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If ever there was an angel on earth, it was Miss Felicia. He simply had to help her, even if he died in the attempt.
He knew his limitations. He was small, even for his age, small from lack of nourishment and care. He wasn’t strong enough to rush in and bash the brute in, but he wanted to, but what he wanted more was a victory. He wanted her safe. It needed more than him rushing in. If he was to die, at least he had to know it was for her making it out safe.
He started up a shout for help.
No one heard him over the din and hubbub, and if they did, as usual, they paid him no mind. Whot should Oi do, he asked himself. Whot?
Instinct made him chase after the cab as it weaved slowly away from the crowd gathered around the hack driver and the farmer. He followed as fast as he could as the two men took it out of traffic and then hopped on to drive it down a narrow side street.
Bean was proud about the one skill he had trained himself to excel in—running. He was fast. It was his only skill, but he knew he was faster than most. Early on he had learned how to dodge duck, and use his small size to advantage, but as he followed the cab and it took on more speed, he knew he would eventually lose them.
Whot to do? They was two big, burly coves. They had knocked out his Miss and her friend and stuffed them in the hack. How could he help them?
Bean was frightened of the gentry.
He had intended to set aside that fear and do as Miss Felicia had instructed and go to Cook at the address in Kensington Square she had given him, because Miss had told him to do so and he found he trusted her.
He knew she would be there to back him up if anyone questioned him, but now … if he went, who would believe him?
He stopped running and bent over his knees as his young lungs felt as though they would explode in his chest, right along with his poor heart.
He had given up crying long ago, but now, out of nowhere, he felt a welling of tears fill his eyes. He had to do something, he had to go to Kensington and tell them, even if they tried to send him off, even if they called the beadles on him.
Bean sucked in air and turned in the direction of Kensington Square. It wasn’t that far. He could make it in no time, and he took off once again, as fast as his legs and heart would allow.
One of his daily tormentors, an older boy forever trying to steal his honest-earned take, spied him and hurried to intercept and block him, but Bean knew the knack of ducking and sidestepping and managed to evade him. The grimy lad raised a fist and threatened. “Oi’ll get ye yet, ye little blackguard, see if Oi don’t.”
Bean didn’t look back. He just kept running.
His lungs were now, he was sure, about to burst.
He had, however, reached the square and looked for the number his ‘miss’ had given him. Relief flooded him as he saw it, and he took the first step and stopped as he looked up at the impressive oak door and the even more impressive and intimidating townhouse.
No one would believe him. Who was he? He was nothing. She would be hurt because he was nothing. She would die, just like his mother, because he wasn’t old enough to help …
He had dropped the basket of flowers as he had weaved through traffic. He didn’t have them to present the truth of who he was and how he came to know Miss.
He did then something he thought he would never do again. A sob escaped his lips.
“What is it, lad?” a powerful voice at his back asked.
Bean turned sharply and gazed up at a mountain of a
man. Gentry, aye, he thought, but something, he didn’t know what, perhaps survival instincts, kicked in and all inhibitions were lost in his need to help ‘his miss’.
He put out a hand and cried, “Help please, sir, those blasted rough coves took her … her, Miss Felicia, and her friend, that they did. Two of ’em, bad men they were. Ye have to believe me, sir, her life depends on ye believing me.”
The mountain of a man bent and held his shoulders, his eyes fierce as he said, “Easy. Take your time and tell me everything. Start at the beginning. I can’t help till I know what you are talking about.”
Bean swallowed. “Aye, ’tis Miss Felicia. She bought m’flowers, she did … told me to bring them to Cook and said Cook would feed me. Told me she was going to have me learn to work with her horses. She is the kindest, most beautiful miss I have ever seen. But they took her! Stuffed them in a hack. Not high tobys … don’t know who they were, bad, very bad. They hit Miss and her friend—with their fists, they did. They hurt them, sir. They hurt them. Ye have to believe me.”
The gentry mountain held Bean’s arm as he took the steps to the house. When the door opened, he told the old man who’d opened it, “Take the lad and see to it that he is fed, bathed, and kept comfortable until I return with his mistress.”
He turned and said, “Your name, lad?”
“Bean, I be Bean.”
“Right then, Bean, when you saw the hack last, which direction was it headed?”
