A Dangerous Nativity Read Online Free

unproductive line
of thought from his mind. There was a mystery here, and he meant to
solve it.
    "The funeral, Wheatly? What do you mean?"
    "Emery's, o'course. I saw you there with the
boy and his mother."
    "You went to the duke's funeral, Father?"
Catherine looked astonished.
    "Slipped in the back when everyone's
attention was up front. Hadn't spoken to the bast—uh, the duke, in
twenty years, but it seemed right."
    Will's head spun. He called the duke by his
given name. "I can't help but notice the family name. May I ask
your relationship to the duke?"
    "None I want to claim, and none you need to
know," the old man growled. "Is there a purpose to this call?" The
set of his jaw made it clear the subject was closed.
    "The earl admired our fences, Father. I
believe he came to pay his respects." Catherine's voice took on a
soothing tone, while Will tried to recall his excuse for
calling.
    "Fences?" Lord Arthur waved his hand
dismissively. "MacLeish takes care of that. Far too busy with my
studies to be bothered by such nonsense."
    "MacLeish?" Will asked.
    "Our man-of-all-work," Catherine explained.
She looked jittery. "Why don't you show your work to the earl,
Father." She looked desperate to change the subject.
    Wheatly launched easily into his
obsession.
    "Birds, Chadbourn. England is blessed with
'em." He held up a stack of drawings. The subject had been neatly
changed, and good manners prevented Will from probing. "I'm
finishing the text for my next work. Birds of the English Farm and
Fields this time."
    "This time?"
    Catherine smiled and showed him a shelf next
to the mantelpiece. Five well-bound volumes in brown leather, a
foot high each, had pride of place. Will could see Birds of English
Marsh and Wetlands and Birds of English Woods and Brush neatly
lettered on two of them.
    "Impressive, sir."
    "Mr. Porter will be wanting this one soon
enough," Wheatly said.
    "You have until after Christmas, Father,"
Catherine put in. "At least six weeks."
    The old man suddenly pulled one sketch from
the pile Catherine had laid on his desk. "This one isn't right," he
murmured.
    Will looked at the watercolor of a
black-and-white bird perched on a leafy branch. He didn't know
birds, but the painting looked exquisite to his untrained eye.
"It's lovely work," he said.
    "Wagtail wing bars aren't so wide. And look.
Catherine painted his head cocked downward. They don't sit that
way. Point their beaks up like some snooty duchess. Has to be right
for Porter."
    Catherine took the painting with a sigh.
"I'll redo it. Mr. Porter wouldn't know the difference or care, but
you will. I'll get to it tonight after supper."
    Chadbourn frowned. Miss Wheatley looks weary.
Does nothing happen here without her competent touch? She is
nervous, too. My presence makes her jumpy. I need to cut this
strange visit short.
    "If I may interrupt, Wheatly, the reason I
came was to ask for advice."
    Two pairs of wide eyes turned to him.
    "Eversham Hall is without a steward. I fired
the man for incompetence."
    "Excellent!" Catherine exclaimed. "Barker
about ruined the land."
    "Nasty, too," Wheatly scowled. "Th'duke's
creature."
    Will wondered what dealings Songbird Cottage
had with the rotten steward, but didn't voice the question.
"However, that leaves my nephew's estate without a steward. I need
someone trustworthy and skilled enough to oversee the restoration
of the estate, someone whom I can trust. I can't stay here forever.
I hoped you might know someone, Wheatly. It would be best if the
man knew local conditions."
    The old man looked baffled and confused. Will
realized his mistake. He had asked the wrong Wheatly. He looked at
Catherine, who appeared lost in thought.
    "Have you spoken with Squire Archer?" she
asked. "He owns a small estate several miles above Wheatton. His
nephew, John Archer, manages it. He's young, and Eversham would be
a challenge, but he has the skills. He understands the land. You
would do well to speak to him. The Squire wouldn't stand in the