“We’ll need a bathtub,” Mrs Ardingly said at his left shoulder as he led the way, her aunt at his right. “And lots of warm water. Towels or old sheets.”
“I’ve got some clothes for the poor mite,” said Lady Pemberthy, hefting a bag at her hip. “We had plenty in the donations box to choose from. Two sets of trousers and three shirts and a nice padded nankeen jacket.”
Mrs Ardingly was holding the bottle of lice treatment in her hands, clasped somewhat reverently. Or perhaps the reverence was all in her eyes, in the glow of do-gooding that suffused her face, making her cheeks pink. He glanced away as he pulled keys from his pocket and found the right one for the door. An image of three wise men bearing gifts came ironically to mind, but that was the very opposite of reverent.
“You locked him in?” Mrs Ardlingly frowned at the key he turned in the lock.
“If you remember, he kept threatening to escape.”
But that wasn’t the only reason for the locked door. His father often took it into his head to wander the house, often at night,often with his nightshirt billowing around his skinny calves. And often with a bottle in his hand. His moods were unpredictable. They were never usually violent, but they were strange and wild. Terrifying to a small boy. As Sebastian well knew. A surprise meeting between boy and man wouldn’t have done either of them any good.
The boy had been asleep on the sofa, but he raised his head groggily at the sound of the door opening then snapped into alertness, lying as still as a frightened rabbit except for his eyes, which ran over the three of them, left to right then back again. None of them looked like watchmen, Sebastian supposed, as the boy watched their approach in wary confusion.
“Oh, God bless the poor little soul,” breathed Lady Pemberthy. The boy stared at her, confusion deepening, but his wariness not abating one iota.
“Hello.” Mrs Ardingly smiled, getting down to kneel by the sofa as she’d done last night. “Do you remember me? You might not.”
“I…I reckon. You was there last night. And him.” His wary gaze darted over her shoulder and up to Sebastian, then over the three of them once more. He started to struggle to sit up, wincing.
“No, you don’t need to move,” said Mrs Ardingly gently. “Lie there and rest a while. We’re going to prepare you a bath, and that will take some time.” She glanced to where Sebastian stood. “Can the fire be lit too, there in that grate? If we do the bath here? There’s little point moving him more than we need to.”
“Of course,” murmured Sebastian, only somewhat haunted by visions of water puddling the highly polished marquetry of the floor. The Aubusson rug could, he supposed, at least be rolled up and moved out of the way. That’s if it didn’t need burning, infested with lice and fleas as it undoubtedly now might be.
He’d only just finished decorating this room, a scheme of Papworth’s he’d liked the look of, though it was meant for a country cottage. Maybe that was why he’d brought the boy here last night instead of to the servant’s quarters or the stables. Some small part of him had wondered whether Mrs Ardingly might like the room. He rang the bell, summoning a servant to prepare the bath. He doubted she’d noticed it at all.
The two ladies tried talking to the boy while they waited for the bath to be prepared, servants bustling in and out. Mrs Ardingly remained kneeling on the floor; Lady Pemberthy settled herself into a chair Sebastian carried over and set by the sofa. He himself stood near the window, keeping out of the way, mostly superfluous except for the few directions his staff required.
The women’s conversation seemed largely superfluous too. The boy either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell them where he’d been born, who his parents had been, whether he had brothers or sisters, or where he lived.
They eventually managed to get him to admit to possessing a name, but as this turned out to beTonk, it wasn’t much of a prize. And that small confession owed less to the ladies’ apparently endless patience than the large piece of cake Lady Pemberthy insisted on giving the boy.
He’d been dazzled at the first glance. It was a large, dark cake, rich and dense with fruit and sporting a shiny glaze. Lady Pemberthy had pulled the tin from her capacious bag, opened it while talking, then sat there with the cake on her lap, its vast circumference glinting stickily and giving off the scent of spiced raisins and sugar. It was a highly effective interrogation technique, despite being the product of the lady’s bumbleheaded absentmindedness more than a torturous cunning.
The boy stared at it, and even when he was finally rewarded with a slice, he held it tightly in a grubby hand, eyes flicking down to it as though he couldn’t quite believe it was there.
Sebastian watched, biting his tongue, remembering the doctor’s advice about nothing but broth and barely water. But perhaps that had only applied while there had been worry about the boy’s internal injuries. Mrs Ardingly had heard the doctor’s advice too, andshedidn’t prevent the cake being given. It didn’t matter anyway. The boy didn’t eat it. Just held it, skinny knuckles white, every part of him suspicious.
“But is that the name your parents gave you, or were you known by something else in your earliest years?” Mrs Ardingly was all gentle patience. Sebastian suspected that if the boy hadn’t been so sore, she would have set a reassuring hand on his arm or stroked the greasy hair from his forehead. Her voice took the place of that touch, soft as angels, sweeter than the cake. He didn’t know how the boy held out.
Tonk’s eyes flicked back to the rest of the cake on Lady Pemberthy’s knee. He glanced down at the slice in his hand. “I…I reckon I don’t know. Maybe I was called something else.”
Across the room came the splashing of another bucket filling the bath. Tonk’s attention darted to that, his hand tightening on the cake.
“I don’t want no bath. Ain't healthy.”
“It’s very healthy, I assure you,” coaxed Mrs Ardingly. “All good, clean water.”
“Could catch a chill. Catch a chill and die.”
“It’s very warm. And there’s the fire too. I don’t suppose you’ve ever bathed in warm water? It’s extremely pleasant.”
Sebastian fixed his gaze on the window, on the garden, all blue and green in the spring sunshine. Now was not an appropriate time to imagine Mrs Ardingly in the bath.
“It ’urts too much to move.”
Mrs Ardingly nodded, mouth pursing in sympathy. “I know. But we will help you, my aunt and I. We can carry you over, or support you to walk, and help you into the bath. You only have tosit, and we’ll do everything else. You’ll feel so much better with all these lice and fleas gone, I promise you.”
Had he ever known life without them? Just how quickly did a child get infested? Were there babies with fleas? Right now, in London, were there babies and small children covered with all the scabs and reddened bites he’d seen on the boy…all mingled with the bruises and the scars…
