“A delight,” Van Doren muttered.
“Adelight,” Juliet said back to him, seeming ever so pleased to see him looking grim.
“Well,” the earl said, “I do not see that it matters what we do, as long as we are all together. That is what cheers me the most.”
“Then I will be cheered by it too,” Darden said, raising his refilled glass. “To the Benningtons.”
“To the Benningtons,” they all replied. Except of course, Van Doren, who was too busy being grim.
*
Neither Shrimps norOyster liked chaos. They both preferred things to advance in a quiet and orderly fashion. Shrimps supposed a journey was one of those things that could very easily descend into chaos, and it had.
First a carriage wheel had broken, and then the very next day a horse had thrown a shoe. At each delay, Lord Van Doren had been very like a madman. Lady Van Doren was thought to be too hot or too cold. Or perhaps she was becoming overtired. Or had not eaten enough or must be thirsty. The world, according to Lord Van Doren, conspired to inconvenience his wife, and he railed against it.
As far as Shrimps could see, the lady was perfectly fine, but there was no accounting for lords and ladies. Having a noble title made a person go a bit off in the head. At least, that was what Cook said.
They’d finally got to Portland Place two hours ago and it had been a chaotic arrival, with Lady Van Doren’s sisters calling out from their windows across the street. Then, everything had to be rushed into the house so the lord and lady could change clothes and stroll over to see their relatives.
“Well, Oyster,” Shrimps said, opening the back door to the garden, “it seems everything has settled for now. We’ll have a walk around and then we’ll go to bed and recover.”
Oyster seemed thoroughly agreed with this idea and his underbite chattered less than it had done all day.
There was only a sliver of a moon and clouds raced over it. Shrimps led the way in the darkness, having tread the paths dozens of times last season.
Very suddenly, a hand came out of the darkness and gripped his arm.
“Hullo, old mate,” the person said.
Shrimps’ breath caught. He knew that voice. Why wouldn’t he? It had haunted his dreams.
Barney. The oldest of the boys he had once lived with in that dingy room in Rats’ Castle. Barney was the oldest and the biggest and by far the prickliest of them all. Shrimps had once asked him how he got the big brown spot on his cheek and had been beaten for it. One of the other boys had told him later that it was a mark at birth and Barney would pound anybody who even seemed to notice it.
Oyster growled, but he backed away at the same time. A thing Shrimps would very much like to do himself.
“Ya didn’t think we forgot about you, did ya?” Barney said.
“I had hoped so, actually,” Shrimps said. In a fit of daring, he said, “I won’t go back with you. I’ll shout and scream and Cook will come out for me.”
“We don’t want you back,” Barney said with a chuckle. “Why would we, you were practically useless. But here you are now, in this fine house, with riches at your fingertips.”
“It’s notmyriches,” Shrimps said.
Barney ignored that very salient point. “Now listen up. We had a plan for when ya came back. You was to let us into the house some night when all were abed and we could relieve the lord of some of his belongings. But that won’t do no more. Jimmy got taken and there’s too much risk he’ll squeal. So, you’re gonna think of a new way to enrich us.”
“Think up a new way? I don’t have any new ways!”
“Figure it out. I’ll be back in two days’ time to hear it and you better turn up right here. If ya don’t, or if you decide to tell them anything, I’ll knock right on the front door and inform them people of all the things you used to get up to and they’ll kick you out before I’m done talkin’. A house like this don’t employ a diver. Not even a bad one who couldn’t get a handkerchief off a blind man.”
Barney let go of his arm and disappeared into the night.
Shrimps stood there and wept. There was nothing he could do. Barney would make sure he was kicked out of the only house he’d ever wanted to be in.
“Don’t worry Oyster,” he said through his sobs. “Whatever I’m forced to do, I’ll make them see you weren’t in on it. I’ll make them keep you here.”
Oyster’s underbite chattered and he weakly wagged his tail.
Shrimps nodded at him sympathetically. He knew they should not have come to London. He hated London.
