Netherby Halls

The time for explanations was lost, as Delia Standish was shown in by the disapproving butler at that moment. She entered with a flourish, swishing her dark cloak off her shoulders and exposing her youthful body ensconced in a red gauzy gown that was transparent in many areas.

The marquis was quick to recognize the gown that had slipped from Dr. Bankes’s hold in the headmistress’s private offices. He said softly, “How lovely, Miss …?”

“Delia, sweetings, just Delia,” she said as she swayed invitingly towards him. She stopped when she spied Percy and Mr. Dobbs and stared at moment. “Hold on now. I’ll take the two, you and that pretty, yellow-haired one.” She jerked a look towards the stout and unattractive man with the bowler hat. “But not him.”

“Would you like a drink, Delia?” the marquis said, ignoring her remark.

“Yes, yes, I would. I find it loosens me up a bit,” said the girl.

“Then this is not the first time you have been sent to visit a gentleman in his lodgings?”

“First time? Lord, no. They wouldn’t send someone who wouldn’t know how to please you, my lord,” she said, going closer to him.

“Was not Mr. Wheeler supposed to accompany you this evening?” the marquis asked in a casual tone.

“Yes, but we had a bit of a problem,” Delia said and sighed.

“A problem?”

“Yes, but don’t worry—she won’t be a problem for long.”

“Who won’t be?” he pursued.

“Well, I suppose ’tis safe to tell you, since you and I are going to be very close, very soon.”

“That’s right, and I do like to know who I am dealing with and how safe they keep my private life.”

She waved this off confidently. “Just some teacher at Nethe

rby. Nosey thing, caught my roommate coming in the other night from … a client.” She shook her head and sighed. “It is too bad about her really, so young, and I rather liked her, in a way …” She smiled saucily. “But talk is not what you want from me … is it?” Her hand slid up his chest.

It was hard to believe the child was fifteen; she behaved as though she were thirty. “No, but I have paid handsomely for your time, and I do hope they have given you a fair share?”

“That is a joke. Between them and the doc, there is scarcely anything left for me. But you could be kind to me, and they need not know …” She batted her dark lashes.

“Mr. Dobbs?” The marquis looked at the stout gentleman sitting stiffly to his right.

“I told you, I won’t do him.” Delia frowned over her brandy and downed it.

“Mr. Dobbs is a Bow Street Runner and has come all the way from London to end the little games your elders have enlisted you to play at Netherby!” the marquis said, trying not to grit his teeth.

The girl backed up, and he saw real fear in her eyes. “Wait—no! You … you can’t take me to prison—I’ll die there!”

“You won’t have to go to prison if you cooperate,” said Mr. Dobbs. “Now sit, I’ll take a statement, and, young lady, I want names, and I want to know how long this has been going on.”

* * *

Sassy did not do what she was told. Her heart and mind were in a jumble, and she immediately left through the other door that led to the hall. She made her way to the back of the house and out the back door.

She reached her cob horse, lowered the stirrup, and hoisted herself up, all the while silent tears rushing down her cheek.

She hurried off before she had adjusted her stirrup, doing this as she walked her horse into the darkness. She rubbed her ring and called on magic. She was a white witch, and it was time she began to help herself, but before she could complete the spell, a familiar voice rang out.

“Sassy? Sassy … is that you?”

Oh, she thought, closing her eyes. She had forgotten to pull her hood over her head. The sky was alight with stars and a nearly full moon, but still, how had he known her?

She turned to face the music, determined to use her magic and make him forget. “Yes, James?”