Page 63 of Dukes Do It Better
“You won’t be homeless. I’m sorry you won’t have the cottage, but you can choose any of our properties, Emma. Make one your home. You and Alton will always have a roof over your heads, no matter what.” Cal rose and threw his serviette on the table. “I’m going to Ethan’s.”
Higgins opened the door once more. “Pardon the additional intrusion, milord. You have several visitors claiming there is an emergency.”
Emma rested her elbows on the table and cradled her face. “Can’t a woman’s life collapse in relative peace in this house?” she moaned.
“If I may make a suggestion, milord? Perhaps you could entertain these guests in here. I imagine they would appreciate breakfast, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not let them on the furniture,” the butler said.
Phee sighed. “Are these visitors short, dirty, and young?”
“Er, yes, milady. Exactly right.”
Cal motioned for Higgins to step aside and opened the door wider. “Frankie, bring them in,” he called into the hall.
The summons brought the sound of scuffling footsteps, then the appearance of several scruffy children of indeterminate age to the breakfast room.
“Shall I stay, milord?” Higgins asked.
“No, thank you. They work for us,” Cal said.
As soon as the breakfast room door closed, the children began speaking at once until their voices muddied together and not a word of it could be understood.
Phee raised a hand in the air. “Quiet!”
Like magic, they did as they were told. Emma blinked in bemused wonder. She’d known about the tiny urchin army who provided information to protect Cal’s financial interests at the docks, but Emma had never met them. Phee began the relationship with street children back when she’d been impersonating her brother. Apparently, only their leader, Frankie, had known Phee then. Frankie was old enough now to lead her own crew, and she kept her mouth shut about Phee’s previous identity out of loyalty.
“Frankie, would you mind summarizing?” Phee asked.
The oldest, probably thirteen or so, stepped forward. “We was on our way back from the pub and saw a light in the warehouse window. Then a man climbed out the window and ran off like hellhounds was at his heels.”
“Did you get a look at the fellow?” Calvin asked.
“No, but we wondered what he was doing there, didn’ we? So we broke in and found a crate on fire.”
“Arson?” Emma said. A murmur of agreement went through the group of children.
“Not very good at it. Fool went for the wrong corner,” piped up a boy who seemed made of equal parts grime and sharp bones.
The child Phee had called Frankie said, “Set a box of dishes on fire. Those don’ burn well, or else he’d have done a better job of it.”
“Chinese porcelain. Priceless Chinese porcelain,” Calvin muttered, looking wide-eyed at the news.
“Now, if he’d gone for the cloth, it woulda worked a trick,” said another boy, and the others nodded.
Emma glanced at Calvin for translation. “Hand-painted silk. Bolts of it.” Cal sighed. “Frankie, how bad is it?”
“We put out the fire before it could spread. But someone’s after ya, gov. This wasn’ an accident,” Frankie said.
Phee stood and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Frankie, thank you for putting out the fire, but that was a very dangerous thing to do, and you could have been hurt. A warehouse full of goods is not worth anyone’s safety.”
Frankie shrugged, staring down at her feet as she rubbed the toe of one shoe against the carpet. “The boys actually put out the fire. I couldn’ because I’m a girl. But I’m the one who spotted the man climbin’ out the window.”
Cal raised one brow. “What does your being a girl have to do with it?”
“We pissed on it!” a boy piped up, and the rest of the group beamed, so very proud of themselves that Phee’s burst of laughter didn’t seem out of place at all.
Emma covered her mouth to stifle a snort of amusement.
Calvin chuckled and ruffled the hair of the nearest child. “Quick thinking. And now I’m doubly glad the fire wasn’t near the painted silk.”
