KDBookOnline
Share Us
Rose nodded. “I thought the law would send us to Australia, but after the second time George promised the nuns we wouldn’t run if they didn’t give us back to Bow Street. I don’t really remember before that, except for when we lived in that hole under the church.”
“A hole under a church,” the missus whispered, her face turning a little gray.
“It wasn’t under the church,” George countered, scowling again. “It was a hole that led to the cellar where they kept the wine and such. I liked it there. Twice a month they gave away food, and we got first pick because they kept it down where we was.”
“Which church?”
“I don’t know. It had a big stone cross outside, and a tall, square part in the middle.”
“We used stepping-stones to get to our hole without our feet getting wet,” Rose piped up. “I’m good at jumping.”
“Those weren’t stepping-stones, goose,” he informed her. She was five now, and could stand to learn the truth.
“Well, what were they, then? You said they were stepping-stones.”
“Because I didn’t want you to know they were gravestones. Laid out flat in the grass, they were, all over the grounds. No standing ones at all.”
“St. Quiteria’s?” Mr. Pershing muttered.
“That was it, I think,” George affirmed.
“I was walking on people?” the five-year-old screeched.
“Dead people. They didn’t care.”
“It sounds as if you did quite well for yourselves,” Mrs. Pershing said, looking like somebody’d put a plate of bugs in front of her. “What gave Bow Street cause to pursue you?”
“Oh, some damned cully caught me in his pocket,” George grumbled, leaving out the part where their supposed lookout had taken off running. “His collar was so high I didn’t even think he could turn his head, but there he was, glaring at me. Grabbed me by the hair, he did. I yelled murder and Rose kicked him, but there was a Runner right around the corner and he nicked us before we could get away.”
“In all fairness,” the mister commented, “you were trying to steal from him.”
“Just his pocket watch. We could’ve gotten some good rhino for it. He shouldn’t have been standing there, sneering and watching Rosie dance, with her not even five years old. If I’d had a knife in my shoe then, I would’ve shown him, the whore’s bird.”
The two adults looked at each other. George didn’t know what surprised them so much—Rosie was too little to be able to dig into pockets, but most grown-ups stopped to look at her when she danced or cried, calling her waif and darling and sprite. Some of them, though, didn’t look at her the same way, and that was why he wouldn’t let the nuns get her adopted without him.
“You said your father died at sea. May I ask what became of your mother?” The missus still looked sympathetic, which was more than he’d expected.
“They said it was the miasma,” George answered, grinding a fist into his thigh. “But I saw that well was a horror. Rosie got sick, too, but I went and stole her some milk and then we left there. Better wells where the fat culls live.” He grimaced. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Mr. Pershing stroked his chin. “You’re a rather remarkable young man, George Fletcher.”
It took a few seconds for George to realize he’d been complimented. His face felt warm, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing like a girl. Pershing, Mr. P, seemed like a good cove, and the missus asked questions instead of yelling. That was good, but it didn’t mean he trusted them. No good ever came of trusting somebody. “We done what we had to. Rose is my responsibility.”
Mrs. P cleared her throat. “Well. Now we know each other a little better. Where do we go from here?”
“Not back to St. Stephen’s.”
“We could look for a more… pleasant place for you,” Mr. P offered, a brief scowl making lines on his forehead.
“I don’t want to go to a different orphanage.” Rose dropped her spoon, bent down and made a show of looking for it, then straightened with a shrug and resumed eating with her fork. Not as good as he could do it, but she was getting better.
“Me, neither,” he said.
“They make us do prayers to be forgiven for trespassing and clean the floors all the time. Me and George only trespass a little, and besides, if we didn’t have to kneel, nobody would need the floor so clean.”
“No orphanages.” George planted his coiled fist on the table. “Rosie and me ain’t going to learn to be a lady and a gentleman if you’re going to send us back to an orphanage. And we’re done with London, too.” That was hard to say, because they knew London, knew the best alleyways for running and which farmers at the market didn’t mind if they nicked an apple. But there were people in London it would probably be better if they didn’t run across again. Just him and Rose. That was better.
“We could stay here,” Rose suggested.