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“That in’t fair.” This time there was no doubt in Worm’s voice.
“And who gets to decide?” Scuff went on.
Worm thought about it for some time. “I guess it in’t right,” he conceded at length.
“And what else?” Scuff added. “What about the feller what did do it? He needs putting away.”
“ ’Anging?” Worm said thoughtfully. “Ye’re daft, you are. They’ll never get ’im now.”
Scuff could think of no suitable reply to that, not one that would impress this dirty, hungry, opinionated little urchin.
“I think I’m gonner be daft too,” Worm said at last, matching his step to Scuff’s. “Where are we goin’ ter next?”
“To find out how Wally Scammell got to pay off all his debts just after the Princess Mary went down.
“Ye’re not going ter Jacob’s Island?” Worm said anxiously, looking up at the sky, whose light was already fading.
Scuff was not happy about it either, but that was where Wally was.
“Wot about yer dinner?” Worm asked. “Won’t yer ma be cross if yer late?”
That was another very sobering thought—not that Hester would be angry with him, but that she would be afraid for him. He did not miss meals. Sometimes she cooked something he especially liked. He thought of the look on her face when she watched him eat. She would tell him he was eating too quickly—it was bad manners—but he could see how pleased she was to be looking after him.
Knowing that Hester cared for him raised a powerful—and very complicated—feeling in him. It was the best thing in his life to be loved, and yet it was also a fence around his freedom. There were things he could not do, and responsibilities.
Worm would understand that.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “It wouldn’t be good if she made my supper an’ it didn’t get ate. And she’d worry.”
The light went out of Worm’s face. “Then yer’d better go, eh?”
“I think I’d better send you to go tell ’er I’ve got a job to do, an’ I’ll be late,” Scuff replied. “I got enough money to get a pie. I’ll be fine. But …” He hesitated. Was this the right thing to do? Well, whether it was or not, he was going to do it. “You’d better ask her to give you summink to eat, as well. ’Cos I promised, an’ I’m not going to be able to keep it, like I said. I live at number four, in Paradise Place. Over the river. You know it?”
Worm shook his head.
“Useless little article! Go ask!” Scuff said. “Get the ferry over the river from Wapping to Greenwich Pier, then go up the hill and ask! You can remember Paradise, can’t you?”
Worm nodded, his eyes wide.
“Yer looking for Mrs. Monk. Can you remember that?”
“Like ’im wot’s in the River Police? Yer tryin’ ter get me locked up?”
“I’m trying to get Hester not to worry ’erself I’m drownded, an’ throw away my dinner!” Scuff snapped at him. He fished in his pocket and came out with a threepenny bit. “Give that to the ferryman and get yerself off, then!”
Worm took the coin, bit it automa
tically to make sure it wasn’t a wooden one, then turned tail and ran.
Scuff swallowed hard, wondering if he’d lost his wits. Then as Worm disappeared, he went resolutely toward Jacob’s Island, his hands clenched and his stomach sinking.
HESTER HEARD THE TAP on the door as she was staring out of the kitchen window at the gathering darkness. She was unable to concentrate because she was too anxious wondering where Scuff had got to.
She flung the door open and saw on the step a small, very thin, and very dirty child with a cap too large for him and trousers held up by string.
“This number four?” he asked, clearly frightened.
“Yes, it is. Can I help you?”
