Page 58 of The Spy Who Loved Her
“Yes, well, it’s a peculiar habit of the upper classes to bath a bit more regularly than that. But you’ve got new boots to show for your troubles, and I’ll wager you didn’t have to pay for them.” The old pair had looked their age, and probably his mother had not been willing or able to spare the coin from her meager wages to purchase a new pair for a growing boy.
Dannyboy grumbled as he shoved the coin into his pocket. “Ain’t goin’ back,” he said bitterly. “She can go ‘ang. Even if she‘asgot eggs and bacon.”
Rafe guessed that Dannyboy’s ill humor would last only so long as the next rumble of his empty stomach, at which point he would swallow his pride and as many rashers of bacon as he could fit upon his plate. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face,” he said. “Is a bath really so much to suffer if it comes with a good breakfast and clothes more suited to the weather? I’ll wager you found the journey back less onerous than the journey there.” The boy had even been gifted with a wool coat to ward away the chill of winter.
Dannyboy, who plainly did not know the meaning of the wordonerous, scowled at him. “It ain’tright,” he insisted. “I ain’t done nuffin’ to her!”
“I’m certain it wasn’t meant to be a punishment,” Rafe said. “Consider, when you’re counting out your coins this evening, that you won’t have to spend them on a new coat. That your feet will stay dry even in the rain.”
“Don’t matter,” Dannyboy said, and thumped the heel of his new boot against the leg of the chair to punctuate it. “Can’t count ‘em anyway.”
“You could, if you took your lessons to heart. You’ve worked hard for your coin; it would be a shame to let yourself be cheated out of it only because you can’t count it yourself.”
A flicker of indecision pierced the furrow of Dannyboy’s brows. “I s’pose,” he said in a low, resentful drawl. “But I ain’t takin’ no more baths.”
Rafe shrugged his shoulders in an effort to remain noncommittal. “The occasional bath couldn’t hurt,” he said. “I’ll bet she’s got warm water, doesn’t she?” He knew damned well she did—just as he knew damned well that Dannyboy had likely had little more than a bucket of cold with which to scrub in the regular course of his life.
Dannyboy pursed his lips into a petulant pout and conceded, “I guess.”
“And soap,” Rafe said. “Proper bar soap. With a pleasant scent.”
“Too flowery,” Dannyboy pronounced with a disapproving sniff as he folded his arms over his chest.
“Probably it’s a sight more pleasant than having to bathe from a bucket.”
“Even so!” Dannyboy erupted, tilting his nose in the air in an undeservedly supercilious manner.
“If you washed your face and hands before you arrived,” Rafe suggested, “perhaps you might present a clean enough appearance to spare yourself a bath.”
“D’you think?” Dannyboy inquired hopefully.
Not likely. But then, the mere attempt might rid the boy of some of his worst habits—and he might grow accustomed to suffering an occasional bath in the meantime. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Might as well,” Dannyboy allowed, glancing down at his hands, which had been scrubbed clean and free of the dirt that had long been wedged beneath his nails. Then he thrust his hand into his pocket and retrieved a folded note. “She sent this for ye,” he said begrudgingly as he passed the note to Rafe. “Said I needn’t wait fer a reply.”
“Emmasent a note?” He hadn’t thought to expect one ever again.
But perhaps she had felt it necessary to make her demands of him clear. He had heard the indignation in her voice a few evenings past, the hurt. He hadn’t meant to be caught out, of course, hadn’t expected her to come flying out into the night after him. And once she had, he had thought only to spare her his presence.
With no small amount of trepidation, he peeled the paper open. Scanned the lines once, and then again. “Thank you, Dannyboy,” he said. “That will be all for today.”
“Ye sure, guv?” Dannyboy asked as he popped out of his chair.
“Yes. Quite sure.” Emma hadsummonedhim.
∞∞∞
“Were you seen?”
Had Rafe nurtured even the slightest hope that this visit would prove a pleasant one, it was thoroughly vanquished at the sight of Emma’s face. She meant, he thought, to project an air of distance. Instead she looked—uncertain. A meager mask of reserve cobbled together over a face strained with hurt, with too many sleepless nights alone with her thoughts. “Yes, I was seen. It’s the middle of the day,” he said as he eased through the crack in the terrace door she made for him. “But to my knowledge, no one took note of me.”
“You’re certain?”
“It’s my job to know such things.” Those he’d passed upon the street had lookedat him, of course, in brief glances, the way passersby did. But their gazes had never lingered. No one had followed behind.
Their names would not end up scrawled within the pages of some salacious scandal sheet, linked by some snide suggestion of untoward activities, which was likely her most pressing concern. Even the hint of improprieties might have spelled disastrous consequences for her.
Emma took a steadying breath, as if steeling herself to endure his presence. “The green salon,” she said.
