Something in his voice, the desperation, stirred her pity—and confusion. “Very well, my lord.”
“If you will await me outside my study.”
“Of course.”
She turned to leave, but not before she saw the wrinkled handkerchief he swept from his desk and thrust into a drawer.
Perplexity struck as she stepped into the hall.
It was bloodstained.
Tom slowed his steps to match hers. Strange, because he was used to Meg half clinging to his arm, running barefoot to keep up with him, like they could take off soaring into the air if they wanted to.
Not dogging behind him with raggedy shoes and a hem with a three-inch mud stain.
Sun burned the back of his neck. He’d be red again by late afternoon. Maybe blistered. He welcomed pain he could grit his teeth through.
“My foot hurts.”
The first time Joanie had spoken all day. Yesterday, Tom had delivered her meals, brought up one of Meade’s ropes and taught her how to tie a knot, then slipped back out at dusk and spent half the night discovering more about the ratcatcher.
All Mr. Telfner remembered was the name Hector. Few in the east side had heard of the man. Or so they said.
Motioning Joanie into a cobblestone alley, into the damp shade, Tom pulled up a crate. “Here.”
Without looking at him, Joanie plopped down and unlaced her left half boot.
Tom tugged it off. “Where’s it rubbing?”
She pointed to a fresh, round blister on the side of her arch.
“Might as well take them both off. We’ll be there soon.” As soon as he figured out wheretherewas. They’d been roaming the village for three hours. With the banknote Joanie was sent with, there would be enough for proper lodgings—and someone to look after her.
Something Tom could not do.
Even if he wanted to.
Which he didn’t.
“Mamm says good ladies don’t take off their shoes.” The quiet words, with her chin ducked to her chest, followed a timid glance at his face.
He should have smiled at her. He should have reassured her that soon he would buy her more shoes, that she need not worry over where she’d sleep tonight, and that somehow he’d find a place for her, even if that wasn’t with him.
But he untied her second boot and motioned her up. “It’s not far now.” Mrs. Musgrave was just around the next street corner.
If anyone would take in a child—and take pity on Tom’s plight—it was her.
“Two things I require of you, my dear, if you shall be so kind.” Lord Cunningham stood outside her bedchamber doorway, wearing a bright green frock coat, white leather breeches, and spurred top boots. “One, that you accept my most express apology for neglecting you these past days.”
“You hardly owe me—”
“And two, that you shall accompany me this afternoon for what I boastfully refer to as a ride in my king’s chariot.”
She should have exclaimed yes. After all, he was offering her the very thing she’d been in need of—a diversion from her own troubled boredom and a chance to spend an outing in his company.
Instead, her eyes searched him.
For a bandage on his finger.
