and think of a response. He settled on, “You are worried you won’t fit in?”
He wouldn’t. Not by half.
“I know I won’t,” Sir said with a shrug. He wasn’t bothered by it. “I don’t care about having mates.”
“Then what do you care about?”
