“Welcome to the family, old chap.”
“Thank you.” Braithwaite chuckled. “I guess you weren’t kidding about his hearing.”
“Afraid not.” Nell laughed, a glorious, silvery melody spiraling through the night. “Just wait until you meet the rest of the family.”
“Hope he’s not easily frightened,” Tom muttered.
“I heard that, you wretch.” Nell laughed again and turned back to her swain. “Although he has a point. We’re an odd bunch, Roger. Are you sure you want to get tangled up with us? It’s not too late to turn around.”
“Like you, love, I’m tougher than I look. My own line has a few black sheep in it.” Braithwaite seemed utterly unflappable. Tom began to feel a grudging respect for the mild-mannered teacher.
“Ah, but what about pink-and-purple paisley sheep?” Tom wasn’t a wordsmith, but the expression was one Caroline had used to describe the odd coalition they called family.
Braithwaite chuckled. “That just means our life will never be dull. Every day will be an adventure.” The man was starting to sound like a bloody saint.
“As long as he doesn’t mind a few ghosts hanging around,” Tom muttered so only Nell would hear. Somehow he didn’t think she’d mentioned that to her beau.
“Shut it!” she whispered back. “Let’s all just focus on finding Charlie, shall we?”
“We’ll make some telephone calls from Black Heath,” Tom said. “We’ll get someone at headquarters working the data files overnight. They can also get a request out to watch for a couple with a young blind boy to the inns, train stations and so on.” He assumed Roger knew he worked for the Home Office. The trick would be to not reveal too much about the Order until they were sure of the man.
“That will help,” Nell agreed. “What would help even more is knowing why. I can’t help but wonder… Papa said there were children, gifted children, missing from around London. Is it possible this is connected? Are gifted children being taken from all over England?”
“I have no idea,” Tom said. “It seems an awful stretch that the same villain would find a boy all the way down in Cornwall. Still, I suppose it bears looking into.” At this point he’d take any possible lead he could find. In nine years this was the first inkling he’d found of a boy who could be his son. Nothing, not even his complicated feelings for Nell, could get in the way of that.
As they rode on through the night, Nell explained to Braithwaite about various family members and friends, including who and what to expect when they reached Black Heath. Tom listened with half an ear. Could Charlie Berrycloth/Barrowclough really be his son? If so, how would he react to learning he had a father? Would he welcome Tom, or resent him for the years the boy had spent as an orphan?
A knot formed in Tom’s stomach when he remembered Charlie’s handicap. What had caused his blindness? Nell hadn’t said. Was it something hereditary? Tom knew little about his own origins, except that such a thing likely didn’t come from the Deveres. His mother, Lucy Porter, hadn’t had any vision problems, but Tom had no idea about her parents or even if she’d had any siblings. He knew even less about his missing wife and her background. Not that it mattered. Blind or not, the boy would have every opportunity that could be afforded to the son of a baronet. Tom would make sure of that, and he knew he’d have the Order’s backing. Of course, Charlie would likely not ever be a Knight—fighting vampyres was hard enough with sight—but he would have the baronetcy. A title, even Sir , could make up for a lot of other issues when it came to society. Maybe the boy would be a musician, as Nell had suggested, or maybe he’d find some other place in life. Whatever he chose, he’d never have to be alone again. That much Tom vowed.
And if Charlie wasn’t his son? Well, that was a bridge to be crossed later. As Nell’s protégée, the lad
“Thank you.” Braithwaite chuckled. “I guess you weren’t kidding about his hearing.”
“Afraid not.” Nell laughed, a glorious, silvery melody spiraling through the night. “Just wait until you meet the rest of the family.”
“Hope he’s not easily frightened,” Tom muttered.
“I heard that, you wretch.” Nell laughed again and turned back to her swain. “Although he has a point. We’re an odd bunch, Roger. Are you sure you want to get tangled up with us? It’s not too late to turn around.”
“Like you, love, I’m tougher than I look. My own line has a few black sheep in it.” Braithwaite seemed utterly unflappable. Tom began to feel a grudging respect for the mild-mannered teacher.
“Ah, but what about pink-and-purple paisley sheep?” Tom wasn’t a wordsmith, but the expression was one Caroline had used to describe the odd coalition they called family.
Braithwaite chuckled. “That just means our life will never be dull. Every day will be an adventure.” The man was starting to sound like a bloody saint.
“As long as he doesn’t mind a few ghosts hanging around,” Tom muttered so only Nell would hear. Somehow he didn’t think she’d mentioned that to her beau.
“Shut it!” she whispered back. “Let’s all just focus on finding Charlie, shall we?”
“We’ll make some telephone calls from Black Heath,” Tom said. “We’ll get someone at headquarters working the data files overnight. They can also get a request out to watch for a couple with a young blind boy to the inns, train stations and so on.” He assumed Roger knew he worked for the Home Office. The trick would be to not reveal too much about the Order until they were sure of the man.
“That will help,” Nell agreed. “What would help even more is knowing why. I can’t help but wonder… Papa said there were children, gifted children, missing from around London. Is it possible this is connected? Are gifted children being taken from all over England?”
“I have no idea,” Tom said. “It seems an awful stretch that the same villain would find a boy all the way down in Cornwall. Still, I suppose it bears looking into.” At this point he’d take any possible lead he could find. In nine years this was the first inkling he’d found of a boy who could be his son. Nothing, not even his complicated feelings for Nell, could get in the way of that.
As they rode on through the night, Nell explained to Braithwaite about various family members and friends, including who and what to expect when they reached Black Heath. Tom listened with half an ear. Could Charlie Berrycloth/Barrowclough really be his son? If so, how would he react to learning he had a father? Would he welcome Tom, or resent him for the years the boy had spent as an orphan?
A knot formed in Tom’s stomach when he remembered Charlie’s handicap. What had caused his blindness? Nell hadn’t said. Was it something hereditary? Tom knew little about his own origins, except that such a thing likely didn’t come from the Deveres. His mother, Lucy Porter, hadn’t had any vision problems, but Tom had no idea about her parents or even if she’d had any siblings. He knew even less about his missing wife and her background. Not that it mattered. Blind or not, the boy would have every opportunity that could be afforded to the son of a baronet. Tom would make sure of that, and he knew he’d have the Order’s backing. Of course, Charlie would likely not ever be a Knight—fighting vampyres was hard enough with sight—but he would have the baronetcy. A title, even Sir , could make up for a lot of other issues when it came to society. Maybe the boy would be a musician, as Nell had suggested, or maybe he’d find some other place in life. Whatever he chose, he’d never have to be alone again. That much Tom vowed.
And if Charlie wasn’t his son? Well, that was a bridge to be crossed later. As Nell’s protégée, the lad
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