Page 15 of An Extraordinary Lord

“Too,” he repeated softly.

“I’ll find a hat for you next, shall I?” To seal her promise, Veronica tousled his bright red hair. “I think I deserve a hug in reward, don’t you?”

He hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him, then brought her mouth to his ear and whispered something Merritt couldn’t hear. But William nodded. Satisfied, she let him go.

“Go see Mr. Thurman in the Burr Street market,” Veronica quietly told William’s mother as she rose back to her feet. “He’s got a bundle of clothes waiting for you.”

The woman shook her head. “Really, Miss, I can’t accept—”

“I didn’t.” Veronica nodded toward Merritt. “Hedid.”

Clearly, the woman didn’t believe her, yet she told him, “Thank you, sir.”

“It was nothing,” he admitted, the ironic truth of which made Veronica smile. Apparently, he’d purchased more from the clothing stall in the market than his own set of workman’s clothes.

When the last of the apples were handed out, the crowd disappeared back behind the makeshift sailcloth walls. Veronica began to walk away, but Merritt stopped her with a tug on her arm.

He lowered his mouth to her ear so no one could overhear. “You buy clothing for children?”

“I buy all kinds of things for everyone, when whatever they need can’t be acquired any other way.”

In other words—stolen. But the defensive way she uttered that explanation and the reminder of who she was didn’t lessen the kindness at the act’s heart. He pressed, “Why would a criminal who pled guilty to theft spend her own money to—”

“This way,” she interrupted and pulled her arm away from him to move on. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Their conversation was over. For now. But he certainly didn’t plan on letting this go, not when he had so many unanswered questions.

He followed her through the fluttering sheets and up a set of wide, sturdy steps at the rear of the building. No one they passed paid him any attention. But then, she’d dressed him to fit in.

When they’d left the Armory that morning, Veronica had kept to her word. She’d taken him shopping, but not to a tailor. Instead, she’d brought him to the local market. There, among its produce stalls and livestock, she’d found a seller of old clothes and searched through the piles of castoff dresses, shirts, trousers… Mostly, the articles were of fine quality, and Merritt recognized the work of some of Bond Street’s best tailors. He wasn’t surprised. Clothes were usually given to servants when their employers no longer wanted them; those servants then sold them to the rag and bone man for whatever pennies they could to supplement their low wages. As was their contracted right. But somewhere in the pile of castoff finery, she’d managed to find a pair of workman’s trousers and a coarse brown waistcoat, stained shirt, and jacket that was slightly too large across his shoulders. Then she’d rubbed them all on the ground to dirty them up and make it look as if he were a manual laborer, like someone who was part of her world.

They reached the top floor of the old warehouse where two large men stood guard. The men nodded their greeting to Veronica, then coolly stepped in front of Merritt to block his way.

“I’m taking him to meet Filipe,” she informed them.

The guards nodded. Then, without warning, they pounced. They grabbed Merritt and shoved him up against the wall. One of the giants held him pinned in place, his face pressed into the boards and his arm twisted behind his back, while the other searched him for weapons. He knew not to fight them.

The guard found the knife strapped to Merritt’s left forearm, slid it free of its sheath, and tossed it to the floor. It stuck in the wooden plank by its blade with a dullthunk. The guard signaled that Merritt was clean of weapons, and the other man released him.

The two men stepped back to let them pass.

They walked on, with Merritt shooting the guards a dark look as Veronica led him past a series of storerooms toward the rear of the building.

“You could have warned me about that,” he grumbled as he rubbed at his shoulder.

A sly smile curled her lips. “And miss all the fun?”

One of the storeroom doors had been left open, and he glanced inside. Barrels, crates, and sacks of all sizes sat stacked inside, all of them sporting different marks and brands from various warehouses.

“Some of the people who live here are thieves,” she explained quietly, noting where his attention had gone.

“Like you?” Her criminality grated at him, although he couldn’t say why it should matter. After all, he was around criminals every day, including those who had committed far worse crimes. Except that with her, it did.

She wisely ignored his baiting question. “They break into warehouses and ships across the city, take whatever goods they can, and bring them here for temporary storage.”

“That’s what you were sent to Newgate for, wasn’t it?” He matched her low voice. “Stealing from a warehouse.”

“Any cloth and food are distributed immediately to people in the rookery,” she continued, not answering. “That’s one of the conditions of being allowed to live here in the Court of Miracles—if they’re able, they have to be willing to hand out goods to those who need them.”