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Teddy put his head in his hands. “Lor’, I need a drink.”

“Get it yourself, then,” Peaches told him.

He let out a deep sigh, not moving from where he was slumped. “No, you’re right, that was low of me.”

She weren’t disputing it. 

“Should I run after her and say sorry?”

“Not unless you want a shiner,” Peaches shrugged, and relented, pouring out a glass of brandy for him, “or for that dog of hers to bite you.”

“Oh, Peregrine wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he said, pulling himself up. “Still, yes. Tomorrow would be better. Don’t suppose you could send Jenkins over with a handful of flowers from the hothouse to convey my humblest to my cousin for being such an inveterate boor?”

“It’d look better if you took them over yourself.”

“Yes, but she won’t set the dogs on my man.” He laughed. “At least, I don’t think she would. Who knows with Lotte?” And the laugh went on, a faint, uncontrolled laugher that was a little scary to hear. 

She nudged his fingers with the glass. 

The face he raised to her was blank and pure and helpless. “What would I do without you?”

She wasn’t going to answer that. Instead, she sat up on the desk and said, “I’m sick of taking orders.”

“I’m a little sick of giving them.”

“Wouldn’t have thought it to hear you just now.”

“Peach,” he rubbed his eyes again, “Peaches, I mean. I’m sorry I... I should to bed. Look, you don’t have to stay and do this whole servant thing, if it’s-”

“You sending me away?”

“What? No. That isn’t what I meant. Please, I’m drunk and I’m tired and everyone’s angry at me.”

“Do you not think you’ve earned that?”

“Yes,” he said it without pause, and as he did, his head sunk back down on to the desk again. 

After a moment, she reached over and touched the fine, golden mess of his hair. 

Leaning up towards her hand, he said, “I need a lesson, Peaches. Teach me a lesson. Make me sorry for it all.”

She felt as though she might cry. “No.”

He hunched in, smaller upon himself, going to some kind of place where she could not reach him. Anger flared in her, making the hand in his hair flinch to a fist for a moment before she forced it to relax again. 

Soon he would pull himself together, and he would make her laugh, and then they’d kiss and she push all this anger back down, deep inside her where it belonged.

Because she had things to do. 

Yes, Turning was upstairs sorting the linen, and the bed would be warmed, but she still needed to talk to the stables about what hour he’d want the horses by tomorrow, fetch the latest stack of paperwork from Hedge, and get after Jenkins to send after the flowers. Besides, there was probably a neck-cloth or something that needed pressing. 

There was always a fucking neck-cloth that needed pressing. 

Teddy sat with his head on the desk, his hand clenched loosely around the brandy glass. 

She almost hated him. 

Her fingers moved from that gorgeous, golden hair to his shoulder, and she gripped it. “You made your bed, Teddy.”

“I know.” He said it to the brandy glass, to the polished wood, his lips hardly moving, his throat thick and tired.

“And you made it for everyone else, and all. That’s what happens when you’re a swell.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“I’ll get off your back,” she said, and pressed his shoulder again. “You don’t need that tonight. And, for what it’s worth…” 

She shook her head, not wanting to say it, feeling it refuse to come out. Never back down, never apologise, not if you didn’t want to wind up broken. 

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t think he’d call the Watch.”

Peaches did not stump down the corridor, slamming doors behind her as she went looking for Hedge. Besides, there was not going to be much of a hunt involved in it – if he was still awake at this hour, he’d be in his study up in the attics, deep, deep in the Forthenby paperwork. 

Sure enough, there was a thin line of light beaming out from under the door. Peaches held her candle in one hand and knocked. 

“Enter.”

She opened the door to see the usual neat chaos of paperwork, the fire low on its embers, the single candle burning. Hedge sat immovable in his sturdy wool clothes, his pen in hand. The sharp, almost rotten smell of ink, the dust of the paper, was so strong that Peaches felt a cough tickling her throat. On the shelves were thick, leather bound tomes - accounts of the Forthenby estate. There was the slow, threatening tick of a clock on the mantle.

This was Hedge’s lair. Whenever he walked about in the world, terrifying his underlings and hatching his schemes, he seemed to drag the shadow of this close, dark little room with him. 

“Ah, Henry.” Hedge put his pen down next to his inkwell, and glanced at the page before him, checking it before turning the full weight of his attention on to Peaches.

“Is there anything Teddy needs to see tomorrow, sir?”

“I have the court records of the last local assizes, if my Lord wishes to look over them. The household accounts for the week are all in order, so he need not review them unless he cares to. There are a few letters concerning charitable ventures, some subscriptions he might wish to undertake. There is also my report on the builder’s progress from improvements to the alms-houses in Hartel Parva, and the repairs to the bridge on the Shrewsbury Road.”

“Right,” said Peaches. 

“I shall also be interviewing a new scullery maid on Thursday week. It is nothing my Lord need concern himself over.”

“I didn’t know we’d lost a scullery maid.”

“As Jane is to be married, I have decided to promote Beth to more general kitchen duties.” A pause. “If that meets my Lord’s approval, of course.”

It seemed as though everyone was getting hitched. “Well, they’re both good girls,” Peaches shrugged. “Does Teddy know about Jane?”

“I have arranged for the usual gift to be sent to happy couple.”

She’d get him to write a note too. Nothing too laborious, but they always liked to have something with the Forthenby seal on it. She started to gather up the paperwork, trying not to squint at Hedge’s flowing, italic hand as she tried to work out which sheets were which and how she should stack them. She’d learned to read blackletter as a girl, but this?

“All in order, Henry?”

She grabbed the lot. If Teddy wanted to read them, he could sort them out himself.  “Anything else he should know about, sir?”

Hedge had already turned his attention back to the page in front of him. “You might mention to him that my search is proving fruitless.”

Peaches shuffled the documents against one another. “Your search?”

“For his friend,” Hedge spoke calmly, like there was no reason she wouldn’t know about this.

“Do you mean Thornton?” She felt the aftertaste of the brandy she’d swigged on her tongue, dry. “Sir.”

“Tell my Lord that I believe he was seen in London, shortly after… after the events which occurred, but that there are no reports of him in recent weeks. Naturally his family claim to have heard nothing of him. I shall instruct my agents to continue, if that is what my Lord wishes.”

“Yeah,” said Peaches. “I mean, er, yes, sir. I’ll pass on the message.”