He gave her a hopeful look, but behind his big brown eyes she could see the doubts forming. Soon he wouldn’t believe her pretty lies. He’d be as jaded and downtrodden as she and Joshua.
As though summoned by the thought, Joshua himself stepped through the doorway and into the Silver Unicorn. Before he shut the door, Violet saw what looked like patches of sunlight on the dirt street outside the tavern. The streets weretoo narrow and the buildings too crowded to ever allow much sunlight into Seven Dials, but on a sunny day, a few rays could be counted on to fight their way through the poverty and gloom.
“How is he?” Violet asked without preamble. When she’d wakened after a restless few hours of sleep, Joshua had been gone, and she’d known where he was.
“The same,” he said. “Mrs. Archie said he hasn’t opened his eyes.”
Her name wasn’t Mrs. Archie, of course, but she’d told the boys to call her that, since all of them except Violet called the publican Mr. Archie. “Did she send for the doctor?”
He shook his head. “Said she will if he becomes worse.”
Violet nodded. Mrs. Archie was young but practical. Most of the time it was a waste of money to call for a doctor. Those who would come to this area of Town were incompetent at best and dangerous at worst. They’d take your coin and give you some miracle potion that would turn out to be water mixed with lamp oil. A doctor was as likely to kill a man as save him.
Violet did worry about the wound on Archie’s head, though. It had seemed like it would need stitches, but then, that was the province of the surgeon. And it was even harder to get a surgeon to Seven Dials. If one would come, his instruments were usually crusted with blood, and the infection from the surgery killed the man quicker than the initial injury. Mrs. Archie would most likely sew up the wound better than any surgeon.
Joshua took a chair from the top of one of the remaining tables and set it on the floor. “Come and sit, Vi. You were up for hours cleaning.”
Violet took the chair while Joshua pulled down two more—one for Georgie and one for himself. Georgie climbed onto his chair and put his arms on the table, looking like a little statesman. “What will we do now?” His eyes traveled over thewreckage with concern. Violet was glad he hadn’t seen the place before she cleaned some of it up. It looked bad enough now.
“Peggy will help me clean when she comes in,” Violet said. “I’ll need you two to help as well.”
“I can sweep!” Georgie volunteered.
“And when we open again, I’ll act as publican.”
“Oh, no you won’t.” Violet pointed a finger at Joshua. “It’s not safe. I’ll do it.”
He snorted. “As though it’s safe for you.”
Violet felt her head throb harder and pressed her fingers against her temples. Joshua was right. It wasn’t safe for a young boy or a woman to work alone at a public house, but she had to do something. That panicky, powerless feeling rose in her, and she stubbornly pushed it down.
“Why did this have to happen?” Georgie asked forlornly. “Why do bad things always happen to us?”
It was the sort of question Violet asked herself, but one she couldn’t afford to entertain now.
“Because life isn’t fair,” Joshua said. “If it were fair, them nobs who started the trouble last night would have to pay for all this.” He waved toward the wreckage.
“Can’t wemakethem pay?” Georgie asked.
“They’re rich. They don’t have to do anything they don’t want to,” Joshua said.
“I wish I were rich,” Georgie said, plopping his small chin on his hands.
A quiet tapping sounded, and Joshua and Violet exchanged looks. Violet nodded, and Joshua went to open the door. “It’s just Peggy,” he said as he pulled it open.
“Just Peggy! I never.” The girl stepped inside, and her mouth dropped open. She was eighteen, three years younger than Violet, but she looked closer to Joshua’s age. Peggy was as thin as the soup the benevolent societies handed out. She kept herfine, wispy blonde hair pulled back in a cap, which meant her pale face looked stark and vulnerable. But she was strong and honest and hardworking.
Still, even the usually unflappable Peggy looked shocked by the pub’s interior. “Well,” she said, after taking it all in. “At least there’s no damage to the outside.”
“Are other buildings damaged?” Violet asked. She hadn’t been out and hadn’t thought about what other havoc the rioters in the street might have caused.
“Oh, yes. Broken doors, smashed lamps, cracked windows. Mrs. Littman said she will send a bill for the damages straight to the marquess himself.”
Violet straightened. Mrs. Littman ran the boarding house across the street. It was little better than a flash house, considering it was filthy and frequented by thieves and whores, but Mrs. Littman was a large, fearsome woman whom no one ever dared cheat. But that wasn’t what had caught Violet’s attention. “What marquess?” she asked. She knewmarquesswas some sort of title—like prince or duke. It was entirely possible one of the nobs in the Silver Unicorn last night had been a marquess. And everyone knew a man with a title had piles of gold.
“Let me think.” Peggy pressed a finger to the center of her forehead, pressing hard enough to make a red mark. She always did this when she was asked to remember something. It was as though she was pushing the information out of the depths of her brain box. “She said something about no one broke her windows without paying for them, and she would send the bill straight to the Marquess of Kingston.”
“The Marquess of Kingston,” Violet murmured.
