said quietly. “I know you’re not really my brother-in-law, sir. Venetia explained everything to me.”
“Did she?”
Edward nodded quickly. “She says that we are going to play a game of pretend while you are here.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Edward said. “It will be fun to have you here for real.”
“For real.”
“Yes. I helped Venetia get rid of you, you see. Now that you are actually here, it is as it you have become real.”
“I think I’ve got the gist of it.” Gabriel crouched to unlock the trunk. “What parts of my history did you invent?”
“I made up the bit about you tumbling off the cliff in the Wild West and getting swept away by a raging river,” Edward said, shoulders straightening with pride. “Did you like it?”
“You’re clever.”
“Thank you, Venetia wanted to say that you were shot dead by a gang of outlaws during the course of a train robbery.”
“Charming. Tell me, did I die a true hero of the Wild West, fighting on until my gun was empty of bullets.””
Edward frowned. “I don’t recall that you had a gun.”
“She intended to send me off to face the outlaws unarmed?” Gabriel opened the trunk. “She must have wanted to be quite certain that I did not survive.”
“I thought it was an excellent story but Aunt Beatrice told her it was much too grisly for polite company. Then Venetia came up with the idea that you had been trampled by a herd of wild horses.”
“That sounds exceedingly unpleasant. What saved me from that fate?” Gabriel asked.
“Amelia said that since you and Venetia were supposed to be on your honeymoon, you should die in a more romantic fashion.”
“That is when you invented the notion of having me fall off the cliff?”
“Yes. I’m very glad you like it.”
“It was quite brilliant.” Gabriel reached into the trunk to remove the leather kit that contained his shaving things. “If I’d been shot dead by outlaws or trampled by wild horses it would have been somewhat more difficult to explain my presence in the household now.”
Edward hurried across the small room to examine the contents of the trunk. “I expect that we would have thought of something. We always do.”
Gabriel rose and set the shaving kit on the washstand. He turned to contemplate Edward. It could not have been easy for a boy, no matter how intelligent, to maintain the fiction that his older sister was a widow.
“You seem to be quite expert at playing games of pretend,” Gabriel said.
“I am.”
“Perhaps you can give me some tips on how to go about it.”
“Certainly, sir.” Edward looked up from his perusal of the interior of the trunk. “It’s hard sometimes, though. You have to be very careful when there are other people around, especially Mrs. Trench. She’s not supposed to know our secrets.”
In his experience, Gabriel thought, it was usually impossible to prevent the servants from learning a family’s secrets. It was astonishing that Venetia and the others had managed the feat for the three months they had been living in London. He doubted they would be able to maintain the fiction indefinitely.
“I will be very careful,” he promised.
He reached into the trunk again and took out a stack of neatly folded shirts. Ducking to avoid the low, sloping ceiling, he placed the shirts in the old, battered wardrobe.
Edward watched his every move, fascinated. “Perhaps someday when you are not too busy we could go to the park and fly a kite.”
Gabriel looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“That is what a boy and his brother-in-law might do, isn’t it?” Edward was starting to look anxious.
Gabriel braced one hand against the sloped ceiling. “When was the last time you went to the park?”
“I go there sometimes with Aunt Beatrice or Venetia or Amelia but I have never flown a kite. Once some of the other boys asked if I would like to play a game with them but Aunt Beatrice said I mustn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I
“Did she?”
Edward nodded quickly. “She says that we are going to play a game of pretend while you are here.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Edward said. “It will be fun to have you here for real.”
“For real.”
“Yes. I helped Venetia get rid of you, you see. Now that you are actually here, it is as it you have become real.”
“I think I’ve got the gist of it.” Gabriel crouched to unlock the trunk. “What parts of my history did you invent?”
“I made up the bit about you tumbling off the cliff in the Wild West and getting swept away by a raging river,” Edward said, shoulders straightening with pride. “Did you like it?”
“You’re clever.”
“Thank you, Venetia wanted to say that you were shot dead by a gang of outlaws during the course of a train robbery.”
“Charming. Tell me, did I die a true hero of the Wild West, fighting on until my gun was empty of bullets.””
Edward frowned. “I don’t recall that you had a gun.”
“She intended to send me off to face the outlaws unarmed?” Gabriel opened the trunk. “She must have wanted to be quite certain that I did not survive.”
“I thought it was an excellent story but Aunt Beatrice told her it was much too grisly for polite company. Then Venetia came up with the idea that you had been trampled by a herd of wild horses.”
“That sounds exceedingly unpleasant. What saved me from that fate?” Gabriel asked.
“Amelia said that since you and Venetia were supposed to be on your honeymoon, you should die in a more romantic fashion.”
“That is when you invented the notion of having me fall off the cliff?”
“Yes. I’m very glad you like it.”
“It was quite brilliant.” Gabriel reached into the trunk to remove the leather kit that contained his shaving things. “If I’d been shot dead by outlaws or trampled by wild horses it would have been somewhat more difficult to explain my presence in the household now.”
Edward hurried across the small room to examine the contents of the trunk. “I expect that we would have thought of something. We always do.”
Gabriel rose and set the shaving kit on the washstand. He turned to contemplate Edward. It could not have been easy for a boy, no matter how intelligent, to maintain the fiction that his older sister was a widow.
“You seem to be quite expert at playing games of pretend,” Gabriel said.
“I am.”
“Perhaps you can give me some tips on how to go about it.”
“Certainly, sir.” Edward looked up from his perusal of the interior of the trunk. “It’s hard sometimes, though. You have to be very careful when there are other people around, especially Mrs. Trench. She’s not supposed to know our secrets.”
In his experience, Gabriel thought, it was usually impossible to prevent the servants from learning a family’s secrets. It was astonishing that Venetia and the others had managed the feat for the three months they had been living in London. He doubted they would be able to maintain the fiction indefinitely.
“I will be very careful,” he promised.
He reached into the trunk again and took out a stack of neatly folded shirts. Ducking to avoid the low, sloping ceiling, he placed the shirts in the old, battered wardrobe.
Edward watched his every move, fascinated. “Perhaps someday when you are not too busy we could go to the park and fly a kite.”
Gabriel looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“That is what a boy and his brother-in-law might do, isn’t it?” Edward was starting to look anxious.
Gabriel braced one hand against the sloped ceiling. “When was the last time you went to the park?”
“I go there sometimes with Aunt Beatrice or Venetia or Amelia but I have never flown a kite. Once some of the other boys asked if I would like to play a game with them but Aunt Beatrice said I mustn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I
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