Page 32 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)

It was McClellan, not the parlor maid, who bustled into the parlor with the tea tray. Wrexford bit back a smile, knowing Riche must have mentioned the mysterious woman and her titillating claim.

“I’ve brought along fresh-baked biscuits that were meant for the Weasels,” she announced.

“You keep weasels here?” inquired Miss O’Malley, sitting up even straighter. “Are you fond of animals?”

Wrexford chuckled. “The name Weasel is, shall we say, a term of endearment for the three exuberant boys who occasionally wreak havoc in this household.”

Oddly enough, the announcement seemed to upset rather than amuse their guest. Her expression turned guarded. “I—I didn’t realize that you had children.”

“They are our wards,” explained Charlotte. “But for us, love is no less an elemental bond than blood.”

McClellan poured out three cups and passed them around.

“Do help yourself to a biscuit, Miss O’Malley,” urged Charlotte. “McClellan is renowned for her ginger-spiced sweets.”

“Thank you.” Their visitor accepted one—her hands trembled ever so slightly, noted Wrexford—and took a small bite. “It’s delicious,” she said, and then set it on her saucer.

“But let us not prolong the show of pleasantries any longer. I think you are just as anxious as I am to get to the heart of why I am here. So with your permission, I shall begin …”

“Oiy, did you see something move in the shadows of the mews?” said Hawk. As the afternoon gave way to early evening, the Weasels had taken a break from their schoolwork and come down to the garden to practice their latest fencing maneuvers.

Raven lowered his foil and shaded his eyes as he stared over the low stone wall at the stable and carriage house across the back alleyway.

A breeze ruffled through the bare branches of the nearby trees, the dark flutterings blurring the fading light.

“Hard to say,” he replied. “We better go have a closer look.” The three of them quietly scaled the wall and crept across the narrow cart path.

“There! By the far stable door,” whispered Hawk. “Someone is fiddling with the latch.”

Raven raised his brows in surprise. “The cully must be a newcomer to Town, and our local gang hasn’t yet had a chance to tell him the rules.”

“We definitely need to set him straight. No pilfering allowed at this particular townhouse,” said Hawk.

He squinted into the gloom. “He looks skinny. Once we make sure he’s had some supper, let’s send him to Scratch, who’ll take him under his wing and make sure he learns the ropes of how to survive on the streets. ”

“Right.” Raven felt in his coat pocket for some coins. “We may be wards of an earl and live in a fancy mansion with every imaginable luxury. But we must never forget our roots.”

“We better hurry,” observed Peregrine. “He’s just managed to open the latch.”

Crouching low, they crossed into the courtyard just as the unknown urchin slipped inside the far section of the stable.

“Holy hell—that’s where Wrex has put Lucifer!” said Hawk.

They quickened their steps to a run, abandoning any attempt at stealth, and raced through the half-open door just in time to see the newcomer climb over the wooden side of the stallion’s stall and drop down into the hay covering the stone floor.

“Oiy! Get out of there before you get trampled!” cried Raven. Wrexford had warned them in no uncertain terms to stay clear of Lucifer, and the boys had witnessed enough temperamental behavior from the fiery stallion to take the earl’s admonitions to heart.

The urchin ignored the warning and took a step toward the glowering horse.

Laying back his ears, Lucifer snorted and kicked at the straw-covered floor of the stall with an agitated thump-thump of his iron-shod hooves.

“I tell you, he’s a very dangerous—” Raven suddenly fell silent as the urchin began to sing in a soft but lilting voice. The words were unrecognizable, but the elemental beauty of the music transcended mere language.

The stallion shook his head but stopped snorting.

The urchin took a step closer.

Muscles rippled beneath the stallion’s coal-black coat, and then he went still as a statue.

The Weasels stared in open-mouthed wonder. They, too, were mesmerized by the song.

“Aren’t you a magnificent creature?” The urchin ventured a tickling caress to the stallion’s velvety nose, eliciting a soft whuffle.

“W-What are you? Some sort of sorcerer?” demanded Raven. “One who casts a dark enchantment over unsuspecting listeners?”

The urchin made a rude sound. “It’s not magic, it’s merely a Gaelic folk song.” Another caress. “All living creatures find music calming. One simply needs to have the knack of finding exactly the right tone.”

“But how do you know which one is right?” asked Hawk.

“Dunno.” A quick shrug. “I just do.”

The sudden movement startled the stallion, who nipped at the urchin’s floppy hat.

It fell off … allowing a riot of dark curls to tumble free.

“You’re a … a …” sputtered Raven.

“A girl,” finished Peregrine, looking equally stunned.

“Aren’t you the bright lads?” she said mockingly as she gave the stallion another tickling caress, earning a slobbering lick to her fingers. After wiping them on her breeches, she cocked her head. “I’m Eddy. Who are you?”

For a moment, Raven appeared tongue-tied. “I’m R-Raven,” he stammered. “Umm, that is, T-Thomas.”

Eddy eyed him with a pitying stare. “You aren’t sure of your own name?” She looked at Hawk and Peregrine. “What about you two? Are you simpletons as well?”

Peregrine quickly piped up with his name, while Hawk haltingly explained how he and his brother had chosen to go by a shortened version of their longwinded official names.

“Hawk instead of Alexander Hawksley and Raven instead of Thomas Ravenwood,” mused Eddy. “Aye, I can understand that.” She made a face. “My official name is Eddylina, but I much prefer Eddy.”

“I much prefer Falcon,” volunteered Peregrine.

She studied their clothing—as usual, they were looking more like guttersnipes than aristocrats—and couldn’t seem to decide who they might be. “What do you three do around here?”

“We fence,” offered Peregrine.

Her expression sharpened in interest. “Are you any good?”

“Falcon is an expert swordsman,” answered Hawk. “Raven and I are getting better.”

Ignoring the comment, her gaze remained locked on Peregrine. “I’d like you to teach me—”

“ Eddy! ” A loud call echoed from somewhere outside.

She sighed, suddenly looking apprehensive.

“Why are you here?” asked Raven.

Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, she blew out a troubled breath. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Eddy! Please come at once!”

Shoulders slumping, Eddy gave a last caress to the stallion and climbed out of the stall. She hesitated, but after another urgent call, she moved reluctantly to the stable door.

The Weasels exchanged puzzled looks, and then curiosity impelled them to followed right on her heels.

Raven edged forward to peer over Eddy’s shoulder and saw Charlotte approach the back garden gate. Wrexford and an older woman were several steps behind her.

“Is that the Countess of Wrexford?” whispered Eddy.

“Oiy, that’s m’lady,” answered Raven.

Eddy kicked at a wisp of hay and whispered something in Gaelic. In a louder voice she added, “So much for Moreen’s mad plan.”

“W-What do you mean?” asked Peregrine.

Instead of answering, Eddy looked around, panic flaring in her eyes as she seemed to be searching for a last-minute escape route.

“Whatever is coming, it can’t be that bad,” said Raven.

“Ha!” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to hold back tears. “Moreen is ill and can’t care for me anymore. And so she is trying to foist me on the earl and his wife.”

“Why them?” asked Hawk.

“Because,” she answered, “the Earl of Wrexford is my father.”