She tugged, and he followed, and he was running again.
“Fred, is it absolutely necessary I do this?”
“Absolutely.”
He found Ivy holding the still smiling Lottie. The little girl waved, and he found himself waving back. They made an enticing picture so he looked away.
“Do I… ah, are there more pickled whelks, Fred?” He had to ask.
“No. You get kippers here,” she said, reaching the next table before him.
Leo was there drinking with his uncle, brother, and others. Plus the extras they’d collected at the last table.
“You decide what you want now as there are two of us. Then I take something, and we divide it up like that. But there will be tasks now too.”
“Tasks?” Gray stared at the kippers, and his stomach gurgled. The cake looked good, but Fred grabbed it before he could, so that left the mug.
“Hello, and good evening, Detective Fletcher. It is wonderful of you to befriend our amazing Nightingales. I have never met such good people.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Varney. I will not arrest anyone, and especially not your precious Nightingales,” Gray said. She’d been holding a broom with both hands when last he’d met her.
“Well now, that’s good to hear. We won’t have to hurt you.”
Gray’s eyes shot to the woman. He’d say around sixty, she had a pink bonnet covered in flowers of every color he could think up and pink lips. With her was her daughter, who’d said hello to Leo earlier. Was that only a short while ago? He thought it felt like a lifetime.
“Watch yourself there,” a woman he didn’t know said from beside him. “She’s got her eyes set on finding a husband, and any will do.”
“Drink for pity’s sake, Gray. I am not allowed to due to my age and the fact none of the adults in my family will let me. So, you need to drink that mug, not just warm the contents!” Fred demanded.
“No, we will not allow you to consume any of the alcohol on these tables, Frederica!” her uncle shouted.
Gray sniffed the contents. The smell was not as pungent but equally strong. He didn’t gag this time as the firewater crept down his throat, but it was close.
“You’d think for a man from Scotland Yard, he’d be able to hold his liquor,” Alex said.
“They’re clearly not the men we think they are if they can’t stomach a wee dram or two,” someone said.
Gray thought the man had been introduced to him but couldn’t remember the name. Mind you, his eyes were watering, so no one was very clear to him now. Gray drank little… if at all. He preferred tea.
“Run, Gray!”
Following Fred’s lead, he did as she asked and lumbered down the street holding her hand. He was listing slightly now and didn’t seem to be able to right himself. Those mugs had been filled to at least halfway, and he was feeling the effects. He noted Matilda had joined them and was holding his other hand.
“Hello,” he said, looking down at her. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m on your team, Gray. Honestly, you need to focus. This always happens to the men who start the race.”
“What happens?”
“You start stumbling and laughing manically. I never want to drink alcohol if it turns me into a fool,” Fred said.
She wasn’t wrong. Alcohol made fools of men, but not him. Gray was completely sober, he told himself as he stumbled slightly. He reached the next stand on the bend of Crabbett Close. The light was fading, and he noted candles and lamps were on the tables.
“Stay close now, girls, it’s getting dark,” Gray said.
“We’re in Crabbett Close. Nothing happens to us here,” Matilda said.
“Right. Silly me.”
