Colin nodded.
Nodded?Amelia gaped. Had he understood the child, then?
The boy’s hand dropped. So did his head. “I know all about hurts.”
A fierce growl rumbled in Colin’s throat, raising the fine hairs at the nape of Amelia’s neck. If he lashed out at the child, there’d be nothing she could do to protect him.
Again, the boy didn’t appear to be frightened in the least, for he lifted his chin and grinned. “But it do a body good breathin’ some air, don’t it? I told ye it would.”
“Ne-mo good.” Colin’s massive hand drifted upwards, away from the lad’s shoulder, and patted him on the head.
The boy ducked away, rubbing where her brother had no doubt pounded him too hard. Amelia lifted the back of her hand to her own cheek, pressing against the small slice she’d suffered the day Colin had thrown the dish. This had to stop before the boy got hurt.
Gathering the hem of her gown, she glided past the threshold and stopped at the edge of the top step. “It’s time to come inside, Brother.” Actually, it was past time. One glance out Mrs. O’s window and the news of her monstrous brother would be all over Clifton.
Colin and the boy swiveled their heads in unison. Both looked scared and ready to bolt. Colin swung out one big arm and pulled the boy to his side. The lad winced but, to his credit, did not cry out.
Amelia tensed, fighting every instinct to run towards them, yank the boy to safety, and usher Colin from the public eye. God only knew what would happen if she did.
Though it pained her to do so, she slowly swept her hand towards the open door. “Cook has made seedcakes with a fresh dish of clotted cream. There’s enough for us all.”
The lad peered up at Colin. “Seedcakes is me favourite, sir.”
Sorrow folded Colin’s face, erasing the years, the deformity, transforming him into the same child who’d pressed his face against the glass as she’d left Balfour Manor all those years ago, begging her to stay…and if she had, how might things have been different?
“Ne-mo come?” Colin rumbled.
“Aye, sir.”The boy nodded. “It was you what told me yer sister could be trusted, to run to her should you not be ’round, remember?”
Colin’s lips rippled, like a great harvest of words were ripe for the picking yet he didn’t have the slightest clue how to gather them. Releasing the boy, he pressed both his hands to his head and shuddered. Sweet heavens! If he snapped now, the lad would bear the brunt of his fit.
“Nemo, is it?” She held out her hand, praying to God he’d take it. “Come along. I’ll see that Betsey puts an extra cake on the tray.”
“Oh boy!” He skipped across the lawn and plowed up the stairs, entwining his dirty fingers with hers.
Amelia stared, horrified. Had the lad’s abrupt movement been too much for her brother to handle? Was Colin even now teetering on the brink of cracking?
But her brother didn’t move. Not a smidgeon. He was a statue, palms flat against his ears, a breeze tangling his hair and riffling the dangling bandage.
“Colin, don’t you want to come?” She forced a smile. “I believe Nemo is hungry.”
Still, he didn’t move. Not physically. Only his gaze slid to her. She angled her head towards the house in what she hoped he’d perceive as an invitation.
Moments later, he rose, and once he fully stood, he took off like a hound of hell, sprinting towards her and the boy, never once pulling his hands from his head. She barely had time to yank Nemo aside before Colin shot past them and into the house.
The boy laughed. “He’s a fast one, aye?”
Quite the understatement, that. Unsure if she should be relieved or alarmed, Amelia guided the lad through the door and shut it firmly behind them.
As they made their way down the corridor, questions popped up one by one. Clearly the boy knew her brother, and vice versa, but how? Why was the child not frightened of him? How long had they known each other? And then, like the lifting of a dense fog, several answers sharpened into focus.
“So”—she glanced down at the boy—“I suppose I am to understand that all the toys the staff and I have found scattered about belong to you?”
He scuffed his toe on the carpet, a guilty nod bobbing his head, his ragged hair cascading into his eyes. His clothes were too small, his lanky limbs hanging well past the cuffs of shirt and trousers. How had a street boy come to befriend Colin?
“Have you any family?” she asked.
This time his head wagged. “I be an orphan, miss.”
