The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

“In through there.” The old man pointed across the kitchen. “Farther from the windows is warmer. The bu—blighter hauled me out here. Think he was planning on throwing me out.”

He’d pointed to a small pantry.

Leonora glanced at Trentham. “The storerooms beyond share basement walls with Number 14.”

He nodded, turned back to the old man. “I’ve a proposition for you. It’s mid-February—the nights will be freezing for some weeks.” He glanced around. “There’s dust cloths and other coverings around for tonight. You’re welcome to find a place to sleep.” His gaze returned to the old man. “Gasthorpe, who’ll be majordomo here, will be taking up residence tomorrow. He’ll bring blankets and start to make this place habitable. However, all the servants’ bedrooms are in the attic.”

Tristan paused, then continued, “In light of our friend’s unwelcome interest in this place, I want someone sleeping down here. If you’re willing to act as our downstairs nightwatchman, you can sleep here every night legitimately. I’ll give orders you’re to be treated as one of the household. You can stay in and be warm. We’ll rig up a bell so all you need do if anyone tries to gain entry is ring it, and Gasthorpe and the footmen will deal with any intruder.”

The old man blinked as if he couldn’t quite take in the suggestion, wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Without allowing any trace of compassion to show, Tristan asked, “Which regiment were you in?”

He watched as the old shoulders straightened, as the old man’s head lifted.

“Ninth. I was invalided out after Corunna.”

He nodded. “As were many others. Not one of our better engagements—we were lucky to get out at all.”

The rheumy old eyes widened. “You were there?”

“I was.”

“Aye.” The old man nodded. “Then you’ll know.”

Tristan waited a moment, then asked, “So will you do it?”

“Keep watch for ye every night?” The old man eyed him, then nodded again. “Aye, I’ll do it.” He looked around. “Be strange after all these years, but…” He shrugged, and pushed himself up from the stairs.

He bobbed his head deferentially to Leonora, then moved past her, looking around the kitchen with new eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Biggs, sir. Joshua Biggs.”

Tristan reached for Leonora’s arm and propelled her onto the stairs. “We’ll leave you on duty, Biggs, but I doubt there’ll be any further disturbance tonight.”

The old man looked up, raised a hand in a salute. “Aye, sir. But I’ll be here if there is.”

Fascinated by the exchange, Leonora returned her attention to the present as they regained the front hall. “Do you think the man who fled was our burglar?”

“I seriously doubt we have more than one man, or group of men, intent on gaining access to your house.”

“Group of men?” She looked at Trentham, cursed the darkness that hid his face. “Do you really think so?”

He didn’t immediately answer; despite not being able to see, she was sure he was frowning.

They reached the front door; without releasing her, he opened it, met her gaze as they stepped out onto the front porch, Henrietta padding behind them. Faint moonlight reached them.

“You were watching—what did you see?”

When she hesitated, marshaling her thoughts, he instructed, “Describe him.”

Letting go of her elbow, he offered his arm; absentmindedly she laid her hand on his sleeve, and they went down the steps. Frowning in concentration, she walked beside him toward the front gate. “He was tall—you saw that. But I got the impression he was young.” She slanted a glance at him. “Younger than you.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“He was easily as tall as Jeremy, but not much taller, and leanish rather than stout. He moved with that sort of gangling grace younger men sometimes have—and he ran well.”