William seriously considered moving to other lodgings when his fortnight was up, but having no knowledge of other houses, he suspected that he might end up paying even more for less. Instead he negotiated a new rate without meals, which had proved mostly inedible anyway, and managed to get Mrs. Sawyer down to nine shillings a week for his room alone.
During the day, and for ten of them on the trot, William sat in the coffee-house, frittering his money and waiting for Fletcher to appear. He never did and, if Lily hadn’t been so certain that this was the best course of action, William would have given up and preserved what little cash he had left.
On the eleventh day, William dragged himself out of bed, shivering in the early morning chill and pulled on his grubby shirt. He needed to find somewhere to wash his collar and cuffs or if – when – he did find Fletcher, the man would mistake him for a mudlark. Asking Mrs. Sawyer was out of the question. As it was, William’s purse was now so light that he was reduced to one meal per day and slept with his clothes piled on top of him to avoid burning expensive coals in the grate.
He made his way to the coffee-house, greeted Betty and ordered a bowl of tea. Cupping his hands around it, William took up his usual position by the fireplace and watched while, around him, the eatery slowly came to life. People wandered in off the streets, chatting and ordering food and, pretty soon, the scent of chops and stew made William’s stomach cramp with hunger. He turned his back on the room and stared into the flames, willing Fletcher to come today before he starved.
*
“Gosh, that’s a bit of a coincidence, him being in the same coffee house and all. Sure you weren’t seeing things?”
Lily opened her mouth to swear roundly and was stopped by her mentor before she could utter a word. “Ah, ah, ah. Watch your mouth, young lady. You know I don’t hold with bad language. Just because you’re a ram doesn’t exempt you from the niceties of society.”
Restricted to an irate huff, Lily plonked herself down in the chair opposite and slung a leg over the arm. The Major glared at her until she removed it and sat more decorously.
“He weren’t an ‘allucination, if that’s what you’re thinking. They don’t tend to stare at your tits like they’re pudding.”
“Well, what a horrible boy. I don’t know, young men today have no idea how to treat a lady,” the Major said, leaning over to pet the girl sitting at his feet. “The gentler sex are delicate flowers to be coddled and cosseted for the future well being of mankind.”
Lily snorted in amusement. “What am I then? Some kind of-”
“You, my dear,” the Major smiled indulgently, “are the most delicate of all. A rose may have thorns and know how to defend itself, but its bloom will still drop if it’s handled carelessly.”
His words brought a flush to Lily’s face, but she didn’t allow the distraction to put her off her stride. There was a damn good reason why she had risen through the ranks so fast. “Let’s say it was this Bartlett, just for the he- fun of it,” she said. “I reckon that makes Cropper a liar and gives us a chance to score one off Boehm.”
The Major looked pensive for a moment. “You’re right, I know, but it could be risky. If we accuse Boehm’s brat of lying and this boy turns out not to be the missing wolfcub, well, we’d be a laughing stock.”
“So we bring ‘im in,” Lily asserted, sitting forward as she warmed to her plan. “We grab ‘im from the coffee house, haul ‘im back here and find out if he’s the right William Bartlett.”
“And if he is?”
“Then we tell the High Master and let ‘im deal with Cropper any way he sees fit.”
The Major’s appreciative laughter warmed the cockles of Lily’s heart.
*
“Babyface not turned up yet?”
William returned from daydreams of pink roast beef and hot buttery potatoes to find Lily sitting on the bench holding a bowl of baked bread pudding.
“Um, no,” he said after a pause. “And hello again.”
Lily shoved a piled spoon into her mouth and grinned around the handle. “S’gd,” she mumbled. “’nt some?”
“No, thank you,” William replied staring at the thick eggy dessert. He could almost taste the nutmeg and honey on his tongue. “I’m quite fine.”
His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly and Lily chuckled. “Don’t sound fine. Oi, Betty!” she shouted. “Give us another one of these, lover.”
A second bowl slapped down on the table in front of William and he made a dive for it, suddenly hungrier than he could ever remember being. Lily moved at the same time and somehow, between them, they managed to knock his spoon to the floor.
“I’m terribly sorry,” William gushed and virtually threw himself under the table to search for it, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment as he was brought nose to nose with Lily’s buckled boots. He grabbed the spoon and retreated rapidly, reversing out and tripping someone that was walking past. Once apologies were given and received, he wiped the spoon on his jacket and finally sat down to eat.
The crust was as crisp as he’d hoped, redolent with nutmeg and cinnamon. Brandy whispered sweet nothings under the egg and the bread, heavy and filling, warmed him more than any of the small chops he had eaten for the past few days. It was gone far too soon and, as he turned the spoon on the plate, William yawned widely.
“Tired?” asked Lily, and William turned sleepy eyes on her, blinking as the room swam around him. He felt odd, as though he was trying to think though water. He’d felt like this before, with Cropper, after they’d made him drink the funny tasting brandy.
“What did you give me?” he mumbled, fighting to stay awake.
“Only a dab of laudanum, darlin’,” Lily murmured, looping her arm through his and tugging him to his feet. “Up ya come now. You’ve got people to meet.”
“He all right?” Betty called from the counter as they headed out and William desperately wanted to tell her that no, he wasn’t. But his tongue was three sizes bigger than his mouth and his feet kept tying themselves in knots.
“Just taken a bit sick. Bit o’ fresh air and he’ll be fine,” Lily shouted back
As the warm spring sun hit him, William stumbled one last time and, just as the world began to go dark, he heard the door closing softly behind them.
The sound stayed with him through his dreams. He traversed endless corridors
full of slamming doors haunted by the faces of people he had lost. “Papa,”
he remembered screaming at one point as his father walked out of the shop and
into the road, smiling and talking even as the cab mowed him down beneath chopping
hooves and squashing wheels. Then his mother, turning away into the inn with
a sad smile on her lips. The last time he’d seen her. Gone now. Like everyone
else. And finally Elijah, asleep in their bed as William crept from the room
that final time. Dark head on the white pillow, fingers curled under his cheek
and a hand reaching out for the heat William had left behind.
He awoke to white linen and feminine perfume, lace and sunlight, and bolted upright in bed, staring wildly around. It was a boudoir, decorated with pale satins and draped velvets. On the nightstand, resting on a silver tray, was a tall glass of lemonade and, as William reached for it desperately needing to clear his mouth, he realised that his right hand was bound tightly to the bedstead. He was a prisoner.
*
“He says he ain’t William Bartlett. And keeps yelling that I’m a white slaver. ‘Cos of the chain, I reckon.”
“Unfortunate but not to be helped. I didn’t fancy the little imp interfering with Christine’s belongings in the throes of a tantrum. It’s such a pretty room. Perfect for my little miss. Now take a seat, Lily and listen.”
The Major gestured for Christine to continue reading and resigned to her mentor’s foibles, Lily slumped into a chair and waited for the passage to end.
“A civil servant she had withstood; but when Dr. Grant himself went out with an umbrella, there was nothing to be done but to be very much ashamed, and to get into the house as fast as possible. The two sisters were so kind to her, and so pleasant, that Fanny might have enjoyed her visit could she have believed herself not in the way, and could she have foreseen that the weather would certainly clear at the end of the hour, and save her from the shame of having Dr. Grant's carriage and horses out to take her home, with which she was threatened.”
Christine’s voice, quiet but clear, articulated the words carefully with nary a hint of fear. It was incredible how far the girl had come since the Major had adopted her, taking her under his wing to save her from the exploitation of her guardian. Boehm had only been interested in Christine’s infinite riches and the power it could buy him in the brotherhood. He couldn’t have cared less about the girl herself.
Of course the Major also planned on using her, but it would be a gentler usage by far, without the cruelties Boehm had heaped on the child’s head. Within the protective walls of the Major’s home, Christine was a treasured possession; a hart doted on by wolf and ram alike and destined to live a sheltered life. So different from Lily’s base beginnings on London’s streets.
It was over an hour before Lily and the Major ventured up to visit their guest. They found him working the chain steadily around the bedstead as though it was some Chinese puzzle he could solve by dint of concentration alone.
“Release me!” he demanded the moment they entered. “You have no right to keep me captive.”
Lily remained by the door while the Major went and sat on a chair next to the bed. William, she noted, flinched back when the other man drew close, so the arrogance was little more than a cover for his fear.
“Actually, young man, we do.” The Major dangled the twenty-pound note Lily had discovered in the boy’s pocket from his finger and thumb. “Where did you come by this?”
“It’s mine!” William protested, lunging for the money and being brought up short by the chain. “And you are a thief if you keep it from me.”
The Major chuckled and turned to Lily. “He denies he’s William Bartlett and then claims the money. What do you think of such silliness? Honestly, anyone would think we fell off the post train.”
“I don’t – I didn’t…” William subsided back onto the bed, blushing furiously at having been caught out so easily. This was why he would never be a real wolf; he was useless at telling untruths and always got confused. Even when he was in the hands of white slavers or whatever they were. Look at how his lies to Eli had worked out. He’d dragged an innocent into the mire and then run away when it became too much, leaving Elijah behind to face the music. He was a failure, as a wolf, as a son, and most of all, as a friend. And he had to get that money back if he was to help Elijah.
Squaring his shoulders, William took a deep breath and said, “I am William Bartlett and that is my money. Please will you give it back.”
“And where does a scholarship boy from St. Peter’s find twenty pounds?”
“My mother sent it to me,” William paused, his captor’s words sinking in. “How did you know I was from St. Peter’s?”
“I know more about you than you think, little man. And, gosh, are there going to be some red faces downstairs when I pass on this news.”
“Downstairs?”
“Why, yes. Welcome to the headquarters of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart.”