Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(33)

She’d hit a soft spot somehow in their sparring, and his reaction hadn’t been what she’d expected. She’d have to think long and hard on what to do next.

SUPPER AT THE Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children was always a somewhat chaotic affair.

“Amen.” Winter raised his head as a ragged chorus of childish voices gave end to the evening grace.

It was good to be back at the home after the afternoon’s sparring with Lady Beckinhall. The lady was getting too close—both to the Ghost of St. Giles and to his own inner beast. Last night he’d found himself dreaming about her in quite an explicit manner. He’d woken with his base flesh hard and eager, and it had taken an hour of preparing lessons and writing letters for his cock to subside. Even now, the memory of those luminous dream breasts held in sweet offering was enough to—

“Can you pass the salt?” Joseph Tinbox said, interrupting his inappropriate reverie.

“Yes, of course,” Winter replied, doing just that.

He eyed his plate with some anticipation. Tonight they appeared to be dining upon a wonderfully thick beef stew with crusty bread and a creamy cheese as accompaniments. Mistress Medina had exceeded his expectations as cook for the home.

“Cor! I loves beef stew,” Joseph Tinbox exclaimed from his seat across from Winter, giving voice to his own thought.

“I love beef stew, Joseph Tinbox,” Winter gently corrected.

“Me too,” Henry Putman piped up from beside Winter, oblivious. “Do you like beef stew, Joseph Chance?”

“Aye!” The new little boy nodded vigorously as he raised a big spoonful of stew to his mouth.

“If I had my druthers,” Henry Putman declared, “we’d have beef stew every night.”

“Couldn’t have fish pie, then,” objected Joseph Smith from Winter’s other side.

“Don’t hardly ever have fish pie anyways,” Joseph Tinbox pointed out. “ ’Sides, no one likes fish pie but you, Joseph Smith.”

Sensing that culinary tastes might be a potential source of conflict, Winter cleared his throat. “How far have you progressed in your study of the Bible, Joseph Tinbox?”

“Revelations,” Joseph Tinbox said. “Right corker it is, too, sir. All about dragons and blood running in streams, and—”

“Yes, quite,” Winter said hastily. “And you, Henry Putman, what Psalm is your class memorizing this week?”

“Psalm 139,” Henry said dolefully. “It’s long.”

“But very lovely, don’t you think?” Winter said. “ ‘If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me: even the night shall be light about me/Yea the darkness hideth not from thee, but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.’ ”

Henry scrunched up his nose doubtfully. “If you say so, sir. I just can’t make out what it all means.”

“It means that the Lord can see in the dark,” Joseph Tinbox said with eleven-year-old authority.

“And also that whether in the daytime or the nighttime, there’s no hiding from God,” Winter said.

For a moment there were alarmed faces about the table.

Winter sighed gently. “What else has happened at the home while I was away today?”

“Dodo got in a fight with Soot,” Joseph Smith said.

“Aye!” Henry Putman waved his spoon, nearly getting stew in Joseph Chance’s hair. “Dodo came into the kitchen and went too close to Soot—he was sleeping by the fireplace. And Soot leaped up and scratched Dodo’s nose. But Dodo fought back and barked until Soot ran outside.”

Winter raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? That was quite brave of Dodo. I didn’t know he was such a fighter.”

“She,” Joseph Tinbox said. “Dodo is a lady dog.”

“Is she?” Winter pulled apart his bread.

“Aye,” Joseph Tinbox said, “and she likes cheese ever so much.”

“Hmm.” Winter cast a stern eye on the boy. “Dogs often like cheese, but it doesn’t always like them. Besides, we don’t want to waste good cheese on a dog, do we?”

“Noooo.” Joseph drew out the negative as if uncertain that he agreed.

Winter decided to let it pass. “And how is Peach herself doing?”

“She’s sitting up.” Joseph Tinbox brightened. “An’ she can hug Dodo.”

“Ah. Has she said anything else?”

A line of worry drew itself between Joseph’s eyebrows. “No, not yet. Prolly she just has to get stronger, don’t you think, sir?”

Winter nodded absently as the boys turned the conversation to the best kind of sweet. Privately, he had reservations, though. The child didn’t seem to be intellectually deficient, and from the reports he’d been given by Nell and Mary Whitsun, Peach was improving physically. Yet she refused to speak to anyone but Joseph.

So at the end of the meal, Winter made sure the boys were safely on their way to their evening prayers and then he slipped into the kitchens.

Mistress Medina was supervising the scrubbing of the cooking pots, but she looked up at Winter’s entrance.

“Come to see ’ow I’m doin’, are you, Mr. Makepeace?”

“Not at all,” Winter said. “I’ve actually come to beg a favor, Mistress Medina.”