Page 28 of The Lady is Trouble
Holding the sheet to his nose, he drew a full breath as his gaze roved the room.
“My mother loved this scent.” She licked her lips, uncertain how to proceed. She’d not been around many children and had no idea how to converse with them.
“Roses?” he asked with another sniff.
“Jasmine.”
Simon slid from the bed and began a casual inspection of the room. Each burst of lighting gave chronicle of his progress. His touch was tender, curious but contained, his finger tracing the inlay on the wardrobe, toe sketching the twining blossoms edging the carpet. Henry recorded the tour from his place on a discarded blanket. “My ma, she never smelled like this.”
Piper swallowed, afraid to ask and send the conversation downhill but knowing nowhere else to go. “Where is she?”
He darted a look over his shoulder, reminding her of a rabid mongrel she’d once seen on the streets of London, caution and fury rolled into a very wearisome package. “Gone. Stepped in front of some bint’s carriage.” Crossing to the open window, he extended his arm, soaking his nightshift to the shoulder. “And don’t be thinking it was any accident. Cause she told me right ‘fore she did it.”
Piper scooted up the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest. She opened her mouth to reply but could think of absolutely nothing to say.I’m sorry.What a horrible mother. You deserved more, better.She had lived with her own very imperfect parent and wasn’t sure graceful apologies were of any comfort.
Simon frowned, noting her discomfiture. What a remarkably astute child. The waters ran deep. “Guessed I was mad as a hatter, she did. Seeing all them souls. Once or twice, they were dearly departeds she’d known in the rookery. When I see ‘em, I see ‘em clear, right down to the buttons on their frocks. The coin was gone, so to the streets for us. The rough life proved to be too much for her.” Turning, he rested his bottom on the windowsill, which she imagined was getting as soaked as his sleeve. “Tried mudlarking for a wee time.”
She shook her head, not sure what this meant.
“Scrounge the river at low tide. Bits of coal, maybe a copper nail. Cut my fee something awful to threepence! So, I switched to sharping. Found out I’m a right fair cutpurse,” he said, flipping a broach he’d pilfered from her dressing table from hand to hand. It disappeared and reappeared at will, snaking through his fingers like a talisman. With a charming eyebrow wag, he lifted his hands in supplication, the broach nowhere in sight. “But it weren’t enough. Never enough.” Walking on his toes to her dressing table, he returned the broach, smiled back at her. “Then I worked for a group, weren’t too good to me, truly, until the giant bloke found me. Offered me a better…hmm…” He drummed his fingers on the marble top. “Arrange whatnot.”
“Arrangement.” Piper smiled, slipping from the bed and crossing to him. “And the giant is Humphrey.”
“None too sure of me, that one.” Simon lifted a piece of foolscap before his eyes, studying it intently. It was a drawing of plans for the gardens Piper had attempted to sketch. A quite poor attempt. “Spitting mad when he found me, I was. Tried to give him a good smack in the gob. But then I thought, be spoony to say no to this arrange-whatever, hey, right? Food every day, no begging. A real, actualbed.” He looked at his makeshift nightshirt with a grimace. “Stupid attires. Stuffy. But ain’t going to be good news delivered on every corner, now is it? Least no chilblains this winter, if socks be part of the bundle.”
“That makes two of us.” At his startled glance, she clarified, “Humphrey isn’t too sure of me, either.” She didn’t want to admit she found much of her clothing downright uncomfortable, the multitude of layers ridiculous, thus presenting a negative example.
“This sketch is awful,” he said, turning the sheet in every direction as if this would improve it.
Approaching with care, she halted at the settee and perched on the edge, as if, like Simon, she were a bird set to take flight. “Yes, my charcoal broke in the middle of the composition.”
“Don’t think that mattered.”
Amusement she couldn’t contain spilled forth. She drew her hand to her lips, leaning into her delight. “I suppose not.”
His eyes, as dark as the soil she’d planted a row of winter heather in, tracked back to her. A smile, the first genuine one he’d shown, curved his lips. Returning the sketch to the dressing table, he held up a finger. “Wait,” he instructed and was out the door like a shot.
He returned, clutching a battered leather satchel. Going to the settee, he turned it upside down, the varied contents spilling forth. Two charcoal pencils, a bound folio, a paintbrush, a tube of red paint, a silver fork, a folded sheet of foolscap, and a stick pin in the shape of a fox’s head that could only be Finn’s. Grubbing through the pile, he brought the pencils close to his eyes, selected the one with the longest lead, and presented it to her as a gift.
A gift he had clearly stolen.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the pencil.
He repacked the satchel—one she had seen Humphrey carrying—with swift purpose. She grinned, imagining Simon robbing him blind. “Where did you find art supplies?”
“Oh, in Mr. Julian’s house. Has more than he needs for years of slopping paint around. Colors were all over the floor. Like a rainbow. Like no place I’ve ever seen.”
“This house?” she asked as if she’d stumbled into a room with no light.
Simon flipped the folded foolscap like a sharper a deck of cards. “Oh, no. He lives in the ivy cottage in the woods.”
Piper did a quick mental examination. Julian the morning after the fire, his face alight with enthusiasm as he’d talked ofcolors, hues, tones; streaks of paint on his skin on two occasions; his avoidance of her questions about the lodge.Minewas all he said when she asked about it, his tone possessive.
Blast. There was a large part of Julian’s life she knew nothing about. For all therightreasons, he’d kept secrets from her.
Piper blinked to find Simon standing as still as a statue before her, a talent she did not associate with young boys. Regrettably, it seemed his experiences had matured him beyond his years. “I only broke in once,” he said, scuffing his toe across the carpet as he pressed the folded sheet into her hand. “I’m trying to quit the cutpurse ways, been ordered to, mind you, by the giant bloke, but it’s hard to remember I don’t have to anymore.”
Her heart stuttered at his admission. “I won’t tell.” She didn’t see any benefit to breaking the trust they were building, as it seemed he didn’t trust anyone else. She did wonder, however, what of hers was going to end up in Humphrey’s satchel.