The child took it, popped it in his mouth, and said between bites, “You can call me Georgie.”
“It would be my honor.”
Georgie smiled, and King saw his half-chewed bread and two missing front teeth. “You’ve lost something,” he said. Georgie looked about. When he didn’t discover anything missing, King pointed to his mouth. “Your front teeth. Had them knocked out in a brawl, did you?”
“Noooo.” Georgie shook his head.
“Fell down the stairs?”
“Noooo.”
“You’re too young for them to have rotted away.”
“They’re not rotten. They just fell out. Like my bottom ones did.” He pointed to the bottom set of his front teeth, which were uneven and seemed to be growing in at various rates.
King made a sound of understanding. He vaguely remembered that children lost their teeth before the adult teeth grew in. He supposed he’d lost his own at one time. He didn’t like to think about his childhood very much. It hadn’t been a happy time.
The bread was gone and so was the water, and King was still hungry. Nothing to do about that at the moment. From below he heard the clink of glass and the sounds of furniture being moved. The maid and Miss Baker were obviously working hard at cleaning up the mess. It was an impossible task, but if Miss Baker was engaged in that, she couldn’t hound him.
“Is that the only bed?” he asked, pointing to the one Georgie had been lying in.
“No. Vi has her own bed in there.” The boy pointed to the closed door behind the clothesline. “But we can’t go in there because she’s a girl.”
“She’s not in there now,” King pointed out.
“But it’s—I forgot what it is. My brother knows the word. Something about privacy.”
King furrowed his brow. “An invasion of privacy?”
Georgie pointed at him. “That’s it! How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” King rose. “Don’t worry. I won’t invade her privacy.”
He strolled across the room and opened the door to Miss Baker’s bedchamber. Well, it wasn’t a bedchamber. It was a closet with a bed inside and several garments hanging on hooks. The roof sloped so steeply here that he would have to all but crawl to move from one side to the next. That was if the bed had not taken up almost the entire space.
Still, it was a bed and not a mattress on the floor. He could nap here until a decent hour of day and not be disturbed.
Georgie had come to stand behind him, and peered into the closet. “You’re not supposed to go in there.”
King looked down at him. “Then don’t tell anyone.” He hunched down, moved inside, and closed the door. He had little choice but to sit on the bed, but even then his head rubbed against the ceiling, so he lay down. The bed was not uncomfortable. It was long enough to accommodate him, and considering the walls on either side, he wouldn’t fall off. He pulled a quilt over him and closed his eyes.
A moment later, he opened them again. The quilt smelled like her—like Violet Baker. It had that faint floral scent mixed with lye and yeast. None were unpleasant. In fact, he rather liked the scents of yeast and flowers, but something about thecombination unsettled him. It brought her face to mind. She was very pretty.Verypretty. That was something one didn’t see often in the lower classes. Any woman with passing good looks was usually snatched up by a protector or the abbess of a bawdy house. Violet Howard, with her thick, dark hair, her blue eyes, and her clear skin, was undeniably lovely. She was also quite without protection. The small child in the other room couldn’t keep her safe, nor could that slip of a maid who had shown him upstairs. There was mention of another brother. Perhaps he had shielded her from harm.
Or perhaps she was in very real danger, and that was why she was so keen on collecting money from him. King felt an unfamiliar sensation, like a tug in the middle of his chest.
He ignored it. Violet Baker and her brothers and her maid and her tavern were not his problem. He had bigger problems. Problems someone like Miss Sunshine could never understand. He’d pushed his father’s trial and guilty verdict to the back of his mind, but now he had nothing else to distract him.
His father was a traitor. He, King, was the son of a traitor. He knew what that meant. He’d be ostracized. He’d lose everything—his titles, his money, his connections.
Everything.
What was he supposed to do now? Where was he supposed to go?
He’d write to his friends this evening. They would help him. They’d give him blunt, offer him refuge. If there hadn’t been a war on, he would have decamped to the Continent. Perhaps he’d go to Canada or the United States for a few years until the scandal died down. Yes, that was what he’d do. He’d ask his friends for blunt and purchase passage on a ship. Once he reached the New World, he’d put all of this behind him—the creditors, his father, and, most importantly, that witch.
Chapter Five
Joshua was carefulto keep out of the way of Ferryman and his gang. That was as much commonsense as self-preservation. Ferryman was always looking to add to his gang, and even though Vi paid him extra to leave her brothers alone, he wasn’t known for keeping his promises.
