Chapter 23
The breakfast discussion was inconsequential, as if everyone present already knew the details of all of the evening’s events. Which was impossible, since only Davy and Gaz knew what had happened and they were confined to the kitchen with Jenny.
Farnsworth, the one of Father’s men with more insight, didn’t arrive until the dishes were being cleared. His appearance up the backstairs from the kitchen made it clear to Perry that this house—her house—was a regular gathering place for her father’s people. It must be a safe house for the spies taking this route to and from the Low Countries. They all knew their way around the stables and kitchens.
While MacEwen, Kincaid and Father made room for Farnsworth, Perry fidgeted, gripping the edge of the chair seat, the urge to jump up and help Jenny, Davy, and Gaz clear the dishes almost overwhelming. All of her many lessons on proper decorum had vanished this night.
Farnsworth addressed the full plate of food with a lack of gentility, as if he were used to eating quickly when food was available. He’d been attached to a revenue cutter for the past several days and looked the worst for it, his hair plastered wet, his dark, well-cut clothing salt-stained. In between bites, he made his report.
Under the veil of the tablecloth, Fox’s hand slid around hers. Farnsworth’s level gaze moved over her, the tiniest of frowns forming.
She clasped Fox’s hand tightly. “Did you catch up with the smugglers, Lord Farnsworth?” she asked.
“We lost the three men in the skiff in a rocky cove.” His frown darkened. “We sent men in and found naught but an empty boat. They’d disappeared into those cliffs.”
“And the smugglers’ ship?” Fox asked.
“We saw it off the coast. The weather turned us all back.”
Perry’s heart eased. They’d heard as much from MacEwen. They’d have another chance at stopping the assassins.
Farnsworth peered closer. “Are you quite all right, Lady Perpetua?”
She nodded. “I am.”
He looked back at the two local men, hovering along the wall. They’d come back up from the kitchen to wait for Farnsworth’s dishes and eavesdrop.
“And the boy?” Farnsworth asked.
Davy brushed back a shock of hair. “Tucked into his bed, thanks to the lady and Mr. Goodfellow.”
Father’s lips pressed together. His dark gaze scooted between her and Fox and the other men, like he was a spectator at a cricket match. She shifted closer to Fox and straightened her spine.
Outside, the wind howled, making the candles flicker. A sliver of light shone through the glass of the doors. Dawn would be upon them soon.
“You’re all very tired.” Father looked at Davy and Gaz. “You men, when Scruggs asks, as he will, you may tell him I’ve come.” He sent them off to their homes and their beds.
Kincaid looked a question at Father.
“Might as well set events in motion,” Father said, “and tomorrow is soon enough to speak to them. Off with you, too, MacEwen.”
MacEwen went off to the kitchen, presumably headed for his bed in the stables. And perhaps to spend time with Jenny first.
There were two more bedchambers next to Perry’s own. She would take one of them. “I’ll just move my things, Father, and you may have—”
“No need.”
“But there are only two empty bedchambers. Take Mother’s, and Kincaid may have my maid’s cot in the dressing room.” Jenny could bed with her, and Farnsworth could have the other, assuming he was staying on.
“Fox will yield his chamber for Farnsworth, won’t you, Fox?”
That meant him sleeping in the stables.
Or…with her. Could they manage it, right under Father’s nose? Would Fox be willing? She squeezed his hand.
Fox nodded curtly. “I’ll spell MacEwen on watch,” he said, without budging from his chair.
Kincaid tossed back one more gulp of whisky and stood. “Not much to be done now. We can catch a few hours of sleep. I’ll ready your chamber, Shaldon.” He nodded his goodnights and left. Farnsworth followed him.
