Page 77

Nina watched Claud wave gamely to his sisters as they were led to the water.

“Come along.” Miss Milford passed right in front of Nina and flapped out a sheet at the base of the oak that shaded the bench. She situated herself atop it and propped her back against the tree. With obvious reluctance, Claud approached. He knelt just within the outer limit of the tree’s shadow, picked up a stick, and stabbed it determinedly into the dirt. He wore long white drill trousers with his middy blouse and jacket, and Nina could see the damp seeping into the cotton. He dug with furious concentration. Miss Milford said something indistinct, which he ignored. She raised her voice, and he threw down the stick and joined her on the sheet, sitting cross-legged on the farthest corner, displaying the stains on his knees. He slumped, chin on his hand.

Now that Nina was confronted with these closely guarded children in the flesh, sneaking anything to any one of them seemed patently impossible. The girls seemed to have forgotten the ducks and were running pell-mell after a grossly fat brindle pug. All at once, the poor thing gave up, panting, and flopped down to submit to their embraces.

That was when Miss Milford began to drone. Whatever she was reading, it sounded like the very soul of dullness. She needed a lesson from Aunt Sylvia, who read aloud from novels with a spirit that made her audience explode alternately into cheers and sobs. Or she needed a change of material. Nina heaved a sigh and accidentally sucked Fritz’s tail into her mouth.

“Gah.” She batted it away.

What to do? The sight of three members of the Metropolitan Police crossing the lawn produced a nasty jolt. Right. She wouldn’t try to lure Lady Arabella into private conference. If the nursemaid sent up a cry, Nina might find herself tossed into a wagon by a brawny constable. Too many sensational stories these days of procuresses haunting parks, spiriting away young girls, selling them to brothels. Nothing for it but to address the nursemaid directly. Perhaps she’d agree to take the little package herself and distribute the contents. Miss Milford seemed unlikely to look up from her dreary book, and even if she did, she’d assume they were simply passing the time of day. Her eyes had already swept over Nina without a glimmer of recognition.

The nursemaid was drifting farther away along the shore. Nina rose, and at that moment, she realized that Miss Milford droned no more.

She turned slowly toward the oak, afraid to hope. But . . . yes. The woman’s head nodded on her shoulder. Her hands rested on the pages of the open volume in her lap. Thank the angels and the saints! Nina walked toward the oak with an exaggeratedly casual step. Should Miss Milford’s eyes fly open, she’d ramble on, as though she’d never planned to stop.

The nurse’s eyes did not fly open. She looked surprisingly young and defenseless in sleep, eyelids smudged lavender with exhaustion. Did she sit awake all night, making sure her high-spirited charge stayed abed?

Nina circled to the boy and saw him looking at her curiously.

“Is that a squirrel?” he asked.

She smiled and crouched down carefully by the torn earth and discarded stick.

“Fritz is a marmoset,” she said, and scooped him from her shoulder. She set him down on the grass. He darted instantly to Claud and scampered over his legs on his way to the tree. Claud laughed—too loudly. Nina’s whole body tensed, but Miss Milford didn’t stir.

“A marmoset is a kind of monkey,” she added in a low voice. “Fritz is a friend of your uncle’s.”

Claud’s eyes fixed on hers, big eyes set in a sharp-featured face. His dark curls peeped from beneath his cap.

“Uncle Alan,” he breathed. “Is he here?” He looked around hopefully.

“He had another engagement,” she said, and Claud’s face fell. “He gave me something, though, for you and your sisters.”

Claud came up onto his knees. “What is it?”

Miss Milford made a strange sound, and her head tipped toward the other shoulder. Nina hesitated.

“Let’s try to be quiet,” she whispered. “Your nurse is in sore need of rest.”

Claud’s eyes narrowed. “She said I wasn’t to see Uncle Alan anymore.”

“Ah.” Nina sat back on her heels. “Well. That’s not for her to decide.”

“I know.” Claud’s lips twisted. In that moment, he was Alan’s spit and image. “My father decided. Do you think Uncle Alan has too many whims?”

Nina stared, at a loss. Her instinct was to defend Alan from the duke’s aspersions and to point out that the duke was a detestable ass. But the detestable ass was the boy’s father. She bit her lip.

“I think,” she began, feeling her way cautiously. “I know that your uncle Alan is very, very fond of you. And the rest is for him and your father to sort out.”

Claud nodded, and then his chin puckered.

“Will they?” His eyes were full of worry. Nina’s heart swelled painfully.

“Certainly,” she said, with firmness. Claud looked relieved, and also expectant. She fished in her chatelaine. “These are for Lady Mary.”

Claud whisked the toffees into his pockets with the speed of a stage magician and held out his hand for the envelope. Instead of tucking it into his jacket, he tore it open and shook out the treasures. He put the paper figures delicately to one side and unrolled and rotated a small map of strange islands and waterways, eyes glowing with delight. He rolled and retied it with reverence and slid the string from the other tube. He spread it flat on the sheet and they regarded it together, a vividly colored handbill.

“Who are the Bramleys?” asked Nina. Claud was tracing the bold type at the top of page. royal aquarium.