Shady Lady by Elizabeth Thornton

Finally, he said, “Tell me about the Runner who tried to arrest you. You were at breakfast. Then what happened?”
    “He tried to take Eric away, to send him back to that awful school. I did what any decent person would do. I held him off while Aunt Daventry and Eric made their escape.”
    “The pistol again?”
    She nodded.
    “I thought you said that the boy was in a bad way.”
    “He revived a little when we got him away from that . . .
prison
.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t think you know much about boys’ schools. The discipline may seem harsh, but if it weren’t, the teachers would soon lose control. And a whipping does more damage to a boy’s dignity than to his backside.”
    “Is that how you’re going to raise
your
children, with whippings?”
    “No, I shall probably—”
    “What?”
    He grinned. “Who said I was going to have any children?”
    “You are an only son, are you not, and your father’s estates are entailed?”
    “Where did you hear that?”
    She practically smirked. “I read it in the
Journal
. It’s your duty to produce the next crop of Bowmans to keep your estates and fortune intact.”
    “There’s no law says I have to do my duty.”
    She tilted her head to get a better look at him. “That’s the thing about you, Mr. Bowman. One never knows whether you are serious or amusing yourself.”
    He folded his arms across his chest. “In the matter of Eric Foley, I am in deadly earnest. If this isn’t resolved to Magistrate Vine’s satisfaction, I could lose a considerable sum of money and you could be charged with a serious offense. Now, begin at the beginning and tell me exactly who did what and how a respectable lady came to be locked up in a cell in Bow Street.”
             
    Mrs. Daventry’s house was a modest three-story building with a handsome bow window on the ground floor. The maid who opened the door fought back tears when she saw Jo.
    “Oh, miss, I’m that glad to see you,” she choked out.
    “No more glad than I am to see you, Rose. Where is Mrs. Daventry?”
    Jo’s matter-of-fact tone seemed to steady the maid. Her tears dried. “Upstairs, with the boy.”
    They were met by Mrs. Daventry at the top of the stairs. When she saw Waldo, her jaw went slack. “Mr. Bowman,” she said faintly.
    “It’s all right, Aunt.” Jo put her arm around Mrs. Daventry’s shoulders. “Mr. Bowman is here to help us. I’ll explain later. Now, take us to Eric. How is he?”
    “Sleeping.”
    Waldo said, “It’s true, Mrs. Daventry. I’m here to help.”
    Mrs. Daventry continued to stare at Waldo. By degrees, all trace of anxiety left her face and a slow smile curved her lips. “Who says God doesn’t answer prayer? Come this way. He’s restless. Now that you’re here, Jo, he may settle.”
    Mrs. Daventry stayed in the background as Jo and Waldo crossed to the bed. Jo took the chair and stared down at the sleeping child. After a moment, she felt his brow.
    “He’s fevered,” she said, “and his nightshirt is wet with perspiration.”
    “Has the physician been sent for?” Waldo asked.
    “Yes,” replied Mrs. Daventry. “I don’t know what’s keeping him.” She bit down on her lip. “I didn’t know what to do for the best. I didn’t realize Eric was fevered.”
    Waldo said soothingly, “It’s probably nothing at all. Children are prone to odd fevers. All the same, let’s send for another doctor. Try Mercer on Baker Street and use my name.”
    “I’ll see to it at once,” said Mrs. Daventry.
    As Mrs. Daventry went off to find a servant to fetch Dr. Mercer, Jo rummaged in a drawer and came back to the bed with a clean nightshirt. “It belongs to my aunt’s grandson,” she said.
    When she said Eric’s name softly, he began to moan. “Mam?” he whispered. “Mam?”
    Jo said, “It’s Jo, Eric. I’m going to change your nightshirt, then you’ll feel more comfortable. All right?”
    He opened his eyes and blinked up at Jo. “You broke