“The cur wa’ annoying me.”
The mother gasped again. “Come. We are leaving, boys.”
The two lads standing on the bench groaned. “Mama, we want to finish the show!”
“We will find another amusement elsewhere. Come along.”
The older daughter followed as their mother grabbed hold of her boys’ hands and led them away. The girl looked back as they walked away, peeking at Gwen in something akin to awe. “Cor! You be brave, miss. That man is huge!”
Gwen smiled in acknowledgment before returning her attention to the showman.
He had moved closer, towering over her in a menacing fashion. “Now, lookie here! See wha’ ye done? That be me audience. Ye done lost me money.”
A stockinged calf swept at the mongrel, which had come forward during the disturbance to sniff at Gwen’s slippers. The dog whimpered, backing up to avoid the club-like appendage. Gwen noted that the little thing was gaunt. Clearly, the brute was not feeding his animal enough.
Gwen stared down at the dog who suffered at the feet of the bully who had him tied to a dirty string, and she could not walk away. Having confronted the man, and subsequently losing him business, Gwen knew precisely who would bear the brunt of his frustrations. She may have made matters worse for the poor mongrel.
Octavia shifted from foot to foot by her side. “Don’t you do it, Gwendolyn Smythe. Don’t you do it!” she muttered just loud enough for Gwen to hear.
The showman leaned closer, his fetid breath causing Gwen to bend away in disgust. “Wha’s that?”
Gwen raised her head to stare him in the eye. “She asked how much for the pup?”
“Tarnation!” Octavia sounded peeved, probably contemplating the fact that the dog would be the cause of untold troubles once Gwen took him home.
But the mongrel, which must have had the blood of North Country Beagle coursing through its thready veins,was staring up at her with big brown eyes and floppy chestnut ears. All she could think of was how the filthy little animal needed her help.
The showman straightened up in surprise. “Me dog?”
“Aye, how much for the dog?”
He shook his head, his hair lank over his collar. “The dog is a pest, inna ’e? No good to ye.”
“How much?” Gwen stared at him, unwavering in her resolve to remove the little pest as far from the tinker as she could take him.
He grunted, shrugging. “A shilling.”
Gwen fumbled through her reticule, feeling about her coins until her fingers measured out one the size of a shilling. She yanked it out and presented it triumphantly.
The halfpenny showman took it from her with large, blunt fingers. His long, grimy fingernails made her nauseous at the sight, but she released the shilling and took the string from his opposite hand.
He shook his head in a dazed amazement. “The dog a cur, ain’t ’e?”
Gwen raised herself to her full height, squaring her shoulders. “But now, sir, he is my cur.”
With that, she turned and led the dog away. Octavia groaned, catching up to her side and mumbling beneath her breath the entire length of their walk.
When they reached the carriage, Gwen leaned down to pick the dog up and place it inside, wondering if her gloves would survive the contact with so much filth.
“Faugh! He reeks something fierce.” Octavia’s exclamation barely registered as Gwen fought back the impulse to gag, almost dizzy from the pungency of such a little animal. “He’s a right skunk!”
“She. She is a right skunk. And a good wash will do her wonders.” Gwen had checked when she had picked theanimal up, an action that she was sure had cost her a favorite pair of gloves. Surely such a depth of odor could not simply be washed away?
Octavia mumbled as she followed Gwen back into the interior of the carriage, quickly cranking the windows open to let in fresh air. “It better wash away or that beast will be living in the stables.”
Gwen looked down into the big brown eyes staring at her from the shadow of the bench. “She will be fine.”
Octavia settled in next to the pile of books, shaking her head in perplexment. “I will never understand why you are so quick to defend others, but not yourself, Gwendolyn Smythe.”
