As he took in his teacher’s shocked white face, he waxed indignant. “Here now,” he sharply informed the stranger, “you can’t bust in here.”
The stranger ignored him. “Miss Catherine Pelliston of Wilberstone, perhaps?”
Jemmy leapt from his chair to confront the aggravating visitor. “Din’t I jest tell you you wuzn’t allowed here? ‘At ain’t her name, neither, so you just be on yer way, sir, as you’s had too much to drink nor what’s good fer you.” Apparently unaware that he was addressing the stranger’s waistband, Jemmy endeavoured to turn the man around and push him on his way.
Lord Rand caught the child by the collar. “Settle down, boy,” he said. “I’ve business with this young lady.”
Jemmy did not settle down. He immediately began pounding the man with his fists and shouting threats, along with loud advice to Missus to call the Watch.
Lord Rand, whose short store of patience was quickly deserting him, gave the boy a light cuff on the shoulder and bade him be still. This adjuration proving ineffective, he picked the child up and slung him across his hip, in which position Jemmy, undaunted, flailed and kicked, mainly at empty air.
“Oh, do stop!” Catherine cried, rising from her chair. “Jemmy, you leave off that noise this instant and stop striking his lordship. And you, My Lord—how dare you bully that child!”
“The little beast is bullying me, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Nonetheless, Lord Rand released the boy, who ran back to shield his teacher. The urchin stood in front of her, scowling fearlessly at the giant. The teacher’s great hazel eyes flashed fire.
“Is this your latest protector, ma’am? If so, I’d advise you not to stand too close. I daresay the wretch has lice.”
In response, Miss Pelliston put her arm about the boy’s shoulder and drew him closer to her. “I suppose, My Lord, you are provoked with me,” she said stiffly. “I will not deny you may have reason. That is no excuse for picking on a helpless child.”
“He’s about as helpless as a rabid cur. Little beast hit me,” Lord Rand grumbled.
“He’ll do it agin if you don’t go away,” Jemmy retorted.
“Very well,” his lordship replied. “I do mean to go away— but not without your lady friend.”
At this Jemmy set up a screeching that brought Madame to the workroom door. “Heavens, what is the child howling about?” she cried. “Jemmy, you stop that racket this minute, do you hear? Whatever will his lordship think? And poor Miss Pennyman—Miss Pelliston, I mean—you dreadful boy. Isn’t she ill enough without your giving her the headache besides?”
Lord Rand moved aside to let the modiste enter the room.
“My dear,” said Madame, taking Catherine’s hand, “I had no notion. Such a shock it must be for you—but my poor brother had the same trouble. Knocked over by a farmer’s cart and when he came to he didn’t know who he was. Thought he was a farmer himself. It was two days before he came to his senses.”
“I beg your pardon, but I am in full possession of my wits,” said a baffled Catherine.
“Yes, dear, so he thought too. It’s the amnesia, you know. If I hadn’t been by to help him, he might have wandered off just as you did and none of us would ever have known what became of him.”
“Amnesia?” Catherine faintly repeated.
“Yes,” said the viscount as his face quickly assumed a mask of concern. “Apparently you tripped on the stairs the other morning and hit your head. Of course you don’t remember, Miss Pelliston,” he added, as she opened her mouth to contradict. “But I described to Madame the bandbox you’d packed with old clothes for the parish needy and she tells me you arrived carrying the very one.”
The dressmaker nodded her agreement.
“Evidently you got muddled in your brain, ma’am, and thought it was your own luggage. Naturally, one understands how your confused mind perceived it.”
Miss Pelliston’s
The stranger ignored him. “Miss Catherine Pelliston of Wilberstone, perhaps?”
Jemmy leapt from his chair to confront the aggravating visitor. “Din’t I jest tell you you wuzn’t allowed here? ‘At ain’t her name, neither, so you just be on yer way, sir, as you’s had too much to drink nor what’s good fer you.” Apparently unaware that he was addressing the stranger’s waistband, Jemmy endeavoured to turn the man around and push him on his way.
Lord Rand caught the child by the collar. “Settle down, boy,” he said. “I’ve business with this young lady.”
Jemmy did not settle down. He immediately began pounding the man with his fists and shouting threats, along with loud advice to Missus to call the Watch.
Lord Rand, whose short store of patience was quickly deserting him, gave the boy a light cuff on the shoulder and bade him be still. This adjuration proving ineffective, he picked the child up and slung him across his hip, in which position Jemmy, undaunted, flailed and kicked, mainly at empty air.
“Oh, do stop!” Catherine cried, rising from her chair. “Jemmy, you leave off that noise this instant and stop striking his lordship. And you, My Lord—how dare you bully that child!”
“The little beast is bullying me, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Nonetheless, Lord Rand released the boy, who ran back to shield his teacher. The urchin stood in front of her, scowling fearlessly at the giant. The teacher’s great hazel eyes flashed fire.
“Is this your latest protector, ma’am? If so, I’d advise you not to stand too close. I daresay the wretch has lice.”
In response, Miss Pelliston put her arm about the boy’s shoulder and drew him closer to her. “I suppose, My Lord, you are provoked with me,” she said stiffly. “I will not deny you may have reason. That is no excuse for picking on a helpless child.”
“He’s about as helpless as a rabid cur. Little beast hit me,” Lord Rand grumbled.
“He’ll do it agin if you don’t go away,” Jemmy retorted.
“Very well,” his lordship replied. “I do mean to go away— but not without your lady friend.”
At this Jemmy set up a screeching that brought Madame to the workroom door. “Heavens, what is the child howling about?” she cried. “Jemmy, you stop that racket this minute, do you hear? Whatever will his lordship think? And poor Miss Pennyman—Miss Pelliston, I mean—you dreadful boy. Isn’t she ill enough without your giving her the headache besides?”
Lord Rand moved aside to let the modiste enter the room.
“My dear,” said Madame, taking Catherine’s hand, “I had no notion. Such a shock it must be for you—but my poor brother had the same trouble. Knocked over by a farmer’s cart and when he came to he didn’t know who he was. Thought he was a farmer himself. It was two days before he came to his senses.”
“I beg your pardon, but I am in full possession of my wits,” said a baffled Catherine.
“Yes, dear, so he thought too. It’s the amnesia, you know. If I hadn’t been by to help him, he might have wandered off just as you did and none of us would ever have known what became of him.”
“Amnesia?” Catherine faintly repeated.
“Yes,” said the viscount as his face quickly assumed a mask of concern. “Apparently you tripped on the stairs the other morning and hit your head. Of course you don’t remember, Miss Pelliston,” he added, as she opened her mouth to contradict. “But I described to Madame the bandbox you’d packed with old clothes for the parish needy and she tells me you arrived carrying the very one.”
The dressmaker nodded her agreement.
“Evidently you got muddled in your brain, ma’am, and thought it was your own luggage. Naturally, one understands how your confused mind perceived it.”
Miss Pelliston’s
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