Page 14 of The King and Vi


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Peggy’s eyes widened, and she gave a hasty curtsy then scurried away, looking over her shoulder at the nobleman anxiously.

“There’s access to the staircase through there,” Violet told him, gesturing to the back room. “I suggest you start on your correspondence immediately. No naps.”

“Yes, Miss Sunshine,” he said, sounding like an obedient servant. She might have even believed him, if he hadn’t winked at her over his shoulder before following Peggy into the back.

Violet gripped her broom tightly. What had she gotten herself into?

*

King noted theback room was clean and organized. He supposed the contrast between the neatly arranged casks of spirits and stacked mugs and cups in the back and the complete chaos of the front made an impression. He truly did not remember much of the Silver Unicorn from the night before, but if this back area was any indication, it had not always looked as it did now. Was he really to blame for the destruction in the front? King supposed he and Henry might have broken a table or chair, but Miss Sunshine couldn’t blame him for what looked like the aftereffects of a cyclone.

He followed the maid up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top, she opened a door and stepped inside to allow him to pass. King had to duck, and even when inside the room and he stood upright, the low ceiling almost grazed the top of his head.

“Do you need anything else, your lordship?” the maid asked.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat?” he said hopefully. Now that he was sober again, he was beginning to feel rather hungry.

“Er…” The maid looked about the small flat. “I’m not certain, your lordship.”

“Very well.” He made a dismissing gesture with his hand and walked across the room. The ceiling slanted down at the sameangle as the roof, and he had to duck again by the time he reached the window overlooking the street below. A few people passed by, wrapped in thin shawls or threadbare coats. A woman swept the walk outside her building, and a group of barefoot children raced past.

King dropped the thin muslin window covering and turned to look at the room. At one end was a clothesline with various items of clothing hung to dry. A large tub sat below the line with sponges and brushes and various cleaning materials inside. Behind the line was another door. A closet or another room? Perhaps a water closet, though he doubted a flat this primitive would have an indoor privy. In fact, there was a tattered sheet hung in one corner, and King would have placed bets that behind that was a chamber pot.

Beside the window where he stood was a small table with two mismatched chairs and a three-legged stool. A shelf was against the wall, and it held three wooden plates, one wooden bowl, and three chipped glasses, as well as a porcelain pitcher. King imagined the closed cupboards held a motley assortment of pots and pans.

The dark coal stove squatted on the other side of the room. Beside it was an all but empty coal bucket. The room was chilly, though he imagined in a few months, at the height of summer, the room would be stifling hot. Beside the stove was a mattress with an assortment of ragged blankets. King’s gaze moved past it and then back again, and he spotted the small lump and followed it up to the small head of a dark-haired, brown-eyed boy. This must be one of Miss Baker’s brothers. The child looked just like her.

“Who are you?” King asked.

The boy pushed off the blankets and stood. “I’m George Baker, sir. Who are you?”

“The Marquess of Kingston.” At least for a few more hours. “But you can call me King.”

“The markiss who owes Vi blunt?” The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Did she take you prisoner? Is that why you’re here?”

King frowned. “There’s no logic behind that idea, Master Baker,” he said. “Your maid showed me in here, and I assure you if Miss Sun—Baker had attempted to abduct me, I would have thwarted her efforts.”

The boy looked dubious. “I don’t know about that. She can be pretty strong sometimes.”

King had no idea about the age of children. This child could be three or ten. Regardless, this one seemed in good health and reasonably intelligent, if a bit misguided. “Is there anything to eat, Master Baker?” King asked.

The child’s gaze went to the cupboard with the plates and bowl. “Not much. Joshua sometimes brings food back, but he’s not here right now.”

Joshua must be another of Miss Baker’s charges.

King went to the cupboard and opened it. As he’d suspected, there was a pot and a pan, and also a basket with a cloth over it. King removed it, uncovered a loaf of bread, and set it on the table. He lifted the pitcher from the shelf and poured what appeared to be water into one of the chipped cups. Bread and water. How he’d come down in the world.

He sat in one of the chairs, gingerly testing it before putting his full weight on it. It creaked but held. A moment later, George was kneeling on the stool, elbows on the table, watching King eat.

King didn’t have a knife, so he tore a piece of bread off the loaf and took a small bite. Stale and mealy, but it was better than nothing. He had to put something in his belly to soak up the remaining drink.

“Vi won’t like that you’re eating that,” the boy said.

“Don’t tell her, then.”

The child looked as though he’d never considered that option. He looked to be the sort who couldn’t keep a secret. King knew how to deal with that sort. One involved them in the crime to make them complicit. That generally assured compliance.

He broke off another piece of bread. “For you, Master Baker.”