“Not spewing,” Lily murmured to her, sotto voce.
Maude rolled her eyes. “You prefer retch?”
“I prefer not discussing it at the dinner table, but nobody seems to be paying me much mind.” Lily turned to Indio. “Now then, I see you’ve finished your supper. I think it’s time for your bath.”
“Maa-ma,” he whined in the disappointed voice every boy used at the notion of cleanliness. “But Caliban isn’t done eating.”
She smiled tightly. “I’m sure he’ll be fine with Maude.”
“And you aren’t done eating, either,” he pointed out earnestly.
“I’ll finish the rest of my meal later.”
She rose and walked to the small fireplace, where a kettle had been set long before supper. It was gently steaming now. She caught up a rag and reached for the handle, but another, much bigger, hand got there first.
Lily gave a tiny jump, watching wide-eyed as Caliban picked up the hot kettle as easily as lifting a twig. At least he’d had enough sense to shield his palm from the heat with a rag.
He stood blank-faced until she pulled herself together.
“In here.” She stepped gingerly around his bulk and led him into the little bedroom. A tin hip bath was waiting, laid beside the bed on some old cloths. It was already half full of cold water. “You can pour it in there.”
He lifted the hem of his shirt to hold the bottom of the kettle and she caught an unsettling flash of his stomach.
Hastily she looked away, her cheeks heating.
“Mama?” Indio stood in the doorway.
“Come in,” she said briskly to her son, and then to the man: “Thank you for your help. You can go back to the table.”
Without a word he turned and left the tiny room, closing the door behind him.
Indio stuck a finger in the bathwater and swirled it around. “Why d’you talk to Caliban like that?”
Daffodil trotted over and placed her front paws on the rim of the tub to peer in.
“Like what?” Lily asked absently. She rolled up her sleeves and tested the water with an elbow, making sure it was neither too hot nor too cold. The bath was barely more than a shallow basin. She could use it herself by standing or crouching in it, but she missed the bigger copper half-bath they’d had to sell.
sn’t much—certainly not as grand as some of the houses he’d once seen as a young buck new to town, before his fall from grace—but it was homey. And that was all that mattered.
“Well?” Maude demanded, pointing to one of the chairs at the table. “Have a seat, milord.”
For a terrible second Apollo couldn’t breathe. Then in the next moment he realized that the honorific had been meant sarcastically. He nodded, hoping his face hadn’t betrayed his surprise, and pulled out a chair to sit.
Maude was still scowling. “What’s wrong with him? Can’t he talk?”
“No, he can’t,” Indio said simply, saving Apollo from having to do his dumb show.
“Oh.” Maude blinked, obviously taken aback. “Has he had his tongue cut out?”
“Maude!” Miss Stump cried. “What a horrible thought. He has a tongue.” Her brows knit as if from sudden doubt and she peered worriedly at Apollo. “Don’t you?”
He didn’t even bother resisting the urge. He stuck out his tongue at her.
Indio laughed and Daffodil began barking again—obviously her first reaction to nearly everything.
Miss Stump stared at Apollo for a long second and he was aware that his body was heating. Carefully he withdrew his tongue and snapped his mouth shut, giving her his most uncomprehending face.
She humphed and abruptly took her seat.