Dougal sighed, pulling a tapestry from the wall while the butler yelled for someone to fetch a shotgun. Instead, Dougal approached the table calmly, and tossed the tapestry over the duck. He scooped the wriggling pile into his arms. “Open a window,” he ordered.
Three footmen rushed forward only to realize the window was already open. Dougal shoved his arms out and unrolled the duck who flapped away, all frantic feathers and offended honks.
“That tapestry is two hundred years old,” George pointed out mildly.
“And useful, at least.” Dougal tossed it aside. “I think we’ll dine with the window closed from now on, Mr.… that is, Canterbury.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” he replied with cheerful calm. “Can’t be too careful.”
“We always close the windows at night,” one of the housemaids murmured as they filed out. “I closed that one meself.”
Charlie tilted her head, gaze narrowing on Mrs. Hill. “Did the house tour come through here today, Mrs. Hill?”
“I suppose it did at that.”
“Did someone open it on purpose?” Colin put it, finally sitting up. “To break in later, perhaps?”
“Surely not.” She did not sound so sure.
“I’ll have all of the doors and windows checked, not to fret,” Canterbury said.
“Thank you,” Dougal said, raising his voice as the butler bustled out. “And Canterbury?”
“Your Grace?”
Dougal grinned. “Please fetch Miss Swift a refreshing drink before laughter does her an injury, won’t you?”
Meg hiccupped, tears gathering on her eyelashes.
“Very good, Your Grace.”