Page 17 of The Spy Who Loved Her
“I am,” she said.
“Got a note fer ye,” he said, stuffing one hand into his pocket to retrieve a folded scrap of paper. “I’m to wait fer ye to send somethin’ back.”
“Are you?” She cast a glance over her shoulder toward the waiting footman, who had no doubt overheard the little scamp’s demand, and took himself off to retrieve paper, pen, and ink.
“Don’t get paid ‘til ye does,” the boy said.
“Well, then. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few moments for it.” She held out her hand to receive the note, and the boy laid it into her palm. “Perhaps you’d care for some drinking chocolate while you wait?”
The boy’s eyes rounded; likely he had never been offered such an indulgence before. Just as quickly, he recovered his laissez-faire demeanor. “I s’pose,” he said. “Since I’m bound to wait anyway.”
“Perhaps a biscuit or two would not go amiss,” Emma suggested, pinching her lips together to disguise a sudden surge of mirth.
The boy gave an inclination of his head that could only be described as regal, and he took a seat once more upon the couch to resume kicking his legs.
Emma took a seat in the chair across from him, unfolding the note in her hand.
His name is Dannyboy. I’m not certain his situation is quite so comfortable as he has attempted to lead me to believe. He’s been instructed to bring your response back to me.
Perhaps we might leave Chris out of future correspondence. I’m paying Dannyboy a comfortable salary to carry messages for me—at least until you can decide what else mightbe done with him.
UntilMonday at midnight.
—Rafe
Emma tucked the note into her pocket just as Neil entered the room, carrying a silver tray set with a pot of drinking chocolate and a heaping plate of biscuits, which he laid upon the table.
“Have you a family, Dannyboy?” she asked as she poured, and then stirred a few lumps of sugar into the drink. At the suspicious glance she received in return—he hadn’t provided his name—she shrugged and added, “It was in the note.”
“Oh.” He reached out his hands greedily for the cup she passed to him and snatched up a biscuit with his free hand, cramming it into his mouth so swiftly she suspected he’d had no breakfast. “Got a mum,” he said.
“She takes good care of you?”
Another biscuit was lost to the sharp little teeth that sheared through it. “When she’s about.”
“And your father?”
“Ain’t got one.” A thick moustache of drinking chocolate wreathed Dannyboy’s upper lip as he slurped the drink. “Leastwise, ain’t never knowed one. Don’t think mum got ‘is name. Nor for the new babe.”
“The new babe?” Emma pressed, pushing the plate of biscuits nearer so that he didn’t have to lean quite so far to snatch for them.
“Mum’s bellyfull,” he said. “Big as an ‘ouse, or just about, I reckon.” A furrow creased his brow, and with one hand he picked at a hole in the knee of his trousers. “You gonna send back a note? Don’t get nuffing ‘til I bring one back to the gent.”
“I’ll write one out for you as soon as my footman returns,” Emma said. “How much are you to be paid?”
“A whole half-crown,” Dannyboy crowed, and his heel thumped against the leg of the couch as if he couldn’t quite contain his delight. “More than Mum brings back even when she’s got on her back to earn it.”
Emma suppressed a wince. “Your employer is quite generous.” But she suspected that Rafe knew he was overpaying for services rendered.
Dannyboy snorted. “’E’s a fool, is what ‘e is. I woulda done it for a shillin’. Could I take some biscuits wiv me?”
“Of course.” Emma watched the boy snatch at a handful of biscuits and cram them into his pockets, wondering if they would all he had to eat for the day. But many within London were less than fortunate. Even if the boywasn’t fed or clothed to her liking, still he seemed happy enough with his circumstances. She’d seen children in better situations than Dannyboy—but she had also seen them in much, much worse.
“Fanks,” the boy said, patting at his pockets. “This’ll do me right well for dinner. Got to save me coin fer a cradle.”
Emma’s heart wrenched for the boy, who had taken up such a responsibility at so young an age. The footman returned at last, and Emma bent over the small table before her to scratch out a brief note, blowing upon the ink to dry it as well as she could manage before she folded it and extended it to the boy. “Here,” she said. “I expect I shall see you again.” If only because Rafe wished not to communicate through Kit.
“I s’pose I won’t mind,” Dannyboy said as he jumped to his feet. “So long as there’s biscuits and chocolate.”
