PROLOGUE
Year 1795, July. Helmdon Court, Northamptonshire, England.
Lud, he was bored. So very, very bored.
All Lucas could see was his own thin reflection in the dark glass of the window. He blinked, and the pale boy followed suit, glaring with accusing eyes.
“This is your fault,” he spat out, stabbing his finger in the direction of the scowling boy. “If you hadn’t lost that slow-worm in the drawing room, we wouldn’t be here now.” The reflection deigned no reply, so Lucas stuck his tongue out.
Three hours he’d been stuck in his uncle’s nursery. Three awful hours, with nothing but his own company and a set of Greek history books to keep him amused. He’d flicked through them, but the contents were as dusty and dull as the covers, and he’d flung them aside in frustration and annoyance.
He was so bored.
Energy coursed through his twelve-year-old body: it wasn’t used to being cooped up for so long, and he plunked himself on the small bed with a dramatic bounce.
At least his father had managed to sneak up some bread and cheese along with a wry shake of the head and some sage advice.
“Don’t tell your mother I told you this, but one must always keep a slow-worm wrapped in one’s jacket. They’re dashed difficult to capture once they’ve made an escape, especially if they hide under cousin Millicent’s petticoats.” His father’s lips had curved at Lucas’s downcast face. “Tomorrow, if the weather holds, we’ll go fishing. That ought to keep you out of mischief.”
The fishing trip was theonlything keeping Lucas going. Otherwise, he was sure he woulddieof the doldrums.
Dangling his long, spindly legs against the bed, he polished off some more bread, tearing at it in large bites. Shadows flitted in the dark room, lit only by the one solitary candle lamp. He supposed he should think about going to bed, but the inactivity of the afternoon didn’t favour sleep and even though he’d tried pretend yawning, he just wasn’t tired.
Leaning forward, he rested his cheeks against clenched fists and sighed. He probably shouldn’t have brought the slow-worm into the house, but he’d wanted to show it to his cousin Paul and so had sneaked it in via the servants’ entrance. Paul had been in the library as, strangely, he enjoyed reading, which was lucky as he would eventually be earl, like Lucas’s uncle. It looked a really boring job, involving lots of sums, lots of reading and ever such a lot of talking.
Unfortunately, as Lucas had silently crept through the hall clutching the slow-worm, a maid had careered around the corner with a bundle of linens, straight into Lucas, causing him to lose his tight grip. The lizard had made its speedy escape, slithering through the hallway and into the drawing room, straight under cousin Millicent’s yellow skirts.
He’d tried to quietly hover, to silently draw the slow-worm out with some lemon cake, to coax it with his foot. But cousin Millicent had felt something moving; her husband rather hurriedly said it wasn’t him and they’d all watched horrified as a brownish snake-like thing poked its head out and then slithered across the thick Axminster rug towards mother.
“Snake!” someone screamed. And then all hell broke loose.
“No, it’s only a long, legless lizard,” Lucas had protested, but the cries of distress only seemed to escalate with his words.
“You revolting little…boy!” his mother had yelled, and he’d hung his head, a red hue staining his cheeks.
Once the situation had been brought under control, Cousin Millicent’s husband had patted his shoulder. “Well done, lad. Here’s a coin for your actions. Never thought I’d escape that infernal chit chat. Good-size snake, by the way.”
Lucas had wanted to explain that it wasn’t actually a snake but thought better of it.
He’d been banished to the nursery, even though he was too old and the bed no longer fitted his lanky frame. When standing upright, he could nearly look his mother straight in the eye and seemed set to even outgrow his giant father. Lucas hated his height. He looked like a maypole – thin, tall and white – and even his closest chums called him long shanks. It would be even worse when he went to Eton next year.
The bed shook as he kicked his heels hard against it once more.
Cousin Paul had probably never hidden a snake, slow-worm or any other type of lizard in his jacket, but then that wasn’t really expected of an earl. Lucas was glad he didn’t have to be earl. It would be nice to have a house like Helmdon Court though – it was big enough to play hide-and-seek and yet felt cosy. Every summer, his uncle invited all sorts of people to stay.
The nursery door was suddenly flung open; it rattled on its hinges as it hit the doorstop with a resounding crack.
A large, purple-faced man filled the doorway. Lucas stood up and was about to ask if he could come downstairs now when a small bundle of red and white was hauled from behind the man and flung into the room.
The bundle rolled twice and then lay curled in a heap on the floor, quivering.
“You stupid, ugly child. What have I told you? Keep that trap shut,” the man yelled, spittle flying into the nursery.
The jumble of red and white shook even more and before Lucas could make his presence known, the man slammed the door shut, returning the nursery to its quiet but now not-so-boring state.
“Erm, hullo?” Lucas tried tentatively.
The bundle merely trembled.
