"Yes, of course, you are quite right," Callie said in her most soothing-of-servants manner. "We must remove him. But not until we know it's safe."
"Safe!" the new cook said indignantly. "I didn't take this position to be attacked by cattle and criminals, I tell you, in my own kitchen, and on my very first day!"
"Certainly not," Trev agreed. "But I'm obliged to you for your courage. It's women of your iron moral fiber who saved England from Bonaparte."
The cook glanced at him. She took a deep breath, as if to reply sharply, and then straightened her shoul ders a little. "I spe'ct so. And who might you be?"
"The duke," he said easily.
"The duke!" She made a puff of disdain. "Oh, come!"
Trev shrugged and smiled. The cook's lips pursed as she tried to maintain her indignation, but her frown eased. Ladies always melted when Trev smiled in that self-deprecating way. Callie had a strong tendency to soften into something resembling a def lated Yorkshire pudding herself, in spite of knowing better than anyone how dangerous it was to succumb.
"I'm one of those eccentric dukes," Trev said. "The French sort."
"Little does she know," Callie said under her breath, pulling Hubert's ear forward so that she could rub behind it. The bull tilted his head and moved it up and down with heavy pleasure. Trev took a step back as a horn waved perilously close to his face.
The door opened a crack. "They're on the way back, sir," came Jock's disembodied voice.
"Already?" Trev said. "Can't Barton even lead a respectable goose chase?"
"They don't look none too happy, sir. Sturgeon's got mud over half his breeches, and his sleeve's torn off."
"The work of the vulgar Toby, I perceive." Trev gingerly pushed Hubert's horn away from his face with his injured hand. "Doubtless this too will be added to my account. Keeping a vicious dog on the premises."
"Old Toby's all right," Jock muttered through the door. "Had all the sense knocked out of him in his line o' work, is all."
"Toby? That's your dog?" Callie asked, lifting her head. Before Trev could even answer, she had leaped forward in her thoughts. "That's a fighting dog!" She stared at him for an instant, her whole world tilting. "Why is Hubert dyed black?"
"A small misunderstanding," Trev said hastily.
"You stole him!" Callie exclaimed. "You were going to bait him!"
"Of course not. I-"
"Why is he disguised?" she demanded. "Why is he in your kitchen? And that dog." Her voice rose in pitch. "I'll never let Hubert be baited! He's-"
"Callie!" His voice cut strongly over hers. "Good God, do you think I'd do any such thing?"
She paused, biting her lip. Then she lifted the f lour sack in bewilderment. "But I don't understand. Why is he here?"
"I was trying to get him back for you," he said roughly. He began to edge past Hubert's bulk as the door clicked abruptly closed. "Maudlin fool that I am. Keep him quiet, unless you prefer to hand him back to Davenport on a silver platter, and my head along with him."
Callie had to feed Hubert the entire overturned basket of tomatoes and raise the new cook's wages to two guineas a week in order to keep both of her charges in check while dogs and constables raged about outside. Trev and Jock seemed to be leading them a merry chase, with a few feints provided by Lilly from the upstairs window. In spite of her initial shock, the young maid had clearly thrown in with the criminal ranks. She showed some zest for it too. When Toby began scratching and barking at the kitchen door, she leaned out and rang such a peal about disturbing a house of illness that the constable tried to grab the dog himself, though all he seemed to get was a nip for his trouble.
Hubert paid no mind to the snarling threat from the yard, occupied with his tomatoes, but Cook finally grabbed a tub of dishwater in both of her beefy arms, braced it against the door, and opened the latch, dumping the whole over Toby as he tried to dash inside. He yelped and shied back. Cook slammed the door closed. The barking and growling ceased.
"Well done," Callie said in admiration. "Three guineas a week!"
Cook nodded shortly and crossed her arms. "Constables. Dogs. Can't have such 'uns in the kitchen, can us?"
"I should think not," Callie said, rubbing Hubert's ear.
"I warn 'er, my lady, I don't know how I'll serve a dinner on time," Cook said ominously.
"I think a light luncheon will be perfectly adequate. Perhaps you can…" Callie surveyed the wreck of the kitchen. "Perhaps a ham and mustard sandwich," she concluded faintly.
"Pr'haps," the cook said with displeasure. She nodded at the bull. "'Tis standin' on the bread, him is."
"Yes," Callie said helplessly. "I see."
Cook harrumphed in disgust. "Can't put food on the table with a bull in the kitchen, can us?" She rolled down her sleeves and turned resolutely to the door.
"Oh no, please don't go-" Callie's plea was cut off by the sound of the door thumping closed behind the cook with finality. She bit her lip in vexation, sure that was the last they would see of the new cook. She was astonished a few moments later to hear the constable and Major Sturgeon addressed in strong Gloucester accents. The cook's voice was soon joined by another, equally scolding. Callie recognized the nurse, who seemed to have abandoned her patient long enough to come down to the yard and rebuke the local officer of the law in no uncertain terms. Lilly's higher tones joined in, and the sounds, along with the major's clipped replies and Constable Hubble's pathetic attempts to mount a defense, receded.
Callie fed Hubert another tomato. After several minutes, the door to the hall opened cautiously. "Still here?" Trev looked around the corner.
She gave him a dry look. "Where did you expect us to be?"
"Can he turn about?"
Callie cast a glance round the room, measuring Hubert's length against the breadth of it. "In a word-no."
"Damn." Trev went away for a moment, then came back and opened the door fully, stepping down into the kitchen. "It's safe for now. They've retreated in disarray. Cook's gone for some bread at the shop. An excellent woman!" He grinned. "We'd fought it to a draw, but Sturgeon wasn't going to fall back until she rallied the forces."
"I've raised her wages to three guineas a week," Callie informed him.
"Capital." He offered another carrot to Hubert. "I could commit murder before her very eyes and keep her on at that rate. Now-what are we to do with you, my immense friend? Can you back him out?"
"I doubt it. I may have to lead him through the hallway," Callie said.
"I fear that you may. I pray for the survival of the f loorboards. And after that, what are we to do with him?"
"What are we to do with him?" she echoed in surprise. "I should think that must be obvious."
"We must get him out of here, of course," Trev said. "But after that, I'll admit, I'm stymied for a plan."
"We'll return him to Colonel Davenport, of course."
"And what will we say to the colonel?" he inquired. "'Here's your bull, my good man. So sorry he fell in a tanner's vat!'"
Callie made an exasperated sound. "Why on earth did you dye him? It makes it appear as if you stole him."
"Ah. You perceive the crux of the problem."
She was silent for a moment, her gloved hand resting on Hubert's muscular shoulder. She lowered her eyes. "Did you steal him?" she asked softly.