26. Twenty-Six
He hated crouching in the shadows like a wolf waiting to devour a lamb. Smuggie tucked his hat under his arm and lingered behind the kitchen of the well-to-do mansion the little boy lived inside. He hadn’t been able to forget the way the lad had called to him in the alley, wanting to make sure a stranger didn’t need help. Or go hungry.
Good lads like that didn’t deserve what Durkin had planned. He’d done a little poking around. The lawyer happened to be the brother of Mabel, wife of Lucas “Sticky” Shoemaker.
So there was more to this situation than Durkin let on. But he couldn’t stand by and see that kid left with no family and no options except the fake kindness of the big boss. Too well did he know how that situation would unfold.
Mum would say such coincidences were really the hand of Providence, and before now, he wouldn’t have believed her. Not that he’d believed anything she’d tried to teach him in his youth.
A light flickered through the kitchen. He tensed. Shouldn’t be long now. On the nights he’d been waiting for Mr. Gray and Miss Lockhart to leave the house, he’d made note of the family’s routine.
His stomach churned. How long had it been since he’d taken a risk for someone else’s benefit? Not since he’d stopped George Hammond from clobbering a boy half his age when they’d both been twelve. That had only been about a month after Mum first got sick. Broken heart had been what caused it. Made her body too weak to fight it off.
If only he hadn’t taken Nate with him that day. At six, his little brother had been too small to run with the older lads. Hadn’t been able to keep up when they’d dashed across the street to avoid the merchant calling for the police when Hank had pickpocketed him.
Smuggie had heard the thunder of hooves too late. Hadn’t been able to get to Nate in time. He sometimes still felt that limp and broken body in his arms. Mum never said she blamed him, but she must have.
Why wouldn’t she? He should have made Nate stay home.
Then Mum got sick from her broken heart and couldn’t do her work as a seamstress anymore. He wasn’t as good a pickpocket as Hank. So, after nearly a week without a crumb in his stomach and Mum getting weaker the thinner her broth became, he struck out on his own to find work to feed her. When he’d come home a few days later with news he’d found factory work, she was dead.
He’d left the house with her in it and ran to the docks. Hadn’t even waited around to see if she’d had a proper burial. Took the first boat heading away from England that would allow lads to work for scraps to eat and their passage in its belly.
Surely the God Mum had loved wouldn’t turn her out of heaven because her worthless son hadn’t put her in hallowed ground. Would he?
Smuggie shook off the memories. He couldn’t make up for what he’d already done. But he might save another unsuspecting lad from working for Durkin. He had to play this situation just right if he didn’t want to end up in the Devil’s Punchbowl himself.
A second later, the rear door opened. The shuffle of little feet accompanied the bobbing light heading to the woodpile. Then a round face with innocent eyes appeared within the halo. The lad looked like Nate with that ready smile and big heart. He hadn’t been able to save his brother. But maybe he could do something for this boy.
“Psst, lad.”
The boy hesitated and held up his lamp. “Who’s there?”
“The man you offered a wooden penny to. You remember that?”
The little bloke glanced back toward the house. If he called for help now, Smuggie would have to run, and then there’d be no escape for the lad and his mum.
Smuggie stepped closer, palms open to show he didn’t carry a weapon. “You made sure I got a nice meal. That was kind of you. I wanted to say thank you.”
“Oh. God tells us we should all share.” The boy’s light circled Smuggie in its embrace. “I remember you. Come on in and have supper with us. Stella won’t mind.”
Good-hearted lad. “I’m afraid I can’t tonight. Thank you, though. I came to—”
“We got plenty, mister. I promise we do. Mama says we don’t, but that’s just because she liked how it was before. When my father was around, she went to a lot of parties, and we never ate frog legs. But I don’t mind frog legs so much. Especially when I get to help catch the frogs. Bo says I have to help clean them next time, though.”
Someone else bustled around the kitchen. Likely the lad’s nursemaid. “That’s great, lad. But I need you to listen.”
“My name’s Lucas.”
After his father. Something unfamiliar twisted in Smuggie’s stomach he didn’t care for, bringing a sense of urgency. “Lucas. Please listen. You need to tell your mum to take you out of town.”
“Why?” He thrust the lamp higher, illuminating Smuggie’s face. “I overheard Uncle Danny saying the same thing to Mama this morning. She said no. Is something wrong?”
How much truth did he tell? If he shared too much and terrified the child, Durkin would find out someone had tinkered with the plan. It wouldn’t take much to identify who. “No, not really. It’s just important that she takes you somewhere fun.”
“I like fun. Father was going to take me to a baseball game, but I never got to go. I don’t think Mama is going to take me. Besides, season is over, and Uncle Danny doesn’t really like baseball.” His shoulders slumped. “Not like Father did.”
“You tell her it’s important.”
Lucas’s little brows gathered above his nose. “Mister, I don’t know what it was like with your mama. But I ask for stuff all the time, and she says no. She already said no to Uncle Danny when he wanted to go somewhere, so she’ll just get mad at me and tell me to do extra arithmetic. I don’t like arithmetic, even though Stella tries real hard to teach me. I don’t want to have to do more on account of pestering.”
This wasn’t going to work. He’d have to go a different route. “Tell your mum some bad men are causing trouble around here. Tell her she needs to take you away to keep you both safe.”
It would be good if the lad’s mum and uncle both left so he didn’t lose any more family. But if the others got to Mr. Gray before Smuggie could figure out a subtle warning, then at least the boy still had his mother. A boy needed his mother.
Lucas took a step back. “What bad men? Why would they come here?”
A lie that he didn’t know worked its way up his throat, but Smuggie swallowed it down. “Your mum will understand. Those bad men knew your father. Since he’s gone, they will want to talk to your mum and uncle. But if your family isn’t here for a few days, then the trouble will go away, and you can come home safe.”
He hoped. If Durkin got rid of the lawyer and the captain for whatever he had against them, then the whole thing would be done. Unless for some reason Durkin had beef against Sticky’s wife. Sticky’s sticky fingers had skimmed too much from the books, and Durkin found out. It didn’t have anything to do with the treasure the others were after, though, so Durkin wouldn’t have cause to go after the boy and his mum. Even if she’d known anything, she was just a dame.
It would blow over. Hopefully.
“Just listen, lad. You were kind to me. I’m trying to do the same for you.”
“Lucas?” A female voice cut through the buzzing cicadas. “What’s taking you so long with that wood?”
The boy turned, and Smuggie melted back into the shadows.
“That man we gave a wood penny is here. I told him he could come to supper.”
“What?” Alarm sparked in the woman’s voice. “You get back here right now.”
Smuggie slipped past a scraggly young oak and edged toward the road hugging the rear of the property, then picked up his pace.
“But, Stella, he’s—hey! Where’d he go?”
He’d done his best. Now he’d have to wait and see if his efforts had done any good. He shot a glance at the stars above. He’d talked to God and tried to do something noble. If anyone up there actually looked down, now would be a good time to prove it.