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Belinda considered that and shrugged. “I like all those protection thingamajigs you put on there, Ivonne. But Baby’s already got Mr. Pembroke and Maddock protectin’ him.”

“He has me too,” Norman protested.

Belinda looked skeptical.

“I have my own ways of protecting him,” Norman insisted. “You’ll see—”

“Alan,” Mad interrupted in a low rumble.

The little dog had gone up to the basket and was tugging at the red ribbons.

“Leave it,” Mad told him.

Alan obeyed reluctantly.

“Good boy.” Mad took a bit of bacon from his plate to hand to him under the table.

“How long are we going to keep calling him ‘Baby’? ” Enid asked. “Poor little lad needs a proper name.”

“Miss Martin’s been thinkin’ on names,” June said, “and ain’t found one yet. She wants ideas. But nothing like ‘Nobby’ or ‘Mickey.’ He deserves a respectable name. Somethin’ top notch.”

They all fell silent.

“How about David?” Enid asked.

“Ain’t fancy enough,” Mad said.

“Gonzalovencio?” Ivonne suggested.

“That’s a mite too fancy,” June told her.

Silence descended.

“Saint Peter’s pisspot,” June muttered. “Seeing the lot of you trying to think is like watching a towel being rolled through a rusted washing-mangle.”

Mr. Pembroke’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Do you have a Bible, June?”

“Good idea,” June exclaimed. “So happens I do.” She went to the shelf where she kept her cookery school training manuals and recipe box and pulled out a weighty leather-bound Bible. “My stepfather, the vicar, named every one of his children this way.”

“What way?” Belinda asked.

“You close your eyes, open the Bible, put your finger on the page, and pick the nearest name.” June went to Mr. Pembroke, nudged his empty plate aside, and set the Bible down with a thud.

Obligingly he closed his eyes, opened the book, and touched his finger to the middle of a page. After glancing at the name, he said apologetically, “Nebuchadnezzar.”

“He won’t never be able to spell that,” Mad said in outrage.

June brought the Bible to him. “You give it a go, Mad.”

He seemed reluctant to touch it, eyeing it warily. “Might burst into flames.”

The group found that highly amusing.

“It better not,” June said, her lips quirking, “since I’m standing right ’ere beside you. Go on.”

Mad gingerly opened the book and set his finger on a random page. He squinted down at it and sounded out a name. “Itch-a-bod.”

Pleased with his reading progress, June said, “Ichabod.”