Page 23 of Charity

Agatha rolled her eyes then turned to begin her descent of the servants’ stairs. “There are always rats, Lord Carrington. But if you find yourself about to faint, do give me warning so I might step aside. I have no wish to be crushed by a falling lord.”

Oscar barked a laugh. “I was, in fact, worried about your delicate sensibilities, Miss Birkenstock. I would not like to have you confronted by the fearsome beasts in such close quarters. You might have sought comfort in my arms.”

Agatha turned and pierced him with a scornful look. “You might wish for it, my lord, but such a circumstance will never occur again.”

Oscar passed before her and took the lead down the stairs in case she fell. “I shall keep hope within my breast until eternity ends. It’s either that, or haunt Berkeley Square, remaining watchful for your next misadventure.”

At the lower door, Oscar dug into his pocket. The comforting weight of gold chain slithered between his fingers. He caught up Agatha’s hand and pressed the bauble into her palm. “A replacement. Your neck looks bare without your cross.”

Agatha examined the jewelry in the weak light, her lips pressed together. Oscar had managed to find an almost identical replacement for her stolen necklace, but in all the excitement of yesterday, he’d forgotten to offer it up.

Watching her jiggle the chain between her hands unnerved him. Judging by her expression, she was debating whether to keep the piece or toss it back in his face. He hoped she kept possession of the chain. The gift wasn’t much; it wasn’t even truly expensive. But if Agatha kept it, he would know she had something to remember him by. She would remember that he cared for her very much.

With a sigh, Agatha tucked the chain into her pocket then pressed a handkerchief over it. “We should continue the tour.”

Relieved, Oscar reached for the knob. But the door wouldn’t open. It was jammed, stuck beyond his understanding.

Behind him, Agatha huffed. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to win a round with a hunk of wood and a bit of brass. The door is stuck.”

Agatha pressed a hand to his shoulder and shoved. “A nice trick, my lord. Here, let me try.”

Amused, Oscar watched her shake the door handle repeatedly then take a pace backward to stare at it. A sliver of light seeped around the frame and the door, illuminating her squinting expression. Suddenly she stepped forward, placed her hands on the wood, and pushed upward.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to adjust the door. It has dropped in the frame, I believe. It is not quite plumb anymore.”

Oscar stood behind her so he could see what she was talking about. It was true that less light filtered into the crack on the right than on the left. How clever of her to notice. Unfortunately, they would have to work together to get to the other side.

He moved behind Agatha, placed his hands higher up on the door, and dropped a kiss to her hair. “I’ll lift the door. You turn the knob and pull when I tell you to.”

God, she smelled heavenly. Oscar dragged in a deep breath but kept his hands on the wood. As much as he wanted, he’d not create scandal with her here. The walls would be paper thin and gossiping servants would not hesitate to circulate rumors about their masters. He’d already taken enough risk with their brief conversation.

Her head nodded beneath his lips, and Oscar strained upward, watching the crack of light until it appeared even on both the right side and the left. “Now, Agatha.”

The door shrieked and swung inward toward them until the stairwell blazed with light. Beyond the opening, voices rose in agitation and Oscar peered around Agatha.

A good many servants stood watching them.

“The door was stuck,” he explained unnecessarily.

“Has been for a week, milord. Why’d ya use the servants’ stairs for anyway?”

“Miss Birkenstock was kind enough to give me a tour. Clearly, she doesn’t know everything about the orphanage or she would have known about this stuck door.” He caught her gaze as her skin pinked with embarrassment and chuckled softly.

She gathered her skirts and swept past him. “It wasn’t me who made the claim, my lord. Could you make provision to have the door repaired?”

Back to the business of the orphanage before he could blink. “I think that could be arranged.”

Agatha led him through the kitchens, down through the cellars, and back up without further incident. There were precious little goods in the cellar anyway. Certainly no sign of the rum the orphanage had paid for recently, or the cloth. “Is there a separate wine cellar in the place?”

“No…” Agatha staggered back a step. Alarmed, Oscar rushed forward, but discovered her to be pinned by a pair of childish arms.

“Mabel,” Agatha exclaimed. “What are you doing in this part of the house? You should be with your brothers and sisters outside at this time.”

Mabel glanced at Oscar and then shrank back. “They wanted me to hide again. I needed a better place and its dark down here.”