At first Idris was indignant. His dreams would all come true if the earl was serious. But this was not the time to talk about such matters. Idris wanted to know what he could do to help thwart the dastardly plans of the true enemy. He wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted to sit down with his lordship so that they could plan out a scheme together.
“It could well be,” his lordship continued, setting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezing it, “that you have done more for the cause of Rebecca this morning, Idris, than anyone else has done before you. Well done, lad.”
Idris felt that his chest might burst. He would gladly at that moment have died for his hero. “What can I do to help?” he asked.
The earl looked gravely at him. “You have done enough, lad,” he said. “You must go directly home and not let Mr. Harley suspect that you overheard any part of that conversation.”
“But there are things to be done, sir,” Idris said impatiently. “You will not be able to ignore the invitation to meet the man from the newspaper in London. Rebecca will have to go out, because if she doesn’t, Mrs. Phillips might be hurt anyway.”
“We will leave that matter in the hands of Rebecca,” the earl said. “I want you to go home now, Idris. With my heartfelt thanks.”
They were not quite enough. “Rebecca will collect her bundle from the usual place tomorrow night,” Idris said, “and they will be lying in wait. She will not even get one foot out of the park. And then she will be dragged over to the Cilcoed gate so that it will seem to be her who destroyed it and hurt Mrs. Phillips.”
“I believe Rebecca will realize that and plan accordingly,” the earl said. “I would send for cakes and lemonade, Idris, but I do not want anyone to know you have been here. The day after tomorrow I will bring a barrel of cakes up to your house.”
Duw, but he hated being treated like a child who could be fobbed off with the prospect of good things for his stomach. “I will take the bundle with me now, sir,” Idris said. “I will keep it safe at the house and Rebecca can get it from there tomorrow.”
His lordship drew a deep breath and expelled it from puffed cheeks. “Idris,” he said, “do you not realize that there may even now be a watch on the place where the bundle is hidden?”
“If I couldn’t spot watchers a mile off,” Idris said scornfully, “I would be dead by now, sir, or in one of those big ships on my way to the other side of the world.”
“And so you would,” his lordship had the grace to admit. “Do you know the old ruined hovel almost a mile from your own house, Idris? The one built against a rock face?”
“Where you used to live?” Idris said.
The earl smiled at him. His eyes crinkled in the corners. Idris was going to practice that expression too. “That is the one,” his lordship said. “Will you take the bundle there, Idris? And leave it there and not go anywhere near it for the rest of today and tomorrow? I am going to regret this. What am I doing deliberately involving a boy in dangerous matters?”
But Idris was not going to lose his chance now. “Remember when you were a boy, sir,” he said, “and how much you would have wanted to do something to help. Something really important.”
“Heaven help us,” the earl said, “you are right. In those days I would have been willing to give a right arm for something as exciting as this.”
“I’ll be on my way,” Idris said, crossing the room back to the window. “I’ll not fail you, sir. If there is anything else I can do . . .”
And then be damned if the earl did not stoop down and grab him as he had done once before on the road below Ty-Gwyn and hug him hard enough to get all the breath whooshing out of him.
“Be careful,” he said. “I must be mad to allow this. If by any chance you are caught, Idris, you must say you found the bundle and thought your mother would be pleased to have it. If that explanation does not work, you will be brought here to me and I will vouch for you. Go now.”
Idris went. One thing about the earl he was never going to imitate. He was never going to hug children just as if they were helpless infants. When he was grown up, he was going to treat children as if they were adults. But it was the only flaw he could detect in his hero. And even heroes, he supposed, could not realistically be expected to be quite perfect.
Aled was alone in his forge, his apprentice having already been sent home for his dinner.
“Good day, my lord,” he said with a curt nod when Geraint walked in. “What may I do for you?”
“We have an audience?” Geraint asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Not to my knowledge,” Aled said.
“But there may well be certain people set to keeping an eye on me and all with whom I associate,” Geraint said. “I’ll be brief, Aled, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Trouble?” Aled frowned.
“One might say so.” Geraint gave a brief summary of the story Idris had told him an hour before. “Rebecca and Charlotte and perhaps some of the children from hereabouts are going to have to go early to the Cilcoed gate, Aled, to destroy it and to rescue Mrs. Phillips. Hector will doubtless burst a blood vessel when he arrives later.”
“It will be dangerous, Ger,” Aled said.
Geraint grinned. “When was this game not dangerous?” he asked.
“And you are loving every moment.” Aled’s frown deepened.
“Regrettably,” Geraint said, “this is going to have to be our swan song, Aled. Rebecca and Charlotte are going to have to disappear without trace after tomorrow night. We will have to hope that we have accomplished what we set out to do, which was to attract enough attention that something will be done to change the system here and make it more fair to the ordinary man and woman—and child.”
“Our swan song,” Aled said, shaking his head. “And then the swan dies. But you are right. Tomorrow night’s scheme has to be thwarted. Foster is to be there, then, to observe the chagrin of the second Rebecca?”
“I thought he might enjoy observing both,” Geraint said. “Rebecca will send to invite him to come a few hours earlier than originally planned. All will be over tomorrow night, Aled. I cannot say I am sorry. You will pass the word around here as usual? But not quite as usual. I think this is too dangerous for women. You will neglect to let Marged know?”
Aled nodded and Geraint turned to leave, anxious not to stay too long and perhaps arouse the suspicion of anyone who was set to keep watch in the village. Though he did not believe there were any spies at the moment. He would have sensed their presence.
There was someone else walking along the street, though. Marged had just stepped out of Miss Jenkins’s shop and they met outside the chapel. As luck would have it, the heavy clouds that had threatened all morning had just decided to drop their load in a miserable drizzle. And he had an umbrella—a large black affair—while she did not.
“Marged?” He acknowledged her with a nod as he put the umbrella up. “You are going home?”
“Yes,” she said, that tight, angry expression she reserved exclusively for him descending on her face. “Alone, thank you.”
He turned, nevertheless, and offered his arm and raised the umbrella over her head. “I could not allow it,” he said. “Take my arm and I shall escort you.”