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‘So…’ enquired the boy. ‘If ye ain’t no stowaway, why are ye hiding? Smuggling? Murder? Piracy?’
He sounded hopeful.
‘God, no! Nothing like that.’
‘Oh. Um…but maybe you know some smugglers or pirates? I’d love to be a pirate one day! If you could tell me where to join—’
‘Be quiet, will you?’ I hissed. ‘She’ll hear us!’
‘She? We’re hiding from a girl?’
Just in time, I lunged forward and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, or the little brat would have stuck his head out from under the tarpaulin and given us away.
‘Let me go!’ he protested. ‘I can’t hide from a girl! That’s cowardly. Girls are harmless.’
‘You, young man,’ I told him, ‘have a lot to learn. Now keep your mouth shut!’
‘Or what?’
‘Or you won’t get the other shilling I’ve got in my pocket.’
That did the trick. G
rumbling, he fell into reluctant silence. So did I, and we waited while Miss Emilia Harse passed by outside, calling my name. When she was gone, I waited another few minutes, just to be sure, then slid out from under my hiding place and handed the boy his shilling.
‘Can I come hiding here again?’ I asked. ‘Things are rather desperate.’
He grinned up at me. ‘Depends. ‘ave you got more money?’
‘Yes, but you won’t get any! Wouldn’t do you any good, anyway. You’re heading to France, you little worm, remember? They don’t use pounds and shillings over there.’
‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘Right.’
‘But,’ I continued, ‘I might have something even better for you.’
‘Better than money? What’s better than money?’
I grinned. ‘Can’t you guess?’
*~*~**~*~*
A quarter of an hour later I sauntered into the ferry’s dining room and settled down at a nice, quiet corner table. A waiter came hurrying towards me.
‘Good afternoon, Sir. Have you made your choice yet?’
Cocking my head, I studied the menu. ‘That depends. Is the food included in the ticket price?’
Looking up, I saw the waiter gave me a considering look. A look that said, How much could this little fellow eat, after all? He smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Sir. All included in our service.’
‘Very well. Then I would like…the roast duck, as an appetizer, next the French pie and the chicken fricassee, then the tomato salad, the strawberries in cream, and the steak and kidney pie, followed by the hare soup, without any hairs in it, please, and the mutton cutlets, the braised beef, the turbot in lobster sauce, the spring chicken, the roast quarter of lamb – or all four quarters, if you have them – and, as a little dessert, two apple pies and a chocolate cake, please.’
I glanced up to see the waiter standing there with his mouth open.
‘Well?’ I enquired. ‘What are you waiting for?’
The poor waiter hurried off towards the galley to make the cook into a galley slave.
The rumbling of a stomach came from under the tablecloth. ‘How long will it be until the grub comes, guv?’
