The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden Page 0,30
of urchins.
“Will my being with you make the barometers more difficult to read?”
He gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t have a single barometer that don’t know you and I are chums. Likely, none of ’em can sort out why.”
“I can’t sort out why.”
Fletcher laughed. For all the misery he’d known in life, the man’s spirits never dropped permanently. Hollis tried to emulate that.
“Shine your shoes, guv?” A small bootblack—likely approaching eleven or twelve years old—called out as they approached.
“Could use a shine.” Fletcher stopped.
“I ain’t certain you have time, guv’nuh.” The boy flipped a penny around before tossing it to Fletcher.
Fletcher eyed it close. “This one’s Very Merry’s.”
“Li’l angel-face imp at Barton school?” the boy asked.
Fletcher nodded.
“She seems right anxious to see you.”
“Any inkling why?” Fletcher asked.
“Near as I’ve heard, she ain’t ill or injured.”
That was a relief.
“Fancy a trek to Barton school?” Fletcher asked Hollis.
“There’s nothing I’d rather spend my afternoon doing.”
Fletcher tossed the bootblack a farthing. “Ears to the ground, boy.”
“Always.” He pulled his cap. “And give my greetings to that cunning lady of yours. Still cain’t believe she gave me the slip.”
Fletcher grinned. “Never underestimate a woman, Henry.”
“Wise words,” Hollis tossed in.
As they walked away, heading toward the Barton school, Fletcher slid easily into the role of spy. So subtly most would miss it, his gaze turned alert and aware. Hollis was not quite as adept at hiding his scrutiny, so he tucked his efforts behind an air of aristocratic superiority. He didn’t particularly enjoy playing the arrogant gentleman, but it was the only ace he held at the moment.
“How do we mean to play this?” Hollis asked. “We can’t snatch the girl out of the school like kidnappers. Marching in and demanding they hand her over wouldn’t work much better.”
“I thought gentlemen of means could walk in anywhere and have their run of the place.” Fletcher’s humor could be dry as dirt at times.
“You have more ‘means’ than I do,” Hollis pointed out.
Fletcher nodded to a costermonger neglecting his cart of apples in favor of a spot of reading. “He’s reading one of Elizabeth’s.”
He was, indeed. “How is her—er, Mr. King’s—latest doing?”
“Better’n all of ours combined, likely.”
“The King reigns over the penny dreadfuls,” Hollis said, “and I’m, apparently, meant to walk into Barton school like the blasted queen and demand to see a little girl who’s probably been nipping off with everything in sight.”
“You ain’t dressed the part, mate.”
Hollis rubbed at his jaw. “Perhaps there’s something in the Wardrobe Room.”
“As much as I’d enjoy seeing you dressed as Ol’ Victoria, I think we’d best arrive at Barton school togged as we are.”
They turned down Long Acre. Barton school wasn’t far off.
“I came with Elizabeth when she brought Very Merry here,” Fletcher said. “The headmistress knows I’ve a connection to the little guttersnipe. She’ll allow me a visit with the girl.”
They reached the unassuming building that housed the Barton School for Girls. Most people passing it wouldn’t have the first idea what it truly was.
The click of the knocker was answered in due time by a girl of likely fourteen or fifteen in a plain dress and clean apron.
Fletcher offered his calling card with a flourish. “Fletcher Walker and Hollis Darby for the headmistress, please.”
The girl dropped a curtsey. “I’ll fetch—” She shook her head. Her lips moved silently a moment, then she curtseyed again. “If you will wait here, please, gentlemen.” Her accent wasn’t refined, but it wouldn’t cause an uproar in a finer household. She stepped away, but stopped and turned back, then bobbed a third curtsey. With that, the girl all but ran from the room and up the nearby staircase.
“That poor dearie is still in training,” Fletcher said. “She has a spot to learn yet.”
Hollis eyed the entryway, impressed at how clean and well-maintained it was, no matter that the furnishings were simple and clearly secondhand. The maids-in-training were likely charged with the upkeep of the school. An ingenious arrangement. What better way to learn a skill than by practicing it?
“Education works miracles. It changes lives. I’ll never stop fighting for more children to have that opportunity,” he said.
A stout woman with a rounded puff of silver hair trumped down the stairs. She eyed the both of them, her expression welcoming but her gaze sharp.
“Mr. Walker,” she said as she reached the bottom step and moved toward them. “What brings you around?”
“I’m wanting to look in on that little Major MacFluffer Miss Black and I brought to you a few