The boy smiled, and before he asked the stream of questions she knew he would ask if she didn’t step in, she said, “Into the carriage,please, young man. We are in a hurry and need to be there and back in an hour as I have a class at eleven.” As the boy hoisted himself in, Galahad held out his hand to help her. She ignored it. The absolute last thing she needed right now was a reminder of the effect his touch had on her stupid, wayward flesh. “Move over, Tommy.”
As he shuffled farther inside, she sat on the bench, but before she could slam the door closed, Galahad rested his arm on it. “Can I expect the same frosty antagonism at Giles’s dinner next week? Or will we manage to behave as adults around others?” She suppressed the urge to slam the door shut on his fingers because she had forgotten aboutthatdinner. The one that Galahad attended, where they always had to bemoan the fact that he could never leave town with them in the coming days for Christmas.
Thank goodness!
“I believe I have already stipulated the parameters of our relationship going forward.”
“Ah yes. Avoidance wherever possible but feigned politeness in company.” Galahad’s suddenly unreadable eyes flicked to Tommy, who sensed trouble and wasn’t entirely sure quite where to look. “I take it that rule doesn’t count if we happen to collide here in Covent Garden?”
“Here very much comes under the category marked avoidance.” And she would avoid him like a dose of the pox now that he had started turning up.
“Good to know.” His bland mask slipped long enough for her to see his anger, but like the consummate actor he was he covered it quickly with a smile for the boy beside her who was trying his best to blend into the upholstery. “You have a good day now, Tommy.” With that parting shot, he slammed the door shut himself and rapped the side of the carriage to let the driver know that they were done.
The hackney lurched forward, and Tommy waited all of five seconds before his questions started. “I thought you were friends withMr. Sinclair. Old family friends.” He eyed her with curiosity. “Have the pair of you had a tiff?”
She considered lying, but there seemed little point when there had never been any flies on Tommy Claypole. “We have not had a tiff. A tiff is something easily sorted.”
“A disagreement?”
“I am afraid it is a bit more than a disagreement.” More a gaping, unbreachable chasm. “And quite impossible to fix.”
“Which of you is in the wrong?”
That he even asked that stupid question offended, and she let her expression show it. “Him. Obviously. And entirely.” As even the residual lingering scent of Galahad’s spicy cologne and the unfortunate effect it had on her wanton nostrils infuriated her, Vee cracked the window to dispel it despite the late-autumn chill. “For clarity’s sake, and because you witnessed that unpleasant altercation, Mr. Sinclair dishonestly obtained the three buildings adjacent to ours.”
“He stole them from someone?”
In a manner of speaking. “He bought them. Legally apparently, although in this instance the law is an ass.” As was he.
“I see.” Although by his baffled expression, Tommy clearly didn’t. “And why don’t you want Mr. Sinclair owning the buildings?”
“Because he intends to turn them into a den of iniquity. A bawdy, drunken house of gaming and debauchery exactly like his shady place in the docks. He does not care how his unsavory business impacts our orphanage, so in a few months, once the doubtless distasteful renovations he is having done are complete, we are doomed to then endure Sodom and Gomorrah next door forever.”
“Can’t you stop him? Reason with him?” Tommy’s freckled face scrunched into a frown. “Mr. Sinclair seemed reasonable after Billy stole his watch.”
Likely only because it served as another way to pull the wool over her eyes about his true character and intentions. “I have tried to reasonwith him, Tommy—but it turns out Mr. Sinclair only cares about himself.” In case her despondency at that irrefutable fact showed, Vee stared out the window. “If you don’t mind, I would rather not discuss it any further as I fear reminders of his treachery only make my blood boil.” And made her eyes leak tears the scoundrel did not deserve.
“Did he stab you in the back, miss?”
Out of the mouths of babes!But Vee could hardly go into all the sordid details with a twelve-year-old no matter how accurate his assessment. “Do you remember when I taught you the history of ancient Rome?” Tommy nodded. “Well, if I am Julius Caesar in this scenario, he is most definitely Brutus.”
Tommy took all that in. After an age, he reached across the benches to squeeze her hand. “Rest assured, miss, if Mr. Sinclair did you wrong, then he’s my sworn enemy now, too. And my bruvver’s.”
She squeezed his back. “You are a good boy, Tommy.”
At least someone else understood the truth.
Chapter Fifteen
Although I shall always disapprove of reckless gambling, Jeremiah has convinced me that there is no harm in a friendly family game of cards and is going to teach me how to play whist tonight…
—from the diary of Miss Venus Merriwell, aged 17
“All I know is somebody was in here again last night after we finished, Mr. Sinclair.” Mr. Evans was still red in the face despite all Gal’s placating. “This time, that someone put all the tools outside in the yard for the damp to rust them.” Which was a change from the day before when all the tools had apparently played a midnight game of hide-and-seek, and it had taken Mr. Evans and his boys a good hour to find them all before they could start work the next morning.
As there had been no sign of forced entry on either occasion, or after any of the annoying little pranks that had been played over the last week, Gal had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly who the culprit was. He was prepared to lay good money on him being twelve, freckled, and totally devoted to Venus.
“It’s sabotage, is what it is, Mr. Sinclair. Sabotage! Although I have no idea what me and my boys have done to deserve it.” Mr. Evans and his boys had done nothing. Gal, on the other hand, was big enough to admit he had probably earned this stint in purgatory.
