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grinned as he said, “Another one gone, eh? Good, I didn’t like her; mean eyes.” He puffed up his face and squinted his bright eyes in imitation of the vanished housekeeper.
    But Jocelyn didn’t care to be amused. “Watch that pot,” she said sharply. “Don’t let it boil.” With fair meekness, for he knew well cooking did not improve his cousin’s temper, Arnold did as he was told. He began to tell her about his plans for the week, something about a river he’d been meaning to explore.
    “I would have thought,” she replied, “that you were planning to spend the next week or so at your books.”
    “Huh?”
    “Don’t grunt, Arnold. I mean, of course, that you cannot go out for ... yes, for two weeks. Until your parents come home, I’m responsible for you. How would they feel if you were hauled off to gaol? Again.”
    “You can’t restrict me to the house! I was going . . .” He mumbled the rest of the words.
    “Poaching? Thieving? Or some other activity that will once again bring Constable Regin’s hand down on your shoulder? He’s going to be watching for you, Arnold. I don’t think he’s the kind that forgets quickly.’’
    “He won’t forget you bringing that vegetable marrow down on his head. Constables ought to wear helmets or something, don’t you think? Like Roman soldiers, or the Coldstream Guards.”
    “Constables’ headgear aside, Arnold, you are staying indoors until our constable finds something else to think of. Remember, if you please, that he took a long look at me just before—”
    “Crash!” Arnold shouted jubilantly. The sight of the massive constable falling was evidently one of the high spots of his young life.
    Jocelyn’s lips tightened. She could not possibly reveal to Arnold that she had been accused of another crime within moments of assaulting the parish officer. He would find it too funny.
    Her concern for her cousin, to her surprise, mingled with worry over the stranger, Hammond. If Arnold were once more arrested, surely Constable Regin would come to the house to inform Mr. and Mrs. Luckem. And, should he see her, he would undoubtedly recognize her as the “boy” wanted in two street crimes. A boy who went off with a man in black.
    Jocelyn had heard reports of Regin’s determination not to let any suspicious circumstance escape him. Hammond’s behavior could certainly be considered suspicious, and Jocelyn somehow knew it would be fatal to have a large and implacable constable prying into Hammond’s affairs. She was convinced that keeping Arnold within tight boundaries would be best for him, herself, and Hammond.
    For once all six members of the Luckem household sat down together. As Jocelyn came in with the salmon pie, Mrs. Luckem said, “I forgot to tell you that Mrs. . . . what was her name . . . left. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
    Granville left his seat and took the serving plate from Jocelyn’s hands. She smiled at him and forgave her aunt for overlooking the housekeeper’s departure. She couldn’t be angry while the family prayed over the meal she prepared. It would be hard in any case not to forgive the Luckems their faults, even if she didn’t owe them all the happiness she knew.
    Not even Tom had yet been born when Jocelyn’s father died at sea and her mother came to live with Arasta and Gaius Luckem. Julia Burnwell did not live long, and her child was absorbed into the household with little fuss and less worry. Jocelyn sometimes wondered if she had inherited some stability of temperament from her father, about whom she knew nothing beyond the bare facts of his name and rank. Certainly, she did not possess the single-minded determination of the Luckems, who did what they pleased without reference to other people.
    That quality, however, did not belong solely to the Luckems. Jocelyn knew from childhood the story of her paternal grandfather, who refused to acknowledge either his son’s marriage or the birth of his only grandchild. She’d seen