Tall-and-Desperate. He looked even worse now than he had inside. His eyes were empty, his skin sickly white as he gazed at his farmly. Nodding slowly, he walked toward them.

Charlie stepped back as the woman anxiously blurted out the news about the landlord. "Do ye have the rent money?" she asked.

Seeming not to hear her, he hugged and murmured something to each of his children. When she repeated the question, he straightened, and Charlie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at the man's expression as he faced his wife.

Taking the anxious woman's face between his hands, he kissed her almost reverently.

"I'm sorry. I love you," he murmured, then released her and stepped back.

He gave her a queer smile, then turned and walked into the street, directly into the path of a passing carriage and four.

Chapter Twelve.

"Papa!"

Charlie caught that heart-wrenching cry and glanced down at the children with dismay as she realized that this was the last image they would have of their father. A curse choking her, she shoved her hat into her pocket and turned the children away, hiding their faces against her waistcoat and shielding them from the sight. She couldn't prevent their hearing, however, and felt them shudder in horror, then begin to sob as the air filled with the panicked screams of horses and men.

Radcliffe had hurried after the man in an attempt to draw him back, but had not been able to reach him before the horses did. Now he knelt, examining the broken body before straightening. His ashen face was enough to tell Charlie what she needed to know, and she glanced worriedly at the silent woman beside her.

Obviously in shock, the wife waited tensely as Radcliffe approached, probably knowing what he would tell her, but hoping against hope that she was wrong.

"I am sorry. There is nothing to be done for him. He is dead."

The woman slumped at those words, her head drooping like a limp daisy, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Radcliffe watched her with concern for a moment, then turned and let loose a piercing whistle that brought his carriage forward at once.

"Help them into the carriage, Charles," he instructed. "I shall only be a moment."

Nodding, Charlie ushered the children forward as the driver leapt down to open the carriage door. She lifted first one child, then the other into the carriage before glancing around to see that the mother still stood where she'd been. Even as Charlie started back for her, Radcliffe shoved some money into the hand of a man he had taken aside, then moved to assist the woman. Taking her arm, he gently urged her toward the carriage, speaking to her softly as he did.

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat at the gentle concern he was showing, Charlie turned and got into the carriage, smiling at the weeping children reassuringly. The widow followed at once, with Radcliffe right behind her.

He murmured something to the driver, the door closed, the carriage rocked as the driver regained his seat, and they moved off at a funereal pace. The silence inside the carriage was thick and stifling, but there was little Charlie could think to say as she eyed the trio on the opposite bench. They were like clothes in a wardrobe. Slack and empty. Turning away from their hollow eyes and expressionless faces, she stared blindly out the window at the passing buildings.

It was not until the carriage came to a halt outside a dilapidated boarding house that the woman suddenly regained some expression, and that was panic. Her gaze shot to her children helplessly, tears welling in her eyes.

" 'Tis all right," Charlie reassured her quietly. She knew the woman was terrified of being turned away, but she had every intention of putting her winnings to good use by helping this family.

"I shall see them to the door," she murmured to Radcliffe as the driver opened the door. Stepping down, she waited as the driver assisted the widow out, then lifted down first the daughter, then the son to the street. Casting another reassuring smile at the mother, Charlie started toward the front door of the establishment pausing when it suddenly flew open and an odious little fellow in a filthy and tattered shirt and pants stepped out to bar the way.

"Back are ye, Mrs. Hartshair? Well, yer still not comin' in. I told ye. I'm wantin' my money. Ye owe me fer three months and ye'll pay it or kiss yer belongin's goodbye."

"Please, Mr. Wickman," the woman murmured painfully, clasping her children close. "My husband he's dead" She shuddered over the word, but forced herself to continue. "We've nowhere else to go. I'll pay the rent the best I can, but my children"

"Dead?" the man interrupted, a startled look on his bulldog face that became calculating as the woman nodded. "Well, that there puts a whole different picture on things, don't it?" His gaze slid up and down her consideringly.

"A.

woman shouldn't be on her own. Not safe. Mayhap we can be coming to an agreement."

His expression left no doubt as to what kind of agreement he was considering, and Charlie felt herself bristle like a hedgehog. "The only agreement will be her paying the rent she owes you and collecting their things. She will not be staying here."

His beady eyes swiveled to Charlie, taking in her gentleman's outfit with an arched eyebrow. "So that's the way of it? Already found herself a protector?"

Charlie stiffened at his words, then turned to the woman he had addressed as Mrs. Hartshair. "You said it was three months' rent you owed?"

She nodded uncertainly.

"How much a month?"

When the woman hesitated, the landlord spat out an amount that made her eyes widen incredulously. " 'Tis barely half that!"

"Aye, but it's late, so I'm charging you interest," he announced smugly.

"I am afraid interest is out of the question."

Charlie glanced around with surprise at Radcliffe's steely words. She had not heard him approach.

"You shall take the correct amount and allow them to collect their things.

Or you shall be paid nothing and we shall use the money to replace whatever they are forced to leave behind. Which shall it be?"

Charlie turned back to see the landlord scowl briefly. His gaze moved from Radcliffe's tall, erect form to the crumpled hatful of coins that she had pulled from her pocket; then he gave a surly nod. "Deal."

Charlie counted out the necessary coins and held them out. The man snatched them so swiftly she almost missed the action.

"Take them inside, Charles, and assist them in gathering their things. Mr.

Wickman and I shall wait out here for you."

Mr. Wickman obviously did not care for the arrangement but could do little about it. He stepped reluctantly aside, glaring as the Hartshairs hurried past.

Charlie followed them into the dim, smelly interior of the building and up two.

flights of rickety stairs to a small room that had made up the entire living space of the Hartshairs. One end of the room was taken up with a bed; a length of string strung alongside it told her that a sheet or some such thing had probably been slung over it at night for privacy. Two pallets in the opposite corner were where The children had obviously slept, leaving a small spot around a fireplace that held a chair with a broken and mended leg, and rough tools for cooking.

Charlie felt a lump develop in her throat at such penury and was grateful that it didn't take long for them to gather what little they had. She had never been inside such a dismal dwelling, nor had she ever known anyone who'd had so few possessions. A couple of ragged items of clothing. A tattered little doll of the girl's. A clumsily carved wooden figure that was the boy's. One pot and one pan for cooking. They all fit into a small bundle, then Mrs. Haitshair turned to face Charlie with determination.

"I'm wishing to thank you for what yer doin', payin' our rent and all, but"

She swallowed and chew herself up proudly. "I'll pay ye back somehow, but"

"I am not truly doing you a favor so much as you are doing me one. Or at least I hope you will," Charlie interrupted her.

When the woman peered at her a bit suspiciously, Charlie explained, "Radcliffethe gentleman downstairs?" At her nod, Charlie continued, "Well, I fear his cook quit just this morning. He has not had an opportunity to look for a replacement just yet and Well, it does seem as if you need a home and a more substantial job just now."

"A job?" she echoed with an expression of combined hope and fear.

"Aye." Charlie offered her a bolstering smile. " 'Tis a live-in position, so the problem of your being without a home just now would be solved."

"But what of the children?" she asked anxiously. "They would not be underfoot?"

"Nay. I am sure all will be fine. Why, your daughter could help out Bessie, my sister's maid. 'Twould be good training for her. And I am sure they could always use a hand in the stables when your son is old enough."

"Oh, my." She dropped onto the edge of the bed, looking suddenly overcome.

Charlie eyed her uncertainly.

"Are you all right?"

"I it is just" She shook her head weakly and tears began to course down her face. Her children were at her side at once, confusion and fear on their faces even as they sought to comfort her. She drew them into her embrace, kissing the top of first one head, then the other before raising her face to peer at Charlie with blind gratitude and adoration. "Things have been so bad for so long.

My husband, God love him, he did not mean to gamble, to make things so hard. He tried to stop, constantly promised to. But" She shook her head wearily.

"He was a good man when I married him, then he took to gaming, then the drink.

He neglected business and began to sleep the day away. When we lost the inn, I thought that he must see how much damage all of this was causing. I thought sure he would change. But when Mr. Wickman told me about the unpaid rent, then"

She paused and her eyes became glassy with honor. Charlie was sure she was recalling her husband's death. The woman's expression cleared and she whispered, "God forgive me. I never wished him dead, but right now I see more hope for the future than I have in years."

She raised slightly shocked eyes to Charlie. 'I'm an awful woman to feel that way, aren't I?"

Charlie shook her head solemnly. "Nay. You are a woman with two children to raise, clothe, and feed. And you have been trying to do so alone for quite some time while your husband stole the roof from over your head and gambled it away.

Now you are free of the sickness he had and the hold it had over your life.

You can start fresh. There is hope. There is no shame in embracing it."

The woman considered that silently, then nodded. "You are a good man, my lord. I have been praying for help for a long time. I think surely God must have sent you to me in answer to those prayers. I will be the best cook I can be."

"I am sure you will do fine," Charlie murmured, uncomfortable with her gratitude.

"Now, we had best go below before your Mr. Wickman comes looking for us."

Moving to the door, she held it open and ushered the threesome out and back downstairs. Radcliffe and Wickman were still on the front stoop. At Radcliffe's questioning glance, Charlie merely shook her head and followed Mrs.

Hartshair and her children into the carriage.

Radcliffe entered after Charlie, then sat to eye the woman and her two children seated on the opposite bench seat. He experienced a definite sense of dj vu, only the memory mixing with this reality was of Bessie seated fearfully on the bench. Sighing inwardly, he shook his head and sat silently for the duration of the ride home.

"It would seem we have guests. Stokes," Radcliffe announced, slapping his gloves and hat into the butler's waiting hand as the man gaped at the woman and children who trailed him into the house.

"Not exactly guests," Charlie corrected gently as she followed the family into the house and pushed the door closed.

"Oh?" Radcliffe arched one supercilious eyebrow at the lad. "Pray tell?"

"You are in need of a cook, as I recall. Unless you have already made arrangements?"

Radcliffe grimaced. "You know I have hardly had the opportunity for that."

Charlie breathed a small sigh of relief. She had not thought he had done so yet, but if he had, that would have been a complication indeed. "Well, now you need not bother. You need a cook. Mrs. Hartshair is a cook."

Radcliffe blinked at the simple announcement, then glanced toward the woman for verification. "You are a cook?"

"Aye." She swallowed nervously as her gaze slid around the luxurious foyer before she added unhappily, "Aye, I am a cook, but II'm a fair hand at buns and such, but the sort o' food I can cook is" She glanced at Charlie, who gave her an encouraging smile. Straightening slightly, the woman murmured, " 'Tis tasty, hearty food, my lord. But I know naught about fancies and pastries and the like."

'That will not be a problem," Charlie assured her quickly. "His Lordship never entertains. Besides, his last cook could not even boast tasty or hearty fare, and you shall learn anything necessary over time. Is that not right, Radcliffe?"

There was a moment of silence, just long enough to make Charlie glance at him in reprimand, at which he nodded solemnly. "Aye. 'Tis quite true. I am sure you will do very well." His gaze went to the weary and bedraggled children hanging onto their mother's skirts, and he murmured, "Your children look as if they are all in. Stokes will show you to your room."

"Thank you, my lord," the woman gasped, her face blossoming into near beauty with her relief. "Thankyou."

Nodding, Radcliffe glanced toward Stokes expectantly, frowning at the servant's stunned expression and the way he gazed, unmoving, upon the widow.

"Stokes?" he prompted, drawing the man's attention. "Show them to a room."

"Of course, my lord."

The servant had actually blushed slightly, Charlie noticed. Radcliffe grunted and turned to her. "In the library, Charles."

She grimaced at the autocratic tone, but paused to suggest to Stokes that he offer the Hartshairs some food before seeing them to bed. The three looked pale and thin to her. They could use some meat on their bones, and she doubted they had eaten that day. When the man assured her he would see to it, she turned resignedly and followed Radcliffe's trail to the library.

He was standing at the sideboard pouring himself a drink when she entered. A stiff drink, she could not help but notice as she settled in a seat before the desk to await the lecture she knew would come. She did not have long to wait.

"My home is not a refuge for runaways and waifs, Charles."

"Runaways?" Her eyes widened innocently as she watched him cross the room to take his seat at the desk. "I have brought no runaways here, my lord."

His brows drew together in displeasure. "You know what I mean, Charles."

"Aye, well," she sighed briefly, then shook her head. "Actually, no, I do not. I am hardly using your home as some sort of charity workshop, Radcliffe.

Beth needed a maid and I found her a maid. You needed a cook and I have found you a cook. The fact that both women were in untenable situations when I found them is merely coincidental."

This fine argument, one she was rather proud of, was blown to the four winds by a child's sudden squeal of "Puppies!" from the hallway, followed by a shout from Stokes and the scampering of little feet. Charlie could picture what was happening in the hall. Stokes had led the Hartshairs to the kitchens to feed them, unthinkingly opening the kitchen door, only to have the puppies make a grand escape. All no doubt to the children's glee. They were now surely chasing the little creatures about, attempting to recapture them. Charlie almost smiled at the pictures running through her head, but she managed to restrain herself when she caught the expression on Radcliffe's face.

"As I said," he muttered grimly, "you must stop collecting people and puppies."

"Of course, Radcliffe. You are right. I shall refrain from rescuing any more wayward strays," she murmured soberly.

Radcliffe sighed heavily. "I wish I believed that."

"Oh, you can. After all, there are no more positions in the house to fill, are there?"