July 9
“Paisley? Paisley.”
Even though Paisley knew he was dreaming, he still burned with mortification at having slept through the morning, forgetting to wake his master, leaving the—
A hand gently shook his shoulder. “Paisley, w-w-wake up, old thing.”
His eyes flew open.
Lord Jasper smiled down at him. “Sorry to d-d-disturb you when you were sl-sleeping the sleep of the righteous, but I’m afraid you’re in my b-b-bed.”
“Oh, I say,” Paisley said stupidly, and then sat up so quickly he only narrowly missed bashing Lord Jasper in the face—which already looked as if it had been bashed quite enough.
He leapt to his feet, winced, and then put his damaged foot down more gently, never taking his eyes off his employer. “Your new Gieves and Hawkes suit is ruined, my lord.”
Bloody hell! That wasn’t what I meant to say.
But his lordship laughed. And then grimaced, lifting his hand to his forehead, which had a goose egg with a nasty scrape that was oozing clear fluid and blood.
Paisley walked gingerly to the gas lamp beside the nightstand and turned it up to shed more light, noticing as he did so that he was still fully dressed. A glance at the clock showed it was just past three. A second glance at the drapes showed it must be three o’clock in the morning.
When he turned back, his lordship was pulling off a stock that had been used to within an inch of its life, his fingers shaking slightly.
“Allow me, my lord.” Paisley reached for his necktie.
Lord Jasper dropped his hands and smiled. “I’m as weak as a k-kitten for all that I slept a g-good twenty-four hours.”
“Was nobody down below tonight?” Paisley suddenly thought to ask.
“Not a soul on the front door. No lights on, either. It seems like a blatant c-case of mice playing while the cat is away.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, I didn’t—”
“Oh, hush. I am only t-t-teasing. It is far too late for anyone to be hanging about in the f-f-foyer. I daresay you were all a bit worried.”
Paisley risked a glance at Lord Jasper’s face, to ascertain if he was still teasing. But no, he appeared to be serious. “Yes, my lord, we were all worried. A bit,” he added, biting his lip at the slightly hysterical tinge to his voice.
“Well,” Lord Jasper said with a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an exciting t-t-tale. I was caught up in a fishing net, c-c-conked on the head by a fishing boat, half-drowned, and then three-quarters crushed while two w-w-well-meaning rivermen brothers by the n-n-name of Rory and Jerry Sl-Sl-Slackbottom squeezed the water from my lungs. They then t-tucked me beneath a gunnel with a few old b-buoys and continued p-putting out their nets.”
“Good Lord,” Paisley said under his breath, stepping behind Lord Jasper’s slightly swaying form to lift the utterly ruined coat from his shoulders.
Once his lordship was in a chair, Paisley knelt to remove his Trickers, also ruined.
“You said you slept for twenty-four hours, but it has been days, my lord.” He didn’t like the whiny tone in his voice, but it was too late to call it back.
“Ah, yes. Well, they were just in the m-m-middle of putting in the nets again when I finally woke. N-N-Not a good time to r-run me to shore, I’m afraid. So I spent a day g-going upriver and a day c-coming back down before they could drop m-me off.”
Paisley had to bite his tongue.
“I suppose I should s-send word to Detective Law tomorrow m-m-morning.”
“I shall send Thomas the moment you are in your bath, my lord.”
Lord Jasper yawned and blinked owlishly at Paisley’s stern tone but made no comment.
It was rather like undressing a six-foot toddler, as any of his lordship’s efforts to help were more of a hindrance.
Once he was stripped and in the tub, Paisley picked up his discarded trousers and coats, checking the pockets. He frowned. “Where is your wallet, my lord?”
“Hmm?”
“I can’t find your wallet.”
“I couldn’t either. I m-m-must have lost it somewhe—” the last word was mangled by an enormous yawn.
“How did you get back here?”
“God, this feels m-m-marvelous,” he muttered, shivering violently enough to send water slopping over the edge of the tub.
Paisley stared at the only part of him visible, the top of his head, which was resting on the slanted back of the tub. He waited for an answer and was just about to repeat the question when a snore rose up.
He sighed. Well, what did it matter how he got back? He was here.
Paisley sat down to pen a quick message to Detective Law—warning him not to visit until after nine; no matter how tired his lordship was, he doubted he’d be able to keep him in his bed much past that time.
After he’d sealed it, he decided that he might as well knock on Mrs. Freedman’s door. He felt sure she would want to hear the good news, no matter how uncivil the hour.
Paisley was not aware that he was smiling until he was limping down the corridor toward the servants’ stairs and caught a glimpse of his foolishly grinning face in the mirror.