Charlie was still sleeping, and Gryf had taken my spot on the bed. Huff walked at my side through the park as he did every morning on our way to the baker for fresh rolls. The morning air had the crisp freshness that signaled a shift in the weather – a welcome change from the heat that had gripped London in its sweaty fist and wrung all the good humor from its inhabitants.
The baker, who was inexplicably named Mr. Milliner, was deep in conversation with his wife when I entered the shop after having left Huff sitting near a tree in the park across the street. Mrs. Milliner exclaimed loudly that thieves had taken over the city, and she’d take a rolling pin to the next person who tried to touch her.
“Good morning, Mr. Devereux,” Mr. Milliner said when he saw me. Mrs. Milliner still wore an indignant frown and busied herself with dusting the spotless counter.
“Good morning Mr. Milliner, Mrs. Milliner. Could you please add three extra rolls and a pastry – one of the fruit-filled ones – to my order?”
“Mrs. Devereux’s mother visitin’ again?” asked Mrs. Milliner. She must have heard about Lady Grayson from Mrs. Mac, because Valerie almost never left our house when she visited.
I thought about giving Mrs. Milliner something to gossip about, but then I decided to try the truth. Charlie and I had been living a half-lie our entire tenure in this time, and telling even small truths was infinitely appealing.
“Actually, my wife has taken on the services of a pickpocket who robbed me yesterday, and the little thing is half-starved. I imagine she’ll be hungry when she comes in to work today.”
Mr. Milliner barked out a startled laugh, as though I must be joking, and Mrs. Milliner just stared at me. “Are ye all right, Mr. Devereux. Hit your head during the robbery, did ye?”
I grinned. “I am many things, Mrs. Milliner, but I assure you, that touched in the head is not one of them. There is a saying you may have heard? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? I didn’t appreciate attracting the attentions of a pickpocket, so having one nearby will help to keep me sharp, and therefore less likely to become a target again.”
Mrs. Milliner snorted indelicately, and I liked her for it. “First, me cousin gets robbed of his goose, and now me customer hires a thief. The heat has made this city mad.”
“I’m very sorry to hear of your cousin’s loss, Mrs. Milliner. Perhaps my new employee could be helpful in locating the architect of this deed?”
“I don’t know it was an architect – a common thief, more like. A band of ‘em actually – gypsy children or the like. Swarmed him, tripped him, and when he dropped the goose to swat the brats, they chased the goose down the street and got away.”
“Ah, so it was a live goose. I had wondered.”
“A beautiful white thing it were, with three black bands across its tail,” she said, as though the beauty of the man’s dinner made its loss more dear.
“I will keep my eyes open for any band-tailed geese that might be wandering the city. Thank you for the bread, and I wish you both a good day,” I said, after I’d signed the bill for the bag of fresh baked goods.
“Here’s for that great beast of yers, Mr. Devereux. Mrs. Devereux buys ‘em special.” Mr. Milliner handed me a small cookie in the shape of a dog, and I grinned.
“Ah, that explains much. Huff and I thank you for the treat. It will come in handy when we encounter the avian residents of the park, I think.”
“Mind ye watch yer silver, Mr. Devereux. I’ve no notion why ye’d hire a thief, but at least have the sense not to let her alone with yer finery.”
“I’ll certainly take your warnings in the spirit in which they’re intended, Mrs. Milliner. Thank you.”
The bell clanged merrily as I closed the door behind me, and Huff waited with great patience for me to cross the street. His tail thumped, and his shaggy face wore a grin as I approached. Huff was a mix of something very large that resembled an Irish wolfhound and a terrier, with the approximate coloring of dust. Gryf, on the other hand, was sleek and black, though equally large and frightening at first glance. The primary danger from each of them however, was that they would knock a man over in their attempts to lick his face, though they never jumped at women or children. Once they’d calmed down, the only concern they presented was the likelihood of tripping over the lazy lumps.
I threw sticks for my beast on the walk home, and rewarded him for not chasing the ducks with the cookie from Milliner’s bakery. We both had smiles on our faces as we entered the kitchen door.
Jess sat stock still at the kitchen table. She faced the door with her hands crossed in front of her on the wooden surface. Her shoulders were tense, as though she expected a berating, and her voice carried its familiar defensiveness. “Ye ‘ave strange locks,” she accused.
“You shouldn’t have been able to pick them,” I retorted, more sharply than I intended.
“I didn’t. I climbed in through a bedroom window. Why don’t ye have any furniture?”
I huffed. “You came in through the servants’ rooms on the third floor. As you may have surmised, we don’t have servants.” I was actually angry, and it surprised me. “You could have been killed.”
She looked incredulous. “By those beasts? Not likely.”
“In a fall. The third floor windows are thirty-five feet up. And my trees are far enough removed from the house to make a jump impossible.”
The girl made a dismissive gesture. “Ye live in a semi-detached, for all it’s a mansion. Ye may not be easy for the average ‘ouse-breaker, but yer neighbors are, and I’m not average.”
Amusement was finally beginning to seep past my annoyance, and I busied myself with the bread basket. Jess stood and retrieved three breakfast boards from the cupboard she must have scouted earlier. “Yer lady is awake, by the way.”
“Does she know you’re here?” I asked as I set out the butter and cheese.
Jess scoffed. “I know better than to startle a lady when ‘er man’s not at home. I’d just as soon not get a bullet or a knife to the throat if ye please.”
I smirked. “Are women that much more dangerous then?” I set the kettle onto the cooker to boil and pulled out three mugs.
“The capable ones are. We don’t ‘ave size or strength on our side, so we make up for it in brains and quiet.” Jess took the rolls from me and sliced them open one by one without denting the crust or dropping more than a few tiny crumbs in the basket. Her hands were scrubbed clean, I saw, though the rest of her still wore a dirt camouflage.
“Was your bed still available last night?” I asked, because it was as safe a topic as I could think of in the moment.
She grimaced. “I ‘ad to knock ‘Annah out of it to get my things. I let ‘er sleep there after I ‘ad ‘em though.”
“Your things were in your bed?” I tried to picture what things this young girl could possibly have that hadn’t been stolen from her long ago.
“The beds at St. Marylebone’s ‘ave little cubbies under the ‘ead of ‘em. It’s where we can keep our own things, and why it makes sense to share a bed with someone ye trust a little. That way, she’s sleepin’ on the cubby in the day, and ye’re sleepin’ there at night, and both of ye ‘ave a safe place to keep yer treasures.”
I’d never lived in a workhouse when I was young, and beds had been few and far between until I made a flat for myself above an accountants’ office by the river. The idea that the only way a person had to protect their valuables was to lay their head on them was not the startling one – it was that the workhouse had figured it out too.
Charlie’s entrance into the kitchen was announced with great pomp and circumstance by Gryf, who danced straight over to Jess and laid his enormous head into her lap. He looked up at her with eyes that should have come with batting lashes. She absently rubbed his ears with one hand as she watched Charlie come in, and I was absurdly pleased that the dogs wouldn’t be a problem with our new employee.
I measured the coffee grounds into the pot and added the boiling water. Then I set the press lid on top. Charlie’s expression didn’t betray one bit of surprise at the sight of a little street rat at our kitchen table.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. She came straight to me and kissed me as she always did, unconcerned about the child at our table, then she inhaled the scent of steeping coffee with a sigh. “Ah, lovely. Thank you for making breakfast.”
I grinned at her. “I know your secret trick with the dogs. Mr. Milliner betrayed you and your dog cookies.”
She arched an eyebrow and gave me a mischievous smile. “You have spent far too much time in the university library, my dear. Your powers of observation are slipping. I’ve been training the dogs with treats since the moment they arrived.” She acknowledged Jess with a smile. “Thank you for slicing the rolls, Jess. You did lovely work.”
“How do you know it wasn’t me?” I protested.
Charlie’s sigh was of the long-suffering variety, and she ignored me. “There’s a linen closet on the third floor that I haven’t investigated – there was no need before. Perhaps you and I can wash some sheets and make up a proper bed for you?”
I gaped at Charlie. “A proper bed? As opposed to—”
“As opposed to the nest of rugs she slept on last night.” Charlie peered at me closely. “Are you quite well, Ringo?”
“I’m quite confused, actually. Jess just got here this morning.”
The girl was watching our exchange like it was a tennis match, with eyes wide and mouth firmly shut.
“Did she tell you that?” Charlie plucked a roll out of the basket and buttered it for me, then one for herself.
No, she hadn’t told me that. I’d just assumed she had slipped into the house while I was at the bakery. The anger was unaccountably back, and I turned on Jess. “You climbed across the roof and into the third floor in the dark? Are you mad?”
Her expression turned sullen. “I was wrong to stay ‘ere, and it’ll not ‘appen again,” she said to the table.
“Don’t you see, Jess? He’s angry because he’s afraid. Afraid you’d be hurt, afraid he’d be powerless to help.” Charlie’s voice was quiet, calm, and soothing, and it acted like a cool breeze on my temper.
I pushed the press down on the coffee and poured three cups. I added cream to Charlie’s, and two sugars with cream to mine and Jess’s, then set them on the table. I ran my hand across Charlie’s shoulders as I sat next to her on the bench.
“She’s right,” I said to Jess. “I’m sorry for snapping. I used to climb around rooftops just as high and pitched as our own when I was even smaller than you.”
Her face was still sullen, but at least she met my eyes. I added, “It unnerved me that you picked my pocket – I used to be better than that.”
Jess turned quickly to Charlie. “I’m sorry fer stealin’ yer bob, ma’am. That won’t ‘appen again neither.”
Charlie smiled. “You’re forgiven.”
“Did ye really earn that yerself?” she asked. “’E said ye did, but ‘e could ‘ave just been playin’ on my sympathy.”
“I’ve sold some of my drawings to a children’s book publisher, so yes, I did earn that with my own labor.”
I watched Jess as I took a sip of my coffee. I had never broken the habit of too sweet, too creamy, strong coffee – and based on the surprised pleasure on Jess’s face when she took a sip, she likely wouldn’t either. She studied me, and then the French press I’d made from a piece of cheesecloth and a metal frame. It was based on the classic French press design I’d used in the kitchens at Elian Manor, but which wouldn’t be patented until 1929.
“What for makin’ coffee is that thing? I’ve never tasted anythin’ like this, not even when Lucy’s mum traded me sugar and two quarts of fresh milk for that goose the other day.”
I almost spit the coffee I’d just sipped. “A goose? One you just happened to find wandering around London?”
She glared at me. “Yeah. Wot’s it to ye?”
I explained to Charlie, “Mrs. Milliner’s cousin was very upset to lose a live goose to a band of children who surrounded him. When he dropped the goose to defend himself, they chased it away down the street.”
Jess said nothing, and the sullen look was back. I studied her while she neatly avoided my eyes.
“You can’t nick from the working class,” I said. “They’re just a step or three above the street, and sometimes they’ve even been there themselves. When the street steals from the shops, the bakers and the grocers stop feeling sorry for any of them. They stop handing out bruised peaches and day-old bread when the littlest ones with dirty cheeks come begging at the back door, and they stop giving jobs to the strong or smart ones because a few bad apples have spoiled the whole barrel. The odd goose or jug of milk is just not worth the cost to the whole system.”
She glared at me, suddenly angry. “They chase us off and yell for the coppers when they see us lookin’ in their bins. If they knew what the street was really like, they wouldn’t poison the meat scraps, or leave us potatoes that make us sick.”
“Green,” I murmured under my breath.
“What?” She was fuming, and I realized I’d spoken out loud.
“Green potatoes. They go green when they’ve been exposed to sunlight, and it makes them toxic … er, poisonous to eat, especially raw. Cut off the green bits and you’ll be okay.”
She still glared. “What about the meat then?”
“You can’t eat meat that’s been thrown out. It’ll give you salmonella or E. coli, and if it were still good enough to eat, don’t you think the shopkeeper would have had it made into a stew for his family?” I sighed in exasperation. “You imagine they’re doing these things to you. They’re just doing what they do – they throw out meat that’s too off to cook, toss out potatoes that have gone toxic. Dogs know better than to eat them – you lot should too.”
Jess stood quietly from the table. She held herself very still and looked years older than she was. “Ye’re right. We should know better.” She looked at Charlie and dipped her eyes. “Ma’am.” Then she cleared her dishes to the sink.
“Jess—”
She didn’t acknowledge her name and slipped out of the kitchen door, closing it softly behind her.