Page 62 of The Secret Life of a Lady
There was nothing quite so horrifying as self-realisation on an empty stomach at seven in the morning.
Killian ripped open the letter and unfolded the paper. He scanned the poorly scrawled script before stopping to read it over again.
‘Bloody fucking hell.’ It was from the proprietor of the Crown and Bull. Young Billy Bright had paid the establishment a visit. He was looking for the barmy toff who liked to hang out near the shitters. He had important information to share. According to the letter, the capricious youth would return to the Crown and Bull one week hence at six in the evening. Killian checked the date on the letter. ‘Fucking bloody hell!’ It had been written four days ago. London was two days ride from Berkshire. Killian needed to leave immediately and ride hard if he were to reach the Crown and Bull on the morrow at the set time. Master Bright said he would stay for thirty minutes, and then he was leaving. According to the letter, the daft bastard – that was Killian – could go stuff himself ifhe wasn’t there by the determined time. Killian guessed the owner of the Crown and Bull derived great pleasure in penning the mischievous lad’s words verbatim.
Killian dressed and tugged on the bell pull. His valet opened the door a few minutes later. ‘Wake up Drake. Tell him we must leave for London. Immediately.’ Killian walked to the desk and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. He wrote a hasty note. ‘Give this to Miss Simmons when she wakes.’ Killian almost shoved the man out of his room as he continued readying for what would be a long day.
Killian and Drake rode hard, changing horses three times at coaching inns along the way and sleeping for a few hours at a common lodging house near Bray before reaching London and the Crown and Bull.
The wooden beams were stained with over a hundred years of smoke from the hearth fire, cigars, and pipes. Heavy furniture with thick upholstery was crammed into the crowded room, making it feel cosy.
They were sipping their second round of pints when a dirty hand reached out and snagged Killian’s glass.
‘Caw, this running round after coves is thirsty work.’ Master Bright slurped deeply before Killian relieved him of his pilfered beer.
‘I received your note.’ Killian kept the humour out of his tone with difficulty. The brazen boy slumped into an empty chair and eyed Drake’s pint glass.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Drake’s deep rumble would have scared the wits out of most children, but the boy just gave him a cheeky wink. Drake’s lips twitched.
Before Killian could quiz the lad, their food arrived. The smell of warm bread and roasted pork inspired a hungry growl from Killian’s belly.
The boy’s eyes widened as large as saucers. He licked his chapped lips. Killian could see the bones poking through Master Bright’s thin shirt.
He pushed his roast pork and potatoes across the table. ‘Eat.’
The boy didn’t wait for Killian to change his mind. He grabbed a spoon and dove into the food with alarming focus.
Drake raised an eyebrow at Killian. He knew better than Killian the demon of hunger clawing from a man’s belly, consuming his heart, and picking away at his mind until every thought dissolved into a singular need to find sustenance.
The boy made quick work of the meal, picking up the plate and licking it clean. He plunked it back on the table, sat back in his chair, rested his hands over his full belly, and burped. ‘Could’a used more salt, those potatoes.’
Drake’s bark of laughter surprised them all.
‘You called us here, Master Bright. What information do you have that’s so important I raced pell-mell across England to answer your summons?’ Killian raised an eyebrow at the boy.
‘You told me to come ’ere if I ’ad any information. Well. I got some. If you don’t wannit, I’ll be on me way.’ The boy started to stand until Killian put a hand on his shoulder. Both men noticed the lad flinch. He was a courageous child, full of piss and vinegar, but beneath the dirt were bruises and behind the bravado was fear. No one grew up on the streets of Bethnal Green without feeling the bite of a fist from someone larger and stronger, and Master Bright was still a small boy.
Killian slowly removed his hand. ‘You needn’t fear us. Drake might look like a monster, but he screams like a banshee if a spider crawls over his hand.’
The boy looked at Drake, his mouth quirked. ‘I don’t like roaches. Me mum says there’s nuffink wrong with steering clear of creepy crawlies.’
‘She sounds like a wise woman.’ Drake nodded. He hadn’t touched his pie. Instead, he wrapped it in a cloth and pushed it over to the boy.
His hand snaked out to the wrapped pie, and he slipped it off the table and onto his lap.
‘Well, Billy Bright, what information do you have for us?’ Killian’s heart cracked a little as Billy bit his lip, assessing the men. Trust wasn’t easy for the lad.
The boy puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly, a little man with the weight of the world on his slight shoulders. ‘Sarah’s friend, Penny, came round to see me mum and dad.’
‘When exactly?’ Killian leaned forward.
Billy scowled at him. ‘I ain’t no calendar, am I? It must ’ave been two weeks ago, Sunday, because Mum was doing the weekly bake. She always bakes our loaf of bread on Sunday.’ One loaf of bread to feed an entire family for a week. It was no wonder the boy was small for his age. ‘They thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. It’s hard to sleep sometimes. So’s I listened to ’em talking. Penny worked with Sarah before…’ His chin quivered, and he cleared his throat. Drake scooted his beer closer to the boy, motioning to the glass.
‘Have a sip, lad. Wet that tickle in your throat.’ Drake looked over the boy’s head at Killian. Killian knew what he was thinking. There had to be something they could do to help this young lad. Surely, they could find a job for Billy. Work that kept his belly full and his hands busy.
The boy took a small gulp of beer. ‘Penny brung some of Sarah’s things. I fink me mum ’oped she would find the necklace she gave Sarah, but it weren’t there. But that’s not why I came ’ere.’
Killian forced himself to remain quiet. Billy liked to tell a tale in his own time. He wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted again.
