Page 13 of The Lady and the Lion (Victorian Outcasts #9)

eleven

A fter Vivienne and Dobkins left, Samuel closed the door behind them and took a good look at the room.

Captain Jackson was tossing the empty bottles in a box, smashing them.

Samuel picked up a few glasses from the floor and put them on the table. Vivienne’s questions had left a trail of thoughts in his mind. He’d disappointed her somehow although he wouldn’t know why.

Her smile never failed to make him acutely aware of her beauty.

Not only her beauty, but her shining soul, too.

Under normal circumstances, a man like him would never share the same room as she did.

His inadequacy was on full display, but he didn’t mind that; he was only sorry he couldn’t be more for her.

The captain paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. “What do you think of my situation? Do you agree with Dobkins and Lady Vivienne that I must change my habits?”

Since there had been too many arguments for one day, he shrugged.

“Don’t give me the bloody shrug!” Captain Jackson smashed another bottle in the box.

He flinched, and the glass he was about to place on the table fell to the floor, breaking into pieces.

“Hell…” the captain said, “I’m sorry.”

He suppressed another shrug.

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

He knelt to pick up the shards.

The captain crouched, too. “Leave it.”

He insisted. He hadn’t done anything to help the captain. It was his turn to be helpful.

“It’s sharp. I’ll do it.” The captain swatted Samuel’s hand away, cutting himself on a sharp piece. “Bloody hell!”

On impulse, Samuel recoiled and covered his head with his arms. When no pain came, he lowered them.

Captain Jackson slouched. “I truly am sorry, lad. I have a temper, but I would never hurt you.”

“I know,” he signed with trembling fingers.

“I’m an ass.” The captain sagged on the floor, blood trickling from the cut on his palm. “You can be honest with me. I’m a bloody mess, right?”

Samuel sat next to him and searched his notes, which were very rudimentary sketches of a few signs and some scribbled words.

“I went through this,” he signed.

What he wanted to say was that he understood what the captain was going through, and if he’d managed to get rid of the morphia, the captain could get rid of his whisky. But that was a speech too complicated for his skills.

Nevertheless, he beat a fist against his chest and then on the captain’s.

“You’re stronger than I am,” the captain said.

Samuel laughed. A throaty sound came out, more chilling than joyful, but he laughed anyway.

“You are.” The captain nodded. “I’m a coward. That’s why alcohol is called Dutch courage. Not that I feel particularly brave when I’m drunk. I feel nothing, which is even better.”

Slowly, he signed, “Adele?”

“I didn’t drink back then. I was a paragon of virtue, convinced that, if you were honest and good, life repaid you in kind. My arse. Such a fool I was. But no matter what I did to help Adele, she died too quickly for me to save her. So small. So fragile. So many tears.”

Samuel took his handkerchief and wrapped it around the captain’s injured palm.

The captain let him do it. “The ladies are right. I need to change. You deserve better.”

Samuel wanted to tell him he should change for himself, but if that was a good motivation, he wouldn’t say anything.

“Is it true they paid you to rescue me?” he asked, signing slowly.

The captain exhaled. “Not my finest moment. But it’s different now. I care about you.”

He hugged the captain and patted his back.

The captain returned the hug. “We’re friends.”

They remained sitting in the messy room. A breeze from the open window swept through the room.

“Will you help me?” the captain asked.

Samuel squeezed his shoulder and signed, “You’re my first friend. Of course I’ll help you.”

That afternoon, Vivienne was sitting next to Samuel, reviewing the irregular verbs in sign language. His deep hunger for learning shocked Vivienne. The young men she usually met cared nothing about studying and learning, while Samuel would give anything to be taught something new.

The circus had finally moved out of London, after Cade had given up searching for Samuel, granting them a much-needed respite from the constant worry of being caught by the police.

The newspapers had thankfully stopped talking about Lion Boy although countless sights of him throughout London had kept the readers entertained and the constables busy.

Some people had sworn to have been attacked by Lion Boy and demanded Cade pay them for the damage. After a few of those complaints, Cade had left London in a hurry.

The man who had enslaved Samuel, Murdock, was never mentioned. No article had reported his name, and even Cade had dogged journalists with a skill that bordered on magic. Not that she cared, but she wanted to see the face of the man who was vile enough to enslave a child.

“You don’t pour the boiling water on the leaves,” Dobkins said to Captain Jackson, “or the tea will taste bitter.”

“Rubbish. It releases the fragrance better.”

“You never listen to me!”

“I do. That’s why I’m nervous.”

Vivienne whispered, “They argue like an old couple.”

Samuel smiled. Since his cheeks weren’t gaunt anymore, his smile had become full, bright, and rather charming.

His hair had grown and reached his jaw with dark golden curls.

No trace of his sickness was left. Lion Boy was as unrecognisable as the captain’s flat.

Clean, tidy, and not a bottle of whisky in sight.

The captain looked a bit worse for wear, but his eyes were sharper.

She spied on Samuel’s profile as he moved his fingers while reading, slowing slightly on the most difficult words.

What pleased her was the fact his ordeal hadn’t left traces on him, at least on the outside. He looked like any other healthy young man, strong and handsome.

His determination to learn impressed her. His will to work hard was admirable. Had she been in his situation, she wouldn’t have been able to recover so quickly and focus on learning so many things. Her predicaments seemed so trivial compared to what he’d gone through.

He flipped his fingers in the air, signing, “I don’t remember all of them.”

“Take your time. You’re doing an incredible job.”

“An Englishman who can’t brew tea,” Dobkins said. “What’s next? You making cucumber sandwiches without butter?”

“Pot kettle black,” the captain replied. “You add French cheese, which is unpatriotic.”

Vivienne chuckled.

Samuel smiled, and his face brightened before he focused on reading again.

“You should take a break,” she said.

“Tea is ready.” Dobkins served tea and sandwiches, explaining to the captain why French cheese was a great addition over English cheddar.

Vivienne lifted her tea cup. “Do you remember anything about your life before the circus?”

His smile disappeared as he returned his gaze to the book.

“No. The earliest memories I have are about Murdock and travelling with him. Before joining the circus, he swindled people out of thousands of pounds. After one of his deceits, we would move to another place and start again. It was horrible.”

When he didn’t add anything else, she spoke again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But I wonder if you have a family, parents, or siblings who are worried about you.”

“I don’t think I have. Why would my parents leave me with Murdock?”

Some words he signed were confusing for her because he was faster than she was. But his deep pain was clear.

“Maybe they had no choice, or maybe they didn’t know where you were.”

He pressed his lips in a hard line. “Murdock treated me like a beast, feeding me leftovers and locking me up in a cage when he wasn’t with me.

He called me only Boy back then. Then, when I was thirteen, he got the idea of turning me into Lion Boy and, with Cade, put up the Circus of Curiosities.

What parent would leave their child in such desperation? ”

A muscle of his jaw ticked, and his nostrils flared.

She ought to change the subject. “Have you thought about what to do once you finish learning to read and write?”

“No.”

She didn’t press him, but he might become an apprentice and learn a trade, or find employment in a rich house. With his height and build, he would be an excellent footman, granted if he found an employer who didn’t mind him being speechless.

The sunlight streamed through the diamond window and lit his hair with radiance.

He stared at the street outside as if mesmerised by the people walking along the pavements, the carriages, and the street vendors.

It occurred to her he’d never left the captain’s flat.

While the circus had still been in London, it’d only been sensible to keep him hidden, but now there was no reason to.

“Would you like to go out? Take a walk? I’m sure the captain will agree.”

He turned towards her, his chest heaving. “Yes.”