Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

The young voice said, "You should be talking. If you aren't talking, it means you're thinking about what to do with me. Please, just leave for a moment and I'll be gone. Just one shirt—I will pay you back. I have skills—I can fish, I can shoot a bow and arrow. I can run really fast."

"I know you can climb trees."

"Yes, but I don't think anyone would pay me to climb a tree, but give me a fishing pole and I could catch anything swimming in the Thames. I could set up a fish stand in the market. I'd be rich in a matter of weeks."

"So you're a budding entrepreneur."

"I don't know what that means. Is it good? I don't know about budding—that's a flower, and you can't fry flowers for your dinner."

"It's a French word—entrepreneur—it means someone who manages a business. It would even include a bonehead, a very young bonehead, considering catching fish in the Thames."

Max knew he had a problem, one of gigantic proportions—a child in his armoire here to steal one of his shirts and run. How many times would this happen in a man's lifetime? He knew on the streets a child didn't stand a chance, particularly this clever innocent child. He knew of brothels catering to twisted men who sought out children. He thought of this child in an alley, dying of starvation.

His bedroom door opened and Manfred skipped in. Depending on the size of the room, Manfred skipped three times, then a hop—it was his latest affectation and was appearing to be more long-lived than the last one—a handkerchief tied around his head, a bright red strawberry painted in the center. When asked the meaning of the strawberry, Manfred had frowned. "I would believe it obvious, my lord." Max had wanted to smack him, but laughed instead.

After his final lovely hop, Manfred said, "My lord, what are you doing bare-chested, sitting on the floor in front of your armoire, all settled in, your hands folded over your strong young man's enviable flat belly, resting against his dead lordship's favorite chair? Is Clovis hiding within the armoire? Do you need me to fetch him a bit of chicken or fish to coax him out?"

Max got to his feet, dusted off his trousers. "I was preparing to change my shirt and got tired suddenly. Yes, I bathed so I wouldn't sweat up the shirt. What do you want?"

Manfred took one skip forward, paused a moment for Max to express admiration for his graceful high step, which wasn't forthcoming. "Titus the All-Knowing has informed me to inform you her ladyship wishes you to join her for tea. Ah, immediately." Manfred cleared his throat. "Titus allowed there is a young lady with your mama and she wishes you to meet her and perhaps find her suitable to be your wife, which all staff realize must now be your premier goal so you may produce an heir. No one wants the earldom to fall into the hands of your cousin Bewley who has no chin."

Not another debutante. Ah, but the thought of Bewley becoming the Earl of Storne upon Max's demise made him seriously consider immediate nuptials. "Thank you, Manfred. Please inform Titus, who will inform her ladyship, I will be with her shortly."

"It appears all your shirts have somehow fallen to the floor of the armoire. Did you throw them down in a fit of frustration because Lord Pauley drew your cork? Or is this a sign you wish to punish me for skipping with too much vigor and not enough grace?"

"Go away, Manfred. Sorry, skip away."

"I fear I will now have to work through my dinner hour, mayhap until midnight, to press all your fine linen shirts again." Manfred did a sharp turn and took a skip toward the armoire and stared down at the lumpy pile. "What to make of this disordered heap, something I haven't seen since your ungodly and vastly ungoverned days and nights at Oxford, my lord."

"Go away now, Manfred."

Manfred frowned again at the mess of shirts, still thankfully motionless, and skipped, knees high, one hop, out of the bedchamber, saying just loud enough for Max to hear him, "Mayhap I can seduce precious Portia to iron them for me. She could say yes and give me a saucy smile, or more like she will clout me. Either course of action invigorates me."

"Close the door."

Once Manfred was gone, Max said, "All right, enough of this. Come out, now, or I will drag you out. I want your name, your real name. I want to know why you have run away and from whom. Come on, boy, girl—Crispin—listen to me. Whatever is wrong"—he gulped—"I will help you. I swear it."

Pause, then, "Do you believe in God?"

"Yes."

"And you're swearing you will not hand me over?"

He prayed God would help him. "I swear."