Page 29 of Too Scot to Handle
“How’d you get back here?” Dickie asked.
Joe stopped turning pages and aimed a look at John, just as John might have launched into what Miss Anwen called an embellishment on the truth.
“The flash gent brought me back.”
“Miss Anwen wouldn’t even talk to you,” Tom guessed. “D’you think she’ll tell Hitchings?”
John drew his knees up and hung his head. “She looked like she wanted to cry. She told Lord Colin—that’s the red-haired gent with the smart phaeton—to get me back here as soon as may be, before my adventure became common knowledge.”
“Your adventure was stupid,” Tom said. “You can be hung for stealing, or transported, and that’s assuming enough of you survives a couple of weeks in Newgate. Newgate is no place for a pretty boy, John Wellington.”
The horrors awaiting such a boy were easy enough to imagine, not so easy to endure. Tom was fairly certain Joe could describe them firsthand, and Tom had had a few narrow escapes himself.
“This place is making us soft,” John said, raising his chin. “The cull knew I’d nicked his purse only because I’ve lost my touch. I was clumsy, and he wasn’t as drunk or tired as I’d thought. Stupid and clumsy, I was, because of this place.”
Tom waited for Dickie to chime in, because brothers were loyal and talk cost nothing. Tom was tempted to sing out the usual chorus of frustrations and indignities that went along with life at the House of Urchins too, but Joe’s steady stare stopped him.
If John was a clumsy, stupid thief, that was nobody’s fault but his own.
“Miss Anwen deserves your thanks,” Tom said. “So do the gents who were with her. We get locked in detention together, but you’d go to jail—or Van Diemen’s Land—alone. I’d hate that.”
“You’re going soft,” John shot back. “I can’t wait for this place to close, so I can have my freedom back. Dickie and me will—”
Joe rose and opened the window. He bowed and gestured to John, then crossed his arms.
Freedom awaits.
John was on his feet, nose to chin with Joe. “I can’t just up and leave. I promised Lord Colin I’d not pike off again until he and I had a talk. That’s all he said. No more larks for you until you and I talk, young man. I gave my word and I don’t go back on my word.”
Joe appeared to consider this, then offered a come-get-me-little-man gesture, and tousled John’s hair. John knocked his hand aside, and Dickie leapt up onto the table, which would give the combatants room to air their differences. John had just spit in his palms and put up his fives when the door swung open.
The flash gent stood there, looking like the thunderbolt god with red hair.
“Gentlemen, using the term loosely, good day. Come with me.”
Joe shot a longing glance toward his dictionary, but Dickie was already off the table, and John had pulled the window closed—but not locked it.
“You too,” the gent said, aiming a glance at Tom’s perch atop the wardrobe. “There will be some changes around here, starting now, and you will either learn to accommodate them, or leave so another boy wise enough to take advantage of his good fortune can have your place.”
Like it or lump it, as near as Tom could translate. This fellow sounded like MacDeever, but sharper, more dangerous. Tom leapt down from the wardrobe and fell in behind Joe as his lordship took off down the corridor.
“Master John and I have an errand to see to later today,” Lord Colin said. “I happened to find a gentleman’s purse in the undergrowth at the park, and I require John’s assistance to return it to its rightful owner. Before he and I can undertake that task, you will assist Mr. MacDeever to clean the mews. I expect to hear nothing but good cheer and excellent manners from you all for the duration.”
Lord Colin drew up at the back door. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Dickie said, though he’d smirked, the stupid git.
Lord Colin smoothed a hand gently over Dickie’s hair, but Dickie had ducked—too slowly. The blow would have landed had the gent been in a smacking mood, and his lordship’s point had been made.
“Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?”
“Yes, sir,” John said, elbowing his brother.
“Yes, sir,” Tom echoed.
Joe nodded and pulled his forelock.
“Joey don’t talk much,” Tom said, lest his lordship get to using his fists on poor Joe.
