eyes I dun brought here from Highgate House? Yer alive?”
“And in need of your help.”
Nick spat, recalling to my mind his alacrity at this skill. “Help, ye say? What daft breed o’ thickheaded are—”
“I gave you a basket full of food once. Now I’ll pay you six shillings to carry my friend and me to London.”
“Stomached enough o’ Lowan Bridge, then?” he puzzled, wiping his brow with his wrist.
“You couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate phrase.”
“And now I’m meant to risk my hide when Vesalius Munt hasn’t let a charge disappear in nigh—”
“He’s dead.” My eyes brimmed—for myself and Clarke, for dread of shackles and scaffolds. “There will be no consequences to you, Nick, upon my honour.”
Were I to picture my honour, I imagine it might resemble a less attractive than usual tadpole; Nick owned no inkling of this, however, and his bleary eyes boggled.
“Mr. Munt dead? The shite-arsed bastard what bilks the factory lads from here to three counties hence?”
“Bilks them?”
“Bilks them!” Nick cried, livening at last. “Aye, he never delivers a meal at discount save he’s less ten portions promised. Says as benefactors can’t give beyond their means or they’d turn paupers themselves! I’d love to see that feller stuck through the—”
“Someone beat you to it. Oh, please, Nick! We can’t go back, and you know how hard the world is.”
Nick considered, thoughtfully gathering spittle. I thought then that kindness had not deserted him, and I think now that he needed my money, for he did not look well. We are all of us daily decaying, after all; the speed is our only variant.
Nick spat; Nick finished his beer.
“I’ll oblige ye, after I’ve rounded up the other fares what have already paid.” He took my coins and dropped them straightaway upon the bar as he nodded to the serving lass. “But if ye thought the world was hard before . . . cor, will Lunnon ever throw ye to the wolves. She were suckled by a wolf mother, they say,” he added with a faint flash of his old dire humour.
“At least she was fed,” I muttered as Nick called for the bill to be settled.
When he departed, I returned to our table and passed a gentle hand over Clarke’s pallid brow, promising to return upon the instant after using the privy and imploring her to be patient as she finished her modest meal. The pressure within my cranium had grown nearly unbearable by then; half-frantic with fear, sidling behind her so that my semi-conscious friend might not see, I bore my trunk to the outhouse, barred the door, and deposited my bloodied uniform therein. It was not a perfect solution—but it was foul enough to serve, and anyhow, I reminded myself grimly, it seemed that most of my solutions to conundrums fell considerably shy of the mark.
• • •
By nightfall, Clarke and I were seated together upon the same threadbare object masquerading as a cushion on which I had ridden to Lowan Bridge seven years previous. Across from us sat a lean farmer and full-bosomed girl with a fresh cap and apron who I thought must be seeking domestic employment, as she looked such equal parts terrified and jubilant.
“London,” Clarke whispered, resting her head upon my shoulder. The meal had thoroughly drained her, her body flummoxed by bounty; lacing our fingers together, she settled our hands in her lap. “We’ll find a new home, a better one. Anyhow, you’re home.”
Wincing freely since Clarke could not see me with her head tucked under my chin, I squeezed her fingers. I ought to have felt trepidatious, reader; I ought to have felt both culpable and contrite.
I felt thrilled in knowing that upon the morrow, a worthy battle could be fought—even if I, poor leaky vessel of the devil’s and never of God’s, was chosen as its champion. No less, I felt achingly grateful, and I watched the blue sweeps of blood through Clarke’s emaciated wrist for an hour or more. Knowing that home was hateful to us both, I imagined that her calling me by the word meant I was expedient, or sturdy; but if I could only keep her hand in mine, I knew I would give my four limbs and my heart for the privilege, becoming instead four walls and a roof.
ELEVEN
Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from