Barnaby glanced down at Jemmie, by his side. The boy wasn’t listening to Penelope’s words; his eyes were glued on his mother. As it became obvious Penelope’s choice of subject was indeed soothing the sick woman, the tension in Jemmie’s slight body eased.
Glancing back at the bed, Barnaby felt an unaccustomed tightness grip his chest. He couldn’t imagine watching his mother die, even worse watching her waste slowly away before his eyes. Even less could he imagine doing so all alone.
An entirely unexpected gratefulness for his family—even for his mother, annoyingly determined female that she was—was joined by a certain respect for Jemmie. The boy was coping, and coping well with a situation Barnaby wouldn’t want to face. Couldn’t imagine facing.
He looked again at Jemmie. Even in the poor light, it was clear he was unnaturally thin and scrawny.
“So that’s what will happen.” Smiling easily, brightly, Penelope scanned Mrs. Carter’s features. “We’ll leave you now, but rest assured we’ll fetch Jemmie when the time comes.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Carter looked up at Penelope as she straightened. “I’m glad my Jemmie’s to go with you. I know you’ll take good care of him.”
Penelope’s smile wobbled a trifle. “We will.”
She turned for the door.
The room was so cramped, Barnaby had to edge around to let her past. Before turning to follow, he looked at Mrs. Carter, met her gaze, and inclined his head. “Ma’am. We’ll make sure Jemmie’s safe.”
Turning to the door, he noticed Jemmie’s attention had remained on his mother. He touched the boy’s shoulder. When Jemmie looked up, he pointed to the hall.
A slight frown on his face, Jemmie followed him. With Penelope waiting just inside the front door, the tiny hall was crowded, but at least they could speak without disturbing Mrs. Carter. Jemmie paused just past the doorway, from where he could keep his mother in view.
Halting, Barnaby reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out all the small change he was carrying. He couldn’t give Jemmie any sovereigns; possession of such wealth would put the boy at risk. “Here.” Reaching out, he caught one of Jemmie’s bony hands, turned it up, and poured the coins into his narrow palm.
Before Jemmie could react beyond a tightening of his jaw, he continued, “This isn’t charity. It’s a present for your mother. A surprise present. I don’t want you to tell her about it, but you have to promise faithfully that you’ll use the money in the one way that will mean most to her.”
Jemmie’s gaze had locked on the pile of copper and silver in his hand. His lips had pressed tight. A long moment passed before he looked up at Barnaby. His expression wasn’t suspicious but wary. “What’s the way that will mean most to her?”
“You have to eat.” Barnaby held Jemmie’s gaze. “I know her appetite is poor, but there’s nothing you or anyone can do about that. Don’t waste the money on delicacies to tempt her—they won’t work. She’s past that. But the one thing that will make her happy, make her last weeks and months happier, is to see you well. I know it’ll feel wrong when she’s not eating, but for her, you have to force yourself to eat—more than you have been.”
Jemmie dropped his gaze.
Barnaby paused, felt the tightness in his chest as he drew in another breath. “Youare the most important thing in her life—the most important thing she’s leaving behind. You are the one thing that matters most to her now, and you need to respect that, and take care of that—take care of you—for her.”
He hesitated, then dropped a hand on Jemmie’s skinny shoulder, lightly gripped, then released him. “I know it’s not easy, but that’s what you have to do.” He paused, then asked, “Will you promise?”
Jemmie didn’t look up. He kept his gaze fixed on the pile of shiny coins. A glistening droplet fell to slide over and into the pile. Then he nodded. “Yes.” His voice was the barest whisper. “I promise.”
Barnaby nodded, even though Jemmie couldn’t see. “Good. Hide the coins.”
Turning away, he joined Penelope by the door. She’d been watching silently. Her gaze remained on his face for an instant longer, then she turned, opened the door, and stepped outside. Ducking again, Barnaby followed her into the murky lane.
Jemmie, rubbing his sleeve across his face, came to the door. “Thank you.” He looked up at Barnaby, then at Penelope. “Both of you.”
Barnaby nodded. “Just remember your promise.” He trapped Jemmie’s gaze. “We’ll be back to fetch you when the time comes.”
Turning away, he took Penelope’s arm. They made their way back toward Arnold Circus.
Looking ahead, Penelope said, “Thank you. That was very well done.”
Barnaby shrugged. He glanced back at Mrs. Carter’s door; it was shut. “So how do we keep Jemmie out of the hands of our villains?”
Penelope grimaced. “I had assumed we’d warn Mrs. Carter, and Jemmie, too, but as he said, she doesn’t need any more worries.”
Barnaby nodded. “And neither does he.” After a moment, he went on, “And warning him won’t do any good anyway. If our villains want him, they’ll snatch him, and scrawny as he is he won’t be able to fight them. Better for him if he doesn’t try.”
The bustle and brighter, less-shadowed gloom of Arnold Circus drew nearer. “I’ll speak with Stokes.” Barnaby glanced around as they emerged into the circular space. “He’ll get the local bobbies to keep an eye on the house. What about neighbors? Are there any we could approach?”
“Unfortunately, neighbors aren’t much use in this case. Mrs. Carter has only recently moved here—they used to live in a better street, but once she could no longer work, and Jemmie had to spend more time looking after her, they couldn’t meet the rent. Her landlord here is an old friend of the family—he’s not charging them anything for the rooms. It was he who convinced Mrs. Carter to send for us. But there’s no one nearby she’s comfortable with—no one she’d be happy watching over the place, or her and Jemmie. The landlord lives some streets away.”
