Page 4 of I Will Steal You the Stars
Chapter Three
Enzo tapped the sharp edge of the envelope against his palm. He spun it by its corners so that his name flashed in and out of view before he scrunched it into his fists. A small tear split the long edge. The thin opening bulged, as if it might burst and its secrets would spew out. He tore a little more, willing himself to shred the thick ivory parchment into fragments and let the letter inside scatter onto the filthy street.
Damn Matron.
Hadn’t he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with that world? He didn’t care if blue or red blood had made him a bastard—in a fight, all men bled the same. At Duke Street they imbued the young with the belief that a life of service was somehow noble, that they should be grateful, that each well-to-do gent with a guilty conscience who threw a little coin their way was a man to be admired, even as many of them deposited their own bastards into Matron’s keeping by the back door.
He wouldn’t shred the letter. He’d burn it. Maybe use it for fuel in the furnace, and slip the coin Harry made somewhere around Pall Mall, just to show he didn’t care.
He shoved the envelope back into his pocket.
Southwark hummed different to the rookery. Closer to the river, it clanged and bellowed with the echo of boats and dock work, and the grinding activity from the shipyards further along the banks rolled over the water. Why Mina thought this place better than what he’d offered was beyond him. Surely one miserly slum, with boarded windows and doors that didn’t hang straight, was as good as another.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the door to her boarding house opened and Mina stepped onto the landing. She tugged her skirt straight, scanned the street, spotted him, and smiled.
To think sunlight slanted over her would be a lie—Southwark was too tightly packed and thick with fog for any sunbeams to bother reaching so far into misery. Yet, she shone like a little burst of light refracting off a sovereign. When Mina had first arrived at Duke Street, she’d been thin and frightened, and when she spoke, her words oscillated between garbled English and heavy German. Matron had taught her how to tie her thick, gold ringlets into plaits that he’d delighted in tugging, but never so hard it hurt, just enough to make her spin around. Even now, with her hair pulled back in a severe bun and the pinafore replaced with a dark grey skirt, white blouse and a thick pink sash, her smile seemed unaltered by time. As she crossed the street with a purposeful step, he had to brush away the urge to slap her arm and shout ‘catch me.’
As she pulled up before him, her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you steal that hat?’ she asked.
Enzo tipped his new bowler and bent into an exaggerated bow. ‘I am offended. I scrubbed up for you.’
She crossed her arms and pinned him with a look patented by Matron.
‘Borrowed, from a vendor along the way. I intend to return it.’ He held out his elbow. ‘Where to, Miss Fischer?’
‘Grosvenor Square,’ she murmured.
Enzo whistled. ‘Nothing like aiming high.’
How quickly London morphed from slum to luxury, and how gently the tension seeped out of Mina as the streets shifted from dilapidation to affluence. As they crossed the Hungerford footbridge and negotiated the crowds, they made small talk about the clouds, the traffic, and exchanged tidbits of knowledge about other Duke Street kids. Her gaze darted between the people they passed, following a thick skirt of velvet, or eyeing a hat, like she was gathering them all up to save for later.
Right from her first day, Mina had always been too eager to learn how to please the uppers and had never set a toe wrong. Yet somehow, she’d been dismissed, and, to his delight, had enough gumption to be offended by it. As she chatted, he tried to imagine some scenario that led her to his door, but nothing fit with the well-behaved Mina he had known. By Trafalgar Square, busy with horse cabs, sightseers, and traders, he jostled her hip.
‘Out with it. What’s the story?’
‘I told you.’ Her grip around his elbow tightened. ‘They refuse to pay my wages. It’s notright.’
‘Right and wrong, black and white, good and bad… the world is not as simple as you like to believe.’ Enzo pulled one of Harry’s sovereigns from his pocket. He flicked it off his thumb, and it spun one full revolution in the air before he snatched it in his palm.
Mina watched the glint of gold with working class hunger, before realisation lit her eyes. ‘Is that a fake coin? What are you going to do with it?’
‘Buy something small and pocket heavier change. Does that offend you?’
‘You shouldn’t do that. It’s not right. Rules exist for a reason.’ Across the square, a policeman ambled into view. Mina followed his step and wrung her hands.
‘Are you going to report me?’ Enzo tapped his cheek, as if in thought. ‘Dilemma, dilemma. If I were to do something outrageous… even illegal… you would be aiding a criminal. But if I was arrested, you would lose your helper. What are you going to do, little matron Mina? Side with what’s right? Or with what you need?’
He spun the coin again, and it winked with light. Mina, her eyes wide with a slight horror, lunged to snatch it, but he had been palming purses for years, and the coin was safely in his pocket before she could blink in confusion. Enzo scanned the crowd. Well-trimmed coats, rabbit skin hats, plump feathers and fabric covered buttons… who, who, who would be the right sort of cove to offload a dimmick on? Enzo’s gaze settled. Mr Howard. Howperfectlyserendipitous.
Two steps into the crowd, and Enzo slipped an umbrella from a man’s elbow. Another two, and he replaced his bowler for a top hat from a man engrossed in his newspaper. With a ridiculously easy flick of the wrist, he acquired a monocle from a waistcoat, and squinted it into place. He turned to stare upward, as if enraptured with the statue of Nelson, sidled close to his target, then knocked against him in a stumble.
‘Apologies, chap.’ He slipped into his formal tone, with its rounded consonants and vowels full of condescension. ‘Didn’t see you there. Was distracted taking in the old duke.’
The man turned with a slight alarm, but as he scanned the new hat, the shell inlaid umbrella handle and the gold-rimmed monocle, he relaxed. As predicted, he looked, but didn’t see past the trappings of a gent to Enzo’s scuffed shoes and dirt hemmed trousers. Mr Howard’s shoulders sagged with relief. ‘No harm done. I thought you were one of those pickpockets. It’s disgraceful how they work the crowd.’
‘Here isn’t so bad. But over by the gardens, watch your treasures. I heard there’s a gang around there that targetgentlemen with fair companions.’ Enzo tipped the hat and bowed to the bright young woman at the man’s side. ‘If you forgive me for being so forward with a compliment. They assume a man is too distracted by a pretty face to notice a fleecing.’
‘I appreciate the advice.’ He shuffled, pulled a coin purse from his pocket, then tucked it into his inner coat.
