Page 29 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

The voice was high and clear, and came from a barefoot child in the bright, fluttering garb of the Rom. She could not have been more than seven, yet she held herself with the poise of a seasoned performer.

A second figure crept up behind her and clung to her side—a boy in tattered clothing, with wild, unkempt hair and eyes black as pitch.

Jem.

Isla gasped. Her hand flew to her throat.

But no, of course it wasn’t Jem. It couldn’t be.

This boy was far younger, no more than five.

And yet… the resemblance struck like a blow.

That same narrow face, the pointed chin, the deep, watchful eyes that seemed to carry far too much sorrow for so small a frame.

A gaze filled with hunger; not for food, but for something deeper, more elusive.

“Only a farthing,” the boy said, stepping forward. He held out a grubby hand with a smile too practised for his years.

She knew the routine, of course. She had done the very same at that boy’s age, with Jem at her side.

While the girl spun tales of fame and fortune to distract the lady, the boy’s quick fingers would go to work, slipping purses from pockets, unfastening watch chains, lifting silk handkerchiefs with practised ease.

It was a performance Isla knew all too well, because once, she had played every part, despite Vanya’s disapproval .

Despite knowing all that, she extended her hand. “By all means. I am curious to hear what fortune lies hidden in the lines of my palm.”

The girl stepped up to her and took her hand in both of her own. Her fingers were small, cool, and smudged with dirt. Gently, she spread Isla’s palm open and traced the lines with a fingertip as she spoke.

“Your mind is cleaved in two. The past and the present. What once was, what is, and what might yet return. Light and darkness. Trust and doubt. Courage or cowardice. Joy or fear. But be warned. You walk a knife’s edge, swaying first one way, then the other.

You can no longer afford to hesitate. You must choose.

Take a stand. Show your colours. Will it be love, or will it be death? The choice is entirely in your hands.”

Isla felt the blood drain from her face. It was as if an oracle had spoken. Every word rang true, echoing deep inside her.

“How...how did you know?”

The girl dropped her hand. "It is written in your palm."

Isla rubbed her hand against her side. She had never truly believed in palm reading, though Vanya had been quite good at it.

To this day, she wasn’t sure whether Vanya had made it all up or had genuinely seen people’s fates in the curl of their fingers and the creases of their skin.

But this girl, with her uncanny hazel eyes, seemed to see more than just lines.

Thus distracted, the boy went about his work.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Teddy exclaimed, spinning around just in time to snatch the boy’s wrist as it reached for his fob.

A hullabaloo erupted. John lunged forward with a shout—“Pickpocket!”—just as the boy yelped, caught in flagrante delicto. The girl burst into tears.

“Cal!” she sobbed.

And suddenly, it was all a perfect muddle.

Teddy had the boy nailed on the ground with one hand, and with the other, holding the girl.

The girl whispered something to the boy in Romani, “Kick him in the shins and then run,” which Isla understood.

Teddy jumped out of the boy’s path, so the boy kicked into empty air, and he tightened his grip on his neck instead. The boy wailed.

“There, there,” Teddy said reassuringly, to calm the child down.

“I’ll call the constable, my lord,” John said, ready to scamper off. A constable would come and throw the two children into prison, where, no doubt, they would perish.

“No,” Teddy said in a clipped voice, just as Isla was about to open her mouth to protest. To the boy, he said, “Cease struggling, boy. I will release you now, but if you run off, John here will go after you, capture you and clap you into gaol without a blink of an eye. But if you remain here quietly, no harm will befall you.”

The boy stopped struggling and threw him a mistrustful look.

Teddy released him. “There. You see? Nothing will happen. And now, if you please, return my fob, my watch and my handkerchief.” Teddy extended a hand. The boy squirmed, then reluctantly drew forth the demanded items and handed them to Teddy.

“I can’t believe we fell prey to such a scheme,” Isla sighed, shaking her head.

“He didn’t mean it,” the girl sobbed, “please do not punish him.”

The boy burst out crying as well, and both stood in front of them, sobbing loudly.

Teddy shook his head, disconcerted. Then he handed his handkerchief to the girl, saying, “Here, wipe your face and blow your nose,” which she did. When she returned the handkerchief to him in a soggy, wet ball, he waved it away. “Keep it.”

Then he crouched down to be on the same level as the boy. “You know that stealing is not the way to succeed in life, don’t you?”

Isla crossed her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow.

The boy hiccupped.

“Crime is not the way to go,” he lectured. “It will end you in gaol and before you know it, you’re dangling and that’s not a nice way to end one’s life.”

Isla choked, then coughed, then turned away, pretending to thump against her chest as if she’d swallowed the wrong way.

“But you know all that,” Teddy continued. “Do you not?”

“We’re hungry, sir,” the boy mumbled. “What else are we to do?”

Teddy nodded. “Of course you are.” He reached down to the blanket, where there were still the leftovers of their meal, and assembled a plate with cold meats, bread and fruit, and handed it to the child. Then he did the same for the girl.

Both children stared at him. “Go on, eat,” he repeated, seeing them hesitate. “Finish the entire thing. I daresay we are done with luncheon, are we not, Isla?”

Isla opened her mouth, then closed it, then nodded.

They didn’t need to be told twice. The children sat on the blanket and dug into their food as if there were no tomorrow.

While the children ate, Teddy polished his watch, for the boy’s grubby hand had left fingerprints on it.

“How many handkerchiefs do you possess?” Isla said, after she had found her voice, for one must say something, and that was the only thing she could think of.

“Several.” Teddy breathed on the clock and polished it meticulously, then lifted it to see whether it was clean. “One never knows when they may come in handy. I have one in each pocket, you see.”

Certainly, on one hand it shouldn’t surprise her, it occurred to her.

His kindness towards social outcasts, particularly orphans.

He was acquainted with children like them, after all.

He must be familiar with poverty and hunger.

When he had said that part about crime, she’d choked.

The irony! But when she observed how kindly, how gently he interacted with these two children, she found it impossible to reconcile that this was the same person she’d seen three nights earlier, giving the cold-blooded order to exterminate a man.

She rubbed her eyebrow in confusion. It just did not add up .

After the children finished, he gave them a final lecture on righteous living, how they should never resort to lying, stealing and cheating, and how they should attend school, if at all possible.

The children nodded earnestly and promised.

Then, after pressing a coin into each of their hands, he sent them along their way.

Finally, he helped Isla back onto the curricle and set the cart in motion.

They rode in silence for a while. Then Teddy said, “I can hear your thoughts.”

“Oh? What am I thinking, pray?”

“‘He only helped those children to impress me,’ is what you’re thinking.” She threw him a startled look. “It’s true, is it not?”

“Partially,” she admitted. “Most gentlemen would not trouble themselves with helping a pair of beggar children. Particularly if they are Gypsies.”

“You have a fondness for them,” he stated. “Because you spent some time with them.”

She assented.

“You know what it is like to be that girl, to wander through the streets barefoot and hungry.”

Once more, she assented.

“Do you want to tell me about that time?”

She did not, particularly, for he was Lucian Night, and surely, he must know what it was like to live in poverty, and to be hungry, for why else had he turned to crime to begin with?

And he must be well acquainted with the Rom more than he let on.

She was touched by the way he’d interacted with the children.

Thus, she said, “Yes, I am acquainted with hunger. It was our companion on the road.” She suddenly saw a vision of Vanya in front of her, with her long, dark hair and her red skirt, her storm-grey eyes and her rough, calloused hands that gently plaited her hair.

“Don’t steal,” she’d admonished. “Never steal.”

“But the one time we, that is, Jem and I, resorted to the same machinations as the pair we encountered—I would pretend to fortune read, mind you, a lot worse than the girl, while Jem filched their pockets—Jem’s mum flogged our hides so we couldn’t sit for three days.

” A smile flitted over her face as she remembered.

“It is never all right to steal or to hurt someone. Even when you’re hungry.

Never.” She looked straight into his eyes when she said it.

He returned her gaze, guileless, and innocent as a babe at dawn. “She must have been a truly remarkable woman,” was all he said.