Page 78 of Murder on Black Swan Lane

The earl fixed him with his most imperious stare. “Let’s try again, shall we? I’m sure Mrs. Sloane would prefer something more along the lines of ‘Good morning, Lord Wrexford. Did you wish to speak with me?’ ”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, he reluctantly repeated the greeting—in perfectly enunciated King’s English.

“That’s better,” he murmured. “And yes, I do wish to speak with you weasels.” The narrow lane looked to be deserted, but in this part of Town, there was always someone watching. “Come, step over here.”

The doorway to the brick warehouse was tucked within the shadows of a sagging overhang. He motioned the boys to step under it and crouched down to put himself at eye level with them.

Scowling, Raven shifted from foot to foot.

Wrexford pulled two pocketknives from inside his coat. The handles were made of dark textured stag horn, trimmed in nickel silver. He held one up and pressed a hidden lever, which, with a whisper-softsnick,released a wicked-looking blade.

“Cor!” Hawk’s eyes were suddenly wide as tea saucers.

“If you two are intent on protecting Mrs. Sloane,” he said, “I’d prefer you do it with a proper weapon, rather than some primitive shank of half-sharpened steel.”

Raven’s gaze moved slowly over the shiny lethal curves to the razored point.

The earl held the knife still a moment longer, then snapped the blade shut and held it out to the boy.

For an instant, their hands touched as Raven carefully closed his fingers around the horn handle.

“Keep these hidden away. They are not toys. They are only to be used in an emergency,” counseled Wrexham as he passed the second one to Hawk. “It’s for your own safety. There are men in the stews who would hurt you to take possession of them. Do you understand?”

Hawk nodded solemnly, looking too overwhelmed for words. Raven quickly slipped the weapon into his boot, and helped his younger brother do the same.

A low “Aye” was all he said. But Wrexford was satisfied.

“May we tell m’lady?” asked Hawk.

“I think it best we keep them a secret—a secret between us men.” He held out his palm faceup. “Give me your pledge.”

Raven laid Hawk’s hand on the earl’s, then covered it with his own.

“Remember,” said Wrexford, “be discreet.”

“Wot’s discreet?” whispered Hawk.

“Very, very careful,” he answered.

A ghost of a grin flitted over Raven’s narrow face. “Yes, milord,” he said in the plummy tones of a London aristocrat. “Weasels know how te be discreet. It’s how they stay alive.”

“Discreet,” repeated Hawk, testing the word on his tongue. “Ye have my word on it, sir.”

“Excellent.” Wrexford ruffled the boy’s hair and then stood up. “I am counting on you two to keep a close watch on the neighborhood. Any suspicious people loitering around, you send word to me immediately.” He gave them his address on Berkeley Square.

“Aye, we know where you live. We keep our peepers open.” Raven met his gaze with an unblinking stare. “You expect trouble, m’lord?”

“Yes,” he answered frankly. “And when it comes, let us try to be ready for it.”

Like the restless alleyway shadows, the boys flitted away into the gloom. They would be sharp-eyed sentinels, but the earl was under no illusions as to the cunning of their adversary.

He was gratified to find Charlotte’s front door securely locked, and that she was careful to challenge his knock before sliding back the bolts.

“You’re a damnable fool,” he uttered, after making sure the door was secured.

“And good morning to you, too, sir,” she replied. “I would offer you coffee if I had any, for clearly my inferior brand of tea isn’t strong enough to awaken a more cheerful mood.”

“This is no jesting matter, Mrs. Sloane.”