Page 14 of Hazard a Guest
“You want to take Freddy to the gambling event of the year?” Abe Murphy had marveled, as though Ember had just suggested bringing a fawn to an annual gathering of hungry lions. “Are you planning to keep an eye on him the whole time?”
“Of course not,” Ember had snapped. “He’s a grown man.”
And of all the people gathered at that table, it had been Freddy himself who scoffed at that.
“It brings me no joy to say I need a chaperone,” he’d said with a shrug and a yawn, “but we all know I do. So, how about it, Murphy? Got plans for Christmas?”
“I just got married, you oaf,” Abe had snapped back. “Of course I have plans.”
“Unfortunately, I do as well,” Silas Cain had added. “Dot and I are taking the family to Stow-on-the-Wold, to Christmas with my mother.”
And then everyone had slowly and expectantly turned their eyes onto Joe, who froze in the light of their regard like a thief caught in the swing of a lantern.
“If you’re willing, Mr. Cresson, I will compensate you for the trouble,” Silas Cain had immediately offered, looking genuinely apologetic about the spontaneous burden. “We are all here committed to supporting my brother’s disengagement from his vices, and it would be sincerely appreciated.”
So of course he had agreed. He’d never said a single no to Silas Cain since the day the man had offered him a job, and he didn’t intend to start any time soon. He’d gone to Portugal for Cain, so what were a couple of weeks in Cornwall?
Besides, this was a country party. Surely, compared to a city in the midst of revolution, it would feel like a respite.
Ember Donnelly had reacted with a quiet shifting in her chair and a raise of her russet brows, as though the outcome were better than she could’ve possibly hoped for. Her presence, as well, would have been enough for Joe to agree on the spot without requesting a single word of further elaboration.
He sighed, giving up on the idea of unpacking and joining Freddy on the sofa for a moment of silent contemplation before they would have to start preparing in earnest.
There wasn’t much time, after all.
They were departing tomorrow.
It hadn’t started well.
They arrived at Brigid’s Forge half an hour early.
On Bow Street, a host of covered markets were already open, with plenty of workaday Londoners bustling this way and that as the sun began to crest over the skyline.
But here in St. James? It might as well have still been the dead of night. The cobbles were unseemly clean, unscuffed by the morning’s boots or carriage wheels. There was a single fruit stand wedged on a corner between a bespoke umbrella shop and a modiste whose door spotted a heavy cream parchment sign hanging from a gold ribbon. It read:Wake me in Spring …
The best Joe could guess, that fruit stand was only there to stock the surrounding clubs with garnishes for their fancier drinks. Certainly no one here needed to buy their own fruit otherwise.
He realized he had never really spent any time in this part of the city, short of courier errands he’d been sent on years ago, when he was new in Cain’s employ.
Cresson had been raised to believe the quiet was sacred. And yet, for all its serenity and silence, this place did not feel sacred. This particular flavor of silence felt somehow hedonistic.
Unsurprisingly, there was no carriage waiting for them outside of the Forge. What driver would be brave enough to sully this block first? It was all too easy to imagine half a dozen hackneymen and drivers huddled at an invisible line on the sand this side of Hyde Park, waiting for someone,anyone,to go first.
“It’s just here,” Freddy had said unnecessarily, thunking his brand-new knapsack on the ground at the door of Brigid’s Forge and holding out one hand for Joe’s while ringing the bell with the other. “Oh, unlocked!”
“Lord Bentley!” he attempted to hiss, but the other man was already swinging open the heavy wooden door, striding into the business like he belonged there. Joe had no choice but to follow behind.
He noted, with a small strain of baffled panic, that they were just leaving their things outside, stacked on the curb like a glowing invitation for anyone who might wish to spirit them away, but then he was overtaken by a second wave of uncertain realization, because he had not seen a single urchin or shambling man in half a mile.
“Oh!” said Freddy with delight, “they’ve redone the carpets!”
There was a gigantic man standing behind a brass and mahogany bar, scrubbing a bunch of sharp little implements with the smallest wire brush Joe had ever seen. When the man’s eyes fell on Freddy, they brightened as though his very own son had just returned from the war.
“Freddy Hightower!” the man cried, in a voice just as shocking as the rest of him, soft and homey. “Where have you been?!”
“Jones!” Freddy cried back, bouncing around the bar to throw his arms around the giant. “Oh, look at you. You’ve lost weight!”
Cresson blinked. Twice.
