The figure stopped and glanced towards the side of the road. Plainly the individual was considering whether to try and run or not. After a few seconds, common sense won out, and the stranger stopped and waited. As he got closer, Anthony could clearly see that it was a boy. How old was difficult to tell, but he suspected around fourteen or fifteen. The lad was small and thin with hair that had likely been hacked at with a knife some time ago. The jacket was obviously second hand and hung off him. ‘Are you injured?’ he asked finally reaching the boy.
‘Does ‘e bite?’ Anthony glanced behind him at Nelson who was hanging back anxiously.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so? ‘Ow come you ‘ave a dog and don’t know whether the bloody thing bites or not?’
‘I’ve not had him long.’ Anthony shrugged. ‘What have you done to your leg?’
‘Turned it on a bleedin stone is all.’ It was the boy’s turn to shrug.
‘What’s your name?’ Anthony asked.
‘Who wants ter know?’ Anthony simply raised his eyebrows and waited. ‘It’s George,’ came the sullen response a few seconds later.
‘Well, George, would you like me to have a look at that ankle for you?’
The boy eyed him apprehensively for a moment, then shrugged again and waved down at his swollen foot. ‘Do yer worst. I ain’t goin’ to earn any coin wi’out two bloody workin’ feet.’
So the boy was looking for work. Doubtful he’d find much in Blackmore. ‘Why don’t you sit over there?’ Anthony suggested, pointing to a large rock by the side of the road. Glancing uneasily down at Nelson who’d finally come forward to investigate, the boy backed away and hobbled towards the makeshift seat.
Removing his jacket, Anthony laid it on the ground, knelt down and reached for the boy’s surprisingly delicate foot. ‘Ow,’ the boy protested loudly as he touched the swollen ankle. ‘Steady on Mr. You ain’t no scab lifter to be bloody prodding and poking so.’
‘It’s not broken,’ Anthony observed, ignoring the boy’s outburst. ‘But it’s badly sprained.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘You won’t be doing any labouring on it for a while, I can tell you that much.’
‘Bugger it,’ muttered the boy resting the foot on the top of his shoe.
‘Didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to swear?’ Anthony commented mildly.
The boy eyed him with narrowed eyes. ‘Ain’t got one,’ he retorted. ‘Leastways, I don’t reckon I ‘ave.’ This last was muttered almost inaudibly.
‘How did you get here, George?’ Anthony queried. ‘Do you have anywhere to stay?’
The boy drew back on hearing his name and stared at his rescuer in suspicion. Anthony could clearly see the battle going on in the lad’s mind. Should he risk admitting to being homeless, or would he be better to lie and take his chances alone?
‘My father is the local vicar for Blackmore,’ he ventured, hoping to gain the boy’s trust.
‘That wot this place is called – Blackmore?’
Anthony nodded and waited.
‘I were on that coach,’ the boy confessed at length.
‘The one that had a wheel problem?’ A small nod.
‘Did the coach driver have you thrown off?’
‘No ‘e bloody din’t. I ain’t no thief.’ Anthony had to fight the urge to smile at the boy’s indignant tone.
‘I fell asleep an’ it went wi’out me,’ he confessed after a moment.
‘So you don’t have anywhere to go?’
‘I’ll stay in the stable if you’ve got one,’ the boy declared, obviously deciding he might as well be hanged for a sheep. ‘But I don’t want to stay in no vicar’s house. Bloody prayin’ mornin’, noon and night.’
‘You obviously haven’t met my father,’ was Anthony’s dry response. Climbing to his feet, he offered his arm as support and waited. After only a small hesitation, the boy eased the swollen foot back into its shoe and struggled to his feet. ‘I pay my debts,’ he declared, clinging on to his rescuer’s shoulders as they started walking. ‘I ain’t expectin’ no charity.’
Anthony didn’t answer. He gave a short whistle, and Nelson instantly looked up from his ongoing examination of something disgusting in the hedgerow, and with no hesitation at all, trotted along behind. Seeing him, Anthony gave an inward chuckle. The deuced stable would soon be full at this rate.
