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“Nae, but—”
Graeme narrowed his gaze on the group of busybodies that had gathered to watch the scene. “Then bugger off before I call the constable on the lot ofyoufor causing a disturbance on the king’s day.”
The clerk turned pale and retreated into his shop, while the crow fellow and his companions huffed off with rapidity.
“That was quite . . . effective,” Sabrina commented with a ghost of a laugh.
“Scarin’ people off?” Angus said. “A Kendrick specialty.”
“Mister, are ye gonna keep me hangin’ all day?” asked the boy in a surly voice.
Graeme lowered him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t even try to run.”
“Bleedin’ giant,” the lad muttered.
Sabrina leaned down, going eye to eye with the child. “No one will hurt you, but I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if that’s all right.”
His mouth twitched. “Do yepromiseto let me go, then?”
Sabrina held out a hand. “Shall we shake on it?”
The boy stared at her dainty, pale yellow glove. Then his grubby fingers slowly emerged from his sleeve to exchange a handshake. Dirt smeared onto the pristine fabric, but Sabrina seemed not to notice.
“So, we’re havin’ a chat on the street, are we?” asked Angus.
“No, I thought we would sit in the carriage,” Sabrina replied.
Graeme frowned. “Sabrina, if the lad—”
“I have my reasons,” she quietly said.
He sighed and gently propelled the lad toward the carriage.
“You don’t ’ave to push, guv. I gave my word I wouldn’t run.”
“I hardly think your word is reliable.”
Sabrina reached out a hand to the boy. “Why don’t I escort you?”
Graeme mentally rolled his eyes. No self-respecting boy—much less a rum picker—would be caught dead holding a lady’s hand in public.
The child hesitated before slipping his little mitt into Sabrina’s hand.
“Huh,” muttered Angus.
“You may let go now, Mr. Kendrick,” Sabrina said.
He shot her a sardonic glance but complied.
The lad didn’t try to escape, although he continued to eye Sabrina with wonderment. Graeme couldn’t blame the nipper. It wasn’t every day a little pickpocket was escorted along a genteel city street by a beautiful young lady.
At the barouche, Graeme waved the astonished groom back to his perch and opened the carriage door. He handed Sabrina in, then, taking no chances, lifted the boy up and plopped him on the opposite seat.
“Ho, mister,” he protested. “I ain’t no sack a potatoes.”
“No, you’re lighter than a sack of potatoes.” Graeme’s heart ached to feel how thin the boy was within the voluminous coat.
Graeme waved Angus in then shut the door, leaning against it from the outside. The boy eyed him with distaste, clearly resenting Graeme’s effort to prevent any attempts at escape. Graeme would certainly let him go, but not until Sabrina deemed it appropriate.
