Page 28 of Provoked
David sighed. “At times.”
“Peter used to say that drunkenness is what keeps the working man down. He gave up spirits when he was my age, and he never let me drink at all.” The lad lifted his cup and drained the rest of the contents. His eyes were watering when he lowered the cup—there was still a good bite of spirit in there, despite the hot water. “Can I have another?”
David stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “You should listen to your brother.”
“Ah, but I can’t now, can I? Not ever again.”
David caught a glimpse of Euan’s thin face, etched with an expression of unbearable grief, before he turned his head away to hide.
It was a forceful reminder of why the lad was here.
“Listen—I have some news for you,” David said impulsively. He’d been swithering over whether to share his suspicions about Balfour with the lad, but suddenly it seemed wrong to hold them back.
Euan’s head came up at that. “News?”
David proceeded to tell Euan about his unexpected meeting with Balfour at Chalmers’s house and the mention of Bella Galbraith at the dinner table. He didn’t tell Euan that he’d met Balfour before that night, nor did he mention their argument on the way home. He concentrated instead on the facts that Bella Galbraith’s father had once been an advocate, that Balfour knew her, and that Balfour himself was a tall, dark, anglicised Scot.
“It must be him,” Euan said excitedly when David was finished. “This man is Lees.”
“Not necessarily,” David said carefully. “There are many men like Balfour in Edinburgh. Rich Scots who come home infrequently. And he certainly didn’t seem to be harbouring a passion for the girl—just mentioned he was going to call on her.”
“Well, of course he wouldn’t speak of his feelings at a dinner with strangers! He only told Peter about the girl because he was drunk. I’m sure it must be him, but even if not, Isabella is certainly real, and she will lead me to him!” The lad was vibrating with excitement, the grief all chased away now. “When will I be able to see him, do you suppose? I met Lees a couple of times. I’m positive I’d know him again.”
Something in David cavilled at Euan’s wish to see Balfour, even though he knew it was ridiculous to object when David was the one who’d raised the possibility that Lees and Balfour were one and the same. He felt suddenly sober.
“Chalmers’s daughter mentioned an assembly she’s going to this Saturday with Bella Galbraith,” he said slowly. “Lees might be there, I suppose—whoever he is.”
Euan was now flushed with excitement. “Could we go to this assembly?”
David paused, considering. “It may be a public assembly I can purchase tickets for. I’m not sure, but I can find out easily enough. You’ll need to wear some of my clothes, though, and behave like a gentleman.”
Euan nodded eagerly. “Whatever it takes. I’ll be guided by you.” He paused, then added earnestly, “And I will repay you for the tickets. It will take some time, but I swear you will not be out of pocket.”
David shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’ll be a few shillings at most.” When Euan opened his mouth to protest, David continued determinedly. “But I do need something from you.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to agree to be cautious. I know you are eager to confront Lees, but you must understand that—whoever he may be—he will not be like you. His business is violence and deceit. You cannot assume that he will act honourably—”
“You don’t need to worry,” Euan replied, frowning. “I’m not the innocent you seem to think I am.”
“When I was your age—”
“All of four years ago?” Euan laughed and shook his head. “Look, Davy, I’m not from a wee farm village like you. I grew up in a rough town. You had to be tough to get by there. And I was. Iam.”
David sighed. “Just be careful. Promise me you won’t do anything rash without telling me.”
“So long as I tell you first, I can be rash, then?” Euan chuckled, suppressing his smile when he saw David’s frown. “All right. I promise.”
After a brief silence, David asked, “Where are you sleeping just now?”
Euan looked away, seeming embarrassed. “I have a place,” he said. “It’s just a share of a room, a place to bed down at night, but it does me all right.”
“Where is it?”
“Not far from here—just at the other end of the Cowgate.”
David could imagine what it would be like. A tiny room in a filthy close housing ten times as many people as it was fit for, most of them likely drunk, poor beggars.