Miss Saunderton’s look turned to dismay. “You cannot suppose Papa will help you, surely? He will be as mad as fire! I dread to think what he will say if you tell him the boy is coming here.”
This was too much for Delia. “Let me tell you, ma’am, that Giff is quite as adamant as your father. Nothing would induce him to come. Which is why we are here in his stead.”
Miss Saunderton put a hand to her bosom, her face filled with sudden misery. “I wish he might. I should dearly love to see Flora’s son. He was a very babe the last time I set eyes on him. A bonny little boy he was too.”
“Well, you may meet him at my house in Stepleton, my dear Dowsabel. But at present, pray bring us to your father.”
Miss Saunderton looked at once fearful. “Oh, no, I dare not! He will roar at me, sir, and very likely throw his stick or snuffbox at me.”
“Then show us to his room and we will go in alone. Be assured I shall not tell him your part in allowing us into his sanctum.”
Now that she was confronted by Giff’s appalling grandfather, Delia could not blame his remaining daughter for being terrified. She came forward in obedience to the rector’s beckoning finger, but found it hard indeed not to crumble when that hostile gaze looked her up and down as the rector stepped aside for her.
“This is Miss Burloyne, who has a request to make of you.”
“Request? Request? Damned impertinence! Burloyne? Never heard of you.”
Delia drew a breath. “But you know my great-aunt, Lady Matterson, sir.”
The ferocious old eyes raked her. “What if I do? No reason why I should do anything for every stray relative she cares to throw in my way. Ye’ll get nothing out of me, girl!”
Daunted, Delia threw a glance at the rector, who urged her on with an encouraging jerk of his head. Her stomach felt tight, but an image of Giff’s features flitted through her brain and she stiffened her resolve. Lord Saunderton could do nothing to her after all. And she’d endured Aunt Gertrude’s scolding without flinching.
“I don’t want you to do anything for me.”
The old man snorted. “Then what do ye mean by disturbing my peace, wench? Go away!”
To be addressed by the same term Giff used towards her, but with far less warmth, had an oddly strengthening effect. She straightened and looked the old misery in the eye. “It’s not for me, sir, but for your grandson, Giffard Gaunt.”
To her astonishment, the old man flinched as though she’d struck him, throwing up a hand as if to ward her off. Delia thought she saw an expression of agony in his eyes, but it was swiftly superseded by one of violent fury. He fairly spat his words, leaning towards Delia, his features suffusing with colour. “How d’ye dare come to me? Who d’you think y’are, forcing your way into my house?”
“She did nothing of the kind, Saunderton,” snapped the rector, in a tone Delia had never heard from him. “If you wish to blame anyone, blame me. This girl means nothing but good and I won’t have her abused, do you understand?”
The militant eyes turned on him. “Then ye should’ve kept her out of my house! Good? It’s doing me no good, I’ll have you know. Likely send me off in an apoplexy!”
“Then control your temper, my friend.”
His lordship fairly sputtered, but Delia took instant advantage of his being temporarily lost for words, speaking with as much vehemence as she could command.
“Sir, I don’t care whether you want to hear it or not, but you must understand your grandson’s life is in danger. Piers Gaunt hired bullies to try to kidnap him, and very likely murder him into the bargain. I am persuaded you cannot wish for his death, however little you may care that he has come home.”
Lord Saunderton, who had been muttering throughout, now burst into speech again, still looking and sounding savage. “Thought the cubwasdead. Had no word of the boy since Henry sent me those letters.”
Delia’s heart began to thud and the Reverend Gaunt became suddenly intent.
“What letters, Saunderton?”
“From Favell! Feller had the infernal impudence to write to the man from whom he’d stolen both wife and son. Henry thought I’d wish to know that abandoned female had died. Pah! Dead to me from the day she took off!”
The bitterness came through beneath the biting tone, but Delia was too wound up to care. “Did you keep the letters?”
Violence returned to both face and voice. “Keep ’em? Of course I didn’t keep ’em! Threw them on the fire!”
A mewl of despair escaped Delia’s lips. “Oh, how could you be so cruel? It’s not Giff’s fault that his mother took him away! He’s your grandson, sir!”
Lord Saunderton raised clenched fists. “He’s no grandson of mine! For all I know, he’s Favell’s whelp! Even Henry couldn’t be certain of that.”
“Oh, yes, he could. And he was.” The rector’s tone was clipped. “You impugn Flora’s honour beyond what she deserves, sir. I can assure you my nephew had no doubt whatsoever that Giffard is his son.”