Page 21 of The Last Necromancer
I snorted. "I'll say it is."
"Have your wounds been tended to?"
"Yes."
"Has Lincoln—Mr. Fitzroy—harmed you in any way?"
"He almost killed me when he kidnapped me." At her surprised look, I added, "I stopped breathing."
Her slender eyebrows lowered. "I dare say he knew what he was doing. He's not in the habit of hurting children, and I'm sure whatever methods he employed were necessary."
She said it as if it were perfectly normal for a man to kidnap a child and render him unconscious in the process. I was beginning to think I'd stepped into another world where such behavior was acceptable. Perhaps it was in the upper classes. Or perhaps Lady Harcourt was as mad and dangerous as Fitzroy and Lord Gillingham. I wasn't yet sure what to make of her.
"Do you have comforts in your room?" she asked.
I shrugged one shoulder.
"Ask Lincoln for whatever you desire and he'll do his best to give it to you." Lincoln, not Mr. Fitzroy. Interesting. She blinked wide brown eyes at me. "Tell me about yourself, Charlie."
She was a better interrogator than Fitzroy, I'd give her that. She'd tried to disarm me by asking after my comfort, and offering friendly smiles, then asked an innocuously broad question about myself, rather than one specific to the necromancy incident.
A naive child would have fallen under her spell, but I was no longer naive or a child. "I'm thirteen. I live in Clerkenwell, with Stringer and his gang. I steal to eat and keep warm in winter. I'm good at thieving, that's why they call me Fleet-foot Charlie. I've been told I'm too skinny, but seems to me everyone in the gang is skinny. I thought my hair was dark brown until I washed it yesterday and saw it in the mirror. Turns out it's light brown. My nose has a dint on the tip, which I hate but had forgotten about until yesterday, and my eyes are blue. There ain't no more to tell."
The curve of her lips widened a little more. "What shade of blue?"
"Just blue."
"May I see?"
"No."
"I'd call your hair honey colored, not light brown." She gave a low, throaty chuckle. "We women enjoy these little distinctions."
"I don't care. It's brown."
"Why do you cover your face?"
"I'm ugly."
"Why not allow me to judge?"
I glared at her but it was difficult to know if she noticed through my hair. Fortunately, she didn't ask Gus to pin me down while she pulled the hair off my face.
Seth arrived and deposited the tray with my luncheon on the table next to me. He backed away and joined Gus near the door. I eyed the plate of salad greens, tomato and a wing of poultry.
"You speak well," Lady Harcourt went on. "You've had an education?"
"No," I lied.
"But you can read."
I shook my head. "I was stealing the book, not reading it. I thought it might be worth something."
"I see." She indicated the tray of food. "Don't let me keep you."
"I just ate breakfast." Actually breakfast had been the cold supper from the previous night, but it was more than I usually ate in two days. "I'm not hungry."
Her smile turned a little sad, but I couldn't think why. If she felt sorry for me, it was an odd time to show sympathy for my plight. She'd made sure I wasn't going to leave. If I darted for the window now, would she pull out her pistol again?
