"Mrs. Bromley thought-"

"The Devil take Mrs. Bromley! You are head of staff below stairs, Smythe. Since when does Mrs. Bromley dictate your actions?"

"I-I'm sorry, my lord," the butler stammered. "I... we didn't want to trouble you with it, what with the funeral and all."

"There'll likely be more than one of those in this house if you don't 'trouble me' in future," Nicholas snapped. He sank into the chair again, raking his hair back with stiff fingers. How much should he confide in the butler? Certainly not all, but enough to clear Nero's name, since he would still be a very visible part of the household when all was said and done; it was that or replace the entire staff. Right now, he was angry enough to do just that. "Sit down, Smythe," he said.

"My lord?"

"Sit!" Nicholas barked, while the butler dropped like a stone into the nearest chair. "There's no use my telling you to keep what I'm about to tell you to yourself," he went on, "because the walls have ears in this house, tongues wag, and the only purpose doors serve is to give the servants something to lean against while they eavesdrop!"

"Y-yes, my lord."

"Nonetheless, I must insist that you refrain from carrying tales in future, because there shan't be a staff member left below stairs when the sun sets upon the day that you do. I'll sack the lot of you! Considering what's been going on in the village, you can count yourself fortunate that you all still have positions here. If one more word ever travels beyond that gate down there, you will collect your final wages without references. I would have done it the day the guards came out here, but with all the press come upon this house I really haven't time to seek replacements at the moment-though I am so at my wits end with the lot of you at this point, I'm ready to brook the inconvenience. Do we have an understanding?"

"Y-yes, my lord."

"Good! Just in case you aren't convinced that I am aware of the goings on above and below stairs in this house, be apprised that I know my idiosyncrasies are bruited about on a regular basis amongst you. I know you eavesdrop to fuel your on-dits. I know when you do it, and how you do it, and whom you tell your tales to. I know that Millie, the scullery maid, nicks small game birds from the game room on the eves of her days off. I do not choose to address this, because we have plenty of game on Ravencliff, and I am aware that she's done this to help feed her infirm mother, and siblings, since her good father, whom I knew and admired, passed on.

"It has just come to my attention that the footmen lay abed half the morning, while the hall boys do their tasks for them. I know the boys do this out of fear of a hiding, and anticipation of a reward at the end of it. I also know there's precious little reward, and hidings aplenty, whether the tasks are done or they aren't. This commenced when her ladyship joined our household. What? Did you imagine that I would be so preoccupied with my lady bride that I wouldn't notice? Never think it! I am aware of everything that goes on in this house.

"I know that a plot was afoot below stairs to poison Nero with some of the arsenic the grooms use to get rid of the rats in the stables. Well, Peters has been sacked, hasn't he? Oh, yes, I know he was at the bottom of it, and you shan't find so much as a grain of arsenic on the estate now, either. Let the rats overrun the place! You lot are next! If you-any of you-ever lift one finger toward that animal, I will see you jailed. Do not think to put me to the test.

"I know that you and Mrs. Bromley have acquired a taste for the French wines in my wine cellar-that when one is brought up for the table, two walk out of the cellar on a regular basis, and I know that you and Mrs. Bromley imbibe also on a regular basis closeted together, when your duties permit, of course. Is that sufficient, or shall I go on? The list is quite lengthy. We could be here half the morning."

"Yes, my lord... I mean, no, my lord."

"Mmmm," Nicholas grunted. "These matters are on your head, Smythe, no one else's. As butler here, it is your duty to me, and to this house, to see not only that everything runs smoothly, but that honesty and decency abound in it. Overlook the birds. Let the girl take them, and I do not mind that you're nicking a little wine now and again, so long as you don't get foxed on your watch, but the business between the footmen and the hall boys must stop, and you are the one to stop it. If you do not, I shall hire a butler who will, and if it does not stop forthwith, the footmen will find themselves booted out bag and baggage without recommendations. Am I plain?"

"Y-yes, my lord."

"Now then, the very next time something untoward, like what you just told me about the food occurs, and you do not come to me with it straightaway, you will collect your wages. That, you may repeat. You may shout it from the rafters, because you all have good cause to fear, but not to fear Nero. He did not kill Nell. I know because he was with me when she was killed. There is another... animal loose in the house."

The butler gasped. "Two dogs, my lord?" he said, giving a start.

Nicholas nodded. "Do not ask me how it got in, or where it came from. That is not the issue. There are too many ins and outs to this old mausoleum to be counted. One of you may even have inadvertently let it in thinking it was Nero.

They look very similar-similar enough to have come from the same litter. I was shocked myself, when I saw them together."

"My lord, I never dreamed...!"

"Tell me something, Smythe... has Nero ever threatened you?"

"Why, no, my lord... that is to say, other than popping up at odd moments and giving us all a fright, he's always been a congenial sort. That is, until Mr. Mallory shot him. Since then, he's been downright vicious at times."

"Have you seen Mr. Mallory since that occurred, Smythe?"

"Why, no, my lord," the butler breathed. "That was a while ago. When we couldn't find him after, we assumed he'd finally... come to his senses, and that you'd sent him abroad on an errand again. He's gone off more than he's in residence."

"Mmmm," Nicholas mused. They hadn't been searching very hard, the lazy lot! Maybe that was just as well. "Mr. Mallory has been sacked," he said, "but some of his belongings are still here. In case he returns for them, I'll want to know of it at once. We didn't exactly part on good terms. 1 didn't take kindly to him drinking himself into his altitudes, attempting to molest my bride, and shooting my dog."

"Yes, my lord."

"Now then, is there anything else, Smythe?"

"Just that we need a new maid for her ladyship, my lord," said the butler. "Mrs. Bromley is worn to a raveling, trying to keep up with her regular duties and assist the mistress as well, though her ladyship has been most gracious in excusing her. It just isn't right that she be left to fend for herself so much of the time ... especially now."

Nicholas frowned. "I agree, Smythe, and you can tell Mrs. Bromley that a new abigail will be had just as soon as the animal that killed Nell has been caught and dealt with. I shan't bring another servant into this house until it is safe to do so. That might just be the incentive to enlist the staff's help in the search. Alert everyone below stairs that there is another animal roaming Ravencliff, that it is dangerous and that they are not to approach it, but to come to me at once if they sight it. I do not want any of you to do anything that will put you in harm's way, but if you see that animal, I want to know of it at once. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, my lord."

"You may arm yourselves-with the exception of the hall boys, and scullions, of course-but take care not to shoot Nero. He will never menace you. The poor animal has already been shot once. Go off half cocked, and you will answer to me."

"Very good, my lord," said the butler. "But, what shall I do about the food?"

Nicholas rolled his eyes, and heaved a ragged sigh. "As long as you feed the animal, it will be content to stay hidden. Stop feeding it! Lock up the larder, and the game room! Leave no leftovers in the kitchen! For God's sake, man, use your head! I'm trying to starve it to flush it out, and you're filling its belly. We are at cross-purposes here. You're no slap-skull, Smythe. Use the brains God gave you."

"Y-yes, my lord," the butler murmured.

"Very well, then, if there's nothing else, you are dismissed, but you'd best be prepared. The foul weather is finally at an end. Tomorrow should be a fair day, and we can expect the guards swarming over the place to complete their search. After this fine news, I shall have them begin with the servants' quarters. I needn't tell you to see that everything is as it should be below stairs."

"N-no, my lord. I mean, yes, my lord," the butler stammered.

"Very well then, carry on," Nicholas concluded, going back to his ledger.

He penned three characters and set the quill aside again, taking his aching head in his hands. It was beyond bearing. He was half mad anticipating Sara's decision, losing faith in Dr. Breeden's experiments, and now this. There was no use trying to attend to anything until the animal was found. Reaching into the drawer in his desk, he yanked out the loaded pistol he kept there, rose to his feet, and stormed from the study.

Chapter Twenty-seven.

Nicholas was absent from the breakfast room at nuncheon. He prowled the passageways until twilight robbed the light, with no results, then dragged himself to the master suite draped in cobwebs, slimed with mildew and dust, and precious little time to put himself to rights in time for the evening meal.

"I abhor the lies," he growled, submerged to the neck in his tub of herb-scented water.

"You cannot tell them the truth, my lord," said the valet.

"Having your rooms adjoin mine has its drawbacks, old boy," Nicholas regretted. "If you'd been housed

below stairs with the rest of the staff this never would have happened. You'd have seen them feeding that damned animal. All this time wasted. Bloody hell!"

"Would you like me to take a room below, my lord... at least until all this is over?"

"What, and give them something else to talk about? No, Mills. I need you where you are. Besides, it's too late. The damage has been done. I think I've put the fear of God in them enough to keep anything similar from happening again."

"Yes, my lord."

Nicholas struck the water a vicious blow with his fist, showering Mills in the process. "Why won't she decide?" he said. That was what was really bothering him. He could think of nothing else.

"Might I point out that she has not run screaming from the house as you predicted, my lord? I would take

that as a good sign."

"The guards would hardly let anyone leave until the investigation is completed to their satisfaction. Wecan count ourselves fortunate if they don't call Bow Street in. There's been murder done!""By an animal, my lord. Why, Dr. Breeden's testimony alone-""Yes, yes, I know, Mills, but you can trust me when I say they'd be on us like hounds on a rabbit if one of us tried to leave Ravencliff now."

"All right, my lord," the valet said, "cast aspersions where ye may, the fact still remains that she has not left, nor does she seem about to leave, the house. Why, just look at the way she conducted the funeral affairs. She had it in control in a manner that rocked me back on my heels."

"I do not want to pressure her. I told her I would give her time, but it's been four days, Mills. How much more time does she need?"

"Evidently more than four days, my lord."

Nicholas's eyebrow shot up, and his lips formed an exasperated crimp. Mills met the expression by dumping a bucket of tepid water over his head, and Nicholas shook like a dog, showering more water over the valet still glistening from the last.

"There's no need to drown me!" Nicholas snapped.

"Fine talk of drowning, my lord, when I am wetter than you," Mills countered, setting the bucket down. "Have a care. You need to calm yourself. Now is not the time for Nero to roam freely through the house, with half the inmates bearing arms and ill-equipped to use them. We shall be hard-pressed to come off all of a piece as it is, without presenting them any valid targets, my lord."

Nicholas sighed. "No one has seen Alex since the shooting," he said. "Below stairs, they thought I'd sent him on an errand. It isn't likely that he's able to change back if he hasn't by now, so says Dr. Breeden. I've spread the word that he's been sacked for his conduct, but that some of his belongings are still here, and that I want to know at once if he returns to collect them."

"Wise decision, my lord," said the valet. "How are the sessions going?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Nero hasn't visited since he left me in the alcove chamber."

"That's a good sign," said the valet, holding the towel, as he climbed out of the tub.

"If this keeps up, Breeden tells me I'll be ready to try and transform at will soon."

"But that's excellent news, my lord!" cried the valet.

"I wonder," Nicholas replied. "Suppose I cannot? Or, worse yet, suppose I can, and I cannot change back... like Alex? I'm almost hesitant to try."

"I wouldn't advise conducting an experiment until after the guards have come and gone, my lord," the valet opined. "They still think it was Nero that killed the girl."

"I'm not ready in any case, Mills. I've too much on my mind. Besides, who knows if anything the doctor is about will do one bit of good?"

"You have not corrected your problem with trust, my lord," observed Mills, "and until you come to grips with that, I fear that nothing will work in your favor-not the good doctor's efforts, or resolution with her ladyship. Forgive me for speaking my mind, but this is your most grievous fault. I've told you many a time you cannot expect blind trust from others when you are not willing to give it yourself. Now perhaps, you finally begin to see the folly of that tack."

"I told her the truth, didn't I?" Nicholas snapped.

"After a fashion, and after the fact. I pray not too late. I told you from the start that you might consider telling her. Trust must exist for love to survive, my lord. Love will wither and die on the vine without it, sure as check."

"And you are an expert in this area, eh?" Nicholas chided.

"Let us just say... that I have learned from my mistakes, my lord, and would spare you such a costly lesson."

It was impossible for Nicholas to imagine Mills in love. When had that happened, he wondered? Yet, judging from the faraway look in the valet's misty eyes, he didn't doubt that it had at some point in history. Mills rarely showed emotion, and never in recollection had he betrayed such thoughts, or let anyone glimpse his private side.

"I appreciate that," said Nicholas on a sigh, "but you know my situation isn't something I could 'trust' to just anyone. I believe that Sara is probably the only woman in the kingdom I could safely trust with it. She has honor and integrity-and at such a young age. I've never met a woman like her."

"And you never will again," said Mills. "You are learning, my lord. Just remember, no lesson comes without a price. Trust does not come too dear for what you're seeking-from either her ladyship or the doctor."

It was late, and Mills helped Nicholas into his evening toilette, consisting of black pantaloons, superfine tailcoat, and burgundy brocade waistcoat. Once his neck cloth was engineered in the intricate Oriental wrap fashionable that Season, he hurried below to escort Sara to the dining hall, hoping for some sign that would end the torment and put his mind at ease. There was none. Except for the barest amenities, no words passed between them.

During the meal, while she was bright and engaging with Dr. Breeden, Sara did not address him directly, or make eye contact. When he tried to instigate a response, her replies were polite and succinct, but that was as far as it went.

She was the picture of loveliness in buttercup-yellow muslin scattered with tiny green satin bows, her upswept hair haloed in the nimbus of candleshine. There were no more telltale signs of weeping painting her cheeks, and her eyes were no longer swollen and red as they had been more often than not over the past few days. They were a clear aqua blue, like the transparent curl of an ocean swell, and only a delicate blush tinted the apples of her cheeks. Whether that meant she'd gotten over her sorrows, or they no longer mattered, was unclear, and his heart sank fearing the latter.

After the meal, when he returned her to her suite, it was in silence. He didn't try to draw her out. Resisting every instinct in him crying that he seize her in his arms, bury his fingers in the shimmering gold of her hair, and taste again those petal-soft lips, he stood on the threshold, bowed while the door was closed in his face, and retreated to the master suite, where Dr. Breeden waited.

Since time was of the essence, they had foregone the custom of brandy in the drawing room after the meal for some days, and had it instead in the master suite sitting room. Despite his hermit's existence, Nicholas had until then managed to maintain the rituals of the times. That could no longer be, in these circumstances. The doctor didn't seem to mind. He had been most accommodating-as anxious to resolve Nicholas's problem as Nicholas was. Would he one day be part of another of the good doctor's treatises-anonymously, of course? Nicholas had no doubt that such a motive moved the man through his paces with the persistence of a juggernaut. Still, he'd decided to give way to Mills's advice, and as he and the doctor sipped their brandy before the session, he commenced to do so.

"1 must confess to something," he began, swirling the brandy in his snifter. "I haven't been fair to you, Dr. Breeden. Mills pointed that out to me earlier. I'm not going to make excuses for myself. There is no excuse for wasting another man's time, but I've lived so long with hopelessness, I haven't put myself completely in your hands."

"Oh, I know that, my lord," said the doctor. "It's quite to be expected."

"Then, too, I have a gnawing fear that if I raise my hopes only to have them dashed here now, when so much depends upon it..." Nicholas shook his head. He couldn't finish the thought.

"Rather like taking a dreadful, foul-tasting tonic, only to find that all was for naught when it doesn't work, eh?" said the doctor.

"Mildly put," Nicholas replied, through a humorless laugh.

"But accurate," the doctor said. "You mustn't reproach yourself, my lord. We are dealing with an ailment that medical science does not even want to admit exists, and you are under greater strains than any man should have to endure. I frankly do not know how you stand it, but you do. I should like to study that. It defies reason."

"There is a certain discipline that is by-product of this... condition," said Nicholas, "but I cannot take credit for it. It's part of the process, and you either stand up to its demands, or succumb. I learned early on that if I were to survive, I had to steel myself against it-form a shell around myself, where some part of me could exist normally, if such a thing could be. I thought it served me well enough... until her ladyship. Now, I see how empty that shell was, and I shall never be able to crawl back into it after tasting what I've missed of life."

"I am here to do all in my power to see that you never have to, my lord," said the doctor.

"Then I must do more to aid you in your efforts," Nicholas said. "Mills says I lack trust, while I demand it of others. He's right, of course. He always is. I've made a clean breast of it with the baroness, though he faults me for not doing so at the outset. Now, I should like to try and be more open to your treatments. If I can show her that I can at least control the transformations, it might make a difference. Oh, I don't know, Doctor, but I shall try harder."

"Do not try too hard, my lord," said the physician. "There is no quick solution to controlling your malady. What's wanted is openness, and a relaxed state."