“I shall try them when you have finished. In the meantime, I thought I would make sandwiches. You must have worked up an appetite.”
There was a chorus of ayes and hurrahs.
“Good. Then I will call you when the meal is ready.”
Still without looking at Mr. Wraxall, she made her way to the kitchen, laid out bread and sandwich items, and put together two dozen sandwiches. It took her three trips to carry all the sandwiches and the pitchers of lemon water to the dining room, but when she’d finished and set the tables, she called the boys. The sound of their progress was what she imagined a stampede of wild animals in Africa must sound like, and she quickly moved out of the way lest she be trampled. It wasn’t until after the boys were all seated with food and drink and had said a prayer that she noticed Mr. Wraxall had not come to the dining room.
“My lady,” Michael was telling her, “did you know we used one hundred and twelve nails so far today?”
“Goodness. That many?” She spied Charlie stuffing part of a sandwich crust in his pocket. “Charlie, what are you doing?”
“I thought I’d feed this to Matthew, Mark, and Luke.”
Of course. The cook usually gave the boys scraps from the kitchen for the rats. “You go ahead and eat that,” she told Charlie, “and I’ll bring them an apple, cheese, and a piece of bread after lunch.”
“All that?” Charlie smiled. “They won’t be able to finish it.”
“Then they will have the leavings for dinner.” She scooted Charlie’s plate closer to the edge of the table so fewer crumbs would fall on the floor. Charlie’s and the other young boys’ eyelids drooped. She’d have to encourage them to nap after lunch. “Michael, where is Mr. Wraxall?” she asked.
“With that man,” Michael said.
Julia glanced at the older boys’ table. At her look, several of them nodded. “What man?” she asked.
“He wore a mask,” Michael said. “Like a highwayman.”
Sean nodded. “It’s true. And he seemed to come out of nowhere. Ralph and I were painting outside, and he wasn’t there. Then we looked up, and he was right before us.”
“He was like a spirit,” Ralph said. “He didn’t even walk up the steps. We would have seen him.”
Julia stood. “Robbie, make sure all the boys finish their lunches and then take their plates back to the kitchen. I need to speak with Mr. Wraxall.”
Robbie was on his feet. “Yes, my lady.”
She started for the doorway, and when she reached it, she noticed Robbie was still standing and Billy had joined him. “Why are you still standing?” she asked.
“The major says a gentleman stands when a lady stands.”
“Too bad you’re no gentleman,” Walter muttered loudly enough for her to hear.
“Well, I think it shows very good manners.”
Michael and Sean jumped up too.
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
She left the dining room and closed the door behind her. As much as she wanted to dislike Major Wraxall, he was making it more and more difficult. But she’d see what this meeting with the masked man was all about.
Wraxall was not in the entryway, which smelled of freshly cut wood and wet paint. She was about to check in the parlor when she heard a murmur of voices outside the door. The new bolt had been installed, but it was not in use. Quietly, she pulled the door open.
And came face-to-face with a man in a black silk mask.
His hair was covered by a length of black silk tied at the back of his neck, and he wore a black mask that covered most of one side of his face and the upper portion of the other. Behind the mask, eyes the blue of the sea before a storm looked at her. “Who are you?” she blurted out, putting a hand to her pounding heart.
“This is a friend of mine.”
She turned to see Wraxall moving closer to her. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d stepped outside. The wind blew fiercely, making the branches of the birch tree bow and wave. “I see. What is he doing here?”
“He’s good at finding people. I asked him to look for Mr. Goring.”
“Mr…” Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t seen him all morning and hadn’t even thought to look for him. With Wraxall nearby, she hadn’t needed the servant, though he certainly could have made himself useful lighting fires in the grates or carrying the trays into the dining room for her. How long had she been relying on herself and not noticing the manservant’s absence? “Mr. Goring hasn’t returned then.”
Wraxall shook his head. “I think he’s long since had his breakfast.”
“Oh dear. I hope nothing has happened to him.”
“He’s perfectly well. I have just come from him,” said the man in the mask, his voice a deep rumble. “He is sitting at the Ox and the Bull.”
“What is that?”
“An alehouse nearby,” Wraxall told her. “One Slag and his gang frequent.”
A shiver of unease ran up her spine. Goring had been the one to tell her to keep her distance from Mr. Slag. He’d been the one to tell her Slag’s gang ran all Spitalfields. Lately, Slag had been paying more attention to her, and Goring hadn’t been able to keep the crime lord out. But she couldn’t think of any reason Goring should wish to spend any time in Slag’s establishment.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Is Mr. Slag keeping Mr. Goring there against his will?”
“No,” the masked man told her. “Your servant seems quite content to partake of Mr. Slag’s hospitality.”
“What of his duties here?”
“Lord Jasper and I believe your servant may have found a new master,” Wraxall told her.
Julia stared at the masked man. He was a lord?
“We think Slag is paying Goring for access to you,” Wraxall continued.
A thousand possibilities flew through her mind in that moment, swirling about like the leaves dancing in the wind along the street. She knew exactly why Slag wanted access to her. He wanted her father’s money or her as his mistress. “But Mr. Goring warned me away from Mr. Slag. Why would he do that if he was working for the man?”
“Perhaps he wasn’t working for him initially,” Wraxall said, “but every man has his price. Whatever the case, Goring is working for Slag now.”
“Then I shall dismiss him immediately.”
Wraxall held up a hand. “Not so quickly. Take away Slag’s perceived pathway to you, and he’ll be forced to find another or do something more dramatic. Now that we know of Mr. Goring’s duplicity, we can watch him and discover Slag’s plans.”
“And then what?” she asked.
“And then we persuade Mr. Slag you are not worth the trouble.”
“That sounds like a job for the Protector,” the masked man said. “If you have no more need of me at the moment, I’ll take my leave. I think I’ve scared enough women and children for one day.”
“You didn’t frighten us,” Julia lied. “I was not expecting you.”
The masked man’s eyes met hers with a penetrating stare. “Would you like me to scare you?” He touched his mask. “The few women who’ve looked on me without my mask have either screamed or fainted. Which would you be?”
Julia caught her breath, and Wraxall moved in front of her. “You’re dismissed.” Wraxall put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And thank you.”
Lord Jasper shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.” And then just as Ralph had described, the masked man seemed to all but disappear into the growing darkness and the bustle of people looking for shelter before the storm.
“Is he one of your men?” she asked Wraxall, forgetting for the moment that she didn’t wish to speak to him. “One of the soldiers you served with?”
“He is.”
“Is his face that awful? Is that why he wears a mask?”
“He was burned in a fire during an ambush. He’s lucky to be alive, but he’s self-conscious about the scar.”
Julia noticed he didn’t answer her question about the gruesomeness of the burn. “He should be proud of it. He’s a hero.”