Page 5 of Nature of the Crime
The mews around the back had a small stable for the horses and coach, and it was where the driver bunked too. Whitlock, the new butler, had his room on the second floor, while Basil and Hugh occupied the first, and Sir maintained his simple room in the old broom closet-cum-bedroom off the kitchen. Mrs. Peets, the cook, had nowhere appropriate in the home to stay, as she utterly refused to set foot on the second floor if Whitlock was there. So, she continued to come in early in the morning and leave for her own set of rooms a few streets away, by nightfall.
Hugh did not entertain. He didn’t host dinners or parties, and he would not be able to, so long as he remained in such a compact residence. Basil lamented this fact, believing the Viscount Neatham was more than ready to remove to a larger home, more suited to his new rank. But at least the valet had given up on trying to convince him to move into Neatham House in Kensington Square. Not only was it too far from the bustle of Town, but it was also a place that reminded Hugh too much of his unhappy past.
He’d been starting to consider leasing a new home, one that he and Audrey would choose together. But now, he wasn’t certain of anything. The constricting band around his throat threatened to choke him whenever he thought too much about her, and thus, he’d tried to drown those thoughts with liberal amounts of liquor and diversion. He’d even joined White’s and submitted himself to the smoky rooms and political conversation, but he hadn’t been back since meeting with Michael, the new Duke of Fournier, and hearing all about Audrey’s tour of Rome. He’d had to pretend as though he wasn’t hanging on every word that Fournier uttered. As though it didnot pain him that she’d written to her former brother-in-law instead of Hugh.
Basil took up the viscount’s greatcoat and held it out for him. “I am only hopeful the welp did not have his purse filled with his wages.”
“Sir can sniff out a pickpocket easy enough.” The lad had once been a little pickpocket himself. “I just hope he hasn’t gone back to his old rooms on Lenan Street.”
With any hope, Mr. Givens had been working a shift at the Seven Sins that night, which would have kept him away from the drink. Hugh had arranged for him to land the job at the gaming hell as security, but not to Mr. Givens’s knowledge. He’d have turned his back on any opportunity handed to him on a platter, especially from the fancy toff his boy was working for. So, Hugh had needed to make it look like Mr. Givens had secured the job himself. It had been an elaborate nuisance to set up, but it had worked. If he was earning an honest wage, it might keep him busy. It was the most Hugh could do for Mrs. Givens and her other young children. For now, at least.
Basil opened the front door to let him out, but at the same moment, a clattering came from the direction of the kitchen. It was quickly followed by a howl and shouted complaint, made by a familiar and distinctive voice. He and Basil exchanged an exasperated look.
“I will tell Norris to put the horse and carriage away,” Basil said, exiting onto the front step.
Hugh tossed his hat onto a chair in the foyer before stalking to the back of the house. When he entered the kitchen, it was to find Sir hopping around on one foot, cradling the other in his hand. Several pots lay scattered on the tile floor.
“You should know by now that Mrs. Peets stores the pots with the handles facing outward,” Hugh said, raising a brow atthe boy. He’d knocked his shins into the handles and sent them flying from the low shelves.
Sir straightened up, eyeing Hugh carefully. “Sorry, Lord Hugh.”
An awful sensation slid into his gut. Sir wasn’tafraidof him, was he?
With a lightning bolt of clarity and determination, he vowed to stop. No more dulling his frustration and hurt with copious amounts of liquor. He would face it head on—and sober.
“Don’t apologize,” Hugh said, drawing out a stool at the long center table where Mrs. Norris prepared his solitary meals. He kicked out the stool next to him and indicated for Sir to sit. He did, though warily.
“I am the one who is sorry,” he said with a long sigh. “I’ve been…acting differently.”
“You’ve been getting cabbaged.”
Hugh huffed a laugh. “Yes, I have. I’ve meant no harm, but perhaps I’ve caused it just the same.”
Sir shrugged. He’d shot up at least three inches over the last several months, and his voice had started to break from a young boy’s pitch. The uncontrollable warbling embarrassed him, so he spoke less than usual. Something Basil savored.
“It’s all right. You’re mostly just a sloppy drunk.”
Ah, nothing like the honesty of a youth. Hugh smiled tightly and nodded. “I suppose I am.”
Sir scratched the back of his neck. “It’s because of the duchess, isn’t it?”
The weight of a stone lodged right in the top of his chest, above his heart. He should have known Sir would have realized the problem. He was more perceptive than most adults Hugh knew.
“It is,” he said.
“Something’s not right,” Sir replied.
Hugh cut his eyes from the black and white tiles of the kitchen floor to the boy. “Why do you say that?”
Sir pulled a face as if he was speaking to a simpleton. “Because she wouldn’t have just stopped talking to you.”
He had felt the same sense of confusion for months. Hugh shook his head. “Feelings can change.”
“Not hers.” Sir was resolute, unblinking in the assertion.
Uncertain how to respond, Hugh sighed and stood up. “Things will be fine, whatever the outcome.” It felt like a lie, but he needed to convince Sir not to worry. “There is no need for you to avoid the house. I won’t be gettingcabbagedagain anytime soon.”
Sir pressed a brow low. “Don’t sound right when you say it,” he muttered, but Hugh could see relief working its way across the boy’s face when he hopped from the stool.
