Vespers Rising (The 39 Clues #11)(21)

A loud burp at the door made her jump. She turned to face her scowling charge, who stared at her with folded arms.

If you let him control you, Williams had warned, you will lose both this job and your sanity. “You are seven minutes late,” Madeleine said. “I trust that will not happen again —”

“I know who you are,” the boy interrupted.

Madeleine’s heart began to pound. Had she been followed? Had Luke recognized her? “Kn-kn-know me?” she said.

“You’re the thief!” Master Winthrop blurted out triumphantly. “From the market! I saw you on the back of the royal carriage, with a mask!”

Relief washed over Madeleine. Dealing with a mischievous child was one task she was sure she could handle. “Well. I guess you’ve flushed me out….”

“Like a pheasant!” Winthrop crowed. Hands on hips, head cocked, he began circling Madeleine. “But we are not without mercy. I will spare you, but I have some demands.” He began counting off demands on his stubby fingers. “Five minutes of memorization per week. Latin only on Tuesdays. No mathematics ever. Three hours for lunch. Vegetables forbidden. I eat and drink what I want. And no wooden paddle.”

“You are a clever negotiatior,” Madeleine said.

“I am the son of Luke Cahill.” Master Winthrop preened as he sat on the edge of the bed. “And I have decided that I shall not learn today.”

“Oh?” Madeleine nodded. “Well, then, fine.”

“Because I have too much gas, and the flute will make me …” Winthrop’s voice trailed off. “Did you say … ‘fine’?”

“This hour belongs to you. If you choose not to learn, then I will play and you can listen.”

She lifted the tin flute to her mouth. He looked away, already bored. Eyeing the ring, Madeleine realized it resembled no more than a grooved collar. With its cogged design, it could have been found on the floor of the smithy’s shop. No one would take it for a valuable secret. And it certainly made the flute sound magnificent.

As she played a country air, Master Winthrop’s expression began to soften. His body swayed when she followed with a sad ballad. Before long, he and Madeleine were dancing to an Irish reel, both of them collapsing with laughter on the bed.

“Well,” Madeleine said finally. “Shall we move on to a history lesson?”

“No!” Winthrop snapped, grabbing the tin flute. “Teach me!”

She raised an eyebrow.

He smiled meekly. “Please?”

Who would have thought Master Winthrop had a jot of Jane?

To Madeleine’s surprise, he was a wonderful musician, a natural. Which played right into her plan. She would stage a recital. Luke could not help but be impressed with her skills as a governess!

One week later she stood before the king, Luke, and assorted courtiers.

“M-may I have your attention, lords and l-ladies.” Madeleine shook as she looked around the music chamber. She eyed the tin flute. Gideon’s ring still covered the hole. In a fit of nervousness, she had tried to remove it, but Master Winthrop had screamed at her. He’d claimed the flute sounded “odious” without it. And young Winthrop did not take no for an answer. “We h-h-have a very s-s-special musical p-p-performer —” she continued.

Master Winthrop yawned loudly, twirling the tin flute. Madeleine prayed the ring stayed on. She vowed to remain calm about it. After the recital, the king would surely allow the court to buy a new tin flute. And she would pocket the ring again. “M-may I p-present the very talented Master Winthrop Cahill!” she declared.

The king clapped his beefy hands.

As Winthrop began playing, Henry VIII smiled sleepily. Luke stared at his son with intensity.

What is he feeling? Madeleine couldn’t tell. Luke looked at everything the same way. Like a viper eyeing its prey.

As the recital ended, the king shouted, “Bravo, boy! Excellent!” Master Winthrop took a bow, and another, and another.

By then, even Luke was smiling. The expression softened his face, made him look more Cahillian than ever. But as the court all gathered to praise the boy, no one said a word to Madeleine. Not even a curt “thank you.” Not even Luke.

She bowed, exited the room, and sat on a banquette in the corridor, waiting for Master Winthrop to emerge. This was not what she had planned.

She was a nobody here. To break through to her brother, she needed to be a presence. She closed her eyes, trying to picture Olivia’s face. Guide me, she thought.

A moment later, a gangly, sooty-faced young man came skittering down the hall. He leaned toward Madeleine, panting. His breath smelled of goose liver. “Bobbitt?” he said, sending a rotten blast that nearly made her gag.

“Please keep a gentlemanly distance,” Madeleine said. “And it’s Babbitt.”

“Oh. Right.” He lurched forward, taking her by the arm.

“I beg your pardon!” Madeleine cried. “Unhand me or I will call for Luke Cahill.”

The man grinned and tightened his grip. “The Lord Luke’s what sent for me! I’m under personal orders to escort Madeleine Bobbitt meself!”

“Escort?” Madeleine said. “Where?”

“Where do you fink, mum? The royal counting-‘ouse?” The man laughed hysterically. “Come along — you are under arrest!”