“Grayson.” Camille resisted the urge—no, the need—to scream. “Oliver Twist has orphans! Great Expectations has orphans! The Old Curiosity Shop has orphans! There are no orphans in A Christmas Carol!”

“Are you sure?” he asked with obvious suspicion.

“Yes,” she hissed the word.

“My mistake.” He shrugged. “But as it happens . . .” He glanced back at the note. “These are not orphans. They were simply going to act the part of orphans.”

“I don’t want orphans!”

“Not that we aren’t concerned about orphans,” Beryl said quickly. “Camille and I both raise funds and donate and do what we can to help the plight of—”

“Now is not the time,” Camille snapped.

“I thought it was worth mentioning, as you’re not being the least bit charitable at the moment,” Beryl said, “toward orphans. At Christmas.”

Camille clenched her teeth. “I do not want orphans for Christmas!”

“Excellent, as you do not have orphans but merely children. Although”—he leaned closer and lowered his voice in a confidential manner—“I suspect if they can play the role of orphans, they can certainly play the role of whatever else you might wish of them. Christmas elves, perhaps?”

“I don’t want Christmas elves either!” She clenched her fists, closed her eyes and counted to ten. Considering ways to murder Grayson was not productive at the moment. Time enough for that later. Remaining calm and serene was the best way to handle this. She inhaled a calming breath and opened her eyes. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Where did these children come from?”

“I, well . . .” He considered the question, although it seemed fairly straightforward to her. “You might say I leased them.”

“You did what?”

“In point of fact, I had Win lease them.” He shrugged in a modest manner. “But it was at my direction.”

“You leased children?” she said. “How many children?”

“Hundreds,” Beryl whispered in horror. “There are hundreds.”

“Nonsense.” He cast Beryl a chastising look, as if she should know better than to think such a thing. “Where would Win find hundreds of children?” He glanced at the note. “There are only five.”

“Five children?” Camille couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Five boys,” Beryl said pointedly.

He looked at the note again. “So it would appear.”

“Send them back.”

His brows drew together. “What?”

“You heard me.” Camille waved in the direction of the road. “Send them back. All five of them. At once.”

“If not sooner,” Beryl added.

He frowned in confusion. “Why would we send them back?”

He couldn’t possibly be this dull-witted not to see the problems a house full of children would cause. “First of all, Grayson, we have barely enough staff to provide for the people who are here now—let alone five children. Staff, I might point out, that while they were once servants, they are now actors acting as servants—”

“And doing a fine job, really,” Beryl said. “Why, the cook is truly outstanding.”