“Lookee here.” Harry took the carving out of his pocket and handed it to Benny.
Benny turned it over in his dirty fingers. “A bird.”
“It’s a falcon. Can’t you see?”
“ ’Course I can see.” Benny glanced up. “Who made it?”
“Me.”
“Really? You carved it?” Benny stared at him with awe.
“Aye.” Harry shrugged. “My da taught me. It’s only my first, so it’s not so good.”
“I like it.”
Harry shrugged again and squinted into the blinding blue sky. “You can keep it if you want.”
“Thanks.”
They had lain for a while, almost falling asleep in the warm sun.
Then Benny sat up. “I’ve got something for you.”
He’d turned out both pockets and then dug down again, finally bringing up a small, dirty penknife. Benny rubbed it on his breeches and handed it to Harry.
Harry looked at the pearl handle and tested the edge with his thumb. “Ta, Benny. It’ll be good for whittling.”
Harry couldn’t remember what he and Bennet had done the rest of that day. Probably rode their ponies about. Maybe fished in the stream. Come home hungry. That was how they’d spent most days back then. And it didn’t really matter. The next afternoon Da had found his mother humping old Granville.
Harry looked up and met eyes as green as his own.
“I’ve always worn it.” Bennet touched the little falcon.
Harry nodded and glanced away from Bennet for a moment. “I had started asking around, before I was arrested, and I’ve tried again this last week, discreetly, lest your father track me.” He looked back at Bennet, his face under control now. “Nobody seems to know much, but there’s plenty besides me who have a reason to hate your father.”
“Probably most of the county.”
Harry ignored the sarcasm. “I thought maybe I should search a bit further back.”
Bennet raised his eyebrows.
“Your nurse is still alive, isn’t she?”
“Old Alice Humboldt?” Bennet yawned. “Yes, she’s alive. Her cottage was the first place I stopped when I got back into the district. And you’re right, she might know something. Nanny is very quiet, but she always noticed everything.”
“Good.” Harry stood up. “Then she’s the person to question. Want to come?”
“What, now?”
Harry’s mouth twitched. He’d forgotten how fun it was to bait Bennet. “I had thought to wait for sunrise,” he said gravely, “but if you’re eager to go now…”
“No. No, sunrise is fine.” Bennet winced. “I don’t suppose you could wait until nine o’clock?”
Harry looked at him.
“No, of course not.” Bennet yawned again, nearly unhinging the back of his head. “I’ll meet you at Nanny’s cottage, shall I?”
“I’ll go, too,” Will spoke up from the pallet.
Harry and Bennet glanced at the boy. He’d nearly forgotten Will. Bennet raised his eyebrows at Harry, leaving the decision to him.
“Aye, you’ll go, too,” Harry said.
“Ta,” Will said. “I’ve got something for you.”
He burrowed under his pillow and came out with a long, thin object wrapped in a rag. He held it out. Harry took the bundle and unrolled it. His knife, cleaned and oiled, lay on his palm.
“Found it in the stream,” Will said, “after they took you. I been taking care of it for you. Until you was ready for it again.”
It was the most Harry had ever heard from the boy’s mouth.
Harry smiled. “Ta, Will.”
GEORGE TOUCHED THE LITTLE SWAN swimming on her pillow. It was the second carving Harry had given her. The first had been a rearing horse. He’d been gone from her seven days, but he hadn’t left the neighborhood. That much was obvious from the tiny carvings he’d somehow placed on her bed.
“Gave you another one, has he, my lady?” Tiggle bustled about the room, putting away her dress and gathering soiled things for the laundry.
George picked up the swan. “Yes.”
She’d questioned the servants after the first carving. Nobody had seen Harry enter or leave Woldsly, not even Oscar, who kept the irregular hours of a bachelor. Her middle brother had remained behind after Tony had left for London. Oscar said it was to keep her and Violet company, but she suspected the real reason had more to do with his creditors in London.
“Romantic of Mr. Pye, isn’t it?” Tiggle sighed.
“Or irritating.” George wrinkled her nose at the swan and placed it carefully on her dressing table beside the horse.
“Or irritating, I guess, my lady,” Tiggle agreed.
The maid came over and laid a hand on George’s shoulder, gently pressing her into the chair before the dressing table. She took up the silver-backed brush and began to stroke it through George’s hair. Tiggle started at the ends and worked to the roots, teasing out the tangles. George closed her eyes.
“Men don’t always see things the same way we do, if you don’t mind me saying so, my lady.”
“I can’t help but think that Mr. Pye was dropped on his head as a baby.” George squeezed her eyes shut. “Why won’t he come back to me?”
“Can’t say, my lady.” The tangles worked out, Tiggle began stroking from her crown down to the ends of her hair.
George sighed in pleasure.
“But he hasn’t gone too far away, now, has he?” the maid pointed out.
“Mmm.” George tilted her head so Tiggle could do that side.
“He wants to go—you’ve said so yourself, my lady—but he hasn’t.” Tiggle started on the other side, brushing gently from the temple. “Stands to reason, then, that maybe he can’t.”
“You’re speaking in riddles and I’m too tired to understand.”
“I’m just saying maybe he can’t leave you, my lady.” Tiggle set down the brush with a thump and began braiding her hair.
“A lot of good that does me if he can’t bring himself to face me, either.” George frowned in the mirror.
“I think he’ll be back.” The maid tied a ribbon at the end of George’s braid and leaned over her shoulder to meet her eyes in the mirror. “And when he comes, you’ll be needing to tell him, if you don’t mind my saying so, my lady.”