Wayward One (2 page)

“Run,” yelled the boy in front. His shout sparked a fluster of activity, before he obeyed his own order.

The wrist in Fletcher’s grip twisted. Christ, the lad had the bones of a bird.

A round-faced woman sweeping a stoop screeched, “What are you three about? Leave the gent alone, will you not?”

Fletcher cast a sardonic look at the woman. Like as not, she was involved in the ring. They wouldn’t be able to work the street often without her noticing. Could be she even served as lookout for when the police bulls came ’round.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve things well in hand.”

“I see you do.” She leaned on her broom and gave him what was likely supposed to be a seductive smile. The tangle of her teeth wasn’t as big a detriment as their mottled green color. “If there’s anything at all I can be helping you with, sir, you only have to let me know.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Fletcher drawled. The hand in his grip wiggled again. “All right. About with you now.”

His captive was having none of it, straining against Fletcher’s hold, feet nearly sliding out from under him. “Bloomin’ hell,” the child muttered.

With a single good yank Fletcher brought him facing forward and knocked him lightly under the chin to get a better look at the elfin features. Still as dirty as he’d appeared on first glance, the lad wore a mulish cast to his mouth now.

“So you are a boy.”

His eyes went wide with affront. “My name’s William. I’m no blower.”

Fletcher gave his arm a shake. “Watch how you speak around the lady.”

The woman with the broom tittered but went back to at least pretending to be about her duties.

“I’ll give you this,” Fletcher said. “You’re not a half-bad tooler.”

The boy only pouted to the point that the pink inside of his lip showed. “I’m the best fine wirer in our crew. I can pick a dozen pockets a day and no one’s the wiser.”

Fletcher raised a brow. “Until me.”

“Until you, you bloody swell.”

“Tell me, do you like buzzing?”

William turned a gobsmacked look at him. “Gor, why shouldn’t I? I make twice what I could in a factory, and that’s even after the cut. With no risk of me fingers being smashed to glory land.”

With a chuckle, Fletcher lifted the wrist he still held prisoner. “Are you sure of that? How old are you, William?”

“Eleven,” he answered, full of unearned pride though he looked about as scrawny as a seven-year-old. Seraphina might still be as frighteningly slim as this boy if Fletcher hadn’t sent her off to school. When she’d stood by her mother’s pauper grave, her arms had been as slender as broom straws.

“Any parents for me to rat you to?”

William laughed, a sound as bitter as a drink from the Thames. “My parents been gone more than five years now.” Under the dirt and soot, his face went pale. His chin lifted so high, it seemed he might break his neck. “What are you to be doing with me? I ain’t afraid to wear the broad arrow. Go ahead and call the pigs.”

“I don’t truck much with police. How would you like a job?”

William’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I don’t fall that way, no matter what the pay.”

Fletcher bit back the sour revulsion that brought bile up his throat. He’d practically
been
this boy once—certain that everyone around him was out to dab him, and entirely hopeless. Seraphina had saved him, simply by the trust she’d placed in him. So young, she hadn’t realized what a poor choice she’d made.

Though it had taken more than a decade, he’d eventually reward her for that trust. He would hand her the world she deserved. He had only to win over the Earl of Linsley and everything would be ready.

“Nothing like that,” he said. “I’ve a gaming house down by the docks. We need a working boy.”

“And what’ll I be doing there?”

“You’ll sweep floors, wash glasses and occasionally run bets. But it comes with a clean cot to sleep in and three hot ones a day. You keep your eyes open, learn something, and I may put you on the tables one day.”

Something wistful darkened the boy’s countenance. “I can’t.”

“Can’t, or don’t want to?”

The kid yanked at his arm, and this time Fletcher let go. “I bloomin’ said
can’t
, didn’t I? That’s what I mean. If I run out, my kidsman’ll assume I played him the crooked cross. He’ll track me and beat me ’til I can’t walk, just to send a message to the other boys.”

“Don’t duck out,” Fletcher ordered. “Tell him you’ve an offer and that I’ll pay a bond if I have to. But I don’t think it’s likely.”

“You don’t think it’s likely,” William mocked, dropping his voice to an artificial baritone. “And why ever not? You royalty or some such?”

“The only sort of royalty I am is Whitechapel offal.” Fletcher smiled. He’d worked long and hard to keep control of his father’s empire. Occasionally it came in handy. “The name’s Fletcher Thomas.”

“Bloomin’ hell,” the chavy breathed. “The boss of Whitechapel is offering me a position?”

“You’ll work for everything you get.”

William practically danced from foot to foot in excitement. “I promise you I’m a right don. You gonna give me a chance to move up in the ranks? As I get older, I mean?”

God help the boy, he probably would, along with every mean and dirty thing that meant. He’d only ever been able to hold one thing precious above the muck.

Seraphina.

His mood shifted blacker than the sludge running through the gutters. Her time at the Waywroth Academy was running short, but he couldn’t claim her. Not yet. Not when he was still too near to the pick-pocketing boy he’d once been—and the blood-in-the-teeth types like his father.

“Show up at the Fair Winds by nine this evening. We’ll see where you go.”

Chapter Two

Six hours later, Sera was drunk.

Not hideously so, and of course not to the point of insensibility. Each sip of sweet red wine grew her sense of false bravery. Almost every bit of abuse she’d suffered from other schoolgirls had come from Sera being left in the dark about her history. Now, Sera was done. She’d soon have to move out of the student’s wing of the Academy, and she’d face society with the knowledge of her background tucked safely in her pocket. After an evening’s libations, she’d enticed Lottie and Victoria, her best friends, into helping her discover who paid her tuition.

Sera swayed down the quiet, dim hallway leading to Mrs. Waywroth’s office. Being the middle of the night, not another soul moved through the large house. Most of the students had already returned home to prepare for the Season. Even Mrs. Waywroth was away, gone to visit her sister in Gloucester. Only the trio remained, having avoided leaving for various reasons.

If she had anywhere to go, Sera would have long ago left the conflicting memories she had for the place. Not everyone had been as kind as her two friends. But soon beginning work for Mrs. Waywroth as an instructor would finally mean an end to the mean-spirited hisses. She was perfectly aware of her circumstances without daily reminders.

Lottie and Victoria giggled and whispered, but Sera was caught in the grip of paralyzing fear. The breath in her throat choked. Her wrists throbbed with a violent demonstration of her pulse. The wine that had been delicious fifteen minutes ago now churned in her stomach.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. It had been her idea but perhaps it wasn’t too late to back out.

Linking their arms together, Victoria drew her closer to the door. Tall, oak and polished to a shine that even the dark couldn’t seem to diminish, it was the last citadel of her hopes. Or the last gate before they were destroyed.

Victoria bent her blonde head to Sera’s. “Lottie is so wicked.”

On her knees before the lock, Lottie poked at it with a small length of wire. “You praised my wickedness when I got you that book.”

The giggle Victoria loosed was entirely too loud. “The sole purpose of that book was to increase my wickedness to match your own.”

“Since when have you known how to force open a lock, anyhow?” Sera was surprised no one commented on the wan sound of her voice. She could barely force air through her clenched throat. Her every hope and dread was wedged inside Mrs. Waywroth’s office.

She’d long suspected she was a bastard. But there was a difference between being some proper gentleman’s by-blow and a no one with no true pedigree. Knowing exactly what she had to hide would leave Sera with a more even field.

“Over the Christmas holidays.” Lottie’s tongue pushed out at the corner of her lips as she concentrated. A lock of hair fell over her brow, but the darkened shadows of the hall obscured its reddish hue. “When he’s in town, Papa has taken to locking up the liquor so Mother can’t get at it.”

A twinge of sympathy for Lottie’s situation pushed back Sera’s worries. The other girl always waved it away, but everyone knew her mother hadn’t been quite right for a long time. Only her father’s vast land holdings kept them a part of good society.

A quiet snick and the doorknob turned. “There!” Lottie hopped up and brushed the front of her skirts.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Sera’s feet had become glued to the plush carpet runner. “We’ll be caught.”

Victoria moved her along with a gentle push. “What’s the worst that can happen? We’ll be expelled?”

Lottie led the way, shutting the door behind them and turning up the shade on the lamp Victoria had carried. A flickering orange glow flooded the space.

Mrs. Waywroth’s office was small but no less prepossessing for it. A huge desk with dozens of hidey-holes and tiny drawers filled most of the space. Before it was a single, austere chair without a speck of upholstery. Sera had blessedly only been called to sit there twice, both times a result of one of Lottie’s pranks. One wall was covered with shelves that in turn were filled with a mix of books and bundled documents. Information about her benefactor could be in any one of the hundreds of packets.

Sera picked at the bed of her thumbnail as she looked around the tiny room. This was hopeless. Maybe she wanted it to be.

“I’ll take the desk,” Lottie said. “Victoria, you take the pigeonhole cabinet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” chirruped Victoria as she started opening little drawers.

“Please, let’s just leave.” Sera dug her nail into her thumb. Her brows drew together so tightly they hurt. “We’ll never find anything.”

Lottie only pushed back a lock of her perpetually messy hair. “Don’t turn faint of heart on us now.”

“I’ve always been a coward,” Sera admitted.

Victoria slipped the band from a leather-bound sheaf of papers. “It’s not inconceivable we’ll find something. You know how Mrs. Waywroth is. There must be some sort of classification system to everything. All we need to do is figure it out.”

Sera blew out a shaky breath, unsure if she was ready for this after all. Her father had forever been a shady specter in her past. If she didn’t know, she could pretend the epithets spit at her were untrue. But she wouldn’t be able to hide in the safety of the school anymore. If she were to emerge into the world at large—even as a teacher—she had to know what would be thrown at her.

“I think it will be easier than you suppose,” Lottie said with a distracted air. “Accounts came due a few days ago. She’ll likely have something close to hand.”

Victoria laughed. “And how would you know that?”

“Papa told me.”

Sera couldn’t help but
tsk
, setting her own worries aside. “Your father talks to you about the most inappropriate things.”

“He can’t help it,” Lottie said with a wide smile. “Who else is he supposed to talk to when he comes to town? It’s not as if Mother is worth much.”

Sera managed to hold back a scolding comment about her friend’s habit of disparaging her mother. The defense was all Lottie had.

But then Sera’s time ran out.

Lottie waved a piece of paper. “I found it. Accounts payable on behalf of Miss Seraphina Miller,” she read aloud.

Any moment, she would hear a name. The Lord only knew if it would mean anything. She half-hoped it wouldn’t. If her benefactor was some charitable institution, she could keep her gauzy daydreams about a loving father who missed her and wondered about her daily. If he’d known about her for a decade and chosen never to meet…her heart would break.

She pressed her hands flat to her belly, willing it to calm. She nodded. “Go on.”

“Oh, phooey,” Lottie muttered. “It’s an attorney. Richard Jenkins, Solicitor.”

Victoria gave Sera’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Unsurprising if one thinks about it. If Sera’s father really is a gentleman, he might choose to keep separate from his…” She trailed off, probably unwilling to point out Sera’s familial shortcomings.

“It’s all right. I understand.” She’d never known her father beyond the pretty stories her mother had spun about him. He could have very well been a rat catcher, which would be best left unknown.

Lottie moved around the desk to stand by them. She held out the paper. “What are you going to do?”

Sera took the bill, running it through her fingers. The paper was finely made, thick and smooth to the touch. She slanted a gaze over the words, but she could hardly make sense of them through her turmoil. Fears aside, she couldn’t live in a state of unknowing forever. So much better to find out and discard the silly dreams, then get on with the life she meant to create. To earn. Beholden to no one and a charity case no longer.