“S—Set upon?” Theo echoed stupidly.
“Aye, three men—or he says maybe it was four, he couldn’t see very well on account of it being dark, and him being too busy trying to ward off blows to stop and count. They was lyin’ in wait just this side of the bridge. But he can tell you himself, if he feels up to it.”
Theo tried to recall the ending of the meeting. It had been quite late by the time it broke up, and he’d been impatient to go upstairs to bed, knowing he would have to get up at dawn this morning. He’d been more than a little annoyed, too, at having wasted the evening listening to a group of men planning the details of a party in which he had not the slightest interest. But he vaguely recalled Wilkins detaining Davy for a moment to ask him some work-related question about a problem that had arisen that day. Had it been a deliberate attempt to delay the boy, allowing the others time to stake out a position from which to attack him? And why should they have done so? The answer to this question, at least, was not far to seek: Theo remembered Davy’s timid suggestion that they ought not to—to what? More than ever, Theo was convinced that something more than a party was at issue.
“I’d take you to him, excepting that I’ve got to get supper on the table,” Davy’s mother continued, glancing back at her giggling daughters.
“You need not trouble yourself,” Theo assured her hastily, throwing the girls into confusion by winking at them. “I’m sure I can find my own way.”
This, at least, proved to be no mystery, for the cottage was not nearly large enough to become lost in. He found Davy in one of the two bedrooms in the back of the house, and suffered a check. Davy lay flat on his back in the narrow bed with the quilt drawn up to his chin, but this was insufficient to conceal the extent of the damage. The boy’s face was covered with bruises, and although he appeared to be asleep, one of his eyes was so swollen that Theo doubted he could open it in any case. Blood had dried along a cut in one cheek, and matted together the blond hair over his forehead. As Theo stood wondering whether to go or stay, Davy spoke.
“Warned you—not to go,” he said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.
“Yes, you did,” Theo acknowledged ruefully, “and yet, you went yourself.”
“Once you’re in . . . can’t get out. You’ll see.”
“Who did it? Do you know?”
“Couldn’t see . . . in the dark. One of them . . . might have been Ainsworth. Sounded a bit like him . . . never be able to prove it, though.”
“Davy . . .” Theo hesitated, uncertain how to voice the question. “What’s it all about? It must be more than just a dance.”
“Aye, though that bit is necessary. It’s—”
He got no further, for at that moment his mother came into the room. “Dinner’s ready. Do you think you could come to the table, or shall I have Molly bring it to you in a cup?”
Davy rather cautiously expressed his ability to come to the table, and Theo, seeing there were no further confidences to be got from him, judged it time to take his leave. He assured both Davy and his mother that there was no talk of replacing him at the mill, then followed Mrs. Williams from the room.
“Will he be all right?” he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom they had just vacated. “What does the doctor say?”
“We haven’t had the doctor in,” confessed Mrs. Williams with a sigh. “There’s no money for it, especially now that my boy is out of work.”
“Send for the doctor, and send the bill to me,” said Theo without hesitation. Ethan had already paid several of his debts; he could jolly well stand the nonsense for one more.
Hope flared briefly in the woman’s eyes before giving way to doubt. “Are you sure you can afford it, Mr.—Tisdale, was it?”
“I’m sure.” Lest any further assurances were needed, he gave her his sweetest smile. “Unlike Davy, I’ve no one but myself to support,” he said, with a silent apology to the army of servants, tenant farmers, and tin miners whose livings were subject to the Duke of Reddington’s every whim.
After an initial show of reluctance, Mrs. Williams allowed herself to be persuaded, and Theo set out for the boardinghouse with, if not a mind set entirely at ease, at least the sense of well-being that generally accompanies the performance of a good deed. Alas, this gratifying state of affairs did not long survive his return to the boardinghouse, for upon reaching his temporary residence, he found Daphne in the dining room setting the table.
“Oh, Mr. Tisdale!” she exclaimed, brightening upon seeing him. “You’re late this evening.”
“Is your mother terribly vexed with me? One of the men who was at the meeting last night was, er, injured on his way home, so I stopped to call on him.”
“That was kind of you,” she said warmly. “But what happened to him? I hope he is not too badly injured.”
Theo struggled for some way to reassure her without resorting to outright fabrication. “Nothing that won’t heal, I trust.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Miss Drinkard, I feel I should perhaps warn—”
“In any case, I am glad you are home now, for I have the most wonderful news! Sir Valerian Wadsworth is hosting a dance for the mill workers and their families, just as Lady Helen Brundy would have done had her father not died, and he has asked Mama to act as hostess!”
He didn’t let any grass grow under his feet, Theo thought resentfully. Although he knew what answer he would get, he asked, “And what did your mother say?”
“She agreed, of course. In fact, she
