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“My apologies. I don’t wish to cause trouble.”
“Och, dinna fash yerself.” The woman filled two cups with coffee and added thick splashes of cream, then she began stacking oatcakes and little pots of butter and jam on a battered wooden platter.
“Just coffee will be fine,” said Sabrina.
“The vittles are for Tilly, luv. She’s too proud to take charity, so ye’ll be payin’ for it.”
“You take care of Tilly?” Sabrina asked as she dug in her reticule.
“I tries to. My name’s Emmy, by the by.”
Sabrina slid a half crown across the counter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sabrina, and this is Hannah.”
Emmy blinked in surprise at the coin. Then she nodded her thanks and swiftly pocketed the money before picking up the platter. “The bairn needs help, ye ken. She’s in trouble.”
“I’m here to make sure she gets help.”
“She and her puir little brother.” Emmy’s friendly gaze turned grim. “The way that bas—” Then she shook her head. “Come along now.”
They followed her to a shadowed corner near the fireplace, more a cubbyhole in the wall. A table and two benches were tucked into the cramped space. Tilly occupied the bench against the wall, her cap pulled low over her eyes and her hands wrapped around an empty mug.
Emmy set down the platter. “Yer friends are havin’ a bite to eat, and there’s plenty for all of ye, darlin’.”
Tilly seemed to retreat even further into her oversized coat. “Thank ye.”
The woman nodded and returned to her work.
For several long seconds, the girl neither moved nor acknowledged them.
“May we sit down, dear?” Sabrina finally asked.
“I told ye to come alone,” Tilly replied in a tight little voice.
“This is Hannah, my maid. She can be trusted.”
Those words were met with a fraught silence. Sabrina looked at Hannah, who rolled her eyes.
“I’ll takes my coffee and go have a bit of a chat with that Emmy,” the maid said. “She seems like a proper sort.”
Sabrina gave her a grateful smile and slid onto the bench opposite Tilly.
“Goodness, this looks quite scrumptious,” she said, picking up an oatcake. “But I don’t think I can eat it all myself, Tilly.”
“I am a bit hungry,” the child said gruffly. “No time to eat this mornin’.”
Sabrina pushed the platter closer to her. “Then you’d best have some.”
When Tilly pushed her cap up and reached for an oatcake, Sabrina choked back a gasp. The girl’s right eye was puffy and ringed with a smudgy black bruise. Her cheek sported a nasty cut, barely starting to scab over.
“Don’t make a fuss, miss,” she said in a sharp tone. “It ain’t nothin’.”
“But you’re hurt.”
Tilly snorted before shoving one of the oatcakes into her mouth. “Nae. I’ve had worse than this.”
It took Sabrina several seconds to master an upwelling of rage and sorrow. “Did Old Bill do that?”
“Who else?”
