The lad’s thin chest swelled. “Tha’s right. Tha’s what I am.”
For one so young, he definitely had a well-aged ego. Charles stifled a laugh. “And as man of the house, it is your responsibility to care for your mother and sisters.”
“Aye, Mr. Baggett. That I do.”
“Agreed, and a fine job you’re making of it. You are a conscientious young man, one of the most reliable I know.”
Instantly Frankie’s big brown eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Mr. Baggett?”
Blast. He’d overplayed the flattery. He should’ve known a kid trained by Kit would be on his toes mentally. Now what to say? He glanced at the overcast sky, praying for some inspiration. None came. And by the way Frankie was banging his foot against the crate, his time was running out.
Charles scrubbed a hand over his face. Nothing for it then but the truth. “I want you to reconsider your employment at Bellow’s Glassworks. More simply put, I want you to quit your job.”
Frankie’s head reared back, his hat nearly sliding down his back. “Why?”
“It’s not a safe environment. If your mother knew the dangers you face, she’d swoon dead away.”
Frankie snickered. “Women.”
Charles couldn’t help but smile, yet it didn’t last long. This arrogant young lad was clearly having none of this conversation. Still, for Frankie’s sake and his mother’s, he had to keep trying. “You know, Frankie, you could do better. Delivery boys make fat tips in the right neighbourhoods. I’d be happy to be your reference.”
“Thanks, Mr. Baggett, but I can’t quit. I’m kinda beholden to Mr. Bellow after I—I mean, he offered me the job as a sort of reward, so I ought not let him down.”
Well. That was quite the noble way to describe how he’d cast a net for the unsuspecting factory owner. The boy’s tongue was as silver as Kit’s!
“Look, Frankie, I know it was a setup, fair and square. You planned that little accident and now you feel remorse for it, don’t you?”
The boy sucked air through his teeth as if he’d been hit in the gut. He shot to his feet, lunch pail once again taking a wild swing. “I gotta be goin’ now.”
Charles grabbed him by the sleeve. “It was wrong of you to snag a job that way as much as it is wrong of Mr. Bellow to allow his workers to labour under such unsafe conditions. You’re old enough and smart enough to know two wrongs never make a right.” Charles shoved his face close to the boy’s, lowering his voice. “If you’re injured—or worse—your mother and sisters will have no one to fend for them.”
“Now there yer wrong, Mr. Baggett. They’ve got you.” Frankie laughed as he wrenched away and tore down the pavement. “G’day!”
Charles’ shoulders sagged as the boy swerved around a lump of pedestrians and disappeared. That hadn’t gone at all as he’d hoped.
“Isn’t it a little early for ye to be here?” Martha’s sweet voice curled over his shoulder.
He turned, caught off guard by the woman who usually heightened his senses. A good surprise, though, her enticing scent of warm bread and sweet butter wrapping around him like an embrace. She may run a soup kitchen, but there was a certain refinement to her posture. An elegance to the way she carried the basket on her arm. Why, as far as he was concerned, she could hold her own against a Portman Square lady any day.
“I was just stopping by to…em…” He sputtered to a stop. He couldn’t very well tell her he’d been trying to convince her son to stop going to a factory that might maim or kill him.
So he snatched the basket off her arm and held it up, hopefully making a believable point, or at the very least a distraction. “I came to walk you to market.”
“Is that so?” Suspicion sparked silver in her blue eyes. “Ye never have before.”
“Yes, well, there is an upsurge of crime in the area. Just wanted to make sure you arrive unharmed.” A lie—sort of. There were increased cutpurses roaming about.
“How…thoughtful.”
That slight hesitation shouted clear as day she didn’t believe him. Undaunted, he offered his arm, and with a single arched brow, she rested her fingers on his sleeve. He set off, overwhelmingly aware of her touch.
“I hope seeing me to market doesn’t interfere with yer job, Mr. Baggett.”
He glanced at her sideways. “Keeping the citizens of Blackfriars safe is my job, so no need to fret.”
“I never fret when yer around.” A lovely shade of pink washed over her cheeks.
Which pleased him to no end. For a while they walked in companionable silence, more of necessity than desire due to the clamour of drays, horses, and carriages.
