Page 19 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
Mick looked over at the urchin with the hopeful eyes who had planted his clasped soiled hands on the table. He wasn’t decked out in such finery now, but neither was he wearing rags. “You didn’t have to kick my shin so hard.”
The lad scowled. “’Course I did. ‘Ad to make me escape look real. The bird wouldna believed it otherwise.”
“The lady.”
“She was a fancy one, she was. Bet ye gotta be all clean afore ye can even kiss ’er.”
“What do you know about kissing girls?”
“Everythink. I kiss ’em all the time.”
He doubted it. The scrawny lad couldn’t be more than eight. Reaching two fingers into his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a coin and tossed it toward the boy, who caught it with a wide grin.
“Caw! Blimey! A crown! Thanks, guv. Ye need somethink else nicked—” He jabbed his thumb against his skinny chest. “—ye just let me know.” Then he was racing off, no doubt in search of bulging pockets.
“What was that about?” Aiden asked.
Mick shook his head. “Just a little task with which I needed some assistance.” It hadn’t been coincidence he’d crossed paths with Lady Aslyn. Ever since she’d left her residence earlier that afternoon, he’d been following her, waiting for the most opportune moment to approach her. He’d known she was going out because he paid a footman to deliver a message whenever he learned of the lady’s plans for the day. In any household, there was always a servant more loyal to coin than to his employer.
She’d spent so much time at the dressmaker’s he’d begun to wonder if she’d moved into the shop. When she’d finally emerged and he’d overheard her tell the servants she was heading to the milliner’s, he knew the time had come to take advantage. It had gone much better than he’d imagined, even if he had ended up purchasing a parasol for Fancy because guilt had pricked his conscience for baldly lying to the lady’s face. He didn’t understand that reaction on his part. A good deal of his climbing out of the gutter had involved lies and half-truths. He was accustomed to telling them with a straight face and moving on, but this afternoon he’d spent coins on a bit of frippery. Not that Fancy hadn’t been pleased with the gift.
“I don’t like you using my boys for your nefarious deeds,” Gillie said, as she set another glass of whiskey in front of him and tankards in front of Aiden and Finn.
“He’s notyourboy.”
“He works for me. He’s mine.”
Like their mum, she had a soft heart. Unlike their mum, who was short of stature, Gillie was nearly as tall as he. Her hair was cropped short like a man’s. Her loose shirt and boots were reminiscent of a laborer’s attire. Her brown skirt was plain, hung off her hips as though there were no petticoats beneath it. Probably weren’t. While Fancy loved all the trappings of ladies’ attire, Gillie abhorred them. If he’d purchased her a parasol, she’d have conked him over the head with it for spending coin on something for which she had no use.
From the moment Ettie Trewlove had taken Gillie in, she’d dressed her as a boy. Mick had assumed it was because the Widow Trewlove had lad’s clothing to pass down and didn’t have the pennies to spare for frocks. He’d thought she cut Gillie’s hair whenever she trimmed the boys’ because she didn’t have the time to brush and braid long tresses, and the shorter style was less likely to attract lice. It was only when he’d inadvertently caught her wrapping linen around Gillie’s chest when she was twelve that he realized she’d made her appear to be a boy in order to protect her from unwanted advances—or worse.
He suspected if Gillie ever grew out her hair and put on a proper dress, her features might appear more comely and she might draw a man’s attention. Although if a fellow stared at her for too long, he was likely to earn a black eye. Gillie was as quick with her fist as she was with a kindness.
“It was a harmless prank,” he told her. “He never left my sight. He was never in any danger.”
“Nicking a bracelet from a lady clad in silk could get him hanged.”
He fought not to grimace. The next time, he’d explain to the little urchin to keep his mouth shut regarding the specifics of his task if he wanted to earn extra coins.
Gillie yanked out a chair and dropped unceremoniously into it in a manner he doubted Lady Aslyn had ever used to take a seat. She would slowly, elegantly alight—
“Why are you stirring things up, Mick?” she asked pointedly, always too forthright. He reconsidered his earlier assessment. Even if she grew out her hair and put on a pretty frock, no man was going to court her when she was always so damned irritatingly blunt, looking a man straight in the eye while carrying on her inquisition, demanding he answer truthfully or suffer the consequences. “Our lives aren’t half bad.”
“We were sentenced to death, and we did nothing to deserve it except be born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Not all the widows murdered the children handed over to them.”
“A good many did.” Over a thousand graves had been discovered in one woman’s garden.
“Don’t you ever wonder about where you came from, Gillie?” Finn asked.
She shook her head. “No. Unlike you lot, I don’t know who fathered me, or anything at all about the immoral woman who lay on her back for him, but Ettie Trewlove is my mum. That’s all I need to know.”
None of them knew anything about the women who’d given birth to them, although Aiden’s and Finn’s sire had delivered them to Ettie Trewlove’s door within weeks of each other so everyone assumed the man had possessed two mistresses.
“Don’t you want to know if the woman who brought you into the world was his lover or just someone he took for the night?” Finn asked. “I wonder about my mum, if she meant anything at all to him.”
“If she had, do you think he’d have gotten rid of you?” Gillie asked. “Don’t be daft, lads. The women who gave birth to us were mistresses or prostitutes or, heaven forbid, some poor servant girl who got cornered in the linen pantry. Keeping us would have ruined their lives, made them as unwanted as we were. Look ahead, lads, not back. Nothing to be seen in the rear but heartache.”
