Page 52 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
“Christ in heaven. He has a baby on the way?” Sam didn’t correct the man, and stayed silent as the constable peered into Hartley’s bloodstained face. “Put this gentleman down,” Merton said. “If he comes to and sees that he’s being manhandled by the likes of you, he’ll faint from terror.”
Sam gritted his teeth but put Hartley down on the cold pavement. What Hartley needed was warmth and care, not this.
“Are you certain he wasn’t injured in a fight?”
Sam gaped. “Do you think he looks like a prizefighter? Look at him, man.”
There was another ominous clunking from inside the Bell, followed by a broken window. Sam was surprised there was anything left to break.
“I suppose not,” Merton said, leaning over Hartley once again with his lantern. “So you can be on your way,” he said with a shooing gesture in Sam’s direction. Sam shouldn’t have been surprised. Hartley made a sound and tried to sit up, but the constable firmly shoved him back onto the pavement. “Stay there, young man,” Merton said.
Hartley’s eyes flew open at the contact.
“Don’t worry... Mr. Sedgwick... sir,” Sam managed. “You got hit by a falling brick, but this copper will take care of you.”
With unfocused eyes, Hartley regarded the constable, and then shook his head. “No,” he repeated, but this time with plain fear in his eyes.
Merton took hold of Hartley’s chin and turned his head to either side. Hartley whimpered.
“You mustn’t touch him,” Sam said. “He doesn’t—” Sam didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t expose them both to the constable’s suspicion, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked on helplessly.
Merton was about fifty or sixty, with gray hair. He was broad shouldered and somewhat portly, but the way Hartley was looking at him one might have thought the constable was an ax-wielding giant. With an indrawn breath, Sam realized that this was probably what Hartley’s godfather had looked like.
It ought to have been a harder decision. He ought to have given serious thought before abducting a man from under a constable’s eye. But either he took Hartley with him now or he left him to whatever terror he was reliving. Really, there was no choice.
“I need to take this man to his home. It’s a matter of urgency.” That was all he said before scooping Hartley up.
They were in a pitch-dark alley, the constable’s shouted protestations ringing in his ears before Sam fully registered that Hartley was awake.
“Thank you,” Hartley said.
“Damn it, Hart,” Sam said. They were in a narrow space between two buildings, hidden from the street. Sam waited for the sound of running footsteps, tried to imagine what he’d tell the constable this time.
“You can put me down,” Hartley said. “I think I was only dazed.”
Sam gently lowered Hartley onto his feet. But instead of stepping away, Hartley burrowed his head into Sam’s coat, and Sam didn’t know what to say. “Oh Sam,” he said after a moment. “I am so sorry.” He wrapped his slender arms around Sam, tucking his head under Sam’s chin, their bodies fitting together as well as Sam had always known they would.
The Bell was crumbling, Sam had exposed both of them to suspicion, but all Sam could think about was that Hartley was safe and in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-one
When Hartley opened his eyes, all he could see was a sliver of light making its way through the gap in his bedroom curtains. He squeezed his eyes shut, because even that strip of brightness made his head hurt. He didn’t remember having gotten drunk last night, but from the pounding in his head and the heaviness of his limbs, he was extravagantly hungover. In fact, he remembered nothing at all about last night. He struggled to piece the previous evening together. He had gone out with Will, but only drank half a pint of weak ale. Then he had come home to find Sadie cooking.
Sadie. He sat up straight.
“No, no, you don’t want to do that, mate,” said a voice that seemed to come from a shadowy corner of the room. The voice was absolutely correct. Hartley did not want to be sitting up. He did not want to be awake, or possibly even alive, for that matter. Gingerly, he lay back and with some effort turned his head to see Alf seated on a chair in the corner.
“How is Sadie?” Hartley asked, and the sound of his own voice made him wince in pain.
“She’s doing well. So is the baby. A little girl.”
“Oh, thank God.” Hartley felt a rush of relief. “Thank God,” he repeated, and it was the closest thing to a prayer that he had managed in years.
“She’s downstairs, fast asleep. Kate’s gone home but she’ll be back later.”
The mention of Kate stirred something in Hartley’s memory. He had gone to the Bell. He dimly remembered something loud, and then—
“Where is Sam?”
