Elizabeth Rolls - In Debt To The Earl

She snorted. ‘Papa’s never laid eyes on Fitch.’

James reined in the rising anger. None of this was her fault. Not even the fact that he didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that her supposed protector was a mere child. It was none of his concern. So why had he gone down and fronted the grimy Mrs Beattie to buy fuel for the girl? Why the hell was he still here? His body had a very obvious answer and it wasn’t one he entirely liked.

‘Where does he live?’

Overhead something creaked and the girl’s gaze flickered upward as she frowned.

‘Something up there?’ James asked.

‘I hope not another leak,’ she said. ‘It’s probably a cat. They fight on the roof. Are you going to leave?’

‘Soon enough,’ he said. ‘Where does the boy live?’

‘Hereabouts,’ she said eventually.

‘Where?’

‘Nowhere, really. He’s an orphan. He picks up a living where he can.’

James bit back an oath. It didn’t take much intelligence to work out what that living would involve. And it wasn’t uncommon for pickpockets to use a street performer as a cover. ‘Hell’s teeth, girl! Where have your wits gone begging?’ he ground out, fear clawing at his belly. ‘If he plies that trade while you’re playing your fiddle, you’ll both hang!’

‘He doesn’t!’ she flared.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ At least she wasn’t pretending not to know what he meant. ‘It’s—’

‘Not while I’m playing,’ she insisted. ‘He promised and I give him half the money anyway.’

Something about the very quietness of her response convinced him. ‘Half the money?’ he demanded. ‘Why?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Because I’d lose at least half of it to people pretending to put money in, of course!’ she explained as one who states the obvious, as he supposed it was.

‘And Fitch stops that.’

‘Yes. And other...that is, pickpockets, stay away.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Because they think it’s his pitch.’

‘If he’s a thief,’ he said bluntly, ‘you’re a damn fool to associate with him.’

Her chin came up. ‘He’s my friend,’ she said. ‘And he doesn’t swear at me.’

James cleared his throat. ‘ Bum is a word not usually learned in polite circles,’ he pointed out.

‘Well,’ she amended, ‘I don’t think he does so deliberately.’ The bright eyes narrowed. ‘You seem to have learned it.’

‘But not in polite circles,’ he said, fighting a grin at the neat way she’d turned the tables on him.

She shrugged. ‘Since I’m clearly not in polite circles here, I can’t see that it matters. Let me assure you that I wouldn’t have said it in my grandmother’s drawing room.’

‘Your grandmother has a drawing room?’ Had Miss Hensleigh just implied that she didn’t think he was polite?

Her mouth tightened. ‘She did when she was alive.’

That didn’t really surprise him. Hensleigh’s manners and speech were those of a gentleman. He hadn’t been born in the gutter, even if he was damn close to ending in one and dragging his daughter with him. And there was the nub. After two brief meetings, James couldn’t stomach the thought of Hensleigh taking the girl down with him. Damn it, she shouldn’t be eating in a tavern with a pickpocket, or living in these shabby rooms. She shouldn’t know such things exist—

He looked up as the roof creaked again.

She glanced at the window uneasily. ‘You should go,’ she said.

He scowled. ‘For God’s sake! If I had designs on your virtue I’d have it by now!’ And could have kicked himself as she flushed. It wasn’t quite the truth, either...

‘No.’ She rose and walked over to the window. ‘But it’s getting dark. The streets aren’t safe around here at night.’

She was worried about him? No, she just wanted him gone. But her warning had reminded him of something. ‘Do you know a fellow called Kilby?’

Her brow knotted. ‘Kilby? No.’ She didn’t sound entirely sure. After a moment, she said, ‘At least, Papa knows him, I think. I heard him mention the name once to someone who came home with him.’

‘He brought someone home?’ It hadn’t been easy finding out where Hensleigh lived. That the man was fool enough to bring anyone home surprised him.

‘Not exactly. It was more like the other man had followed him. Papa never brings anyone home. I was asleep at first. I think he caught up with Papa at the door. They argued and I woke up. The man asked for time, but I remember Papa saying that since Kilby had them, it was too late. That he, the other man, should make himself scarce—’

‘Vowels.’ James muttered it, almost to himself. From what he’d learned, Hensleigh was in the habit of selling debts on to the mysterious Kilby. Kilby bought them at a discount and charged the full amount, plus interest.

‘Gambling debts?’

He glanced at her. ‘What else? Your father probably sold the fellow’s debts to this Kilby. Did he see you?’

‘Who?’ She looked rather puzzled at first, but then her brow cleared. ‘Oh, the man who followed Papa home? No. I told you. I was asleep. And it wasn’t here anyway.’

‘Not here?’

She went very pink. ‘We’ve only been here a couple of months. It was just before we moved.’

A ball of tension unknotted in his gut. He’d seen enough of the men Hensleigh associated with to feel cold all over at the thought of any of them knowing about this girl. Apparently the man had the sense to change his lodgings every so often to throw any pursuit off the scent. ‘Good,’ he said.

She was watching him, an odd expression on her face. ‘If you’re going to take the money for the coal off what you owe Papa, he won’t like it.’

‘What?’ For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about. ‘What I owe—?’ Too late he realised that he had tripped himself up. ‘Look, the coal was nothing. It doesn’t—’

But her eyes had narrowed. He could see her putting it together. He braced himself.

‘If you owed him money,’ she said finally, ‘there was no reason to come back today, let alone wait.’ Her voice was very quiet. ‘You could hardly suppose he wouldn’t call on you as soon as he returned. But if he owes you money—’ she bit her lip and he knew an urge to reach out, stroke away the small hurt ‘—then there was every reason to return and wait, wasn’t there?’

‘Yes,’ he said. There was no point denying it, even if he could bring himself to lie to her again.

‘So you lied to me,’ she said, as if being lied to was perfectly normal. ‘How much?’

His mind blanked for a moment. ‘How much for what?’ he countered. What sort of idiot couldn’t keep a lie straight in his head? Somehow this girl unravelled his wits and scattered them to the winds.

She swallowed and the silent jerk of her throat stabbed at him. ‘How much does he owe you?’

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that she wasn’t offering to barter herself for the debt.

He hesitated. She was already pale, her mouth set as if braced for a blow. A blow he didn’t want to strike. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. The time for lies was past. Well, almost. ‘One hundred pounds.’ He could not bring himself to tell her the full amount.

* * *

It was a shameful fact that Lucy had never, not once in her life, come close to fainting. Her cousin Jane had prided herself on her ability to faint dead away with becoming grace at the slightest provocation, be it a spider, a snake or the admiring glance of an eligible gentleman. Jane had been as much admired for her exquisite sensibility as for her beauty. Lucy never felt so much as dizzy. Spiders didn’t bother her, she thought the occasional snake she saw was far more scared of her than she was of it and gentlemen never noticed her.