Page 62 of The Return of the Rake

“A m-monster?” Alfie repeated sceptically, his eyes sparkling with amusement despite his obvious shock.

“Yes, a monster,” King repeated emphatically. “So, that’s all there is to it. He’s quite mad, but the good captain will deal with it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d best get this er… dealt with,” he said, regarding the wound on his arm with annoyance.

“Oh, good heavens, come with me,” Alfie said at once, taking King’s good arm and towing him towards his house. “Let me do that much, please!”

Growling inwardly with frustration and wondering if it was a conspiracy to keep him from being alone with Anne, King gave in and went with him. Anne, however, must have felt likewise, for she refused to return to the hotel as he suggested she ought, and went with them.

Once inside, Alfred insisted King take a seat in the front parlour before pouring him a large glass of brandy. “Here, that will cheer you up. I’ll fetch some bandages and hot water.”

Alfie hurried out, and King was further cheered when Anne took advantage of the moment and bent down, kissing him hard on the lips. Her hands trembled as they held his face and she drew back, gazing into his eyes.

“You m-might have been killed,” she stammered. “And don’t give me any nonsense about monsters, Jasper King. I want the truth. If you want me to consider marrying you, I insist on knowing everything, every dark secret, anything that might come back to trouble us in the future. It’s my right to go into this with my eyes wide open.”

King gazed at her, daunted by her insistence, but all admiration for her wanting to know, to see it all instead of simply walking away at once.

“I will, but… it’s not all my story to tell,” he began awkwardly, looking up to see Alfie had returned carrying a basin of hot water.

“It’s all right, King. I think Mrs Adamson is trustworthy. Aren’t you?” he asked, a guileless expression on his face that made King smile. The devil was sharp as a razor, but he knew how to make people underestimate him, to trust him too. He looked too young and innocent to be guilty of anything more than gambling a little recklessly or playing rowdy games with his friends.

“Indeed, I am. I would do nothing to embarrass you. For one thing, it would rebound upon your sister, who is a dear friend.”

“There,” Alfie said, nodding with satisfaction as he set the basin down. “Tell all.”

So King told all. He told her about the rookeries, his warehouses, and how his businesses had been rather less than legitimate until more recently. He told her about his scheme with Alfie, who was a master cracksman, as agile as a cat and able to pick any lock in seconds. Then he explained about Silas Mourney, and why his man had followed King here, hoping to get his chance at Alfie and pocket one hundred pounds. Anne looked startled by this information but said nothing, only asking if she might also have a glass of brandy.

Alfie, who was helping King strip off his coat, grinned and told her to help herself.

King watched as Alfie tore his sleeve, and gritted his teeth as he inspected the wound.

“Lucky as always. Straight through,” Alfie said in satisfaction, before pouring another glass of brandy and dousing the wound with it.

King sucked in a sharp breath and glared at him. “A little warning might have been nice,” he growled.

“Nah. Now it’s done,” Alfie said, cleaning the wound with such efficiency King suspected he’d done it before. Despite the fiery scald of the brandy, the lad’s hands were deft, his fingers surprisingly fine boned as he cleaned and administered what aid he could with cool efficiency. That must be what made him so good at picking locks, King thought with amusement, for it was a skill he had never mastered, finding himself all fingers and thumbs.

“There,” he said with satisfaction, once King’s arm was properly bound in clean bandages. “Now that’s done, I can thank you.”

“Oh, stow it,” King replied, wanting only to spend some time alone with Anne. She had said little about what had occurred, and now he was fretting that he had been too candid and potentially scared her off.

“No,” Alfie said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his young face tense. “I’d be dead now if not for you. I owe you a debt.”

King shook his head, resolute. “No. We’re even, lad. What you did for me, helping me set the trap for Lawson, well, you’ve given me the chance of a new life. This,” he said, gesturing to the bandage on his arm, “is a small price to pay in thanks.”

Alfie looked sceptical but smiled. “Well, if ever you need anything, you need only ask, right?”

“Right,” King said, holding out his hand and shaking upon it. “In which case, I’ll ask you to keep your head down and stay put. No more going upon the dub. Surely, you’ve got a nice little nest egg to keep you and your sister comfortable by now?”

Alfie grinned a little sheepishly. “For a while, certainly, so I’ll do my best, but I promise to keep away from London, at any rate.”

With this, King had to be satisfied. Anne and Alfie helped him to put his ruined coat back on, for he could not be seen in public with bare arms, and then they escorted him to The Swan where Repton and Tommy were awaiting him in a state of high agitation after hearing the gossip.

With no other option, King said a reluctant goodbye to Anne but told her he would come to the hotel for dinner with a sly expression that clearly implied he would not be eating in the public dining room.

Chapter 13

What makes a hero?

The Mermaid’s Tale, Little Valentine,10th October 1815.