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“Sure,” Stagger said negligently. “Just goes against the grain. But it don’t look bad, the crack on his head. And he’s taking his medicine like a good little lord.”

“Good. Then I can leave you for a few hours, while I nip out and discover if he’s telling the truth about his wife giving birth already.”

“Eh?” said Stagger suspiciously. “Won’t slow up our money, will it?”

“No, but watch him, Stagger, for he’s devoted to the mort already. And if he’s got a son to go home to, he might take chances.”

Stagger always noticed when Smith used thieves’ cant, like mort for female. Like he was practising or pretending to be less that he was. Staggger knew Smith was a cut above the rest of his cronies. Still, he didn’t like to give Smith all his own way, so he sniffed and said, “Thought he’d be more inclined to look after himself.”

“Either way, we don’t take chances,” Smith insisted, shrugging into a coat that Stagger rather envied. “Do everything exactly as we practiced it. I’ll be back in a few hours and then you can go for a few pints and keep spreading the word about the wondrous power of our brutal leader.”

Stagger grinned. He liked it better when Smith talked like that. Made him feel he was in educated company. In fact, he probably was, for although Smith tried to sound like everyone else round here, he just didn’t. That he was a gentleman fallen on hard times seemed a bit unlikely, but the man certainly had a past that was at least as interesting as Stagger’s own.

“Happy to help,” Stagger assured him.

Smith left very quietly, as he always did. From behind the net curtain, Stagger watched him walk up the street and then take a short cut across the waste ground opposite, confident and careless of attack.

The building that had once stood on that ground had burned down years ago. Stagger remembered it vaguely. All sorts of mischief had gone on there since, until Stagger had begun his rumours that a very scary and powerful man had taken it under his protection.

Smith was right. It didn’t take long to fool people, because people were basically stupid. Stagger grinned. Especially their prisoner.

Chapter Three

April, duly bathed and dressed in a fresh nightgown and voluminous dressing gown, had been ignominiously returned to her newly changed bed by the joint efforts of the chambermaid, Mrs. Park, and Ruby.

“At least until Dr. Laine has seen you,” Mrs. Park said reasonably. “Lord Petteril will expect us to abide by the doctor’s advice as to your health and the child’s.”

Then Lord Petteril should be here! But that was a petulant thought, born of disappointment, simmering anger, and full-strength worry. In her heart she knew something was very, very wrong to keep Piers away at this time.

“Very well,” she said, giving in gracefully. “Send Stewart in for a moment, would you?”

Mrs. Park opened her mouth. April could see she was about to object and tell her the valet didn’t know where Piers was either. April stared at her, willing her not to. Their relationship was an odd one, for when April had first come to this house, a street urchin masquerading as his lordship’s tiger, Mrs. Park had been mentor, teacher and almost-mother to her. Not by word or deed had the housekeeper, keeper of many secrets, ever betrayed any resentment or even displeasure at April’s bizarre elevation to viscountess and employer. Undeniably, April relied on her as she floundered through her transformation into lady and chatelaine. But equally undeniable was the fact that their positions had reversed. April was her mistress.

And the housekeeper acknowledged it. Dropping her gaze, she inclined her head. “Of course.”

April didn’t have long to wait, for Stewart must have been in the adjoining bedchamber. He tiptoed into the room, eyeing the cradle as though it were a canon about to fire.

“Where is his lordship, Stewart?” Even now, she had to stop herself from calling him Mr. Stewart, as the mere tiger had done.

Stewart’s anxiety immediately refocused. “I don’t know my lady. We’ve looked everywhere we can think of.”

April beckoned him closer and took The Letter—it had now assumed capital letters in her mind—from her dressing gown and held it out to him. “What do you think of this?”

Carefully, Stewart came around to the other side of the bed to avoid the cradle and took the note from her. Stewart rarely gave away his emotions, but he could not prevent the widening of his eyes or the shocked parting of his firm lips.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded. “When?”

“It was hand delivered yesterday evening. I only read it this morning. The paper is cheap and common, the seal equally plain. Could it be real? True?”

Stewart ran his fingers through his hair, a rare sign of disquiet. “I don’t know. It would certainly explain why his lordship didn’t come home. But equally, it could be some ruffian taking a chance. They’ve sent nothing that proves they really have him.”

“No... But I have to behave as if it’s true. And I’ve already disobeyed them by telling you. You mustn’t do anything that could betray you know about this.”

Stewart’s lips quirked. “You mean I shouldn’t go asking questions in flash houses and rookeries?”

“Absolutely not,” April said seriously, although a plan was already forming. “Er...do you know any?”

“Not in London,” Stewart said woodenly. The man had a chequered past, but in this admittedly eccentric household, he had proved his loyalty.