Because of You (22 page)

His hands hung loosely at his side and he felt suddenly tired and strangely defeated, both alien notions.

He was in danger of falling in love with Sam…and she did not return it. She saw him as duty, a responsibility.

He didn’t want to be a duty; he wanted to be a lover. Maybe that was it. Perhaps if they were lovers he would tire of her and return to his normal self. It was a possibility.

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings. He didn’t know how far he’d walked or what time it was.

The streets here were dark. Too dark. Little light spilled out from what few grimy windows were lit. The air smelled of rubbish and human waste. In the distance a dog barked and a woman laughed, the sounds eerily alike.

This wasn’t the London he remembered. It was more like the bowels of Calcutta.

He walked on at slower place, the hair on the back of his neck warning him of impending danger.

A hard shove against his back sent him stumbling into the ink-black shadows. Struggling for his balance, he felt a small hand reach for his purse.

Pickpockets!

Landing heavily on the ground, he heard one pair of footsteps running off. The thief’s accom
plice jumped over Yale’s body and went running in the same direction down a narrow alley.

Yale cursed. He’d been in hellholes from Bombay to Macao and kept his purse. He had not come to London to be filched.

He was on his feet in a blink of an eye and running after the thieves. He tripped over small crates stacked in the alley but easily caught himself and pursued. The alley came out on a narrow street.

He feared he’d lost them.

“The cove’s chasing us!” a voice cried out. “Split up!”

Yale heard one set of running footsteps go in one direction and another in the opposite. He guessed which one was the bastard with his purse and followed him.

The hard exercise and the thrill of pursuit were exactly what he needed to clear his mind. His legs ate up the ground between him and his quarry.

Then he had a break. The boy ran across a broad street toward a park. Moonlight flashed like a beacon on the pickpocket’s shirt.

Yale was right behind him. As the pickpocket ran toward the dark shadows of trees, Yale launched himself up into the air and tackled the boy. The two of them grunted as they hit the ground with a thud.

Yale grabbed hold of the lad’s collar and gave him a shake as he brought both of them to their feet.

He whirled the thief around to face him and found himself staring into the wide, frightened eyes of a child.

A thieving child, he remembered, recovering from his surprise. “I want my purse. Give it back.”

“I d-don’t know anything about a purse.”

Yale gave him a rough shake.
“I want my purse.”

The boy’s teeth were chattering. Yale didn’t know if it was from the cold or from fear. The lad wore little more than a thin shirt, breeches and a ragged coat.

He pulled the boy into the moonlight and pinched his ribs. “I haven’t seen such a scrawny lad even in India.”

“Please, s-sir. L-let me g-go.”

“My purse.” He held out his hand.

“Arnie took it,” the lad blurted out. “He got it from me while we were running. Back there, when you ran into those wooden crates.”

“And where is Arnie?”

“I don’t know.”

Yale bent down to look him in the face. “Yes, you do.”

“I don’t! I don’t! I swear, sir.”

“Well, then perhaps the magistrate can get it out of you.”

“No!” the boy cried, truly terrified now. “You can’t take me to the magistrate. If you do, he’ll throw me in prison or deport me.”

“Which is not a bad idea,” Yale agreed ruthlessly.

“But me sister,” the lad said, huge tears welling in his eyes. “She’ll starve. I’m the only one that takes care of her. Mum said I had to.”

“And where is your mother now?” He didn’t believe a word the little bugger had to say and gave him another shake for effect.

“She’s dead, sir. Took ill with the influenza and died.”

Now he had Yale’s attention. “Recently?”

“No, sir. She died a year ago. I’ve been taking care of us.”

“By picking pockets?”

“It beats sweeping chimneys.”

“I can’t agree with you.”

“I tried it, sir. I hired on as a chimney boy. But the sweeps are mean, and once I got stuck in the chimney and the sweep was going to go off and leave me while the man we did the job for started a fire. The sweep had his money. He didn’t care if I got burned or not.”

Yale frowned. He’d heard of boys burning before. “How old is your sister?”

“She’s eight, sir.”

“You speak well. Did your mother teach you?”

“She was a seamstress. Me pa was a clerk for G. G. Dobbins and Son until he climbed a ladder and fell and hit his head.”

“Did it kill him?”

“He never was quite right and died soon after.
Mum said it was freak thing that happened. I don’t remember because I was too young.”

“How old are you now?” Yale asked, thinking the boy looked barely ten.

“I’m twelve. Old enough to be a man.”

“And old enough to steal from another man’s pocket and cry about it,” Yale shot back.

His words reminded the boy of his peril. “
Please
don’t take me to the magistrate, sir.”

“Can you get my purse back?” The boy’s cheeks were gaunt. In the Orient, he had seen hunger before. He had not expected it on the streets of London.

The boy shook his head. “Arnie and the others would kill me for trying to take it back from ’em, even if I knew where they were. I’d be dead before morning.”

For a moment, Yale suspected the boy of high drama until he looked into his eyes. His fears were real.

“What is your name?” Yale asked.

The boy wasn’t going to tell him until Yale gave him another shake. “Terrance.”

“Terrance.” Yale tested the name. “Not exactly the name for a thief.”

“I am not a thief, sir,” Terrance said, two large tears rolling down his cheeks. “I just started it because of me sister. If she doesn’t get good food and someplace warm, she’ll die.”

The tears running down his dirty face reminded Yale of the tears that had welled in
Samantha’s eyes…and made him feel culpable in the lad’s bad luck.

A part of Yale warned him he shouldn’t believe a word the lad said. But another part, this new part touched by Samantha, wondered if the story was true—and he couldn’t turn his back on the boy if it was.

He tipped the lad’s chin up to look him in the eye. “Well, Terrance, I’m out my purse and in a foul mood for it. Let’s go and find that sister of yours.”

Terrance immediately started to struggle, attempting to break Yale’s hold. “No, sir! You can’t. She didn’t do anything. She’s a wee thing who’s never done anything bad. Take me to the magistrate, but leave her alone, I beg you.”

Yale jerked Terrance’s arm. “I’m not going to harm your sister. But I believe a man should do anything but be a thief.”

“I’ve tried, sir. It’s either that or starve.”

Yale knelt down to his level. “And if I found you something to do where you wouldn’t starve, would you continue to steal?”

“No, sir, I wouldn’t.”

Yale studied him a moment before saying, “All right. I believe you.” And he did. “Now come, let us go fetch your sister.”

Terrance dug in his heels. “And what are you going to do with us?”

“You’ll find out when you get there. But I promise you this, it will be better than how you are living now.”

Terrance considered his words, eyeing Yale carefully. Then he squared his painfully thin shoulders. “Alice and I will go with you, but if I find out you are playing tricks, sir, on my mother’s grave, I will not forgive it!”

Yale almost smiled at the oath, but realized that this young boy had more bottom than most men he knew. “Aye, I will answer to you,” Yale assured him.

Terrance began walking and Yale followed. They moved back the way they had come and Yale shuddered to think of a girl of eight alone in this filth and poverty.

Samantha woke the next morning, heavy-lidded and tired. The day was overcast with high lead-gray clouds. It looked as if it might rain. She wondered what time it was.

Sitting up in Yale’s bed, she groggily half-expected to see him sleeping on the floor or sprawled in the chair. But he was neither. And she was naked.

Her nakedness sparked shameful memories of the night before. He had walked out. He’d left her.

She hated the knot forming in her stomach. Hated caring when he didn’t. Hated the thought of having to answer to Wayland for his brother’s leaving.

She climbed out of the bed and hurried over to where her nightdress lay in a heap on the
floor. She pulled it over her head as quickly as she could.

Then she heard it…snoring. It was a light sound and came from beyond the bedroom. Cautiously she opened the door to the sitting room.

Everything in there was just as it had been the night before—except that the door of her bedroom was slightly open. She couldn’t remember if she had closed it or not.

Skittish, she rang for the maid. Something was not right…but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Now knowing that help would be on the way, she bravely tiptoed over to the door of her room and pushed it open. A heartbeat later she wanted to laugh at herself in relief.

Yale slept flat on his back, sprawled in the middle of her bed on top of the sheets. The bedspread was in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. He’d taken off his coat, but still wore his shirt and breeches. His feet were bare.

Funny, he had appealing bare feet. Almost as appealing as the growth of beard that covered his lean jaw, and the tousled look of his hair. In spite of his broad shoulders, he appeared almost boyish.

He snored with the pleasure of uncomplicated sleep.

As if drawn to him by a magnet, she tiptoed over to the side of the bed and pushed his hair back from his forehead. It felt good to touch him.

For a second, she toyed with the idea of wak
ing him and then changed her mind. She liked watching him this way.

And all too soon, he would wake and they would have to discuss issues and problems Samantha would rather not address.

At that moment, there was a light rap on the hallway door. Emily was here.

Samantha hurried to open the door, raising her finger to her lips to warn Emily to be quiet. The maid took one look at Samantha’s husband stretched out on the bed and covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Samantha motioned with her head for Emily to go into the sitting room. She felt nervous. Servants were notorious gossips, and it made her uncomfortable that they would know such intimate details as in which bed her husband had spent the night.

Emily nodded that she understood, but signaled that she needed to get Samantha’s dress. She silently crossed over to the wardrobe and looked in askance for which dress Samantha wanted her to bring.

Samantha nodded toward her wedding dress. Wearing it would give her confidence to face whatever happened this day.

Samantha picked up her hairbrush and started to leave the room first. Emily hurried to follow, almost tripping over the bedspread on the floor. She looked down and startled Samantha by screaming.

“What is the matter?” Samantha asked.

Emily dropped the dress. “There’s somebody under that bedspread, my lady.” She shied away toward the door even as Yale opened an eye.

“What was that confounded racket?” he asked, with very little humor.

“There is someone under there!” Emily declared. The “someone” sat up under the bedspread and she screamed again before running out into the hall, shouting for help.

“Why is she going on that way?” Yale asked, coming up on his elbows.

Samantha still didn’t think he was entirely awake. She gripped her hairbrush and pulled the bedspread off the “someone.”

Or “someones.”

Two grubby children huddled together, wide-eyed and frightened, at the foot of the bed.

Samantha relaxed her militant stance. She looked at Yale, who was scratching his beard. “I found them,” he said, as if that explained everything.

At that moment, Wayland, Marion, a footman, and the frightened Emily charged back into the room. Everyone but she and Yale were dressed and ready for the day.

“What is going on here?” Wayland commanded.

“There!” Emily said, pointing at the footboard. “Next to that bedspread. I saw something move.”

Wayland came around the bed and looked at her in confusion. “They’re children.” He turned
to Samantha and then to his brother. “What are children doing here?”

“They are my guests,” Yale announced. He got off the bed and stretched. “In fact, Sam, I brought the girl to you but didn’t have the heart to wake you up last night. She’s ill. Can you have a look at her and heal her?”