"But what of the letter that caused this entire problem?" asked Neville. "Your Grace, surely you must see that you cannot keep sensitive documents."
"For once, Mr. Neville, you are right. I will not keep it any longer." Marchford pulled folded papers from his coat. Neville held out his hand, but Marchford shook his head. "Thornton, if you could bring the lantern from the carriage?"
Thornton nodded and returned moments later with the lit lantern. Marchford unfolded the letter, held it up for Neville to see, then dipped it into the lantern, catching the edge on fire.
"What are you doing, man?" Neville lunged, but Marchford easily held him off, turning the page to ensure the entire document disappeared into ash.
"But now how will we communicate with our operatives?" demanded Neville.
"There is a new code. This one is obsolete," said Marchford calmly. "Now then, Thornton and I will escort the children to the infirmary. Grant, I trust you can see Miss Talbot safely home."
"We need to search Blakely's rooms," said Grant. "I assume he was the thief at Admiral Devine's house, and I imagine we should find both the papers he stole and my aunt's emeralds."
"The emerald earrings!" exclaimed Genie. "He must have reset them and then allowed my brother to win them, knowing he could get them back once he put him into debt."
"I will search his apartments with the constable after we deliver the children," said Thornton.
"I see you have no more need for me," said Neville with a scowl.
"Yes, of course we have need of you," said Marchford with a droll smile. "You can dispose of the body."
Thirty-six
"But I don't want to go wi' the boys!" wailed Jem and cleaved to Genie as immovable as a limpet.
"Very well," soothed Grant. "You can stay with me for a few more days until we all ride out to the country." He handed Genie into the hack and lifted Jem in as well. Grant sat beside Jem, wishing there was not an urchin between him and his beloved, and gave the direction to the driver.
"I suppose I must go back to my aunt's house, but really I wish I did not have to," sighed Genie.
"Did your aunt kick up a fuss when Louisa ran off?" asked Grant.
"You know?"
"Yes, and what's more she got herself hitched."
"Well, now! To whom?" asked Genie.
"Some doctor."
Genie put her hand to her head. "I feel I've been in the cellar for days. Poor Aunt Cora will be in high dudgeon."
"Got a better idea." Grant gave the direction to Marchford's house. "Get ready for the ball there. Send for your clothes."
"Are they still going to have the ball?" asked Genie.
"Don't know," said Grant in all honesty. "If not, better be there than with your aunt anyway."
"True. I suppose I will have to go back soon enough," sighed Genie.
"Why can't you live with Mr. Grant like me?" asked Jem.
Grant also planned to ask Genie the same question but thought that the presence of an urchin between them made the circumstance less than ideal, so he refrained.
"Jem, I need to go home to the country, and you also will have a new home in the country," said Genie.
"To stay with you?"
"No, dear. I will go home and you will go to your new home with the other boys."
"Don't want to!" said Jem with defiance.
"But wouldn't you like to have meadows to run in, streams to swim in, horses to ride? You could work in the stables." Genie was doing her best to conjure a picture no active boy could resist.
"I'd like to rides me a galloper, milady," said Jem with wide eyes. "But I want to stay with you!" Jem crossed his scrawny arms and set his jaw, determined.
"I promise I will visit as often as I can," said Genie, unsure how far he would be from her home. "And so will Mr. Grant," she added, cavalierly volunteering him.
"I will at that," Grant said in happy agreement. "Take you out there myself. Estate belongs to m'father. Stands to reason I'll visit often."
Despite these reassurances, the little boy shook his head defiantly. "I won't go."
"But whyever not?" asked Genie.
"Because." Jem looked around and leaned closer to whisper his secret. "Because I'm a mot."
"A mot?" asked Genie.
"A mot!" cried Grant.
Jem nodded her head.
"What's a mot?" asked Genie.
"He is a she!" exclaimed Grant.
"You're a girl?"
Jem nodded. "When the Candyman first caught me, I knew nuthing but bad would happen if'n he knew I was a girl, so I became a boy."
"Oh, my dear child!" exclaimed Genie and wrapped Jem into a warm embrace. "But what is your name?"
"Jemima Price."
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead, milady. And it's no use asking about my aunts 'cause they're dead too."
"But how did the Candyman catch you?" Genie smoothed Jem's hair out of her eyes trying valiantly to see something of a little girl.
"I was powerful hungry. He offered free sweets. Once he found there was none who'd miss me, I ended up in a cage."
"Oh, my poor darling," said Genie, giving her another hug. "How brave you have been." Genie looked up at Grant with tears in her eyes and he knew a grand gesture was very soon in his future.
"Why don't you stay with me?" he said with resignation. "I'm sure we need a maid of some sort. But you must only break the bric-a-brac I don't like."
"You would have to apply yourself, Jemima," Genie said, "and of course you must have dresses."
"I'd like me to wear some dresses," said Jemima shyly.
"I saw a calico yesterday that would be perfect for your coloring, and we'll need to get you some new boots and stockings and ribbons and bonnets!" Genie began to pour into Jemima's willing ear all the wonders of millinery while Grant counted the cost with obliging acquiescence.
***
"There you are!" The Duchess of Marchford rapped her cane on the marble entryway in an irritated manner. Penelope stepped to the side to make sure her toes did not fall victim to the cane.
Grant, Genie, and Jemima arrived at the house at the same time as Marchford returned.
"Did anyone consider they were keeping an old woman waiting?" continued the dowager. "But no, it is of no matter of course, as long as you all were enjoying your amusements."
"Of amusement such as those, there can never be too few," muttered Grant.
"You look a sight, the lot of you." The dowager shook her head. "And have you given any thought to the fact that in a few short hours, several hundred guests shall arrive at our house expecting a ball to celebrate a duke's betrothal."
"Can you cancel on such short notice?" asked Pen.
"We must! The prospective bride has married a commoner. It will be a scandal when it gets out. The only thing to do is put a notice on the door that we've come down with the pox and retreat to the country-or perhaps the Continent."
"Napoleon might have something to say about that, Grandmother," said Marchford.
"He doesn't have the mouth on him that the Comtesse de Marseille does. At least our woes will provide amusement for some, vile woman."
"Perhaps we can talk more about this after we have taken care of Miss Talbot," Penelope suggested. "You appear to have been through a lot today."
"I fear I look a sight," agreed Genie, trying to smooth her hair. "I thought I could impose upon you and get ready for the ball here. I wasn't feeling quite up to facing my aunt, but if you will cancel, I will bid you all farewell."
"Nonsense, child. Stay and refresh yourself. But what is this creature you have with you?" asked the dowager.
"May I present Miss Jemima Price," said Grant. "She is responsible for saving all of our lives."
"It needs a bath." The dowager called for her personal abigail and a flock of ladies' maids to attend to the needs of the weary ladies.
When Genie had withdrawn, Jemima in hand, Grant also confessed a great need for a bath. "Sorry to leave you in such a tangle with a missing bride," said Grant.
"If only Napoleon would invade or some such," said the dowager. "The best way to avoid scandal is to give the gossips something else to chew on."
"It is a shame Napoleon cannot be more obliging," said Marchford.
Grant bowed and turned to leave but stopped and searched his coat pocket. With a smile, he strode back, waving the special marriage license in his hand. "Got a plan to save all our reputations." He gave a foolish grin. "Except mine. I'm ruining myself!"
***
Marchford stood in front of the curtain concealing the garden, ready for the boldest performance of his life. If he failed tonight, the reputations of many would be in tatters. "Ladies and gentleman, distinguished guests."