I bounced Anne again. “Mr. Denis himself would suggest you go to Oxfordshire. Brewster, as I’ve said, agrees. I am sorry about today’s ride, but the weather was bad this morning, and it is too dark now. I will be home all this evening, and I’ll read to you later. And see you off myself tomorrow.”
Peter remained sullen. “Will I have to take all my books?” He gestured at the table, where a pen dripped ink onto a blot-filled sheet of paper.
“Not at all. It is time for a holiday. Take the rest of the week to enjoy yourself. Too much work is bad for the constitution.”
Peter brightened considerably, though Mrs. McGowan frowned.
“Thank you, Papa!” he shouted. Anne, liking the noise, squealed with him in excitement.
“But Mr. Roth will join you and continue lessons next week.” I named his tutor, trying to sound stern and fatherly.
Peter took no notice. He’d won himself a holiday from boring Greek and Latin and mathematics, and next week was a long way off.
I kissed Anne before passing her back to Mrs. McGowan and gave Peter a rough hug. He allowed it, though he’d started not liking too many affectionate gestures. He preferred shaking hands instead.
I reluctantly departed and went downstairs to my own chamber to wash and change for the evening.
Supping with Donata was pleasant. We were served in the dining room, she forgoing her place at the foot of the table to sit close to me at the head. Barnstable directed the service, keeping a watchful eye on the two footmen who carried us dishes of clear soup, fish, salad, capons in white sauce, beef, a savory tart, and several sweet ones. All this accompanied by fine wines that Grenville had advised Donata to acquire.
It was far too much food, in my opinion, for two people eating alone, but when I recalled my sparse existence in the cold rooms in Grimpen Lane, I decided to enjoy.
Donata and I, for once not surrounded by guests, conversed amiably. I told her about my visit to Thompson and all I’d discovered, and she relayed the various tasks she was undertaking to settle Peter’s affairs and prepare him for school, which he would begin in the spring. We also spoke of our journey to visit Grenville in Gloucestershire and speculated on how Marianne Simmons, a former actress, would do as hostess.
After supper we adjourned to the sitting room, with Barnstable bringing in coffee for Donata and brandy for me. He was delighted to serve us, I could see, revealing a plate of chocolates as a surprise, and asking us repeatedly if we needed anything more.
“How is Brewster?” I asked him. “Have you found a corner for him for the night?”
Barnstable gave me a nod. “He is a surprisingly agreeable guest, sir. There’s a cubby off the kitchen with a pallet we keep for emergencies. Mr. Brewster says he won’t use it much, but it will do for him. Cook’s feeding him, and he’s sent word to his wife.”
Barnstable had unbent toward Brewster a good deal in the last year. When Brewster had first shadowed me at Denis’s behest, turning up to wait for me, Barnstable had quietly locked up the silver.
All was well in our domestic bliss tonight. I would later keep my promise to Peter and read to him, but meanwhile, Donata and I enjoyed each other’s company.
After Barnstable departed, my gaze strayed to the chessboard reposing on a delicate Hepplewhite table near the window. I moved to it, studying the black and white marble squares of the board. I opened a box resting next to it and observed the rows of intricately carved ivory queens, kings, rooks, pawns, knights, and bishops.
“Do you play?” I asked Donata.
“Not much at all.” Donata sipped coffee and managed to be languidly elegant. “Enough to keep a guest entertained, but I am wretched at it. Though guests enjoy winning. It makes them feel clever.”
“Did Breckenridge play?”
Donata huffed a laugh. “Heavens, I don’t know.”
The answer cheered me. If she’d known all about how well her late husband had or had not played, that would mean she’d paid attention, had cared. She’d given up on the man not long into her marriage, and I liked finding signs that she’d not allowed him to lodge in her heart.
I lifted the white queen. The one I’d given Creasey had been abstract, while this was intricate, the queen’s face etched precisely into the ivory. I set it on the board and lifted out a black knight—this one a horse with a tiny armored man astride it.
“Are you asking me to have a game?” Donata inquired. “It will be very quick, I assure you. It will hardly pass any time at all.”
“I am reminiscing. I played in the army, but I’m rusty.” I set down the knight in a square that would threaten the queen. “Do you have any books on the subject?”
“I imagine so. Barnstable would know.”
Donata’s library, purchased in its entirety by Breckenridge, contained a vast number of books on a variety of subjects. Breckenridge had never read one of them, but Barnstable kept them lovingly. I would peruse the shelves with his help.
For now, I had an appointment with another book full of harrowing stories that Peter adored. I put away the chess pieces, excused myself, and went to the nursery to keep my promise.
IN THE MORNING, I decided to visit Eden. I wanted to ask him more about Warrilow, and about the other passengers on the ship. Warrilow must have quarreled with more people than Eden, or perhaps someone from Antigua followed him to London on purpose to kill him.
I was in a lighthearted mood, in spite of the danger and my anger at Denis for putting my family into said danger. Donata had joined me in the nursery, and we’d read to Peter and Anne—who’d mostly wanted to chew on the book—and bade them goodnight. Donata and I had adjourned to our bedchamber and found a way to celebrate being together, warm, and content.
Brewster’s night had not been as comfortable on the tiny room off the kitchen. He was peevish, but still determined to protect me. My suggestion he go home and rest was met with a silent scowl.
“As you like,” I said, too buoyant to argue with him. “I am making for St. James’s Place, to hunt up Eden.”
Brewster nodded with a grunt. “That gent knows more than he’s saying.”
“He does indeed. Shall we walk?”
“Carriage is safer.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t want to announce that I am arriving. I’d rather see what Eden has to say when caught unawares.”
Brewster considered that and finally agreed. He did insist on a hackney to take us as far as St. James’s Street, which I decided was wise. My ebullience did not mean my leg would thank me for tramping so far.
The hackney drove south to Curzon Street, where Denis’s house lay quietly, the blinds pulled down over all the windows. A short street led to Piccadilly where we rolled past Green Park then south again on St. James’s Street to the narrow cul-de-sac called St. James’s Place.
St. James’s Place ran east from St. James’s Street, then bent around a sharp corner to go back north. It was quiet, another fog settling on London to dampen my sunny mood. We left the carriage there and tramped the rest of the way.
As we turned the corner to the far end of the deserted lane, running footsteps rang behind us.
Instantly Brewster pushed me out of the way, pulling a long knife from his boot, ready to defend me.