Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(35)

He looked up eagerly as she came out the theater door. “Did you bring the boiled eggs?”

“Yes.” Lily fell into step with him.

“And the jammy tarts Maude made?” Indio asked, skipping beside her.

“Of course.”

“Huzzah!”

She smiled down at him and then nodded as they passed a group of gardeners. Two of the three men stopped and doffed their hats, making her feel quite fine. They hadn’t seen many of the gardeners beside Caliban, as most of the work seemed to have been away from the theater thus far. It was inevitable, she supposed, that their restoration would eventually reach the theater, though she was not looking forward to the loss of their privacy. Stepping outside to find strange men would be a bit disconcerting. Lily wondered if she ought to ask Mr. Harte for some sort of lock for the theater door.

Abruptly she realized that she didn’t know where Caliban was working today. She looked down at her son, happily skipping with his boat cradled in his arms. “Do you know where Caliban has gotten to?”

“He’s by the pond, digging a hole in the ground,” Indio said promptly.

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Is he? Whatever for?”

“Dunno,” Indio said, unconcerned. “But it’s a big ’un—bigger than any I’ve ever dug before.”

He sounded admiring. Of course to a little boy the adventure of digging the hole was probably reason enough for the labor.

They came to the pond and began walking along it as best they could given there wasn’t a path. Several times they had to dodge away from the pond to go around debris, but at last they found Caliban.

He was a terrifically dirty mess, shoulder-deep in a hole that was indeed quite big. Daffodil ran to the edge and barked at him until he placed his hands on the side and levered himself out. He wore a bandage on his head to cover his wound, but it was much smaller than the one she’d dressed it with the night before.

He grinned at the small dog and Indio, who showed him the boat, and then looked at Lily. Even with his face and hair dusted with dirt, his shirt near brown from the silt, her heart gave a little jump. Like Indio when he was excited.

She shook her head at herself and called, “You need to wash before luncheon.”

He looked down at his muddy hands and nodded. Then he simply took off his shirt and knelt by the pond to scoop water over his shoulders and face. The man had no modesty at all, it seemed.

Lily busied herself spreading a blanket on a dry patch of ground and unpacked their picnic. Daffodil immediately galloped up at the sight of food and attempted to steal a tart.

“No, Daff!” Indio cried. The tarts were rather dear to his heart. “Have this instead.” And he handed her the fatty chicken tail they’d saved for her.

Daffodil scurried off with her prize. Lily hoped fervently that the little dog wouldn’t decide to bury the chicken tail, for she’d done so in the past with what she considered delicacies and the results had been rather messy when disinterred for later leisurely enjoyment.

Caliban sat down, his shirt pulled over his head, but left loosely unlaced.

Lily looked away primly, her heart beating fast. He’d slicked back his wet hair and he was, if not handsome, certainly compelling.

Hastily she took one of the plates from the basket. “Would you like a chicken leg? Oh, and a hardboiled egg?”

He nodded, his broad mouth slightly curved as if he was amused.

“I’d like an egg,” Indio reminded her.

“Guests first, Indio,” she said gently, and put a generous helping of everything she’d packed on a plate for Caliban before handing it over to him.

He lounged on his side, like a Roman aristocrat, carefully picking up a small piece of meat to eat.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she served Indio and then selected an egg and some bread for herself. She sat back, her legs curled to the side under her dress, and tilted her face to the sun—it was quite welcome after the dreary weather they’d had lately.

Daff came back, proudly bearing her chicken tail, and Caliban smiled at the little dog.

Which reminded her.

Lily cleared her throat as she tore off a bit of her bread. “I noticed yesterday that you laughed.”

He looked up, his head cocked in obvious inquiry.

“It’s just…” She gestured with the bit of bread before realizing and placing it carefully on her plate. “Well, it was out loud. I wondered, well, if you can laugh…”

He was still staring at her, his expression hard to decipher.

She inhaled and just blurted it out. “When was the last time you tried to speak?”

He reached over and picked up his cloth bag, opening the flap and taking out the notebook. He bent to write and then showed her the notebook. Months ago. I assure you nothing happened.

She licked her lips. “How long ago did you lose your voice?”

He frowned and wrote. Nine or so months ago.

“So recently!” She looked up in excitement. “That’s less than a year. Don’t you see? Your infirmity might not be permanent.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Indio asked, scrambling to his knees. “What’s a ’firmity?”

“It’s like an illness or a sickness.” Lily glanced at Caliban and saw that his face had closed. His eyes flicked to her and then to Indio and she took the hint, though she was determined to continue the discussion later. “What are you digging the hole for?”