Page 74 of Of Fate and Phantoms
"Do we have anything else?" I asked Cook. "Some cake, perhaps?"
"Cake!" Finley's eyes almost popped out of his head. "We can havecake?"
Cook chuckled. "Aye, if you like fruitcake." He headed into the pantry to retrieve the leftover Christmas cake.
"Just a small portion," I said. "If you eat too much of anything you'll be sick." I'd eaten too much too quickly when I first came to Lichfield and thrown it all up in the corner of the tower room. Those days seemed so long ago now, but a mere seven months had passed. It felt like a lifetime.
Cook unwrapped the cake and cut off two small pieces and handed them to the boys on plates. Finley ate his in two bites, but Mink nibbled more carefully yet no less enthusiastically.
"Mmmm," Finley said around his mouthful of fruitcake. "This is the best thing I ever tasted. Eh, Mink? You ever had somefing as good as this?"
Mink didn't respond. He simply looked away, but not before I saw tears in his eyes. I'd wager he had tasted Christmas cake before, and the taste brought back memories of a happier time, perhaps Christmases spent with a loving family.
Doyle, Mrs. Cotchin, Cook and I watched them eat and drink. Finley finished first and got up to warm himself by the range. When Mink finished, he picked up his plate and cup.
"Where's the scullery?" he asked.
"I'll take them," Mrs. Cotchin said with a motherly smile.
"Come with me to the parlor," I said. "The fire's burning."
"Wait!" Doyle rushed out ahead of me, not running, but doing an odd fast walk. He headed into the store room and emerged a moment later with sheets. He handed one to each of the boys. "Sit on these. Mrs. Cotchin doesn't want your smells penetrating the furnishings."
"Be off with you, Mr. Doyle," Mrs. Cotchin chided. "They don't smell so bad." She did not, however, ask him to remove the sheets.
She was right and the boys didn't reek. They both wore the new clothes I'd given them the first day we'd gone to their den. A strong smell still wafted from them, but it was from their bodies, not the clothes.
I led Mink and Finley into the parlor. They both stopped inside the doorway and stared in wonder at the luxurious furniture, the thick curtains, and the expensive vases and other knickknacks. I'd been equally overwhelmed when I first saw the room.
Finley moved first. He set his sheet on the rug in front of the fireplace and sat down cross-legged. He stretched his fingers toward the heat. Mink followed but laid his towel out on one of the armchairs. He sat and stretched his feet and hands toward the fireplace.
I scooped some coal from the scuttle and added it to the fire.
"You done well for yourself, Charlie," Finley said quietly. "Real well. You sure you ain't his doxy?"
Mink kicked him.
"I'm quite sure," I said with a laugh.
"How'd it happen, then?" Finley asked. "How'd you get so lucky? Last I remember, you was being chased by some big men."
Although he asked the question, it was Mink who eyed me closely. He was as interested in my answer as Finley. Perhaps more so.
"It's a long story," I said. "The short version is that I was in possession of some information that Mr. Fitzroy wanted. He brought me here to extract it, and once I realized the importance of the organization's work, I agreed to stay and help."
"But his men roughed you up," Finley said, now giving me his full attention.
"Not as badly as you would think." I'd been terrified of Lincoln and his men in the beginning, but he'd never raised a hand to me, or allowed anyone else to. He may have put me into a precarious situation to win me to his side, but he'd later acknowledged that had been a mistake, and I'd forgiven him. It had taken much longer for Lincoln to forgive himself.
"Bet they was surprised when they noticed you was a girl."
"Surprised is an understatement, Finley." We both laughed. Mink continued to watch me, but the wariness was gone from his eyes. He seemed awed, surrounded by fine things and me, the woman who used to be a boy in his gang. Awed and a little sad.
"So tell me," I said, "you have something to report already?"
"We do," Mink said, becoming businesslike. "We decided not to ask for the man by name. Instead, we asked people if they knew someone with really big hands."
"Real big," Finley echoed. "Gi-normous."
