around his left eye. Matilda wasn’t sure quite what breed he was, given that his sire was unknown, but she would always recognize him.
Gawain dumped the puppy onto Matilda’s blanketed lap and then held out a scrunched, rolled-up piece of cheap paper. “It was in his collar.”
Matilda ran her hand along the puppy’s back. “He’s damp.”
“Raining again,” Daisy said. “Shall I pour, Miss Redcake?”
“I’ll do it,” Ellen said. “Go about your business, Daisy.”
The maid curtseyed and trotted out of the room.
“Read the note,” Gawain said.
Matilda unrolled the paper, her hands seeming to work separately from the rest of her body. She couldn’t make the words resolve at first. There was only a vague impression of thick black marks against the white.
“Focus,” Gawain ordered.
She blinked three times, then, slowly, the marks began to form words. “i am rite you want yer baby. You goin to pay for the littl one. 5000 pounds.”
The writing was all but illiterate, the spelling horrendous. The money demand offensive.
“There’s no proof of anything,” her father said.
“They had the dog,” Gawain pointed out. “Though I admit a lad finding him in the park, rather than the kidnappers sending him to the door, is a bit odd.”
“Could be an opportunist,” her father suggested.
“They don’t even say where to take the money, or when,” her mother said, pouring tea. She sighed as she added milk and sugar, then held the cup and saucer out to Matilda. “It’s cool enough. Drink it right away.”
“I don’t think I can,” Matilda said, squeezing her eyes shut. She hugged the puppy tightly, until it beat its tail against her arm and she had to soften her grip. He might have been the last creature Jacob hugged.
“You need to keep your strength up,” Gawain said. “And warm yourself.” He took the cup and saucer in one hand, reached under the puppy with his other, and traded the damp animal for the warm cup.
Her hand shook as she lifted it to her lips, but she managed to swallow the first sip of the sugary fluid. In all these years her mother had yet to doctor a cup of tea to her satisfaction. When she was younger, Mother never added sugar to a girl’s tea because she needed to protect her figure. Now, it seemed Mother had given up on her ever finding a husband. And no surprise.
Her father glanced at his pocket watch. “I can get you the money by Monday afternoon. I’ll go down to London to my bank, then bring it back. If we’ve heard something more by then we’ll be ready.”
“I think I should storm the Gipsy camp,” Gawain said. “That rabble is not likely to give an ex-soldier a fight.”
Tea slopped as Matilda forgot her cup. “Don’t you dare, Gawain. Jacob could be killed!”
Gawain’s gaze turned on her with no hint of sympathy. She knew he must think Jacob already dead. Her stomach lurched at the thought, but no, she mustn’t think such things about her child, her baby. Gawain wouldn’t think them about his own son if the situation were reversed. He wouldn’t admit the truth until he held Noel’s tiny body in his own arms. And she wouldn’t either.
“It doesn’t matter for now, until we find out where it is.”
“You will not go near that camp,” Matilda told him, using her most emphatic voice. She didn’t use it often because she mostly employed Greggory to give orders, knowing the men in her employ would take direction better from him directly. So often the men she met with refused to even look her in the eye, their gazes hovering somewhere around her bosom.
Gawain shrugged. “We’ll do what makes sense at the time.”
“We don’t even know the Gipsies have Jacob, not yet,” her father said.
“Or why,” her mother chimed in. “That Izabela may be as much a victim as our boy.”
“I still think Mr. Bliven is behind this,” Matilda mused. Could he have charmed Izabela into helping him? She stared into her murky tea. She wondered what
Gawain dumped the puppy onto Matilda’s blanketed lap and then held out a scrunched, rolled-up piece of cheap paper. “It was in his collar.”
Matilda ran her hand along the puppy’s back. “He’s damp.”
“Raining again,” Daisy said. “Shall I pour, Miss Redcake?”
“I’ll do it,” Ellen said. “Go about your business, Daisy.”
The maid curtseyed and trotted out of the room.
“Read the note,” Gawain said.
Matilda unrolled the paper, her hands seeming to work separately from the rest of her body. She couldn’t make the words resolve at first. There was only a vague impression of thick black marks against the white.
“Focus,” Gawain ordered.
She blinked three times, then, slowly, the marks began to form words. “i am rite you want yer baby. You goin to pay for the littl one. 5000 pounds.”
The writing was all but illiterate, the spelling horrendous. The money demand offensive.
“There’s no proof of anything,” her father said.
“They had the dog,” Gawain pointed out. “Though I admit a lad finding him in the park, rather than the kidnappers sending him to the door, is a bit odd.”
“Could be an opportunist,” her father suggested.
“They don’t even say where to take the money, or when,” her mother said, pouring tea. She sighed as she added milk and sugar, then held the cup and saucer out to Matilda. “It’s cool enough. Drink it right away.”
“I don’t think I can,” Matilda said, squeezing her eyes shut. She hugged the puppy tightly, until it beat its tail against her arm and she had to soften her grip. He might have been the last creature Jacob hugged.
“You need to keep your strength up,” Gawain said. “And warm yourself.” He took the cup and saucer in one hand, reached under the puppy with his other, and traded the damp animal for the warm cup.
Her hand shook as she lifted it to her lips, but she managed to swallow the first sip of the sugary fluid. In all these years her mother had yet to doctor a cup of tea to her satisfaction. When she was younger, Mother never added sugar to a girl’s tea because she needed to protect her figure. Now, it seemed Mother had given up on her ever finding a husband. And no surprise.
Her father glanced at his pocket watch. “I can get you the money by Monday afternoon. I’ll go down to London to my bank, then bring it back. If we’ve heard something more by then we’ll be ready.”
“I think I should storm the Gipsy camp,” Gawain said. “That rabble is not likely to give an ex-soldier a fight.”
Tea slopped as Matilda forgot her cup. “Don’t you dare, Gawain. Jacob could be killed!”
Gawain’s gaze turned on her with no hint of sympathy. She knew he must think Jacob already dead. Her stomach lurched at the thought, but no, she mustn’t think such things about her child, her baby. Gawain wouldn’t think them about his own son if the situation were reversed. He wouldn’t admit the truth until he held Noel’s tiny body in his own arms. And she wouldn’t either.
“It doesn’t matter for now, until we find out where it is.”
“You will not go near that camp,” Matilda told him, using her most emphatic voice. She didn’t use it often because she mostly employed Greggory to give orders, knowing the men in her employ would take direction better from him directly. So often the men she met with refused to even look her in the eye, their gazes hovering somewhere around her bosom.
Gawain shrugged. “We’ll do what makes sense at the time.”
“We don’t even know the Gipsies have Jacob, not yet,” her father said.
“Or why,” her mother chimed in. “That Izabela may be as much a victim as our boy.”
“I still think Mr. Bliven is behind this,” Matilda mused. Could he have charmed Izabela into helping him? She stared into her murky tea. She wondered what
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