knew her by sight. She’d seemed such a quiet lass.
“That’s the one. She was in tears this morning, and I got the whole story out of her. That young scoundrel’s led her astray, though I warned her when she came here against having followers.”
Danny couldn’t quite seem to get his head around it. “But… Toby? He’s no more than a child himself!”
“He’s old enough to wed.” She folded her arms, letting the implications speak for themselves.
“Maybe, but how he’ll support a wife and child on an undergardener’s wage….” Danny shook his head. It’d be him supporting them; there was no other way. “I’ll speak to him. Has the lass got family?”
“None. She’s from the foundling home. Be a fine thing to send her back there to add to their number.”
“No. I’ll speak to Toby, and we’ll make sure Effie is looked after. Whatever happens.”
“Should I take it that means you’re in some doubt as to whether he’ll shoulder his responsibilities?”
Danny shook his head slowly. “I’d like to reassure you, Mrs. S, but fact is he’s been headstrong and stubborn of late. But I’ll do my best for the girl.”
She harrumphed. “Question is, will that brother of yours do his best?”
“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Danny said grimly.
H E FOUND Toby on the edge of the park, helping to clear a dead tree that had just been felled. Nodding to the head gardener, Danny hailed his brother. “Toby? I want a word.”
Toby scowled but followed Danny over to where they might talk without being overheard. “I hear you’ve been carrying on with the upstairs maid,” Danny said without preamble.
“So what if I have? It’s no business of yours who I keep company with.” Toby thrust his hands in his pockets, and stared mulishly at his feet.
“It is when I hear you’ve got her in the family way.”
Toby looked up, his face crimson. “What? Who told you that? Did Effie tell you?”
“She told Mrs. Standish, who told me.”
“You got no right poking your noses in, the both of you. It should’ve been me Effie told. Me!”
Damn the boy—was that all he could think of now? His wounded pride? “Maybe the lass was worried how you’d take it. Can’t say as I blame her, seeing you now.”
Toby’s handsome face had turned ugly with rage. “You got a nerve, Danny Costessey. Criticizing me. At least me and Effie, that’s natural. Not like what you get up to with Mr. Luccombe. I’m not the one bringing shame on this family, and that’s a fact.”
“Hold your tongue!” Danny glanced furiously over to where the other men still worked clearing the tree.
“I don’t know how you can hold your head up,” Toby went on, no quieter than before. He faced up to Danny, seeming more like six inches taller, rather than the two or three Danny knew he really was. One lichen-smeared finger jabbed at Danny’s chest. “You’re not a real man. There’s a word for men like you. You’re just that soft bastard’s cat… catamite!”
Danny snapped, and threw a wild punch at his brother. It landed just over the bruise he’d got from Albert Grover, and Toby went flying, landing sprawled on his arse on the mossy ground.
“Toby! God, lad, I’m sorry….” Appalled at what he’d done, Danny ran to hold out a hand to the boy. “Let me help you up.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Toby scrabbled backwards, away from him. “Don’t you lay one finger on me.”
“Toby….”
“You stay away from me, Danny Costessey, or I’ll swing for you. I mean it.”
His chest aching, Danny did as he was bid while Toby got off the ground. The other gardeners had stopped work to watch them curiously, but made no move to interfere. “Toby—”
“And don’t you say one more word about Effie. That’s my business, not yours.”
Danny stood like a statue. With a heavy heart, he watched his brother walk back to work.
P HILIP had made some excuse and left Frederick to his
“That’s the one. She was in tears this morning, and I got the whole story out of her. That young scoundrel’s led her astray, though I warned her when she came here against having followers.”
Danny couldn’t quite seem to get his head around it. “But… Toby? He’s no more than a child himself!”
“He’s old enough to wed.” She folded her arms, letting the implications speak for themselves.
“Maybe, but how he’ll support a wife and child on an undergardener’s wage….” Danny shook his head. It’d be him supporting them; there was no other way. “I’ll speak to him. Has the lass got family?”
“None. She’s from the foundling home. Be a fine thing to send her back there to add to their number.”
“No. I’ll speak to Toby, and we’ll make sure Effie is looked after. Whatever happens.”
“Should I take it that means you’re in some doubt as to whether he’ll shoulder his responsibilities?”
Danny shook his head slowly. “I’d like to reassure you, Mrs. S, but fact is he’s been headstrong and stubborn of late. But I’ll do my best for the girl.”
She harrumphed. “Question is, will that brother of yours do his best?”
“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Danny said grimly.
H E FOUND Toby on the edge of the park, helping to clear a dead tree that had just been felled. Nodding to the head gardener, Danny hailed his brother. “Toby? I want a word.”
Toby scowled but followed Danny over to where they might talk without being overheard. “I hear you’ve been carrying on with the upstairs maid,” Danny said without preamble.
“So what if I have? It’s no business of yours who I keep company with.” Toby thrust his hands in his pockets, and stared mulishly at his feet.
“It is when I hear you’ve got her in the family way.”
Toby looked up, his face crimson. “What? Who told you that? Did Effie tell you?”
“She told Mrs. Standish, who told me.”
“You got no right poking your noses in, the both of you. It should’ve been me Effie told. Me!”
Damn the boy—was that all he could think of now? His wounded pride? “Maybe the lass was worried how you’d take it. Can’t say as I blame her, seeing you now.”
Toby’s handsome face had turned ugly with rage. “You got a nerve, Danny Costessey. Criticizing me. At least me and Effie, that’s natural. Not like what you get up to with Mr. Luccombe. I’m not the one bringing shame on this family, and that’s a fact.”
“Hold your tongue!” Danny glanced furiously over to where the other men still worked clearing the tree.
“I don’t know how you can hold your head up,” Toby went on, no quieter than before. He faced up to Danny, seeming more like six inches taller, rather than the two or three Danny knew he really was. One lichen-smeared finger jabbed at Danny’s chest. “You’re not a real man. There’s a word for men like you. You’re just that soft bastard’s cat… catamite!”
Danny snapped, and threw a wild punch at his brother. It landed just over the bruise he’d got from Albert Grover, and Toby went flying, landing sprawled on his arse on the mossy ground.
“Toby! God, lad, I’m sorry….” Appalled at what he’d done, Danny ran to hold out a hand to the boy. “Let me help you up.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Toby scrabbled backwards, away from him. “Don’t you lay one finger on me.”
“Toby….”
“You stay away from me, Danny Costessey, or I’ll swing for you. I mean it.”
His chest aching, Danny did as he was bid while Toby got off the ground. The other gardeners had stopped work to watch them curiously, but made no move to interfere. “Toby—”
“And don’t you say one more word about Effie. That’s my business, not yours.”
Danny stood like a statue. With a heavy heart, he watched his brother walk back to work.
P HILIP had made some excuse and left Frederick to his
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