Page 65 of Molly Boys
He squatted down, keeping one arm wrapped around the boy and resting Jack’s slight weight against his knees. With the other hand now free, he peeled back the shawl to see the boy’s injuries. Both his eyes were swollen shut, rapidly darkening with bruises, and his lips were torn. Blood matted his hair and there was a nasty gash at his temple. And those were only the injuries he could see.
The alarming wheezing that came from the child—rather than slow, steady breaths—was worrying. Archie looked up at Pol, who hovered near and chewed her lip anxiously, her gaze never leaving Jack’s face.
“Who did this to him?” Archie asked, his voice cold. “Rackstraw?”
Pol nodded, her eyes filling with tears which she wiped away with dirty fingers.
“It was an object lesson for all of us.” She sniffed. “If he’d do that to a child, can you imagine what he’d do to the rest of us if we talk to the law.” The tears rolled down her face faster than she could wipe them away. “He’s just a little boy. Please, Inspector, please… you have to get him as far away from The Nichol as you can. I snuck him out, but if they find him, they’ll kill him.”
Archie nodded.
Pol leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss to Jack’s forehead. “I’ll pray for you, sweet boy.”
Before he could say anything else, Pol was running back down the street, disappearing beyond his view. He couldn’t blame her. If they found out she’d helped Jack, or worse, that she’d brought the boy to him, they’d probably do the same to her.
Holding the boy carefully, he stood and looked down at him. He couldn’t take him to an infirmary; if Rackstraw and his men suspected someone had snuck the boy out from under their noses, that’s the first place they’d look for him. Archie couldn’t bring him to his lodgings at his boarding house on the Shaftesbury estate either. Mrs McCready would never allow the boy to stay. That left only one place.
Taking a deep breath and praying that he was right, he set off down the street, cradling the battered child protectively in his arms.
* * *
Everett could hear the pounding on the front door from his room on the second floor. He paused in the act of preparing for bed, having stripped down to just his shirt and trousers, as he heard Henry hurry past his room and down the stairs.
Only one person would be calling at this time of night, but it wasn’t like Francis to knock so loudly or frantically. Curious as to what would bring his friend to his door in such a state, Ev left his room and, with a lamp in one hand, he headed down the stairs, his boots clunking on the polished wood treads. He’d just reached the bottom step when Henry opened the door and a figure entered holding a wrapped-up bundle.
Ev’s stomach jolted. It wasn’t Francis at all. “Inspector?”
“It’s Jack,” Franklin breathed heavily, his voice laced with worry. “I didn’t know where else to bring him.”
Ev rushed forward and pulled the dirty material back to reveal a purple and swollen face.
“My god,” Ev gasped in horror. “Jack?”
At Henry’s sharp intake of breath, Ev turned his head.
“Henry–”
“I’ll go for the doctor at once, my lord,” Henry replied, knowing what he was going to say.
Ev nodded. “Are there linens on the bed in the small guest room on the upper floor?”
“I believe so, my lord. Shall I check before I leave?”
Ev shook his head. “No, I’ll do it. Go now, quickly.”
Henry retrieved his overcoat from a small servants’ closet tucked under the staircase and was out the door without another word .
“Come.” Ev beckoned for the inspector to follow.
They hurried up the stairs, past the second floor and up to the third. Ev pushed open the door to a small guest room which was always kept prepared even though it was never used.
Setting the lamp he carried on top of the nearby dresser, he turned back the quilt– thankfully, the maid had changed the linen– on the narrow metal-framed bed and watched Archie carefully lay the boy down.
“Can you start the fire?” Ev asked as he looked across to the empty grate in the small fireplace. “You’ll find more coal in the kitchen.”
Franklin nodded and disappeared from the room. Ev left Jack laying on the bed to quickly visit Henry’s room situated on the same floor. As a servant, Henry should have been housed in the attics, but Ev had allowed him the smallest guest room and a fireplace of his own. Albeit as tiny as the one in the room Jack currently occupied, it was still a luxury most servants were not afforded. But Henry was more to Ev than just a servant, although neither man acknowledged it.
Gathering up whatever candles he could find, Ev hurried back to Jack and set about lighting them, flooding the room with better light so the doctor would be able to better assess the boy’s injuries. Once satisfied, he took one more trip to Henry’s room, this time returning with a large bowl of water and several linen cloths.