Page 13 of The Lyon Rampant

There she halted and surveyed the ragged, skinny boy she’d taken prisoner. “This young urchin has just attempted to remove my purse.”

Caroline immediately sprang into action and grasped him by the other ear, resulting in a series of expletives that would have made a soldier blush.

“Don’t struggle, child. We’re both very experienced with infants, and we know how to deal with them. How old are you? Ten? If so, you’re old enough to know better.”

The boy gaped first at one, then at the other, then muttered, “Lor’ love us. Gawd save me from well-meaning schoolroom types! You was mistaken, miss. I was just trying to get a better look at the balloon, honest to Gawd. And I don’t know me age—Ma never said.”

Belinda blinked. Then blinked again. She’d encountered this particular pickpocket before, last seen with his hand in Mr. Piers Darvill’s pocket.

“Keep a hold of him, Caroline. I want to talk to this young fellow.”

Caroline released the boy’s ear but shifted her grasp to his greasy collar. “We’re not going to turn him over to the authorities, are we?”

“We tend not to do that. We prefer to redeem them, don’t we?”

The boy looked terrified. “Redeem? Does it hurt? Don’t you have no mercy in your souls?”

Belinda smothered a smile. “Have you never thought about earning an honest living?”

He looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean not taking things that don’t belong to you.”

“But if I don’t do as I’m told I get beaten and no stew, no porridge or bread or anything.”

“However, if you change your ways, you need never go hungry again. You’re big enough to earn a good wage. You can be apprenticed to a trade, and maybe even one day, be master of your own workshop. Or perhaps you’d like to go and work on a farm, with horses, pigs, and cattle. Out in the countryside, where the air is fresh, and the water clean.”

The boy gazed heavenward. “And dine on strawberries with fresh cream and taste butter straight from the churn . . .” He spoke as if he’d learned the phrase by rote—she could just imagine him kneeling by his bed every night and reciting it in amongst his prayers. If he ever said his prayers.

“But I already have a job,” he continued. “I don’t know if it’s honest or not, but I work for a swell gentleman.”

Belinda was horrified. “Are you telling me that a gentleman sends you to steal people’s purses?”

The boy shook his head violently. “No, no. I only do a little bit of pilfering if I has to, when he ain’t got an errand for me. I can’t tell you nothing about him.” He puffed out his skinny chest and added, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

“I cannot believe the enormity of my misfortune. It appears, Miss Bellamy, that Fate has thrown us together once again.”

Belinda didn’t even need to turn round. She knew his voice, she felt his presence like the prickle of the air before a thunderstorm.

Piers Darvill.

The boy jerked in her grip, but Caroline still held him fast, so he couldn’t escape.

Under the grime, the lad’s face had visibly paled.

Curse that man! Why did he always have to appear at the most awkward moment?

Rather to her surprise, Darvill did not address her immediately. Instead, he gave herself and Caroline a curt bow, then turned to the boy.

“Tom. What have you been up to this time?”

His voice was level, but firm, and the grubby urchin responded by pushing his shoulders back.

“Nothing, sir, nothing. I was just here to see the balloon and bumped against this lady. She thinks I was taking her money but look. She’s still got everything, I swear.”

The boy behaved as if he knew Darvill, and Darvill certainly knew him. Something nagged at the back of Belinda’s mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Surely, this was more than mere chance?

“We have no need of your assistance, Mr. Darvill. Caroline—I mean, Miss Brent and I have the situation under control.”