Page 145 of Rakes & Reticules
“The workhouse would give ye a meal and a cot ta sleep on.”
“I need coin, sir.”
He barked a laugh. “Don’t we all. There’re better ways ta get it.”
“I’ve tried, sir,” Sam managed, seeing his mother’s tearstained face when he never showed up at King’s Bench again.
The man’s blue eyes narrowed, studying Sam for a long while. Sam held his gaze, waiting to be dragged to the nearest constable.Why had he tried for that walking stick?
“So ye have manners, I see. Where’d ye learn ‘em?”
“My parents, sir.”
“And where might they be?”
“At King’s Bench, sir.”
Another long stare as Sam fought the urge to squirm.
“How long ye been on the streets?”
“April last, sir.”
“What’d ye do before the family was put away?”
“My father owned a bookshop, and I was to start Winton last month.” Something in the stranger’s tone had changed, sparking a tiny flicker of hope in Sam’s chest.
“How long ye been stealin’ from honest folks?”
“Except for food from the costermongers—and only the finer dressed ones—you are my first. And I wish to God I could undo it!” he blurted out to his captor. “I swear I’ll never do it again.”
“The fat is in the fire, lad.” The stranger eased up a bit on the cane around Sam’s neck, then snorted. “Do ye want a hot meal and a cot ta sleep on?”
Sam nodded his head vigorously, his chin bumping the gold crook of the stick.
“Are ye willin’ ta work for it?”
Another energetic nod.
“D’ye have a dram of loyalty in yer blood?” asked the burly man.
“At least a barrel, sir, if you don’t hand me over to the constable.”
“I’ll want every drop. I can put ye ta work but no tongue waggin’.” He squinted at the Sam. “I see sumtin’ in those sad eyes, boyo. If I be a bettin’ man, I’d say ye learnt some life lessons and will come out the better for it.”
Sam hung his head, blinking back pesky tears.
“Tink about it, boyo—”
“It’s Sampson J. Brooks.” He looked the Irishman in the eye. “My name is Samspon J. Brooks. I can read, write, and keep a ledger. I’ve read a dozen books about plants and healing. My brain is quick, but my hands…” He held up his hands, palm up, implying that pickpocketing wasn’t his best skill.
“Oh, ho! Well, Sampson, I don’t need a thief in my employ.” He removed the cane from the boy’s neck. “Tis yer lucky day, for I’m goin’ to release ye. If ye run, I’ll not chase ye. That action will tell me ye ain’t worth the effort.” He nodded and grinned. “If ye come wit’ me, ye get a cot, a warm meal, and Christmas wit’ the most generous and kind woman God’s ever seen fit ta put on dis earth.”
A tear slid down Sam’s cheek, and he brushed at it with an angry jerk. He tried to take a deep breath, but a pain shot up his ribs. Could he trust this man? He didn’t appear to be an angel. But then, Sam had never seen one except in religious books. He felt the giant paw on his thin shoulder and looked up. It couldn’t be worse than gaol.
You have manners,he’d said. Sam did have manners, and he’d make his mother proud.
“I would be honored to accompany you home, sir.”
