Page 34 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
He tried to tell himself that it was for the best that Sam keep away, that this estrangement would save Sam from exposure and ruin. But this knowledge was not as sustaining as he had hoped, and he had to admit that he would rather have Sam’s company than his safety. When Sunday came and went without Sam’s knock on the door, Hartley was dismayed rather than satisfied.
He maintained his habit of long walks, timing them to even more improbable hours of the early morning and late afternoon, wishing to avoid any attention at all. Every pair of eyes saw through his fine clothing and recognized him for the shallow, hurtful person he truly was, so it was best that nobody see him at all. He returned from one of these walks to find Sadie sobbing in the kitchen and Alf apologizing for the fact that there would be no dinner.
“It’s my fault,” Alf said.
“That’s right it is,” Sadie said in between sobs.
Hartley was about to make himself scarce, when the light caught Alf’s face and he remembered he was dealing with two very young people. They were both about eighteen, and while Hartley wasn’t so much older, he was at least out of that fraught period of adolescence. Both, effectively, were children, and he was the only responsible adult they had.
“Let’s not worry about dinner,” he said. “But what’s the matter?”
“There were some blokes at the market,” Alf said. “One of them needed to be punched in the jaw and so that’s what I did.”
“But now where am I supposed to do the marketing?” Sadie asked. “I certainly can’t go back there. I’ll have to walk all the way to Fleet Market and that’s no small matter with my feet all swollen like this.” She held out one booted leg.
“Couldn’t go back anyway, not with those bastards talking about you that way,” Alf said, hands in his pockets. “Wouldn’t be safe. I’ll do the marketing for you, Sadie.”
“No, you won’t, because now they’ll be looking out for you.” Sadie’s fists were clenched, and she appeared to have moved from sorrow to anger. “Or, worse still, they’ll follow you back and find me here. I told you to keep your mouth shut and your head down and you ruined it for me.”
“I’m sorry, Sadie, I really am,” Alf said meekly. “I didn’t think about them coming here. I just couldn’t stand to hear them saying those things about you.”
“What you can or can’t stand isn’t the point,” she spat.
“I think we’d all do better with some hot food. Alf, will you go to the Bell to get one of Mr. Fox’s pies?” He looked at Sadie, who was still too thin except for her belly. “No, make that two.”
“The Bell?” Alf asked.
“It’s in one of those lanes behind Fetter Lane where it meets Fleet Street.” He hoped the vague directions would mean Alf took long enough on his errand that Sadie might be in a more forgiving frame of mind upon his return.
When Alf left, Hartley sat on a stool beside Sadie’s at the large worktable. “I’m so sorry that happened,” he said. A sob wracked her slight frame and he watched helplessly before venturing to pat her tentatively on the back.
“I already think everyone is watching me. Because they probably are, and I’m not even sure I can blame them. They know what I did at the docks, and I’m a bit conspicuous now.” She gestured at her belly.
“Bollocks on anyone who can’t mind their own business.” But that was easy to say, and not the entire truth. “I feel like that too,” he admitted. “I feel like people are watching me, thinking about what they know about me.” She looked up at him with red eyes, waiting for his next words. He swallowed. It was grossly improper to be having this conversation with a servant, but she didn’t have anyone else and neither, really, did he. “When they see me, all they see is a whore and a sodomite. And after a while it’s all I think I am. It’s as if everyone else’s thoughts are so loud I lose track of who I really am. But we’re more than that, you hear?” She didn’t look at him. “I mean it, Sadie. We’re more than that.”
“I’d like to hide in this kitchen forever.”
“So would I, if I’m honest. You can stay here as long as you need, but you deserve more.” It was an easy platitude, and he was almost ashamed of himself for saying it.
She let out a small unladylike sound of indignation. “I don’t know whatmorewould look like for me.”
Neither did Hartley. He didn’t know what an actual life could look like for either of them. But he knew he wanted Sadie to have that. “Is Alf giving you trouble? I thought you were mates, but if I have it wrong, say the word.”
She reddened and twisted her hands in her apron. “We’re friends. And he doesn’t give me any trouble, not what you’re talking about. He’s a gentleman.”
“Good,” Hartley said, although he was certain Alf would loudly protest being called a gentleman. “Glad to hear it. Now, why don’t you splash some water on your face and have a drink with me while we wait for our supper?”
“You didwhat?” Kate put the tankard onto the bar with enough force that beer sloshed over the rim. It was early afternoon, and the Bell was only starting to fill up, but she pitched her voice into a low hiss that wouldn’t be overheard.
“We talked about it,” Sam protested, regretting that he had decided to come clean to Kate about the real reason behind his travels. “You said you wanted to know what happened to that painting.”
“I want any number of things! Two hundred pounds. The Hodges baby to get itself born so its mum will stop calling me around every day.” She sat heavily in a chair at an empty table. “I thought you were just going to ask some questions. Not break into houses!”
“The doors were practically unlocked,” he said feebly.
“Sam.” She shook her head.
“You said you wanted to know!” he repeated.
