Alas, he proved all too solid when the girl whacked him in the face with a washboard. The doctor says that when the swelling goes down, he’ll likely be able to see out of the afflicted eye again.
Miss Midge was quite disturbed by Lizzie’s spell casting. Our governess’s father is a vicar, as you doubtless know. He would not approve of my unruly siblings. For my part, I was quite impressed by the Latin incantation Lizzie used to achieve ‘invisibility,’ the pluperfect subjunctive conjugation for ‘I love,’ ‘I tell,’ and ‘I listen.’ Who would have thought the pluperfect could be so powerful?
It seems that Lord Darcy taught his children Latin from the age of 6 until his untimely death. Miss Midge confirms that both children can practically babble in that tongue, one I never learned, for all my schooling. Otis and Lizzie both readily speak of their father, but remain mum on the subject of their mother.
In the hope you had a better day than mine,
Your most obedient servant,
Ward
Chapter Ten
Fawkes House
Saturday, May 23, 1801
The butcher’s eyes were bulging like a Pekinese in a too-tight collar, although he was the one gripping Otis by the collar, not the other way around.
“What seems to be the problem?” Ward asked, his eyes moving from his brother’s defiant face to the irate butcher to Miss Midge. In the distance he could hear Lizzie protesting all the way up the stairs after being banished by the governess.
“This boy here,” Mr. Biddle roared. He gave a shake that went all the way down to Otis’s boots.
“Surely you didn’t mean to handle my brother so violently, Mr. Biddle,” Ward stated. One of the consequences of his unexpected sojourn in prison was an extreme disinclination to see anyone mistreated, physically or otherwise.
“I did, and I didn’t,” the butcher said, chin jutting forward, although he released Otis’s collar.
Ward pulled the boy into the crook of his arm and stepped back. “What happened?”
“I caught him stealing,” Mr. Biddle thundered. His mustache puffed out like the tail of an indignant squirrel.
Otis, now looking more put-out than scared, peeked up at Ward. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“He took me chain of office! That’s the symbol of me office as mayor and I caught him with red hands!”
Bloody hell.
It was one thing to pilfer scraps of wood from the stables and entirely another to steal valuables from the villagers. Miss Midge apparently agreed; she was frowning at Otis with all the boot-faced disapproval of a Puritan encountering an unrepentant adulterer.
“Were you a witness to this alleged crime, Miss Midge?” he asked.
“I regret to say I was in the haberdashery with Miss Lizzie.” She gave her charge a direct look. “Otis, explain yourself.”
“What’s to explain?” the butcher said, his voice hard. “The boy tried for me gold chain. I caught him. He’s as crooked as—” He caught Ward’s eye and cut off the insult.
Otis jerked against Ward’s arm. “I’m not crooked!” he shouted. “He said I was a by-blow, and I’m not! My parents were married. What’s more, I have a title, because my father was a lord!” He burrowed his face into Ward’s ribs.
Mr. Biddle snorted contemptuously.
“You may scoff, but Otis is correct,” Ward stated. “He is Lord Darcy, the fifth in his line and the owner of a considerable estate in Devon.”
“I don’t care if he’s the king of England! I know about him and his sort. We hear things in the village. Lord knows what he was planning to do with me chain.”
“I was only hanging it on his rosebush,” Otis cried.
What the hell?
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“Lizzie said she would give me a shilling if I did it and brought her back four roses,” Otis said miserably. “I was going to put it right back on the hook in his shop. The rosebush is in his yard.”
Lizzie was apparently up to some sort of magical foolery. Miss Midge’s eyes narrowed. Ward sighed and turned back to the butcher.
“It seems, Mr. Biddle, that your chain of office never left your premises. My butler will give you a guinea for your trouble, and I will make certain that my siblings stay far away from your rosebush and your chain.”
“I demand that you do something about that thief,” the butcher shouted.
Otis snuggled closer to Ward’s side.
“We villagers need to be able to sleep without fear. Why was he hanging my chain on a bush? I have to reassure me wife there’s no hocus-pocus going on.”
“You are speaking about an eight-year-old boy,” Ward said with quiet ferocity. “I suggest you return to your shop, Mr. Biddle, and contemplate your orders. You have no need to think of my household now or in the future.”