The Smoking Boar was like any other dockside tavern in England, except it smelled like rancid cow hides and had patrons who didn’t notice.
Oliver Addison stopped in front of the scarred owner, a man whose eyelids gave him the façade of perpetual sleepiness, but appearances deceived. He’d left more scars on men than could have covered his own body twice over.
‘Why did you send for me?’ Addison asked.
‘This man here needs to speak with you.’ The owner gave a sluggish nod to Addison’s right. ‘He asked for you by name.’
Addison rotated, expecting to see a man. Instead, a fresh-faced boy, with shoulder-length reddish hair and wearing a seafaring coat, waited. The boy sat on a lop-sided chair, a table in front of him and another chair opposite leaning the other way. He scrutinised Addison. The owner and the two other patrons did the same.
The lad held out a hand. Empty. Addison acted on the offered gesture.
‘I’m Stubby. My friend, Mr Broomer, sent me here to ask for you. He works at Cap’n Ben’s house while Cap’n Ben’s at sea and Broomer keeps an ear to what’s happenin’, so he knew you could help me.’ The boy grasped his mug. ‘He’s heard of you being here to make certain you get all the shipments you’re expecting for them peers and the banker. Says you understand both sides of the law better’n most and folks can trust you.’
‘True.’
‘I’m lookin’ for family. And he says you know every woman of bad morals in London.’
Addison barely moved his lips. ‘Maybe half.’ A person’s past had a long memory. The boy’s age would be somewhere near shaving. Brown eyes, not his own blue. Addison raised a brow, half expecting to be informed he was a father. The boy reminded him of a younger version of himself, but not in likeness.
‘I want you to help me find my mother. She worked for Mad Kate. And I can’t find a Mad Kate.’
‘That’s all?’ Addison put a hand on the chair back, surprised to feel a glimmer of disappointment that the lad hadn’t claimed to be his son. He’d always tried to be spared that sort of moment and now he almost wished he hadn’t.
‘That’s a lot when you ain’t got folks.’
‘I understand.’
A silence rested between them while Addison contemplated where he’d heard the name the youngster asked about. ‘Mad Kate married and is now Mrs Wilson.’
‘So Mrs Wilson ain’t a workin’ lady no more?’ The boy took a drink from his mug and didn’t blink.
‘Mr Wilson left with another woman a month later, but Kate liked being Mrs Wilson, she just didn’t like Mr Wilson.’
‘Where can I find her?’
‘That’s no place for a lad.’ Addison gripped the chair harder.
The boy stood, puffed out his chest, then drained his mug. ‘I’ve sailed around the Cape. I’ve been at sea most of my life. I’m shorter and younger than you, but I ain’t no baby. I’ll find Mrs Wilson myself.’ He rose and displayed a man’s swagger in the bony frame.
‘I’ll take you there.’ Addison didn’t move. He’d been a strutting youth once. ‘I’ve a vehicle outside.’
The boy sniffed, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, I was gonna ask my friend, the Earl of Warrington—’ he raised his chin so high he appeared taller and older ‘...and he would help me find her. But he’s in the country and I decided I’d like to know sooner rather than later.’
He grabbed the front of his seafaring frock coat and tightened his hands on the lapel. If he’d had a visible chest, it would have been thrust out. ‘I’ll send my carriage driver on his way and go with you. I got use of Cap’n Ben’s carriage while the Ascalon is at sea.’
Addison took in a breath. ‘You’re that cabin boy? The one who sailed on Ascalon? The ship that returned with the Grecian beauties and the Earl wed one of the women.’ All of London had spoken of it for a time.
Stubby’s chin wobbled in agreement and he touched his shirt collar. ‘I left my cravat on the ship.’
Addison snorted.
‘I don’t need no neckcloth to make me sportin’.’ He studied Addison’s neck. ‘But not everybody is fine in a cravat.’
‘You could use a haircut.’ Addison moved his head in acknowledgement of the verbal joust about the cravat and gave a superior nod to the long hair.
The lad shook his head, his reddish mane brushing well over his collar. ‘The ladies like it. Ain’t ever cutting these locks short.’ He winked. ‘Women behold my hair, offer to cut it for me and notice I need fattenin’ up.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘I won’t ever be hungry.’
‘Perhaps I should grow mine longer,’ Addison said.
The lad examined him, one hundred years of confidence and attitude in that thin body. ‘I’d imagine it’d be a waste o’ time.’
Outside what Mrs Wilson called her establishment for only the best of impure ladies—and worst of morals—Addison stopped. ‘You’re not following me in there.’
The lad’s jaw tightened. He glanced at the door, stared up at Addison, studied a high window and widened his stance. ‘I want to find my mother. She might be searchin’ for me and I don’t have no relatives. I want some of my own. Every family I got belongs to somebody else first.’
Raucous female laughter filtered through the wood.
‘But I be glad to wait for you.’ The boy examined the sky. ‘It’s too nice a day to be inside. I’ll wait here. I got to know if Delilah is here.’
Addison kept his smile hidden and walked inside, relieved that the boy wasn’t following.
Once beyond the door, a male servant showed him to Mrs Wilson’s office. She sat, her wig on the stand behind her desk. The false hair reached taller than her head. An additional wig lay flat on the table at her side, like a flattened animal that had had the life squeezed from it. Wisps of grey hair escaped her peach-sized bun and her features were scrubbed clean of cosmetics.
‘Robby mentioned you’ve a special request,’ she said. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘I’m searching for Delilah. A woman who worked for you at your old place.’
‘Delilah?’ She scratched her cheek. ‘Delilah?’ She paused, thinking, and picked up the wig on the desk and put it on. ‘With auburn hair? Prettiest colour I ever seen. Had a little boy with her and she knew there’d be sailin’ folks around. She found him a place to apprentice on a ship. That one?’
‘That would be her.’
She adjusted her wig, tucking in the strands. ‘As soon as we found a place for the little redhead, she was gone the next day. Don’t know what happened to her.’
‘What was her last name?’
‘August. But it was the month of August. If it had been June, that might have changed her name.’
‘Where can I find her?’
‘Can’t help you.’
He indicated the ledger on her desk. ‘Perhaps you could check notes you made in the past and find out where she went.’
She snorted. ‘I don’t keep records like that. It doesn’t do anyone any good.’
Addison nodded, thanked the woman, gave her his name in case she recalled anything helpful, told her where she could find him, and hesitated before he left. ‘You’ll be paid.’
Tired grey eyes studied him. ‘Doesn’t matter how much. Still can’t help you.’
‘Her son’s trying to find her.’
‘Well, it would be nice to reunite the child with his mother. You know how we place strong emphasis on families here.’ A grin, then she slapped the book on her desk closed.
He’d have to inform the lad that he’d reached a dead end in his search, but that was better than having to tell the boy his mother had died. Besides, now Stubby could always have an image of an angelic woman who had had his best interests at heart.
His boots snapped on the wooden floor as he left and he paused before opening the door and stepping outside. He’d be destroying Stubby’s hope of relatives. That gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He moved into the sunshine and a woman with a small portmanteau spoke with the boy—she did seem to be admiring his hair.
Then his attention locked on her. A thick shawl was clutched firmly around her, long enough that the fringe on it hung to her knees and swayed in the breeze. Evening sunshine trickling over her hair, giving her the air of purity and respectability and maybe hints of a bygone era.
He didn’t move. Studying an illusion. An illusion he’d never seen before.
When she gazed directly at him, one flick of her double-thick lashes and he knew he didn’t want her to step inside Kate’s place. His body stirred, but he shoved his desires away, forcing himself to concentrate on the problem in front of him.
A woman with the appearance of goodness in front of Mrs Wilson’s could fill a tally sheet with mischief if she wished.
The boy grinned, his attention diverted from the female, and he took two running steps towards Addison. ‘Did you find her? My mother? Is she here?’
Addison felt a kick in his own gut when he saw the hope in the expression. But life spared no man its realities and the boy was about to be thrust with an alarming jolt into manhood.
‘She left a long time ago. She didn’t leave any way to contact her.’
Stubby deflated as if someone had given him a kick in the midsection as well. His shoulders almost collapsed in on themselves.
‘I’m sorry.’ Addison heard the sympathy in his voice.
Stubby’s jaw poked out as if he were biting his tongue. It was hard for a lad to cry in front of a man.
‘Well... You take your ports where you can find them,’ he said, then brushed a hand over his eye before turning to the woman behind him. ‘But I found a sister. Her name is—’ Stubby peered at her, waiting.
‘Sophia,’ she inserted. ‘Sophia Marland.’ She met Addison’s eyes and took a step away.
Stubby grinned, standing proud again. ‘I have a sister.’
Addison corrected the boy. ‘She’s not your sister.’
‘Oh, yes, she is.’ Stubby swaggered again. ‘She said she’d be happy to be my family and I’m takin’ her with me. She said she’s fallen on rough times and was stoppin’ here because somebody inside might help.’ He took Addison by the arm and moved so they weren’t facing the woman and he spoke softly. ‘I know she’s not really my sister, but she needs somebody respectable like me to take care of her. She needs a brother for a chaperon. She’s either my sister or my ward and I want a sister more’n a ward.’
‘You can’t. I don’t think you quite understand...’ Addison softened his voice, sparing a fleeting appraisal of the woman.
‘Yes, I do. She ain’t got no way to support herself.’
The woman stood, biting her lip, watching Addison. He wasn’t going to let the woman take advantage of the boy. Likely she’d have had a family of six parents if it would put a pence in her palm.
‘She’s between jobs. Like me.’ Stubby rushed to continue. ‘And her hair’s a nice colour, but it ain’t goin’ to keep her fed.’
‘I’m sure she’s between—jobs—but—’
Stubby held his arm in an L shape and made a fist, patting the muscle. ‘I’m man enough to care for a sister.’ He swung his arm in, snapped his fingers and said, ‘I can have a position for her in no time. I ain’t no feather. I’m strong as nails.’
Addison might not have seen the woman’s shudder but for the fringe on her shawl and the soft tendrils of hair framing her eyes.
‘I have a job for you,’ he said to Stubby, against his better judgement. ‘Where I live. I have something for you.’
‘You have work for her?’ The boy crossed his arms and raised a brow.
He spoke softly. ‘We’ll leave her with Mrs Wilson. She’ll be happy to take her in.’ The old lightskirt would, too. The young woman reflected innocence he was sure she didn’t have. No one could be that pure and he knew it was an illusion created by the soft sweep of her lashes. Then her lips destroyed her angelic mirage and made a man hungry.
He studied her and had to steel himself to keep his imagination from revisiting a place that did him no favours.
‘Oh, please, mister—you know of a job for me? A real job?’ The eyes begged.
‘No.’ He shook his head one swift shake.
She swallowed as if she’d been slapped, and something stabbed inside him. The lightskirt was skilled. He felt like a traitor to the crown.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Stubby smiled, stepping closer to her. ‘I tell you, I have friends in big homes. I—’ He looked askance at Addison. ‘I can find you work in the same place as I live ’til we make our own way. And you and me can be family.’
‘You can really find me employment? The respectable kind?’ she asked the lad. ‘I’ve not eaten today—’
Her desperation resounded somewhere deep inside Addison. The woman was reduced to putting her hopes in a lad.
‘Oh, yes.’ Stubby put his hand flat against his chest. ‘I’ve sailed around the Cape and most everybody livin’ where I sleep be seafarin’ and will be happy to see you. I’ll vouch for you as you’re my sister.’ Stubby held out his arm for her to take, lifting the elbow high. ‘You can go with me.’
Her eyes darted from one to the other.
With his left hand, Stubby clasped at his lapel again. ‘We eat every day, rain or shine, and you get used to the rooms bein’ still.’
She took his elbow.
‘Thank you.’
The two started to leave.
‘No,’ Addison commanded. The sound thundered into the air, stopping both in their tracks and he stepped closer. ‘You—’ he glared at her ‘—will not be leaving with him.’
Stubby smiled at the woman. ‘I’m between him and you, so you can run. That place Addison came out of has a front and most likely a back door. You can go in the front and out the back. You can find me at the big house, about six streets over by the statue. On the wall by the doors, there’s two crossed oars, but they’re stone and won’t do anybody any good. Broomer...’ he eyed Addison ‘...will let you in. And he’s near taller than the oars and even bigger than this one. Tell him you’ve got an appointment with Mister Stubby.’
The woman’s lips thinned and she studied Addison harder than any cleric had.
In the next instant, she darted for the brothel, but Addison sidestepped and caught her arm in one lunge. He held her firm. Dark, liquid eyes questioned him, the lashes transforming something inside him from steel to powder. His heart thundered in his ears and he forgot what he was going to say. It wasn’t, ‘Come with me. I’ll find you work.’ It wasn’t what he was going to say, but he said it anyway.
Her arm relaxed.
‘I can vouch for him,’ Stubby said from behind Addison. ‘He’s not much to look at with hair that brown colour, but he used to be a duke’s son when he was my size, but he growed right out of the family when his mama died and now he ain’t got a papa ’cause they don’t get along. That’s what the man at the tavern said. If my papa had been a duke, I would have kept him.’
Addison dropped her arm. He opened his mouth to tell them both to go to the devil and he could see from her expression that she knew he was about to send them away.
‘I can cook. Clean. Do the floors.’ The woman’s speech was rushed. ‘For food and cast-offs. You don’t have to pay me.’
Something rustled inside him where a heart should have been. He couldn’t let anyone go hungry to the streets.
If all she needed was a roof over her head, he could provide that until she got itchy feet and took off for a bauble someone would wave in front of her to catch her attention. Likely she’d be gone within the week when she found out how staid and mundane his household was. Mrs Crisp didn’t put up with much. In fact, he would never have made it as a member of her staff.
The boy and the woman needed each other. Discards hoping for a family. He was thankful he didn’t hold a thimbleful of that inside him any more and he’d made damn sure he would never again require his father’s assistance as he once had.
He’d sent a message to the Duke that morning. If it meant searching out Oldston personally to get an audience with His Grace, he would, and if he never saw the man again, it wouldn’t matter.
Addison’s thoughts were diverted when another man walked by and perused the woman.
She put her head down.
No. Likely nothing good would come of having the two under his roof, but he doubted it would last long. He would have to watch them to ensure he wasn’t bringing trouble into his life, but if he did, the best constable in London lived nearby and he’d have no heartbreak summoning the man. His existence had to remain upstanding at all costs.
‘One thing you both must understand,’ he commanded, his view locked with the woman’s gaze. ‘I require little interruption under my roof. I have duties and I cannot be distracted with commotions. If you can agree to that, I will allow you both a chance to prove you’re worthy of employment.’
The boy was already running to the carriage, but the woman was frozen in place, eyes wide, reminding him of a terrified animal.
‘I’ll—you’ll not even know I’m there.’
He’d seen a drawing of a deer once, a doe, and decided she reminded him of the untamed innocence. Not only the uncertainty in her wide eyes, but the sleekness he was certain hid under the billowing shawl.
‘I’m sure. But you will be paid the same as the others I employ.’
Addison silently swore at himself, thinking he’d have to limit his late-night forays into the kitchen. But, no, he rarely saw anyone except Cook when he finished his paperwork and decided to stretch his legs. He was hardly aware of the others, yet he didn’t think it would be the same with this woman.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupted his reverie. The boy was holding the door of the vehicle open, soldier straight, but it would have been more impressive if he’d not given a little cough to point out he was working.
The child cocked his head. ‘Mr Addison, you mind if we go by Broomer’s to let him know I got employment so he don’t worry none when I don’t show up tonight? Broomer should pay...or you can take it outta my wages.’
‘I will do so.’ He barely opened his mouth to speak.
From habit, Addison took the woman’s arm to escort her into the cab, the softness under the bulky overgarment in his grasp reminding him that he held a woman and the swirl of skirts putting an exclamation mark on it.
Too late, he recalled she was to be a servant, but he refused to do her the disservice of dropping her arm.
He assisted her into the carriage. The boy clambered in after them.
Addison reassessed his earlier disappointment about not having children, thankful not to be the father of a child who managed to bring home a woman from outside a brothel. And a son of his would likely do just such a thing.