weather
inDorset lay on the desk.
Harry poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down to reread the painstakingly penned letter. He
smiled to himself. Meredith was nine years old and he was extremely proud of her. She was proving to
be a serious and diligent student, anxious to please her father and to perform well.
Harry had personally designed Meredith's curriculum and supervised each stage carefully. Frivolous
elements such as watercolor painting and the reading of novels had been ruthlessly expunged from the
program. As far as Harry was concerned such things were much to blame for the general flightiness and
romantical inclinations that characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith
exposed to them.
The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith's governess, Clarissa Fleming. Clarissa was an
impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to have available in his household. A
serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa shared his views on education. She was fully qualified
to teach the subjects Harry wanted Meredith to learn.
Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what would happen to his
strictly regulated household once he putAugusta in charge of it.
Perhaps he truly had lost his wits.
Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up and saw nothing but
darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.
Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was never far from his
side.London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world was never a completely peaceful
place. His experience of human nature told him it probably never would be.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the window.
As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality now, Harry
decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.
A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and saw a figure in a
hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small hand raised to rap again.
There was something familiar about that hand.
"Bloody hell." Harry stepped away from the wall and put the ebony stick on the desk. He opened the
window with a brusque, angry motion, planted both hands on the sill, and leaned out.
"Thank goodness you are still here, my lord."Augusta threw back the hood of her cloak. The pale moon
revealed the relief in her face. "I saw that the light was on and I knew you were in there and then quite
suddenly the lamp went out and I was afraid you had left the room. What a disaster if I had missed you
tonight. I have been waiting for over an hour at Lady Arbuthnott's for your return."
"If I had realized there was a lady waiting for me, I would have made it a point to return much sooner."
Augustawrinkled her nose. "Oh, dear. You are angry, aren't you?"
"Whatever gave you that notion?" Harry reached down, grasped her arms through the fabric of the
cloak, and hauled her bodily in through the window. It was then he saw the other figure crouching in the
bushes. "Who the devil is that?"
"That is Scruggs, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott's butler," Augusta said breathlessly. She righted herself as he
released her and straightened her cloak. "Lady Arbuthnott insisted he accompany me."
"Scruggs. I see. Wait here,Augusta ." Harry swung one leg over the windowsill and then the other. He
dropped down onto the moist earth and beckoned to the stooped figure in the bushes. "Come here, my
good man."
"Yes, your lordship?" Scruggs came forward with an awkward, limping gait. His eyes glinted with
laughter in the shadows. "May I be of service, sir?"
"I think you have already done quite enough for one night, Scruggs," Harry said through his teeth.
inDorset lay on the desk.
Harry poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down to reread the painstakingly penned letter. He
smiled to himself. Meredith was nine years old and he was extremely proud of her. She was proving to
be a serious and diligent student, anxious to please her father and to perform well.
Harry had personally designed Meredith's curriculum and supervised each stage carefully. Frivolous
elements such as watercolor painting and the reading of novels had been ruthlessly expunged from the
program. As far as Harry was concerned such things were much to blame for the general flightiness and
romantical inclinations that characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith
exposed to them.
The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith's governess, Clarissa Fleming. Clarissa was an
impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to have available in his household. A
serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa shared his views on education. She was fully qualified
to teach the subjects Harry wanted Meredith to learn.
Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what would happen to his
strictly regulated household once he putAugusta in charge of it.
Perhaps he truly had lost his wits.
Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up and saw nothing but
darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.
Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was never far from his
side.London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world was never a completely peaceful
place. His experience of human nature told him it probably never would be.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the window.
As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality now, Harry
decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.
A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and saw a figure in a
hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small hand raised to rap again.
There was something familiar about that hand.
"Bloody hell." Harry stepped away from the wall and put the ebony stick on the desk. He opened the
window with a brusque, angry motion, planted both hands on the sill, and leaned out.
"Thank goodness you are still here, my lord."Augusta threw back the hood of her cloak. The pale moon
revealed the relief in her face. "I saw that the light was on and I knew you were in there and then quite
suddenly the lamp went out and I was afraid you had left the room. What a disaster if I had missed you
tonight. I have been waiting for over an hour at Lady Arbuthnott's for your return."
"If I had realized there was a lady waiting for me, I would have made it a point to return much sooner."
Augustawrinkled her nose. "Oh, dear. You are angry, aren't you?"
"Whatever gave you that notion?" Harry reached down, grasped her arms through the fabric of the
cloak, and hauled her bodily in through the window. It was then he saw the other figure crouching in the
bushes. "Who the devil is that?"
"That is Scruggs, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott's butler," Augusta said breathlessly. She righted herself as he
released her and straightened her cloak. "Lady Arbuthnott insisted he accompany me."
"Scruggs. I see. Wait here,Augusta ." Harry swung one leg over the windowsill and then the other. He
dropped down onto the moist earth and beckoned to the stooped figure in the bushes. "Come here, my
good man."
"Yes, your lordship?" Scruggs came forward with an awkward, limping gait. His eyes glinted with
laughter in the shadows. "May I be of service, sir?"
"I think you have already done quite enough for one night, Scruggs," Harry said through his teeth.
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