F am stepped down from his carriage and brushed off his clothes.
He'd taken the time to change into his best black Weston morning coat, black waistcoat, white silk shirt with neckcloth, nankeen breeches, and boots.
With his hair carefully clubbed back in a black ribbon-tied queue, he looked like a damned gentleman, which irritated him no end.
However, as the Kamish house would be filled with members of the Jewish community of all ranks, he did not want to shame Hiram and Rachel by appearing as some common criminal.
He was known in the community around Bevis Marks but there was no need to draw attention.
When Bull and Pigeon made to follow him, he stayed them.
"I am in no danger here. Stay with the carriage.
I...I won't be long." Dickie had come for him straight from Hiram's son Judah.
They'd dropped Dickie off at the Rose Street dispensary on the way.
Completely out of character, the boy had refused Fam's offer of payment for delivering the message.
Fam walked around the side of the house and entered the small stable yard.
The horse whickered in recognition. With more years than Smudge, the old fellow never forgot one of the Dyer brothers.
Judah had taken over the business and drove the cart, but this horse had retired when Mister Kamish did and spent his days sleeping in his stall, only taking Rachel Kamish to temple on Saturdays.
Fam fished the apple he'd brought expressly out of his coat pocket and fed it to the horse.
"You'll make him fat, Fam Dyer." Rachel Kamish, her hair gone silver and her face wreathed in wrinkles, stood in the kitchen door.
"Like you did Smudge," he replied. He went to her at once. For a moment they simply stood and gazed at one another. He had no words to comfort her. Somehow, he knew she wouldn't care.
"He's waiting for you," she said softly, and waved him inside.
As he had expected, the kitchen, and from all appearances the rest of the house, was full of people.
Most were dressed alike in the plain black clothes, skullcaps, and prayer shawls he'd come to know as the clothes of their religion.
The room went silent the moment Fam entered.
Judah stood by the door that led to the front parlor and raised his hand in greeting.
"Thank you for coming," he said, as Fam joined him.
"He's been waiting for you." He opened the parlor door.
Fam blinked against the bright candlelight.
They had turned the parlor into a sickroom.
Mister Kamish was lying in a bed between the two front windows.
He smiled weakly the moment he saw Fam. There was a group of elderly men seated in the corner murmuring and rocking gently back and forth, their prayers a sort of music, like a rain shower in the quiet of the night.
The scent of medicine, candle wax, and sickness was faint, but still there.
"I should have brought Smudge," Fam said, as he sat in the chair beside the bed. "But he doesn't like to travel much these days."
"Neither do I," Mister Kamish said. "Our bones are too old for the shaking of carriages and carts. He is well?"
"Well enough to catch rats and drag them into the kitchens and frighten the maids and my cook."
Mister Kamish chuckled, then began to cough.
Fam picked up the glass of water on the bedside table and lifted the old man's head for him to drink.
When he'd finished, Fam lowered him back onto the stack of pillows.
He was so frail, so changed from the last time he'd seen him, and his hair was white as snow.
Fam should have come to visit more often, and now it was too late.
"Stop," Mister Kamish chided. "You are a busy man. Stop worrying over things we cannot change."
Fam shook his head.
"What? You believe I don't know what you're thinking, Fam Dyer?"
"You always have," Fam said softly. He opened his mouth to say more but again could not find the words.
"I'm not afraid," Mister Kamish said softly. "Not for myself, but I am afraid for you."
"I'll be fine," Fam said. "And I know Judah will take care of the family, but I will always be here for him. We all will."
"Will you be fine, my boy? Of all your brothers I worry for you the most." He took Fam's hand in a surprisingly strong grip.
"You have a good heart, Fam Dyer. Find someone to give that heart to, someone to love you.
You deserve to be loved. No matter what you've done, you deserve to be loved.
" He fixed Fam with such an intense gaze, he couldn't look away.
Suddenly, he felt something pressed into his palm.
When he looked down it was the chain and talisman Mister Kamish always wore, the silver, six-pointed star.
"I can't," Fam started. "This should go to your son." He looked back at Judah who smiled and shook his head.
"You will wear it for me so I know you are safe.
" Mister Kamish's voice was strong as it had been when Fam and his brothers were younger and just beginning to make their way as lords of the rookeries.
"And now you will go. I bid you farewell, Fam Dyer.
Tell the old cat goodbye for me." He was being dismissed and this surprised him.
Perhaps only family was allowed to be with a man of his faith at the end.
Fam tucked the chain and talisman into his coat pocket.
Fam stood, though he still held the old man's hand. "I..." He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His eyes burned as if in a stinging rain.
"Hush," Mister Kamish said softly, and patted Fam's hand before he let go. "I know, my boy. I know."
"Thank you," Fam said. "For everything." He studied the serene face, the face of a man at peace, bowed his head, then turned and followed Judah into the kitchen.
Women were busy preparing food. They did not look up from their tasks.
The men at the table grew silent once more. Fam took a deep breath.
"I won't come to the funeral," he said to Judah. "None of us will. It'll draw too much unwanted attention." This announcement was as much for the others present as it was for Hiram's son.
"I understand," Judah replied. "I wish..." He shook his head.
"If wishes were horses,' Fam said with a smile, as he remembered what Mister Kamish always said.
"Then beggars would ride," Judah finished for him.
"You'll send to me if ever you have need?"
"Of course." He looked tired, but strong. Strong enough to care for his family. Hiram Kamish did not raise weak men.
"Here," Missus Kamish held out a lidded earthen-ware pot. "Some of my stew. You never have enough meat on your bones, young man."
Fam bent to draw in the aroma from the warm crockery. "I'll not be sharing this with Smudge, just so you know."
She laughed softly. Then she reached for the chain peeking out of his pocket and drew out the necklace. She stood on her toes and placed the talisman around his neck. " Y'varechecha Adonai v'yishmerecha ," she murmured, and kissed his cheek.
When he reached his carriage, Bull and Pigeon took one look at him and said not a word. Pigeon took the pot Fam handed him and sat on the rear-facing seat. Fam rapped on the ceiling. "Home, Bull."
"Any more trouble from our guest ?" he asked Pigeon.
Pigeon grinned. "Not a peep. Sullivan sent Llewelyn in to make certain the cove was still alive."
"Why Llewelyn?"
"He drew the short straw."
"Is he that dangerous?"
Pigeon shrugged.
That was the question, wasn't it? Just how dangerous was Ethan Hawkworth Polston to Fam's own peace of mind?