Page 51 of Barbarous

The answer was simple: she wasn’t. She’d begun to back out of the room quietly—not that anything short of cannon fire could be heard over the pugs—when the old lady glanced up.

Daphne stopped and forced herself to smile. “Good morning, Amelia.”

The older woman’s usually vague eyes were as sharp as ice picks this morning. She lifted her fork, which had an entire fish impaled on its tines. “Do you know if these are the only pilchards Cook keeps? The pugs don’t care for these at all.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” Daphne hesitated and inspiration struck. “Gates would know. I will go and—”

The butler chose that moment to appear, bearing a salver with a letter on it. “Lord Ramsay left this for you, my lady.”

Daphne frowned, something heavy and cold settling in her stomach.

“Where have you been, Gates?” Lady Amelia demanded. The butler opened his mouth but Lady Amelia waved her hand, forgetting she still had one of the offending pilchards on her fork. The fish sailed across the breakfast room and collided with a marble bust of some long-dead Redvers before slithering to the floor. The pugs skittered across the polished wood, toenails clicking as they descended, en masse, on the fallen pilchard.

Oblivious, Lady Amelia glared at the butler and held up her empty fork. “Who is responsible for this wretched pilchard business?”

Gates wrenched his eyes away from the grease-slicked bust, a slight notch between his eyes, his lips parted.

Daphne took pity on her long-suffering servant. “Please have Cook send in some pilchards.”

His gaze slid to the dish full of pilchards on the sideboard.

“Fresh pilchards,” Daphne clarified. “And a pot of tea, please.”

“Right away, my lady.”

A place had been set a safe distance from Lady Amelia’s chair. Daphne stared at the letter for a moment before opening it.

My Dear Daphne:

By the time you read this I will be gone from Lessing Hall. I apologize for the uncomfortable situation you encountered last night. Unfortunately I cannot say anything further on the matter other than to assure you things are not the way they seem. Please believe me when I say that I will explain everything when I am at liberty to do so.

I hope to be gone no longer than a week—two at the most—and I look forward to speaking with you on my return.

Your servant,

Hugh

She read it again, just to confirm it really said as little as she thought it did. It did.

“Is that from Hugh?”

Daphne looked up to find Lady Amelia had carried the chafing dish of bacon to her seat.

“Yes, it is.”

Amelia dropped a piece of bacon onto the floor and detonated an explosion of barking.

Daphne winced.

“Has he taken those odd dogs with him?” the old lady shouted over the din.

“He did not mention the dogs in his letter.”

“Did he say what he was doing with that Marlington chit?”

Daphne squinted, as if that would somehow help with the noise. “With whom?”

Amelia tossed another piece of bacon onto the floor. “That redheaded gel who climbed into the coach with him this morning.”