Tiffany felt her insides clench. The butler was a downy one! If she was not careful, he would give the lie to her tale, and more besides. What bad luck that she had gone back for thirds. Had not Samuel, before he got sent up, told them time and again, once, maybe twice, but no more lest ye be caught?
The butler, for such his costume clearly revealed him to be, hustled her down the corridor and into a well-lit study. A large oaken desk dominated the room, with a comfortable wing-back chair behind it. A less comfortable row of straight-back chairs with cane bottoms sat against the wall. McClellan snagged one of the straight-back chairs, pulled it up in front of the desk, and roughly pushed her into it.
“There now, mind your manners, you young tough. I’ll be right outside the door, so no funny stuff. One peep out of the Marquess, and I’ll be right back in, do ye hear?”
“Yessir,” she squeaked.
“Bah. Ye sound like a young girl. No guts.” McClellan glowered at her, then stalked out of the room.
The Marquess settled himself into the wingback chair. “So tell me, young miss, why were you in my mother’s rooms robbing me?”
“Wh-what?” Tiffany warbled in her best adolescent male imitation.
“Enough with the flummadiddle,” the Marquess said. “You are no more a boy than I am the Queen of Sheba.”
“But . . .”
“How did I know? My dear, your jaw is too fine for even a handsome lad of twelve or less, your hips are too round, and even though you are but modestly endowed and bound down besides, I’ve no doubt, that coat sits on your shoulders in a way that would never be on a lad. Besides, if you were of an age for your voice to break, you would also be starting to sprout a beard. Which I’ll note that you have not.”
“Oh.” Tiffany slumped in her chair, a lump welling up in her throat. Well and truly diddled, she was, and no hope for it. The best she could do was to not give the others away.
“So tell me about yourself. Let’s begin with names. I’m Percival Dandridge, the Marquess of Northbury. I became the Marquess when my father was killed in a hunting accident, and my mother, who was ill at the time, followed him into death shortly thereafter. So what is your story, Miss I’m-not-a-lady?”
Tiffany swallowed and thought very fast. How much to tell? Everything except about her friends. “My name is Tiffany. I’m an orphan, too. My parents had just gone to work at a tavern, leaving me in the care of their landlady. But there was a brawl at the tavern, and it caught fire and burned. My parents were not able to get out and they both died.” She paused.
“That is quite terrible, if it is true,” said Lord Northbury. “But I can see that this will be a long tale, so I will send McClellan to procure us some tea.” The Marquess rang a small bell that sat on his desk.
“Yes, My Lord?” McClellan asked, appearing quickly at the study door.
“Some tea, if you would please, and some of those hearty sandwiches the night chef makes up for me when I can’t sleep. Oh, and some of the tinned biscuits and that candied orange peel.”
McClellan’s eyebrows shot up.
“Talking is thirsty work,” Lord Northbury explained. “And I find I’m a might peckish. I didn’t find dinner especially palatable, but do bring enough for two.”
“Of course, My Lord,” McClellan acquiesced. “I’ll see to it at once.”
“Now,” the Marquess said, “do go on with your story. How old were you when your parents were killed?”
“Scarcely more than a baby,” Tiffany replied. “I don’t remember them at all. There was a baker, Henry Bentley, and his wife. They could not have children, so they took me in.”
“That does not seem so bad. I think I remember Henry Bentley. I used to visit his shop with my mother, and then later with my cronies. He seemed like a kindly man.”
“He was. And he taught me everything he knew about baking and about running a shop.”
“So why were you stealing things from my mother’s room?”
Tiffany hung her head. “I’m sorry. But I did not think anyone would miss them. I’ve been on my own, on the streets, since I was eighteen.”
“Oh?” The Marquess seemed to invite more explanation.
“It was Mrs. Bentley,” Tiffany burst out. “She hated me, but needed my skills. At last, she accused me of having a secret lover. So I broke out of my room and ran away. That was two years ago. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
“I see.” The Marquess nodded his head. “I must think. Wait here a few moments. Do not seek to leave. There will be someone guarding the door.” He stood up and walked out.
Tiffany hunched in the chair, pulling her knees up and catching her heels on the front edge of the seat.That’s it. I’m done for. It’s gaol for me for sure. Oh, Father Bentley, I’m glad you aren’t here to see me now.
Chapter 2
