Keeping the Castle by Patrice Kindl Read Free Book Online Page B

behavior in your time away from England.”
    Mr. Fredericks contented himself with uttering a short, satirical laugh in response. My small brother, Alexander, looked up at him in wonder and then burst into tears, climbing into my mother’s lap for comfort. Mr. Fredericks seemed somewhat nonplused by this outburst and, casting about himself for a peace offering, held out a strawberry still warm from the sun to the child. Knowing, as I did, that Alexander was stuffed brimful with purloined sweets from the ball, I did not expect this to be a success, but after a long, grave look and a hiccupping sigh, Alexander took the strawberry and began to nibble at it.
    “In any case,” continued Lord Boring, ignoring this small contretemps, “you know that the doctor has ordered rest and a change of scene for you, and you also know quite well that you have been itching to get a good look at Crawley Castle. As have I,” he added.
    “Yes,” admitted Mr. Fredericks, “I have, but you rousted me out just when I was getting down to the heart of that Beddoes contract. There’s something rotten there, I can smell it.”
    “You shall sniff out rotten contracts to your heart’s content when we return. Just now we are paying a social call.” His Lordship turned to me. “The Marquis, by-the-by, sends his compliments and apologies for not calling on you. He has business to attend to in York today. But perhaps, Miss Crawley, as great-granddaughter of the original owner, you would be so good as to give Fredericks and me a brief tour of the public rooms?” He bowed to my stepsisters and continued, “I should be sorry to put the Misses Winthrop to the trouble.”
    Prudence gave way easily enough. The Baron’s appearance, wealth and position put him beyond her ambitions, though if Mr. Fredericks had only maintained his own house she might have considered him with some interest. It was harder to persuade Charity, who had some claims to beauty along with an impressive fortune, that she should not serve as guide. However, her friend Miss Hopkins, having already seen the attractions of Crooked Castle, such as they were, begged her to remain. And as a number of other unattached young men remained in the room she evidently concluded that without me present she could hope to work her wiles upon them uninterrupted.
    As I rose to conduct them around, I reflected that Lord Boring, in common with Mr. Fredericks’s mother, treated that difficult young man with an amused indulgence. This was understandable in Mrs. Fredericks, who, as his mother, was more or less required to love him, but less so in Lord Boring, who was not. Perhaps Lord Boring found Mr. Fredericks’s rudeness amusing, as medieval kings were said to be entertained by the coarse and impertinent behavior of their jesters.
    “Are you and your cousin intimately acquainted, Lord Boring?” I enquired. We stood a little apart from Mr. Fredericks as he paused to examine the least moth-eaten of the tapestries. “Did you grow up together?”
    “No, not entirely, though from time to time he would come to stay with us, of course.”
    From what I knew of the former Lord Boring’s attitude, there was no “of course” about it. It cast a surprisingly good light on the Westings—I should not have expected them to find the son of a shop clerk an acceptable playmate for the heir to a barony.
    “Perhaps,” I hazarded a guess, “he saved your life?”
    A quick smile came and went across Lord Boring’s face.
    “Almost—but no, not exactly,” he said. “I am very fond of him. And of course, we are associated in our overseas interests—he looks out for my investments in India and so on.” He lowered his voice. “I owe him a great deal, more than he will allow me to say. He’s a good fellow, Hugh is, tho’ not very polished, I know,” he said, as we watched Mr. Fredericks poking a finger through a moth hole, thereby enlarging it.
    I understood, or supposed I did. Lord Boring had employed