They stopped to break their fast at the same small tavern where he had met Elijah
all those months ago. William took the same seat close to the fire and sipped
his bowl of tea, his mind drifting towards happy memories of his friend. In
retrospect, there seemed precious few of them, his particular favourites being
those when they slept together sharing warmth and the comfort that came from
simply having another body close.
Eyelids heavy from the heat and lack of sleep, William rested his head on the side of the bench and drifted away into contented dreams.
“Shite. The feckin’ school is following me. What ‘a you doin’
here.”
A blast of cold air accompanied the outraged protest and William woke, blinking and looking around the empty taproom. There was no sign of his fellow passengers, and the bench next him was occupied by someone he’d only seen in passing for a while.
“Moore?” he said, shifting around in his seat and waking properly.
“One and the same,” the other boy said, slouching back and kicking his feet up on the table. “And if I’da known you was sleeping, I’da left ya that way.”
“What time is it?” The sun streamed in through the window and William had a horrible feeling he had missed the post to London.
Moore nodded at the clock in the corner. The slow tick seemed suddenly loud, though it must have been there all along. “Gone midday, “ he said. “Can I interest you in a spot of luncheon.”
That’s when William noticed the food, the meaty scent of broth and sweet fresh bread. His mouth watered. When was the last time he’d eaten properly? Before Jones, probably. Since then everything had tasted of old leather.
“Please,” he said reaching out a tentative hand. Moore waved him on, and William dragged the platter over, snatched up a hunk of bread and dipped it into the rich gravy. It tasted heavenly, savoury with pepper and meat, and before he registered what he was doing, he was wolfing it down like a starving man.
“Hungry, were ya?” Moore asked a few minutes later, eyes twinkling with amusement
William blushed as he pushed the now empty dish away. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realise… Let me buy you another-”
“T’was my second go round, anyhow,” said Moore. “The landlady took a fancy to me pretty face and decided I needed feeding up.”
They fell into silence and the questions bustling around both their minds meant it was far from comfortable. Both of them were absent from school during term and that alone could lead to being sent down.
Finally Moore cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “So,” he said. “I expect there’ll be explanations and whatnot you’ll be wanting.”
“I suppose so,” William answered, wondering how to justify his own presence so far from school.
“I was helping out a mate,” Moore continued. “He was needing a safe place to hide out and… Well, let’s just say, there’s some who wouldn’t wanna help him.”
“Why? Is he some kind of criminal?” Fascinated in spite of himself, William sat forward, his ears burning to hear more.
Moore snorted in amusement. “Only if yer by way of thinking that way,” he said. “And I’d be guessing yer not, from the fact that yer here and not back at school with Cropper and his pals.”
The mention of Cropper was like cold water in the face and William sobered rapidly. “What would you know about it?” he demanded defensively. “It’s not as though you are around often enough to make such a judgement.”
“You’d be amazed at what I see,” Moore answered, seemingly unfazed by William’s attitude. “I know you went willing. I know they accepted you. And now you’ve run. That’s means you’ve either got a real bad case of itchy feet or somethin’ happened. And being as how I heard about Jones getting the skin stripped off of his back, I’d lay money on it being the latter.”
William sat in silence, eyes lowered and hands busy with his cuffs as he waited for sentence to fall. Because, if Moore knew, then he would surely condemn, as any sane man would. The idea of that inevitable condemnation made luncheon sit heavy in William’s belly. He’d rather hoped that Moore would prove to be a friend, of sorts.
And here it came. William braced himself for the words.
“Took real guts, that, walking away. Most would’ve whined a bit and then hung around. Yer a good sort, Bartlett. Anyone’d be proud to stand up wit ya.”
“Wh-what?” William stuttered. Surely he was mistaken but it sounded very much like Moore was offering the hand of friendship.
Moore laughed and slung his arm around William’s shoulders. “No gawping. Yer face is a pretty enough picture. Now what d’ya say we down a few pints then go a-visiting.”
“No. No, I can’t.” William pulled away, the money in his pocket suddenly burning a hole. He had a plan, not to be William. And that meant going to London, where all boys seeking their fortune went. His voiced sounded more determined than he felt when he added, “I need to catch the afternoon stage. I’m going to London. To Belgravia.”
“What ya going there for? Full of dandies and the worst prigs you’ve ever had the luck to run across. And considering the whole city is crawling with Englishmen, that’s sayin’ something.”
“Because I want to be someone else. I want to be not-William.” The confession burst forth before William could stop it and the hand he slapped over his mouth did nothing to deflect the sceptical look Moore cast at him.
“And then what? Back to school dressed in yer finery and tell Cropper to leave you and your chums alone?”
William’s face must have evidenced everything he was trying to hide because Moore took one look at him and burst into laughter.
“Yer were! That’s just what yer was gonna do. Jesus, lad, did ya really think that would make a bastard like Cropper rethink his ways.”
“It will. It must!” William protested. His plan simply had to work because he had no other, and the idea of not succeeding, of being unable to rescue Elijah from the torturous life he had been lead into, was unthinkable.
“There’s only one thing that’ll work fer a brute like that, and it’ll not be manners. Power, Willie-lad, the money everyone understands, and you’ll not be finding that in Belgravia unless you’ve an uncle in the House.”
For a moment, William saw his Uncle Quentin clearly in his mind; the florid face and mean pinched lips, clothes that William had always considered expensive, now obviously much worn and in need of replacement, the servants, who had seemed numerous, and yet were no more than old family retainers. And finally the lack of a private carriage or a countryseat, things most of the boys at St. Peter’s took for granted.
His shoulders slumped. There would be no help for him from that source, even if Uncle Quentin weren’t in the Americas.
Moore was still speaking. “Take Bonny for example. Now there’s a fella who knows how to use what he’s got. Had Cropper on the ropes fer a few months when he first got to the school. The big fella didn’t know whether he was coming or going for a bit.”
“I don’t understand how he does it,” William said. “I remember once, running across them in the corridor. Cropper mentioned Osborne’s mother but gave no clue as to why.”
“That’s a doddle, if ya know the story, and there’s not many what do.” With a gesture to the tap boy, Moore ordered two small beers and then settled back on his seat, his feet propped once more on the table. “Bonny’s mother, now, she was a real beauty, so they say. Her father owns a newspaper. Not one of the posh ones, but good enough for London folk.
“Anyhow, word has it that when she was no more‘an seventeen she got in the family way and no one knew who the bastard was who got her.”
William didn’t know where to look or what to say. Bonny’s mother was… that sort of woman? He could never have believed it. Bonny seemed such a nice chap. Maybe his mother was saved after she married his father.
“They shuffled her off o’course. She had the kid over in Dublin,” Moore leaned forward, “which is how come I’m the fount of all wisdom on the subject,” and then back, “but wouldn’t give it up like the family wanted. Swore she’d scream blue bloody murder if the brat couldn’t come back to London with her.
“She’d been gone about a month when rumour started over in the dear dirty city that a fella came to visit while she was confined. And you’ll never guess who it was.”
William shook his head. He couldn’t begin to guess. The entire story was so far outside the realms of his experience.
“None other than the Honourable Member for Knaresborough!” Moore stared at William, full of glee at the information. And when William singularly failed to react, added, “Making Osborne and that bastard, Cropper, brothers, of a sort.”
*
Brolly fingered the thick paper nervously. The crest on the seal left him with no doubt as to where, and who, it was from; a wolf, ram and hart, entwined together. In all the ruckus of the last few days, he had entirely forgotten the letter he had sent in a fit of jealousy.
“Mail?” Brutus asked from the doorway. Brolly tried to shove the letter inside his coat, but Brutus tweaked it from his hand adding, “Let’s see who’s writing to Cropper’s pet then.”
The smirk on Brutus’ face faded when he saw the seal and, without a backward
glance, he stalked away in the direction of the Cropper’s bedroom.