“My lord, you must help me, quickly, quickly! That madman will be here in just a moment and I know he is carrying an ax over his shoulder and he wants to chop my poor head from my neck. Please, you must help me, my lord.”
And Nettle bolted under Lord Beecham’s bed.
Not two minutes later, Flock appeared in the now open doorway to Lord Beecham’s bedchamber. He wasn’t carrying an ax over his shoulder. However, he did have a gun in his right hand, and there was a very determined expression on his face.
“Where is the little rat, my lord?”
Lord Beecham said mildly, “Flock, do you know what time it is?”
“It is a good time for that little bastard you employ as your valet to meet his maker, whom I believe to be the devil.”
“Flock, get out of my bedchamber.”
“Goodness, Flock, you will stop this now or I will send you to my inn and discipline you with all my lads there.”
“Miss Helen,” Flock said with great dignity, which was difficult since Helen towered over him, “his lordship’s valet, a man of no moral fiber whatsoever, was kissing Teeny on the back steps. She was even carrying a bucket of hot water for you, Miss Helen. She even set down that bucket to return the bounder’s kisses. I must kill him, Miss Helen.”
“I don’t see him in here, Flock,” Helen said. “You have disturbed his lordship, who, I must tell you, was working very, very late last night.”
“It wasn’t all work,” his lordship said.
“In any case, you awoke him because of all this melodrama. Go away, Flock. Do you want me to discipline you, in a way you won’t like at all?”
Flock’s gun hand shook a bit. Finally, he whispered, “No, Miss Helen. Your stable lad at the inn told me what you did to him after he had started a fight with the butcher’s cousin and bloodied his nose.”
“Good. Worse will happen to you if you do not give me that bloody pistol immediately and go see about Lord Prith’s breakfast. You know how hungry he is by seven o’clock in the morning. If you don’t hurry, he just might be awaiting you to wring your neck.”
“Yes, Miss Helen, but I am not happy about this. I already warned that little codpiece, you know that. If he believes that he can seduce my Teeny without retribution, I am sunk.”
“I will speak to Teeny, Flock. I will find out what is going on here, and I will tell you when I have all the information I need. You will not be sunk. Go away now.”
Once Helen had closed the door behind Flock and set the pistol down upon a dressing table, she eyed Lord Beecham, who was sitting up in his bed, the covers coming only to his waist, his hair tousled, and she called out, “Nettle, you will show yourself immediately, or it will be the worse for you.”
Nettle crawled out from under Lord Beecham’s bed.
“An excellent hiding place,” she said. “Even Flock at his most ferocious would not have dared to peer beneath Lord Beecham’s bed. Come here and sit down.”
Lord Beecham had never before been awakened to such wonderful comedy. He settled himself back against his pillows, crossed his arms over his chest, and prepared to be entertained.
“That’s right, clean yourself off. I see that I will have to speak to Mrs. Stockley. Dirt and dust under the bed. She will likely chew on the maid’s ear about that. All right, now, Nettle, you look well enough. Sit.” She pointed to a chair not far from Lord Beecham’s bed.
Nettle sat, but he wasn’t looking at Helen, he was staring beyond her, at the bedchamber door.
“Why were you kissing Teeny on the back stairs when she was carrying a bucket of hot water?”
Nettle crossed his small white hands over his chest. He looked soulful, or bilious, depending on the eye beholding him. “I am in love, Miss Helen,” he announced then, having set his stage to his satisfaction.
Helen said, “What is your last name, Nettle?”
“Why, it is Nettle, Miss Helen.”
“Your first name, then?”
“Bloodworth, ma’am. Blood
worth Nettle.”
“You are jesting.”