“But it was a nice sentiment, Detective Fletcher,” a sweet voice said from beside him. Looking over his shoulder, he found the smiling eyes of Ellen.
She picked up the cake before he could reach it, and Matilda, the horrid substance on a plate.
“Jellied eel,” Fred said. “She loves them.”
“Dear Lord, why?” Gray shuddered as he watched the child eat it.
“You drink. I’ll do the task,” she said.
“You’ll sing the last verse ofHome Sweet Home, Miss Fred,” Mr. Douglas said. Gray remembered that he was the grandfather of the girl that Barney Forge had abducted.
“Drink now, Gray,” Ellen said while Fred sang on beside him.
Ellen looked lovely in the candlelight, her skin glowing. She was also laughing at him as he looked down at the mug Mr. Douglas was handing him.
“How is your granddaughter?” Gray asked, hoping to stall the moment he had to swallow whatever was in there.
“Very well, thanks to you and the Notorious Nightingales,” the man said.
Beside him, Alex picked up his mug and raised it to Gray, which meant he had to toast him. They clinked their mugs.
“Drink up, Gray,” Ellen said.
“I don’t think I want to.” He went for honesty.
“I suppose I could, but I’m not really meant to take part until the next table.” She was laughing at him.
“There’s another table?” He felt ill at the thought.
“Two actually.”
He drank. It was thick as molasses and seemed to stick to the sides of his mouth.
“I love the molasses-laced whisky best,” Leo was saying from beside Alex. He was actually licking his lips while Gray tried not to empty his stomach on his boots.
When he ran, this time it was with the little girls and their lovely big sister. Beside them now galloped Chester. Tongue hanging out, tail wagging.
“I bet he doesn’t have to drink,” Gray muttered.
“He’s a dog, Gray. They are exempt,” Fred said.
By the last table, he was having trouble focusing. His eyes felt squinty, and his legs didn’t seem to belong to his body anymore.
“Come on. Nearly there,” Ellen said from beside him in a chirpy voice.
“Wh-what’s in that?” He pointed to the mug that a man with glasses and no hair held out before him.
“That’s Mr. Peeky’s famous spiced rum,” Ellen said.
Exhaling slowly, he picked up the mug and threw the contents down his throat as Bram was doing beside him. It was smooth and tasted like the best rum he’d ever drunk.
“Thank God,” Gray muttered. “And thank you, Mr. Peeky,” he stammered out.
“Are you all right, Gray?” Bram asked.
He tried to focus on the man, who seemed to be clear-eyed and untouched by the quantity of alcohol he’d just consumed.
“It takes time to adjust, but you’ll get there.” He then clapped Gray on the shoulder, and he staggered but stayed upright.
