Chapter 8 #3
“You’re the good Samaritan, not me,” King grumbled, following the reverend as he headed towards Winsham Woods.
“Says the man who brought Mrs Jenner to my door,” the reverend said with a smile.
“That was the captain,” King protested, frowning as the reverend headed into the trees. “You can’t seriously mean to walk about in the woods at this hour. It’ll be dark soon.”
“Surely you aren’t scared of the dark?”
King rolled his eyes. “I am not, but I don’t want to stumble about in the pitch black or carry you home because you’ve broken your leg tripping over a tree stump.”
“Don’t you worry about me, and it’s not far now—” The reverend held up his hand and then pointed ahead of them.
King saw the flicker of a fire through the woods and nodded as the reverend walked on.
“Evening, Tommy!” Honeywell called cheerfully. “I’ve brought you some bacon,” he added, waving the brown paper parcel.
A lad sprang up from beside the fire, stiff with apprehension.
“I’ve brought a friend to meet you,” Honeywell added, giving Tommy a reassuring smile.
They emerged into a small clearing, and King looked around him. The young man, who was painfully thin and small for his years, had built a ramshackle shelter which had probably suited him nicely during the summer months, but looked unlikely to be in the slightest bit waterproof.
“Who’s he?” Tommy demanded, shooting King a look that was part defiance, part terror.
“This is Jasper King,” the reverend replied with a smile. “Might we sit down and have a little chat with you, do you think?” he added, gesturing to the large log that Tommy had been perched upon and a stump upon the opposite side.
Tommy was riveted, however, staring at King with wide eyes, and made no answer.
The reverend carried on as if he had been invited to make himself comfortable and sat down on the log beside where the lad stood quivering with some powerful emotion.
King moved cautiously, aware the boy looked like he might bolt at any second and found himself unwillingly filled with compassion for the wretched creature.
He had lived like this himself often enough, when it was safer to disappear than to go home.
There had been many nights spent sleeping rough in the woods, or on the beach when the weather was fine.
He recognised too the wary look in the lad’s eyes, the desperation for a kind word mingled with the expectation of a blow.
“Evening, Tommy,” King said, his voice low as he sat down on the tree stump. “You’ve made a fine camp here, better than I ever managed.”
“You’re Jasper King?” the boy demanded suddenly, his fists clenching, but King saw the flare of hope in his eyes, the flicker of some dream not quite extinguished despite his circumstances.
“I am,” he said, knowing what came next before the boy opened his mouth.
“And… And are you my—”
“I’m not your father, Tommy. If I had been, I would have married your ma and never seen you sleeping in the woods if I could have helped it. I give you my word of honour, before this man of God. Do you believe me?”
Whatever energy had been singing through the boy’s slender frame dissipated at King’s words, a sneer curved his lips, and he sat back down again, glaring sullenly.
“’Course. Ma said it were you, but Ma was a liar all her life. I remember that much. Besides, I ain’t the get of no fine gent, am I? Even if I were, it’s not like he’d come and claim me.”
“No, lad. No fine gent is your father, and neither am I a fine gent, no more than whoever was your pa, but I would like to help you, if you reckon you’d let me?”
King realised as the words left his mouth that they were true.
Damn the old man, but he knew King better than he knew himself and he saw the echo of his past in this child’s eyes, and he’d save him from a harsh fate if he could.
If the boy would let him, which was by no means certain.
King had been all fierce pride himself, desperately needing and wanting someone to care for him but furiously shunning anything that smacked of charity.
“Help me how?” the boy said, narrowing his eyes. “They say you’re a criminal. A London crime lord. That true?” he demanded, the light of admiration shining in his eyes now.
King hesitated, glancing at the reverend for advice as to how to go on, but the reverend kept his attention on the fire and was clearly not of a mind to give him any help whatsoever.
“It’s true enough,” he said gruffly.
“Do you want me for a job?” the lad said, excited now, his eyes glittering with anticipation of his new life of crime.
“I do not,” King said, his voice harder than it might have been, but wishing his wretched past did not inspire such admiration in the young man.
Crushed, the lad hung his head.
“Listen to me, Tommy, and listen good,” King said sternly.
“I’ve made my way in London and I’m fortunate to be alive.
In my line of work, you’ve got to be fast and clever and ruthless, and care for none but yourself, and I’m sick to death of it.
It’s no life, I promise you, and it will see you dancing at the end of a rope soon enough.
I was lucky, damned lucky, and I intend to keep being lucky by getting out.
I’m leaving the rookeries, leaving that life.
I want to help those poor devils living in the muck and the filth and get some of them out too.
For there are good people there, decent people who just want to earn their crust and have a roof over their heads, just like you do.
But I don’t want no young ruffian, no troublemaker who’ll stick a knife in my back the moment I turn it.
I’ve got enough of those, and I’ll deal with them the same way I always do. ”
“Will you—?” Instead of speaking the words, Tommy drew a finger silently across his throat.
“No,” King said dryly. “I’ve better ways than that. Only stupid men and cowards think murder is the answer to their problems. I’m not stupid, nor am I a coward. What about you, lad?”
“I ain’t no coward,” he said stoutly, but his expression darkened, his skinny arms folding across his chest. “I’ve got no learning, though.”
“Learning isn’t the same as nous,” King said, smiling as the boy frowned. “Learning you can get at any age, nous you’ve got or you don’t.”
“Nous?” the lad repeated, savouring the word.
“That’s it. Good sense, good instincts, knowing who to trust and who not to trust, knowing when a thing is right, or when something is rotten somewhere,” King said, watching the boy with interest.
Tommy brightened. “Like when I got a right funny feeling about walking past that old empty house on Summer Hill, and didn’t get close to it, for I’d meant to scrump apples from the garden, but I didn’t after all, and later, I heard my grandpa had been waiting there so he could tan my hide for cheeking Mrs Doomsday and pinching a couple of jam tarts she’d left cooling on the windowsill. ”
King laughed at this earnest recital and grinned at the lad. “Yes, exactly like that. You’ve got nous, Tommy, sure enough.”
“So, does that mean I can work for you?” he asked cautiously.
“Reckon it does,” King replied. “I’ll have to have a word with your grandpa, though. Make sure it’s all done legally.”
Tommy’s face fell at once.
“I’ll sort the old devil, don’t you worry,” King said softly. “I know your grandpa, for he used to drink with my pa. He’s skinned my arse a time or two, but I’m no skinny lad now, am I, Tommy? Do you reckon your grandpa could do it now?”
Tommy grinned at the idea and shook his head. “Reckon you’d snap him like a twig.”
King snorted. “Well, I’ll do it a tad more peaceably than that, but you’re not wrong all the same.”
Tommy looked rather crestfallen but brightened as the reverend asked him if he’d like to work for Mr King.
“Reckon I would,” he said, breathless with anticipation. “Though I don’t know what work it is. Will I get a suit, like you see those fancy fellows what come to town with their high steppers and their tigers are all dressed up fine with brass buttons? I’d like some brass buttons,” he said wistfully.
King hid a smile behind his hand and cleared his throat. “Well, we’ll see about that. For now, how about we find you somewhere better to sleep and something to eat? Reverend, do you have any notions about that?”
“I reckon we’ve got some clothes that might fit the lad with a bit of clever stitching, and he can stay with us the night. Mrs Addie will give him a good meal, and then we shall bring him to you at The Mermaid. How’s that?”
King nodded, relieved to have a night to think about what the devil he’d do with the boy.
“An excellent notion, Reverend. Well, Tommy, what say you? For I’ll have no lad who’s not willing and eager to work.
It will require your keeping yourself neat and clean, too.
I’m not spending money on any manner of suit or livery if you don’t take care of it and yourself.
So, if you’d rather stay here in the woods and find your own way, I respect that,” King said, knowing the boy’s pride was a fragile thing, and that it would be best if it appeared he had a choice about his own future.
“Would I have to wash every day?” Tommy asked with something like dread, as if this were a very great deal to ask of him.
“Every day. Without fail,” King said firmly. “You’ll be as smart as I am, or else.”
Tommy’s eyes widened as he took in King’s splendid appearance, the fineness of his suit and the diamond flashing in his ear.
“Reckon I’d like to take the job, Mr King,” he said eagerly, getting to his feet and extending a very grubby hand.
King shook it, making a mental note to have a thorough wash when he got home, for the boy’s hair was matted and most certainly crawling with lice.
“You’ll need to have a haircut, too. As well as a bath before you come to the hotel,” he added as an afterthought, giving the reverend a look that suggested this was not negotiable.
The reverend returned a pained expression that suggested he well knew this was King’s price for doing what he could for the lad.
“I shall see to it,” Honeywell said grimly, for in a household filled with women, he would certainly have to.