No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(48)

“What did you hide under the mattress?”

Billy’s dark eyes rose and settled on Neil’s face. Billy had a maturity beyond his years, and Neil knew that before he’d come to the orphanage, Billy had seen plenty on the streets of London.

“Let’s see,” Neil said.

Still looking at Neil, Billy lifted the mattress. Underneath, six kitchen knives gleamed. Immediately, the other boys in the chamber found themselves engrossed with other tasks.

“That’s quite a collection,” Neil remarked. “What do you need the weapons for?”

“Defense.”

Neil looked about the room. “Against these lads? You’re bigger than all of them. It seems to me if you had trouble, you could use your fists.”

“I’m not worried about these lads.”

Neil nodded. “Then who?”

Billy shrugged. “If there’s any trouble, I like to be ready.”

“I’m here,” Neil said. “If there’s any trouble, I’ll handle it.”

Billy nodded. “How long are you here?”

It was a good question. It was a question Neil continued to ask himself. He’d intended to be here a few hours. Then one night. Now, he’d been here two nights, and those would undoubtedly turn into three. But he didn’t plan to stay after that. He didn’t want to run an orphanage. He’d deal with Slag, see Lady Juliana safely home, then say his goodbyes.

That would be little consolation to Billy, though. A new thug would move into Slag’s place or a thief desperate enough would find a way to break into the orphanage, and the boys and Lady Juliana would have no one to defend them. No wonder Billy wanted the knives.

Neil held out his hand. “Before I go, we’ll find a way for you to defend yourself, if there’s still a need. In the meantime, the new cook will want these.”

Billy scooped the knives up in one large fist and handed them over. Neil nodded. “I have Walter’s knife.” He looked at the room of boys who were still pretending not to listen. “Who else has a knife or a weapon? Turn them over now. If I find them during my inspection later, you won’t like the consequences.”

By the end of the hour, Neil had collected three more knives, two bricks, a sharpened stick, two candlesticks that probably belonged in the dining room, and a half dozen hairpins that Lady Juliana was probably missing. The younger boys had their share of weapons too. Jimmy had a needle he’d swiped from Lady Juliana’s sewing box, and Chester had taken a small pan from the kitchen.

By the time Neil disposed of or returned the items and inspected the boys’ chambers, it was noon and no one had eaten. He made his way to the parlor, through the now-empty entryway. The parlor door was open and an appetizing smell drifted from the kitchen. He stuck his head in the door, finding Lady Juliana with her head bent and a quill in her hand. She was writing quickly, her lip caught between her teeth as she worked.

Neil cleared his throat. She looked up at him and her cheeks flushed. Just as quickly, she looked down again. He would have bet she was remembering their shared kiss.

“What is it, Mr. Wraxall?”

She was all business, but Neil wasn’t put off. Something about the sight of her with her copper hair spilling over one shoulder and that full lip between her small, even teeth made him want to kiss her again.

“I wondered how the interviews had gone, and the boys wondered when they might eat.”

Her head popped up. “Oh no! They haven’t eaten at all this morning, have they?” She rose, dropping her quill. “How could I have forgotten?”

Neil raised a hand. “I’ve kept them busy in their rooms, but as the weather is still unfit for travel, I haven’t been able to go out and procure any foodstuffs. Does that appetizing smell mean you hired a new cook?”

“Yes, a Mrs. Koch. Appropriate, isn’t it? Her husband fought in the Colonial War, and after his death, she settled in England. She has nine grown children and is used to cooking for a crowd, so to speak.”

“She sounds perfect.”

“Yes. I’ll ask if she can have something ready for a noon meal.”

“Good. If you need me, I’ll be in the servants’ quarters. I have a project I’d like to begin.”

She frowned. “What sort of project?”

He felt like an idiot telling her he planned to build a cage for the pet rats. He should have been ordering her to release the rodents. But he knew she would refuse. The boys had become attached to the creatures, and they seemed harmless enough. “It’s a surprise for the boys. I’ll take Goring with me. If you would be so kind, send something down for us.”

“Very well.” She moved in front of the desk, looked toward the door, then leaned toward him as though telling a secret. “You are keeping an eye on Mr. Goring.”

“I don’t want Goring running to tell Slag what we’re up to.”

She furrowed her brow. “We aren’t up to anything.”

“I told you last night.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “Slag will not touch you. I’ll bring several of my men to the musicale, and we will deal with Mr. Slag.”

“You plan to kill him?” She put her hand to her heart.

“There are worse fates than death. The prison hulks come to mind.”