moth-eaten cap over her shorn hair so the peaks and clumps didn’t show, just a pale, ragged fringe around her face, and she was ready.
She patted an odoriferous inside pocket of her coat one last time, to be certain of her “insurance.” There, among leaves, hairs, and worse rested a kerchief wrapped around three papers: a parchment document with official-looking seals, a creased and tattered letter, and that miserable, misintended special license.
Captain Everett Stockton, Lord Stokely, mightn’t have much money, and less time, but he did have something Lady Emilyann needed desperately. She grinned. Wouldn’t Smoky be surprised!
----
Chapter 5
“Cap’n Stockton ain’t to home now.” And never would be to the likes of these callers if Private Micah Rigg had anything to say to the matter. Rigg was his lordship’s batman, valet, butler, and sometimes watchdog. It was a position the older Rigg much preferred to being cannon fodder at the front, so he was bound to see his employer stayed alive and well, and happy with the service he got. Which he’d never be, if Rigg admitted these two scruffy boys to his temporary quarters at the St. John’s Hotel, an establishment favored by the itinerant military.
“But it’s three in the morning,” squeaked the smaller, dirtier lad out in the hallway. “Where could he be?”
The other boy kicked him. “Stubble it, Em. We said I’d do the talking, remember?” He tugged at his jacket and turned back to the mustachioed soldier. “I appreciate the inconvenience, my good man, but I am Geoffrey Stockton, Lord Stokely’s brother, and I really must see him tonight. Could you tell me where he is?”
Brother, was it? Rigg raised his candle higher. This one did have the look of the cap’n about him, the same dark hair at least. The cap’n had given strict instructions that that other bloke, the starched-up religious fellow, wasn’t to be admitted again, ever. He hadn’t said anything about refusing any other brothers. “You wouldn’t be the one as keeps getting sent down from school, would you?”
Geoff bowed. “The same.”
Kinship to the officer showed more and more in the cheeky lad. He was likely in some bumblebroth or other, expecting his lordship to go bail, which he would if Rigg was any judge. Whatever the trouble, it could only get worse out on the streets of London in the middle of the night. “The cap’n’s out with some officer friends,” Rigg told Geoffrey, ignoring the grubby companion entirely. “It’s anybody’s guess where they are, but I expect he’ll be in soon ‘cause it’s early reveille tomorrow if we’re to be on time for the ship sailing. You can come wait in here, I s’pose, but he”— with a whisker-twitching grimace in Em’s direction—“has to stay out in the hall.”
“Why, you—” Em began, and Geoffrey kicked her again.
“I’ll vouch for my friend,” he said quickly, stepping around the short batman and dragging Em behind him by the sleeve of her coat.
There was a smallish room, with a bed, a dresser, and two chairs drawn around a table cluttered with books, papers, and bottles. When Rigg shut the other open door to the dressing room, where his own cot was set up, Geoffrey flopped down into one chair, exhausted. Rigg pointedly took the other. Em glanced yearningly toward the bed, but the batman’s glare discouraged her quickly, and Geoff’s grin did not help matters. She sniffed her disdain and found a place on the floor. At least the carpet was thick. She was so tired she let the wall prop her up until she caught herself starting to slip sideways, half asleep. She fumbled her way out of the bulky overcoat and curled up in it like a kitten, using part as a blanket, part as a pillow. A short nap was all she needed, waiting for Smoky.
* * * *
“Bella, bella señorita, mi corazon necessite,” sang a remarkably loud, off-key baritone. Footsteps staggered to the entry and a hand fumbled for the latch before
She patted an odoriferous inside pocket of her coat one last time, to be certain of her “insurance.” There, among leaves, hairs, and worse rested a kerchief wrapped around three papers: a parchment document with official-looking seals, a creased and tattered letter, and that miserable, misintended special license.
Captain Everett Stockton, Lord Stokely, mightn’t have much money, and less time, but he did have something Lady Emilyann needed desperately. She grinned. Wouldn’t Smoky be surprised!
----
Chapter 5
“Cap’n Stockton ain’t to home now.” And never would be to the likes of these callers if Private Micah Rigg had anything to say to the matter. Rigg was his lordship’s batman, valet, butler, and sometimes watchdog. It was a position the older Rigg much preferred to being cannon fodder at the front, so he was bound to see his employer stayed alive and well, and happy with the service he got. Which he’d never be, if Rigg admitted these two scruffy boys to his temporary quarters at the St. John’s Hotel, an establishment favored by the itinerant military.
“But it’s three in the morning,” squeaked the smaller, dirtier lad out in the hallway. “Where could he be?”
The other boy kicked him. “Stubble it, Em. We said I’d do the talking, remember?” He tugged at his jacket and turned back to the mustachioed soldier. “I appreciate the inconvenience, my good man, but I am Geoffrey Stockton, Lord Stokely’s brother, and I really must see him tonight. Could you tell me where he is?”
Brother, was it? Rigg raised his candle higher. This one did have the look of the cap’n about him, the same dark hair at least. The cap’n had given strict instructions that that other bloke, the starched-up religious fellow, wasn’t to be admitted again, ever. He hadn’t said anything about refusing any other brothers. “You wouldn’t be the one as keeps getting sent down from school, would you?”
Geoff bowed. “The same.”
Kinship to the officer showed more and more in the cheeky lad. He was likely in some bumblebroth or other, expecting his lordship to go bail, which he would if Rigg was any judge. Whatever the trouble, it could only get worse out on the streets of London in the middle of the night. “The cap’n’s out with some officer friends,” Rigg told Geoffrey, ignoring the grubby companion entirely. “It’s anybody’s guess where they are, but I expect he’ll be in soon ‘cause it’s early reveille tomorrow if we’re to be on time for the ship sailing. You can come wait in here, I s’pose, but he”— with a whisker-twitching grimace in Em’s direction—“has to stay out in the hall.”
“Why, you—” Em began, and Geoffrey kicked her again.
“I’ll vouch for my friend,” he said quickly, stepping around the short batman and dragging Em behind him by the sleeve of her coat.
There was a smallish room, with a bed, a dresser, and two chairs drawn around a table cluttered with books, papers, and bottles. When Rigg shut the other open door to the dressing room, where his own cot was set up, Geoffrey flopped down into one chair, exhausted. Rigg pointedly took the other. Em glanced yearningly toward the bed, but the batman’s glare discouraged her quickly, and Geoff’s grin did not help matters. She sniffed her disdain and found a place on the floor. At least the carpet was thick. She was so tired she let the wall prop her up until she caught herself starting to slip sideways, half asleep. She fumbled her way out of the bulky overcoat and curled up in it like a kitten, using part as a blanket, part as a pillow. A short nap was all she needed, waiting for Smoky.
* * * *
“Bella, bella señorita, mi corazon necessite,” sang a remarkably loud, off-key baritone. Footsteps staggered to the entry and a hand fumbled for the latch before
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