But, at some point, they might have to ask the children to identify suspects.Right now, Rafe didn’t know enough to risk exposing them to killers.
“You read very well, Daniel.Your teacher must be proud of you.”Verity lifted the sleepy little girl to her cot, snuggling her rabbit and doll on the pillow beside her.
“He said I could do better if I practice more.”Even the boy sounded tired and discouraged.“Will I go back to school?”
He asked this at least once a day.School was obviously important to him.
“You will, I promise, although I may be your teacher until Mr.Birdwhistle says you’re ready to study with Oliver and Davy.Do you like him?”The tutor was younger than Verity, fresh out of university, but he had blended his exceptionally brilliant students with the rambunctious Morgan children and the quiet orphans with easy assurance.
“He’s nicer than Mr.Clapper.He said I didn’t have to learn Latin if I don’t want to.”Daniel put down his book and snuggled under his covers when Verity kissed him good night.
“I like him too.We’ll decide what you should study after Christmas.I’ll be in the front room, if you need anything.If Daphne wakes up crying, you can tell me, all right?”
He nodded, and she turned off the lamp and slipped out.
They’d chosen the divided baggage room across the corridor from the schoolroom for their bedchambers.The interior room had no windows and only the one entrance.Servants had been redirected to haul guest trunks to the other attic at the back of the manor.Verity had set up a cot for herself in front of the only entrance to the chambers.It wasn’t luxury by any means.The attics were freezing.But without exterior walls, no drafts reached them.
It was too early for her to sleep.She missed Rafe fiercely.After spending so much of her life alone, she craved company.She could talk to Rafe, and he’d understand her fears.He’d suffered a hard life as well.
The young university man had led a pampered, protected life, she could tell.But he was smart and understood the old earl’s odd, mostly silent heirs better than most would.Should she try to talk with him?
Deciding to take another look at her new schoolroom, perhaps find a book to read from the selection they’d carried up here from her library and the earl’s, she carried a candle into the main attic corridor.The manor’s original nursery and schoolroom were across the hall—spacious, with windows overlooking the drive.Mr.Birdwhistle would teach the more educated students there.
As a woman, Verity wasn’t formally trained as a teacher.She’d only had a governess.But she knew how to introduce the younger ones to letters and numbers.The village had plenty of need for that.It was very forward-thinking of the manor gentry to encourage literacy.And the sewing ladies knew their children had a place to go while they worked.
Deciding not to disturb the tutor in his quarters, she turned toward the new schoolroom.It had once stored furniture too good to throw away.The inn had benefitted from that frugality.An earl’s castoffs were far finer than anything Rafe and Fletch could afford.And removing the furniture had opened up the lovely area for the village children.She couldn’t wait to teach here.
The scraping of wood on wood startled her.The doors along this corridor were closed.She had only her bed candle with her.The flickering light didn’t reach the front hall.They had closed the schoolroom door, hadn’t they?The day had been so hectic...
It was ridiculous to be so afraid.The manor was full of gentry and their servants.No monster would look for the children here.They were perfectly safe.Where was her courage?
Hiding in an alley watching her home explode.
That monster was dead.She needn’t fear him any longer.
A light appeared at the far end of the corridor, to the left of the new schoolroom.Service stairs, she remembered.Until they’d been redirected, the footmen had carried luggage up from the portico entrance using that staircase.Would they do so at this hour, even if they’d forgotten the baggage room had been moved?
Perhaps it was just Mr.Birdwhistle returning from supper?Would he be so secretive?The intruder appeared to be casting his light about, as if unfamiliar with the attics.One of the manor guests?
At which point, she panicked and scratched at the tutor’s door.He appeared at once, his linen untied and his coat off but otherwise respectable in waistcoat, trousers, and slippers.He glanced at her and reading her fear, questioned wordlessly.
Verity nodded in the direction of the flickering shadows.His eyes widened, understanding at once.He had two young heirs to protect.
Holding a darkened lantern, he followed her out, securing the door and the heirs with a key.Verity needed a key for her treasures as well.She’d ask in the morning.
The tutor gestured for her to block this passage, where the children slept, while he slipped down to the servant’s hall and cut off the staircase exit.
She’d done far worse than confronting intruders in the not-so-distant past.Waiting until he was position to reach the exit, she lifted her candle and strode briskly down the main passage, practically shoving the flame in the prowler’s face so he wouldn’t notice Mr.Birdwhistle.
In the dim light, she didn’t recognize the intruder.She smothered panic by accepting that she couldn’t possibly know all the manor servants.He wasn’t wearing a footman’s livery, but those weren’t the tailored clothes of a gentleman.
“And you are?”she demanded haughtily, as if she were the lady of the manor she no longer owned.
He stumbled and lowered his flame so she couldn’t see more of his face than shadows.“Just a valet, ma’am, looking for my master’s trunk.”
“Then you should have taken the stairs in the servants’ wing,” Mr.Birdwhistle said from behind, opening his lantern, causing the man to swing around.“These are private quarters.”
In the tutor’s brighter light, Verity caught a glimpse of a haughty Roman nose, fleshy lips, the hint of sideburns.A former soldier?The accent hinted at Irish but had enough polish not to stand out.He just might be a valet who had refined his speech to earn his position.
