No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(29)

“Goodness. That many?” She spied Charlie stuffing part of a sandwich crust in his pocket. “Charlie, what are you doing?”

“I thought I’d feed this to Matthew, Mark, and Luke.”

Of course. The cook usually gave the boys scraps from the kitchen for the rats. “You go ahead and eat that,” she told Charlie, “and I’ll bring them an apple, cheese, and a piece of bread after lunch.”

“All that?” Charlie smiled. “They won’t be able to finish it.”

“Then they will have the leavings for dinner.” She scooted Charlie’s plate closer to the edge of the table so fewer crumbs would fall on the floor. Charlie’s and the other young boys’ eyelids drooped. She’d have to encourage them to nap after lunch. “Michael, where is Mr. Wraxall?” she asked.

“With that man,” Michael said.

Julia glanced at the older boys’ table. At her look, several of them nodded. “What man?” she asked.

“He wore a mask,” Michael said. “Like a highwayman.”

Sean nodded. “It’s true. And he seemed to come out of nowhere. Ralph and I were painting outside, and he wasn’t there. Then we looked up, and he was right before us.”

“He was like a spirit,” Ralph said. “He didn’t even walk up the steps. We would have seen him.”

Julia stood. “Robbie, make sure all the boys finish their lunches and then take their plates back to the kitchen. I need to speak with Mr. Wraxall.”

Robbie was on his feet. “Yes, my lady.”

She started for the doorway, and when she reached it, she noticed Robbie was still standing and Billy had joined him. “Why are you still standing?” she asked.

“The major says a gentleman stands when a lady stands.”

“Too bad you’re no gentleman,” Walter muttered loudly enough for her to hear.

“Well, I think it shows very good manners.”

Michael and Sean jumped up too.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

She left the dining room and closed the door behind her. As much as she wanted to dislike Major Wraxall, he was making it more and more difficult. But she’d see what this meeting with the masked man was all about.

Wraxall was not in the entryway, which smelled of freshly cut wood and wet paint. She was about to check in the parlor when she heard a murmur of voices outside the door. The new bolt had been installed, but it was not in use. Quietly, she pulled the door open.

And came face-to-face with a man in a black silk mask.

His hair was covered by a length of black silk tied at the back of his neck, and he wore a black mask that covered most of one side of his face and the upper portion of the other. Behind the mask, eyes the blue of the sea before a storm looked at her. “Who are you?” she blurted out, putting a hand to her pounding heart.

“This is a friend of mine.”

She turned to see Wraxall moving closer to her. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d stepped outside. The wind blew fiercely, making the branches of the birch tree bow and wave. “I see. What is he doing here?”

“He’s good at finding people. I asked him to look for Mr. Goring.”

“Mr…” Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t seen him all morning and hadn’t even thought to look for him. With Wraxall nearby, she hadn’t needed the servant, though he certainly could have made himself useful lighting fires in the grates or carrying the trays into the dining room for her. How long had she been relying on herself and not noticing the manservant’s absence? “Mr. Goring hasn’t returned then.”

Wraxall shook his head. “I think he’s long since had his breakfast.”

“Oh dear. I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“He’s perfectly well. I have just come from him,” said the man in the mask, his voice a deep rumble. “He is sitting at the Ox and the Bull.”

“What is that?”

“An alehouse nearby,” Wraxall told her. “One Slag and his gang frequent.”

A shiver of unease ran up her spine. Goring had been the one to tell her to keep her distance from Mr. Slag. He’d been the one to tell her Slag’s gang ran all Spitalfields. Lately, Slag had been paying more attention to her, and Goring hadn’t been able to keep the crime lord out. But she couldn’t think of any reason Goring should wish to spend any time in Slag’s establishment.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Is Mr. Slag keeping Mr. Goring there against his will?”

“No,” the masked man told her. “Your servant seems quite content to partake of Mr. Slag’s hospitality.”

“What of his duties here?”

“Lord Jasper and I believe your servant may have found a new master,” Wraxall told her.

Julia stared at the masked man. He was a lord?

“We think Slag is paying Goring for access to you,” Wraxall continued.

A thousand possibilities flew through her mind in that moment, swirling about like the leaves dancing in the wind along the street. She knew exactly why Slag wanted access to her. He wanted her father’s money or her as his mistress. “But Mr. Goring warned me away from Mr. Slag. Why would he do that if he was working for the man?”

“Perhaps he wasn’t working for him initially,” Wraxall said, “but every man has his price. Whatever the case, Goring is working for Slag now.”