Russell. It was a name that was new to Chris; probably a new kidsman entirely. It would explain the boy’s lack of proficiency in thievery, at the very least. Perhaps his little crew had been recently-assembled, culled together from the ones at the bottom rungs of the others, possibly even children who had been forced out of their gangs for failure to earn their keep.
Could be nothing. Could be something. A man hungry for a taste of the good life and just starting out in his profession could be twice as dangerous as another. Then again, Chris had a list of enemies a league long anyway. What was one more added to the rest?
“Does he, then?” Emma asked, her voice speculative. “If you say so, I’m certain it’s true.” She heaved a patently false sigh. “Ican only offer the children in my care modest meals, I’m afraid, probably nothing so fine as that to which you’re accustomed. For breakfast this morning we had only coddled eggs, bacon, toast, and jam.” A little shrug of her shoulders. “For luncheon, we’ll have meat pasties and whatever fruits Cook scrounged up at market. Probably strawberries.” She performed a comical grimace of distaste.
“Strawberries?” the boy echoed, his eyes wide.
“Oh, yes. And supper—ugh. No doubt it will be braised beef again. Must be the third time this week.” Emma gave a delicate shudder of mock-revulsion. “Of course, we have roast duck on Saturdays, so that’s something to look forward to. But I suppose you must be quite bored of duck.”
By the queer expression scrawled across the lad’s face, Chris suspected the lad had never even dreamedof attaining the opportunity to taste duck. For all his protestations of being well-fed, Chris knew it was profoundly unlikely that he’d ever managed more than a few scraps of bread and whatever he could scavenge from refuse that hadn’t gone too moldy to be palatable. Theyallknew it, in fact.
“I could stay through supper,” the boy blurted out. One of his ankles rubbed against the other, and for the first time he ceased trying to wrench himself against Chris’ hold. He scratched at the back of his head—a bit too vigorously for it to have escaped Emma’s sharp gaze.
“Well, if you’re certain our fare will meet with your standards, by all means,” she said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to have a bath first.”
The boy scowled. “I’m clean enough! I just had a bath!”
“In May,” Brooks offered, and then gritted out a foul word as the boy stamped upon his foot.
Emma suppressed a grin. “Be that as it may, we have strict standards of cleanliness, and I can’t let lice run rampant in myschool. But you’ll have a fresh and clean set of clothes to go with the bath, and they will be yours to keep.” And in the stalwart silence that settled between them, she added, shrewdly, “There will be raspberry trifle for dessert.”
It was the trifle that clinched it. The boy heaved a resigned sigh and straightened himself to the best of his ability. “I s’poseI could bear it,” he said, swiping one hand across his mouth as if he could already taste the trifle upon his tongue. “Just this once.”
The children had baths at least once a week—and sometimes more, if the need called for it. But by the time the lad learned it, it would be too late for him. Emma would have him marching to her tune within days, provided she could keep him from slipping out a window and nipping off into the night.
Emma shooed the boy toward the steps leading into the massive building behind them, and Albert didn’t offer so much as a single word of thanks before he disappeared inside, following a beckoning servant stationed near the door. Not that Chris had expected much of anything on that score. It would be years and years before the boy recognized just what a turn his life had taken, all from attempting to pickpocket the wrong bloke.
Chris jammed his hands in his pockets. “Where is Rafe?” he asked of Emma.
“Sleeping,” Emma said on sigh. “Katherine is cutting her first tooth, poor darling. He spent the better part of the night walking the halls with her, trying to soothe her to sleep.”
“Send him round to mine when he wakes up, would you?”
“Oh?” Emma blinked. “What for?”
Because Rafe might be able to provide a fairly comprehensive list of what women were available, which might be old enough—desperate enough—to accept a suitor well below their station. But he was damned if he was going to admit as much to his sister. “Does it matter? Surely you can spare him fora few hours.”
“So long as you do not send him back to me reeking of whisky,” she said tartly. “You do know I’ll have it out of him eventually. We keep no secrets.”
“I’m aware.” For a man who had, as a former spy, once been amongst the most tightlipped men of Chris’ acquaintance, he’d developed a remarkable—and irritating—predilection for spilling every damned secret he held to his wife. But there were things a man could say to his friends that he couldnotsay to his sister.
And, damn it all, his pride had taken enough of a beating for one day.
Chapter Two
Awife!”
“Jesus Christ,” Chris snarled. “Keep your damned voice down. If I had wanted everyone in the fucking city to know, I’d have taken out an advertisement.” He paused to sling the burlap sack in his hand over his shoulder, adding reflectively, “In fact, perhaps that’s how I ought to go about it after all.”
“You can’t order up a wife from an advertisement,” Rafe said. “What would you even say?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” Chris grabbed his glass of whisky with his free hand, turning toward the stairs. “Something like, ‘Infamous ne’er-do-well seeks well-born bride,’” he said snidely. “‘Face and figure unimportant. Preference will be given to any woman who knows how to hold her tongue.’”
Rafe issued a scathing snort as he started up the stairs after Chris. “You’d be lucky not to be shot on sight.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He’d been shot, stabbed—and more recently, just a few months past, had his knee crushed. But no one had succeeded in killing him outright. Yet. “Can’t abide a prolific talker,” he said. “I’d prefer a woman easy to ignore.”
“Ignore?” Rafe uttered the word as if it were senseless, something anathema to him. “Why do you want a wife, if only toignore the poor woman?”
