Page 63 of Charity

“Then you have not been home as yet?” George winced. “I, ah, hate to be the bearer of bad news, my lord, but your butler decamped today for a position in another household. And then most of your household staff left as well. At present, you have no one running your house. The gossip about the departures is racing up and down the street.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake.”

George smiled hesitantly. “Those were my exact words. Inexcusable behavior, if I may say so.”

“You may.” Oscar looked over Agatha’s butler. She had never spoken a bad word against George, and they would need someone to manage their household efficiently. As long as he could get over his dislike of their present situation, there was no reason not to employ the man if he were in earnest. “What about your position here?”

“We think, the staff and I, that Miss Birkenstock will be more comfortable with familiar faces around her. We worry that she’s not herself. If you should accept my application for the post of butler, I have several other household staff candidates to put forward to replace the servants you’ve lost.”

Amused by this turn of events, Oscar raised a brow. “And what happens with Agatha’s cousin? Won’t Mr. Birkenstock be somewhat put out with you all for leaving?”

George tugged on his waistcoat. “He should not have withdrawn his financial support from Miss Birkenstock. He should have honored Mr. Birkenstock’s last wishes. We are certain Mr. Birkenstock would have wanted his granddaughter well cared for after his passing, and she is not.”

Oscar winced. “Not yet. But I will do my best to correct the situation when we marry.”

George smiled suddenly. “That is what we expect, my lord. When should you like me to begin in my new post?”

The sooner the better. If the gossip was spreading the way George claimed, then he was unlikely to find suitable replacements of good character at short notice. “Possibly from tomorrow. I will discuss the matter with Agatha after she has rested, but it is my hope that she will be my wife by tomorrow night. With her agreement, you may take up your new duties as soon as convenient. Wedding or not, I do hope to remove Agatha to my home tomorrow. Arthur Birkenstock was most keen to have the house back.”

“Very good, my lord.” George nodded. “On behalf of the staff, we should like to congratulate you on your wise decision to marry Miss Birkenstock. She is a remarkable woman.”

Oscar nodded. “She is truly remarkable, but I’m surely not wise. Not yet, at any rate. Fate is responsible for my good fortune, George. Never doubt that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Chaos reigned around Agatha as the servants of her household removed themselves and Agatha’s possessions to Oscar’s home next door. The noise of closing up the house was really quite deafening after the peace of the last few days, and although they still were not married yet, she looked forward to the change of location. As Oscar put it, either here or there, they would create scandal until they were wed. But she had to move anyway. Her cousin wanted her gone from his house, so she had agreed to move immediately. It was almost done.

She heaved a sigh as she stepped out into the rear gardens. It was quiet out here. Peaceful. A temporary reprieve from the demands of the world. She wove her way through the kitchen gardens, amused by the gaping holes in the earth. Cook must have unearthed her favorite herbs that could be transplanted with ease to Oscar’s kitchen garden. But the holes worried her. Arthur might get his nose more out of joint than it already would be over the loss of his London servants. He loved order as much as her grandfather had. So, seeing a shovel left lying carelessly on the ground, she picked it up and refilled the holes.

She patted the soil down hard with the back of the shovel then leaned upon it as she gazed around. She had spent most of her life here in this house, in the very tiny garden, and although she was only moving one house away, she would miss it very much indeed.

Agatha carried the shovel to the edge of the garden and set it against the wall where it would be out of the way. No one would stumble upon it here in the corner, where she’d once dreamed pixies lived. A rambling vine grew over a sturdy frame, and she smiled at the memory of how often she’d played beneath it, thinking she’d be hidden from everyone’s sight.

But she knew now that invisibility was impossible. Her grandfather had watched over her even when she’d thought he’d been occupied elsewhere. He’d had eyes in the back of his head, he’d said at her surprise.

Agatha quickly wiped a tear away. She couldn’t keep crying like this. Her grandfather was gone, and no amount of tears would bring him back.

He would hate to think of her so sad.

She had to let go of the past and face the future.

Agatha looked up at the house then shifted her gaze to Oscar’s rear windows. He stood at one, watching her reminisce, worry creasing his features. Agatha raised her hand, and when he waved back, her heart gave a happy flutter. Soon they would be married, and after her mourning period was over, and society forgave them, they would settle into a comfortable life together in London. Would society accept their marriage?

She would hate it if Oscar came to regret his decision.

A scrape of sound turned her around. She peered at the rear garden, but couldn’t detect any sign of company. But the rear gate hung open, just enough that a passing scoundrel with thievery in mind might peek inside and find something useful to steal. Even though this was no longer her home, she didn’t like the idea of strangers prowling about.

Agatha rushed toward the gate to close it one final time.

As she set her hand to the open gate, a dirty hand closed over her wrist and she was wrenched through it and into the lane.

Stunned, before she could even scream out a protest, she was tossed over a broad shoulder and carried off.

Behind her, glass shattered as Oscar screamed her name. Agatha struggled and fought, but the hands holding her were merciless. As she drew in a deep breath to scream loudly for help, her captors threw her into a darkened carriage. Her head hit the wooden side hard and she was pushed further in as others joined her.

Lights danced before her eyes. Dizzy, she made no greater sound than a moan. The carriage lurched forward and picked up speed. Without breath, head spinning in pain, she couldn’t cry out more than a whimper. Agatha scrambled frantically at the carriage window, but there was no latch of course, no means of escape. Her hands and feet were swiftly bound, and before she could yell, a cloth was pressed over her mouth and tied around her head.

She couldn’t make a sound but to whimper.