Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(73)

Isabel shuddered. When she did leave Winter, it would be like pulling off a layer of skin.

“My lady?” Christopher’s high voice brought her back to the present. She looked at him and smiled reassuringly.

“I don’t know if the other children will like you,” Isabel answered, “but I expect if you are kind to them, they won’t find fault.”

Christopher looked only marginally reassured and Isabel gazed out the window with a silent sigh. No doubt Winter would think her a fool for bringing Christopher.

But when she saw Winter half an hour later, he had other matters on his mind. He stood on the home’s steps, talking to Captain Trevillion, the dragoon officer.

Isabel picked up her skirts when she caught sight of the men and quickened her step toward the home.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she called as she neared.

Captain Trevillion swept off his tall cap and bowed from his horse, but Winter only glanced in her direction before his gaze landed on Christopher’s small form beside her; then he turned back to the captain. “As I’ve said, I didn’t catch sight of the Ghost last night, Captain.”

Isabel’s heart constricted. Dear Lord, was the dragoon captain suspicious?

“Yet you were out late, the children tell me,” Trevillion said smoothly, worsening Isabel’s fears. “Surely you must have at least heard something.”

“Gunshots,” Winter said mildly. “But I make it a habit to walk away from the sounds of violence, I assure you, Captain.”

Captain Trevillion grunted. “The Ghost killed a gentleman last night, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I trust you’ll alert me or my men if you hear anything about the matter?”

“You have my word,” Winter said gravely.

The captain nodded. “Good.” He turned to Isabel. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news as well, my lady. St. Giles is not a safe place to be walking around at the moment.”

“Your concern warms my heart as always, Captain.” Isabel smiled and gestured toward Harold, standing a respectful few paces behind her. “But I brought my footman with me.”

“Is he armed?” the dragoon officer demanded.

“Always,” Isabel assured him.

“Well, see to it that you’re out of here by nightfall,” Captain Trevillion ordered as if she were one of his soldiers. He turned the head of his big black horse. “And mind your promise, Mr. Makepeace.”

Without waiting for their replies, he trotted away.

“Why was the soldier mad?” Christopher asked as he watched the retreating dragoon. He’d spent the entire exchange staring in awe at the big horse and its rider’s impressive uniform.

“He’s been working all night,” Winter said gently, speaking directly to the boy. “I expect Captain Trevillion is tired. Have you come to visit, Christopher?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy shyly leaned into Isabel’s skirts. “My lady says there are children here to play with.”

“And so there are.” Winter gave Isabel a rare, wide smile that made her heart speed. “I’m glad that Lady Beckinhall thought to bring you. Have you come to teach me more manners, my lady?”

“Not today, though I fear our lessons are far from over.” She pursed her lips. “No, after last night and Mr. Fraser-Burnsby’s”—she glanced at Christopher—“demise, I think the contest between you and Lord d’Arque must be temporarily suspended. Which is just as well, considering that you abandoned the ball without bothering to say your farewells to anyone.”

“Your mission is indeed a difficult one,” Winter murmured as he opened the front door, leading them inside.

“Humph.” Isabel rolled her eyes, but she was in far too good a mood to argue etiquette this afternoon.

“I believe Cook has made some fresh buns this morning if you would like to see,” Winter instructed Harold.

“Yes, sir.” The footman headed back to the kitchens.

Christopher gazed after him longingly.

“Perhaps we should see about the buns as well in a bit,” Winter murmured. “But first shall we see what the boys’ class is doing?”

Christopher looked both apprehensive and excited at the mention of children. He said nothing but took the hand that Winter held out. Winter glanced at Isabel over the boy’s head, his eyes warm.

They trooped up the stairs to the classroom level above the dormitories. As they neared, Isabel thought that the schoolrooms were unusually quiet, and when they entered, she could see why: The children were having their afternoon tea. Long tables had been set up, and each child had before him a steaming mug and a plate with a bun on it.

“Ah, I see we’re just in time,” Winter murmured.

Heads turned at his voice and the children chorused—after a prompt by Nell Jones—“Good afternoon, Mr. Makepeace.”

“And a good afternoon to you as well, boys.” Winter gestured to an empty seat on one of the long benches, his expression somehow amused even if he didn’t smile. “Would you care to join us, Lady Beckinhall?”

She gave him a look promising retribution and his mouth relaxed into a smile.

He sat beside her and poured her a cup of the strong tea, adding milk and sugar without prompting before passing it to her. Christopher sat stiffly across from them, without drinking his tea, although he eyed the bun on his plate hungrily.