“I said I was looking for Captain Tackham.”
“I am right here,” called Tackham from the inner door.
Miss Temple and Mr. Harcourt both spun toward the officer. He smirked at their expressions, then pushed himself toward a tall piece of furniture from which the white cloth had been pulled, a sideboard stocked with bottles. The Captain sorted amongst the brandy as Harcourt sputtered.
“Are they finished? Why did no one call?”
“Where are the children?” asked Miss Temple.
Tackham pulled the cork from a squat square bottle and poured an inch of amber liquid into a glass. “What is she doing here?” he asked.
Harcourt's reply was stopped by a cry from the inner room, the high-pitched voice of a child. Miss Temple took a step toward the door. Tackham quite casually reached back and pulled it tight with a click.
“What is being done to them?” she cried.
Harcourt called past her to Tackham. “She claims to know how to find Lord Vandaariff.”
“What is being done?”
“Does she really?” asked Tackham with amusement.
“But now she will not say!”
“I say she knows as much as my boot.”
“Any idiot knows,” sneered Miss Temple.
Tackham cocked his head with some amusement, but she saw the shift of weight between his legs, and the snifter slip easily into his left hand, leaving his empty right hand ready to catch her arm.
“Call me idiot, then,” he said. “I've no damned idea.”
“You are a swearing rogue,” she spat.
Captain Tackham extravagantly drained his glass. Recognizing the gesture for a distraction, Miss Temple wheeled, to find Harcourt had crept up behind her.
“She has something in her hand,” called Tackham sharply, but Miss Temple had already slashed the little blade at Harcourt, ripping a two-inch line across his coat sleeve. Harcourt stumbled clear and stared at her in shock, pulling at the sleeve and its dangling button to make sure he was unhurt.
Captain Tackham chuckled. Miss Temple turned back to him with contempt.
“You are a beast. I will be happy to see your skin melt off with each rise in rank.”
Tackham's face hardened and she knew he was about to come for her. Miss Temple gripped the knife tightly, but the conversation was interrupted yet again.
“What is this?” croaked a peevish voice from the corridor.
“It is Miss Stearne!” called Harcourt. “She knows the location of Lord Vandaariff but will not say.” He raised his sleeve. “And she has cut my coat!”
Andrew Rawsbarthe entered unsteadily, drawing a noticeably more gelid gaze across Harcourt, Miss Temple, and the blade in her hand, before settling it on Captain Tackham.
“Captain?”
“The lady insists upon seeing the children.”
“What children? It surprises me to hear you speak of children in Harschmort House.”
Tackham shifted uncomfortably. “She encountered them in the upstairs hallway.”
“I see,” said Rawsbarthe, gravely. “You first failed in your assignment, compromising your orders—and then you said nothing about this breach, to protect yourself!”
“She's only a feather-headed nothing of Lydia Vandaariff—”
“I did not know you made these decisions, Captain. I was not aware you were in command!”
Tackham pursed his lips, angry but silent. Harcourt cleared his throat and gestured to the door.
“If you would like me to inform the Colonel—”
“I would like nothing of the kind!” Rawsbarthe's fatigue showed through his anger like bones protruding in an old man's hand. “I will be obliged, sir, if you would shut the door to the corridor and then sit on that chair.”
Harcourt looked once at Tackham and then—as he was clearly junior to Rawsbarthe, no matter the man's condition—closed the door and then perched himself on an armless side chair, looking altogether childish. Rawsbarthe himself fell onto a divan. His palm left a rusty streak on the white cover.
“Miss Stearne, is it?” he asked.
“It is,” said Miss Temple.
“A companion of Lydia Vandaariff,” offered Harcourt.
“She should be brought to Mr. Phelps,” insisted Tackham.
“I disagree, Captain,” Rawsbarthe answered, sharply. “Miss Stearne, perhaps you will lower your weapon. There are no highwaymen here, and no lady is in peril.”
Miss Temple looked to Tackham, who smoothly adopted a posture of casual disinterest and poured himself more brandy. She lowered the knife but did not put it away.
“I am indeed acquainted with Lydia Vandaariff.” She indicated the case in her left hand. “I am here to collect certain hairbrushes to be sent on to Macklenburg. I came upon the Captain and his charges and have expressed my concern. You have three children—under arms, mistreated—”
“What of Lord Vandaariff?” Rawsbarthe wheezed. “Do you indeed know where he might be?”
Miss Temple did not answer him, glaring again at Tackham. Rawsbarthe leaned forward with difficulty. His chin quivered and suddenly Miss Temple wondered where he had been in the house all this intervening time. Even from the upstairs room, his condition had precipitously declined.
“Will you tell us?” he croaked.
“Why should I, given these peremptory gentlemen?”
“It would be indelicate to say,” drawled Tackham, “but I should be more than happy to show you.”
“Captain Tackham!” cried Rawsbarthe. “I believe you have tasks other than drunken insolence! You will inquire as to the readiness of your charges, at once!”