Yes, indeed, Beatrice thought. One did wonder.
*
Matthew woke toblinding sunlight coming in the windows. He was certain Marcus had very purposefully failed to close the curtains to express his unhappiness over having to give both a dog and a boy a bath in the middle of the night.
It had been completely necessary—both of them were filthy and he would not countenance his house becoming infested with fleas.
Based on the barking he’d heard coming from below stairs, the boy had taken it better than the dog had.
Before he’d sent him on his way to a tub, Matthew had discovered the boy’s name was Shrimps, as he’d always been on the small side. Matthew was certain there was a proper name on a birth record somewhere, but Shrimps did not know what it was.
He’d been in the workhouse with his mother, who had since died. He’d escaped to take his chances on the street and been pulled into a gang run by a couple of men operating out of Rats’ Castle. The boy was lucky to be alive, as many who had walked those dirty, claustrophobic streets did not do so for long.
Both the boy and the dog were to go to the stable. He did not imagine his coachman would thank him for the dog, in particular, but there was nowhere else suitable for the animal.
He rang the bell and was hoping for his butler, rather than his valet, but it was Marcus who came through the door.
“Close those curtains, if you please,” he said.
“Goodness! Did I leave them open?” Marcus said, hurrying across the room to do as he was bid.
“I know very well you purposefully left them open to take your revenge regarding the boy and the dog.”
Marcus pursed his lips, a sure sign that he’d not got over his pique. “My lord, you do not know the half of what has gone on. Nobody knows what to do about it.”
Matthew sighed. “Order me breakfast and then tell me all about it.”
“Breakfast has been ordered, I did it as soon as I heard the bell and Cook was frying eggs as I made my way up. James will bring it up in a tick, as Genroy is far too taken up with managing the chaos below stairs.”
There was a soft knock on the door and Matthew was grateful to hear it. He expected he would need several cups of coffee to fortify himself against his valet’s soon to be delivered complaints.
Marcus took the tray, sent James on his way, and brought it to the bedside. Matthew took his coffee and said, “Well? Talk away.”
“It is just this,” Marcus said, “I got them both into the bath, as you ordered, which was no mean feat.” He held up his hand for examination and Matthew could see red bite marks. At least the skin was not broken.
“The boy or the dog?” he asked, regarding the marks.
“How should I know?” Marcus said. “They were both like wild animals! Shrimps, that is what he calls himself, was convinced I meant to drown him. As for that dog, well, I only say…”
“So it was a trying evening,” Matthew said.
Marcus laughed. It was the particular laugh he used when he meant to indicate his astonishment and derision at another’s naiveté.
“That was only the beginning!” he cried.
“There is more.”
“So much more,” Marcus said.
For the next half hour, Matthew listened to all that had transpired below stairs.
After the bath in which all parties were nearly drowned, both the boy and the dog were dried off by the kitchen fire and fed. Then, Genroy attempted to escort them out to the stables, but the boy became hysterical, the dog howled, and they would not be moved.
Shrimps claimed he was terrified of horses and would die of fright in a stable.
“He is no such thing,” Matthew said. “I threw him on the back of my own horse last night and he didn’t complain at all. He was more afraid of the dog than the horse.”
“I do not doubt it,” Marcus said. “We are all convinced he is lying, but what can we do? The dog, who he has named Oyster because of the color of his coat, appears to fear anything that Shrimps pretends to fear. When the boy cries, the dog howls. It is ear shattering.”
