as Gray had promised. “I thought Mr. Pomeroy said the attack took place at a low tavern.”
“Which I’d never have patronized, missy, if my blasted carriage hadn’t lost a wheel to the bloody ruts. So there we were, Terwent and I, stranded at some dingy pub while a grubby urchin went to fetch a blacksmith. Most likely took my coins and left the neighborhood,” he muttered, staring at his glass. “Still empty, blister it!”
Graydon poured out another round. Daphne frowned, but he winked at her as he took his position behind her chair with the cup of tea she had prepared for him. “And then?” he prompted. “You and, er, Terwent found yourself at a hedge tavern, you say?”
“Thieves’ ken, more like. They must have pegged us for nobs right off.”
If the highwaymen figured the two were rich swells, Daphne thought, looking at Uncle Albert’s rumpled clothes, spotted linen, and scraggly, unkempt hair, then Terwent must cut quite a dash. He surely wasn’t much of a gentleman’s gentleman, judging from his master.
Albert was going on: “I had my purse out to pay. Blasted innkeep wanted to see my money before serving the swill he called supper. That’s when the band of robbers made their move. Set a big dog on me, they did.”
“A dog?” Lady Whilton asked in faint tones. “You were robbed by a dog?”
“No, by George, I foiled their plans. That big ugly hound lunged for my wallet on the table. I was wise to that ploy. Not born yesterday, don’t you know. Dog steals a man’s purse and runs off, but no one claims the cur, so they get away. Takes a real organized band of felons, I figure. But I stopped ’em dead in their tracks, I did.” Albert lifted his glass and toasted his own genius. “I knew which crafty devils had been feeding the beast: an old gaffer who must have been the mastermind, and his two apprentice thieves, one big, the other real small. So when the dog grabbed my lamb chop—”
“A lamb chop? I thought it went for your purse.”
“Didn’t anyone teach you not to interrupt, gel? Of course, I wasn’t going to let any mangy mutt get my blunt. I had that back in my pocket before the landlord could put the dishes down. So the dog grabbed the dinner instead. I demanded my money back, right off, then started laying into that brute of a dog with my cane.” He waved the heavy-handled instrument around, in illustration. Graydon hurried to move the oil lamp from the table next to the baron’s chair.
“And I was right, for didn’t the old codger jump up to defend the flea-hound? So I hit him a good one right across the brain-box. He went down, but then his accomplices waded in, the big one screaming and the little one whining. So I laid into them, too. Left. Right.” He waved the cane over his head, left, right, and snagged the lace doily on the back of the chair. It sailed across the room and into the fireplace, where it sizzled into threads in seconds. “Got Terwent a good one, too, sad to say. He should be right as a trivet tomorrow, as soon as the carriage is ready.”
“But what about the thieves, Uncle Albert?” Daphne doubted the band of footpads was anything but an innocent party of poor travelers and their hungry dog.
“Got away, of course. Your magistrate didn’t show up for hours, either. Couldn’t find a trace of ’em, then he tried to say they didn’t get away with anything anyway. Surprised the gudgeon can find his way home at night.”
Daphne felt she had to defend Miles, perhaps because she could hear Graydon chuckling behind her. How the beast could find anything funny in this situation was beyond her. “Mr. Pomeroy is very conscientious about his position as justice of the peace. He works quite hard at it, as a result of which we have very little crime in the neighborhood.”
“Very little of anything else in the neighborhood, either. Deuce take it what you turnips find to do in the country.”
Lord Hollister tended to agree with him, but only said,
“Which I’d never have patronized, missy, if my blasted carriage hadn’t lost a wheel to the bloody ruts. So there we were, Terwent and I, stranded at some dingy pub while a grubby urchin went to fetch a blacksmith. Most likely took my coins and left the neighborhood,” he muttered, staring at his glass. “Still empty, blister it!”
Graydon poured out another round. Daphne frowned, but he winked at her as he took his position behind her chair with the cup of tea she had prepared for him. “And then?” he prompted. “You and, er, Terwent found yourself at a hedge tavern, you say?”
“Thieves’ ken, more like. They must have pegged us for nobs right off.”
If the highwaymen figured the two were rich swells, Daphne thought, looking at Uncle Albert’s rumpled clothes, spotted linen, and scraggly, unkempt hair, then Terwent must cut quite a dash. He surely wasn’t much of a gentleman’s gentleman, judging from his master.
Albert was going on: “I had my purse out to pay. Blasted innkeep wanted to see my money before serving the swill he called supper. That’s when the band of robbers made their move. Set a big dog on me, they did.”
“A dog?” Lady Whilton asked in faint tones. “You were robbed by a dog?”
“No, by George, I foiled their plans. That big ugly hound lunged for my wallet on the table. I was wise to that ploy. Not born yesterday, don’t you know. Dog steals a man’s purse and runs off, but no one claims the cur, so they get away. Takes a real organized band of felons, I figure. But I stopped ’em dead in their tracks, I did.” Albert lifted his glass and toasted his own genius. “I knew which crafty devils had been feeding the beast: an old gaffer who must have been the mastermind, and his two apprentice thieves, one big, the other real small. So when the dog grabbed my lamb chop—”
“A lamb chop? I thought it went for your purse.”
“Didn’t anyone teach you not to interrupt, gel? Of course, I wasn’t going to let any mangy mutt get my blunt. I had that back in my pocket before the landlord could put the dishes down. So the dog grabbed the dinner instead. I demanded my money back, right off, then started laying into that brute of a dog with my cane.” He waved the heavy-handled instrument around, in illustration. Graydon hurried to move the oil lamp from the table next to the baron’s chair.
“And I was right, for didn’t the old codger jump up to defend the flea-hound? So I hit him a good one right across the brain-box. He went down, but then his accomplices waded in, the big one screaming and the little one whining. So I laid into them, too. Left. Right.” He waved the cane over his head, left, right, and snagged the lace doily on the back of the chair. It sailed across the room and into the fireplace, where it sizzled into threads in seconds. “Got Terwent a good one, too, sad to say. He should be right as a trivet tomorrow, as soon as the carriage is ready.”
“But what about the thieves, Uncle Albert?” Daphne doubted the band of footpads was anything but an innocent party of poor travelers and their hungry dog.
“Got away, of course. Your magistrate didn’t show up for hours, either. Couldn’t find a trace of ’em, then he tried to say they didn’t get away with anything anyway. Surprised the gudgeon can find his way home at night.”
Daphne felt she had to defend Miles, perhaps because she could hear Graydon chuckling behind her. How the beast could find anything funny in this situation was beyond her. “Mr. Pomeroy is very conscientious about his position as justice of the peace. He works quite hard at it, as a result of which we have very little crime in the neighborhood.”
“Very little of anything else in the neighborhood, either. Deuce take it what you turnips find to do in the country.”
Lord Hollister tended to agree with him, but only said,
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