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‘I’ve done it plenty of times and...’ she paused awkwardly ‘...well, I’ve been thinking that perhaps I ought to move back in with him.’
‘What?’
‘I know it’s not ideal, but he’s struggling and he needs me. His neighbour, Mrs Roper, has been helping to look after the boys in the afternoons, but I can’t expect her to do it for ever.’
‘And you’ve been paying her too, I expect?’
‘Just a little.’
‘Oh, Hen, I don’t want to sound harsh, but he’s their father and you already spend most of your free time there. Not to mention your money—and don’t tell me it’s just a little.’ She threw her hands up in the air with a look of exasperation. ‘Why is it always women who are supposed to drop everything whenever a man needs them? As if they think we don’t have lives and ambitions of our own!’
‘Because most of them do think that.’ Henrietta sighed. ‘But David’s different. He needs me.’
‘What about Belles?’
‘I could still work here. I’ll just have to be a bit more organised.’
‘You couldn’t be any more organised. You’ll work yourself into the ground just like my mother. Besides, you can’t be traipsing across the city before dawn to do the baking every morning. I won’t allow it. No, we’ll have to think of something else.’
‘I’ve tried, believe me, but I do need to go now. I want to be sure the boys have a proper meal before bed.’
‘All right, but don’t be too long or I’ll worry.’
‘I promise.’ Henrietta planted a kiss on the top of her head. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Break men’s noses with doors? You’ll have to teach me that trick.’
Henrietta laughed, scooping up a bonnet and shawl before heading out of the back door and retracing the steps she’d walked earlier that day with Mr Fortini. Her brother had a small house in the Avon Street district, only a quarter of an hour away, less if she walked quickly, which she did, weaving her way through the other pedestrians so that she w
as tapping on the front door in less than ten minutes. To her dismay, however, there was no answer.
‘David?’ She lifted the latch and pushed the door open cautiously, but there was no sign of anyone inside, only a solitary rushlight flickering on a scratched and severely battered old table.
‘He’s asleep,’ a small voice piped up through the gloom, though it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.
‘Peter?’ Henrietta looked around in consternation. ‘Is that you?’
‘It’s Michael.’ A head poked out from beneath the table. ‘Peter’s watching Papa. He said he ought to do it because he’s two years older than me.’
‘Why is he watching your father?’ She crouched down, holding her arms out for a hug.
‘He’s been drinking again.’ Michael’s eight-year-old voice was matter of fact. ‘All day, Mr Roper said. He brought him home and said that we should watch and be sure to roll him over if he’s sick.’
‘Oh, Michael.’ She tightened her arms around her nephew, feeling nauseated herself at the words. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right. Mr Roper said he’ll be right as rain in the morning, but we should talk quietly.’
‘Ye-es.’ Henrietta frowned as a new thought occurred to her. ‘But how can your father have been drinking all day? Wasn’t he at work in the mews?’
‘Um...’ A guilty expression crossed the little boy’s face. ‘I’m not s’posed to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘He lost his job.’ Another voice emerged through a hole in the ceiling, closely followed by a pair of legs descending the ladder. ‘Two days ago. They said he was a disgrace.’
‘What?’ Henrietta looked between the two boys in dismay. ‘But I was here that evening. Peter, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Papa said not to.’
