Page 19 of Molly Boys

He drank down the tea which was so weak it was barely more than dirty water. The tea leaves had been boiled so many times they’d probably all but disappeared in the pot. But it was warm, and he held onto that warmth for as long as he could before the cold and damp began to seep into his bones.

Setting the empty tin cup down beside him, Jack wrapped his scrawny arms around his legs, buried his face in his knees, and tried to ignore the cold that wracked his tiny body as he waited for sleep to come.

5

Night had fallen, bringing with it freezing temperatures and a blanket of snow. The atmosphere was unusual at the Islington house. Many of the regular guests had ventured out into the heavily dusted streets to visit the house, but they seemed subdued somehow. Even Francis appeared to be in a melancholic mood as he sipped a glass of brandy pensively.

Tonight he’d forgone his rouged lips, silken robes, and corset and relaxed in a deep leather armchair with his shirt collar open and his waistcoat unbuttoned.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” Ev remarked as he reclined on a cushioned sofa opposite his friend.

“Hmm,” Francis responded absently as his gaze scanned the room.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Francis pouted. “I think I’m bored.”

“Bored?” Ev’s brow rose slowly as an amused smile tugged at his lips. “But you’re never bored.”

“I know.” Francis let out a dramatic exhale. “It’s a bloody travesty feeling this way when I live the life I do, but I need….” He paused momentarily, his lips pursed prettily as he thought hard. “Some excitement,” he decided. “What we need is something exciting instead of all… this.” He waved his hand flippantly with a roll of his eyes. “The same old people, the same old parties, nothing ever changes.”

“Perhaps you should be careful what you wish for,” Ev replied. “It may be the same old people, but you know as well as I that we need to be wary of who we expose ourselves to. This is safe, or at least as safe as we can expect.”

“Safe is boring.” Francis rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I think you want to get caught.” Ev gave a resigned huff.

“Good lord, no,” Francis snorted. “I’m far too pretty to serve hard time. Not that that would ever happen, we’ve got too many friends in high places.” He glanced over at Judge Clayton, who had a handsome young corporal sitting in his lap as they laughed quietly and traded flirty kisses.

“You mean you’ve got too many friends.”

“I mean we.” He turned his attention back to Ev and winked. “My friends are your friends, you know that.”

Ev chose not to answer as he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Being willing to stick one’s neck out for an extremely wealthy Marquess who knew all their darkest secrets was different from risking everything for a second-born son destined for the life of a lowly priest, despite the family he’d been born into. Lighting a cigarillo and taking a slow inhale, Ev’s gaze caught on a familiar face.

“Your favourite is here, perhaps he can alleviate your boredom,” Ev murmured as he nodded in the direction of the doorway.

Francis turned in his seat, peering over his shoulder as a smile broke across his lips. “Well if it isn’t Darling Dickie,” he exclaimed in delight, but as the boy approached slowly Francis’s smile slid from his face.

The boy did not look well at all. His face was pale and his eyes, usually so bright and eager, looked haunted. As he approached, Dickie wrung his hands restlessly, his gaze darting around the room.

“My lord,” he said quietly. “May I have a word?”

“But of course, dear boy.” Francis patted his lap in invitation.

Dickie glanced down, a fleeting glimpse of longing passing over his features as if he’d love nothing more than to curl up in Francis’s lap, but he stiffened his spine once again, glancing around the room to make certain no one was paying attention to them.

“Not here,” Dickie whispered. “In private.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued.” Francis set his brandy glass down on the low table beside his chair and rose elegantly. Taking the boy’s hand, he turned toward the door, but not before glancing back at Ev and giving a small tilt of his head, indicating that he should join them.

Moderately curious as to why the boy looked so uneasy, Everett rose from his seat and followed. Francis led the pair of them from the room and down the long narrow corridor to the back of the house. Knowing the parlours and drawing room would be occupied by guests, they entered the kitchen where, given the lateness of the hour, no staff would be loitering.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the fire burned down to barely embers. Ev watched as Francis settled Dickie at the heavy oak table and retrieved a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He lit one of the oil lamps and placed it on the table as Francis sat opposite him.

“There now.” Francis poured Dickie a glass. “Why don’t you tell us what is wrong? You look positively frightful. Are you unwell? Should I have Haywood summon the doctor, darling boy?”

“I am a doctor.” Dickie looked up, a small smile twitching the corner of his mouth.