Read Online One With the Shadows by Susan Squires - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Squires
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roof over yer ’ead and a warm blanket and three squares.”
“Where is that?” Kate asked in a small voice.
“Sir’ll take ye in.”
* * *
The man they all called “Sir” was impossibly tall and gaunt. His nose had a funny hook in it, but it wasn’t that that made her afraid. Just now he stood in front of a coal fire that lit the cellar with flickering light. Children huddled in the corners under blankets, their stomachs full of the stew that still wafted its smell over the dank scent of brick walls underground.
But Kate’s stomach wasn’t full.
“Ye cain’t eat till ye get me purse off me, gel.”
Kate wanted to cry. She was so hungry she couldn’t think. And he always caught her. She’d sidled up to him a dozen times and slipped her hand in the capacious pocket of his coat.
“If ye don’t get it this time, it’s out in the cold fer ye,” he threatened.
Tears welled. She’d spent last night in the cold, hovering outside the door, wet and shivering. She couldn’t do that again. She couldn’t. She wanted whatever was left of that stew, and this dreadful man wouldn’t give it to her, and she didn’t even know who she was, or who might want her, so this man was her last hope. The other children wouldn’t help her.
The boy who found her — his name was Ralph — was the only one who would speak to her at all. Today he told her about something called “hit ’n’ go.” She’d like to hit something. Sobs choked her. The man didn’t understand that she couldn’t get his purse if she couldn’t think, and she couldn’t think when she hadn’t eaten in so long. The tears turned angry. Why didn’t he just tell her how to do it? Maybe he was keeping the secret from her on purpose.
But maybe Ralph had told her how to do it. She thought back to this afternoon.
And launched herself at the man. She just ran smack into him, even as she reached for his pocket. He lifted his hands. She slipped inside the pocket and spun away.
The purse was somehow, miraculously, in her hand. She looked up, still heaving breath.
“Well, it’s about time, I’d say,” the man called Sir said. “Let me get ye some stew.”
* * *
Kate opened her eyes on darkness. Sir had indeed taken her in. Maybe her anger had saved her. She ran her hand over the embroidered bed linens, as her surroundings thunked back into place. She was in a bedchamber belonging to a rich gigolo in Rome, not in the squalid streets of London. Twenty-three years had passed since she’d gained entrance to that strange society of thieves, one of several times her life had taken a dramatic turn. Thank God for Sir. An irrational drunk, given to beatings when one didn’t bring back the fancy, but without him she’d have starved on the street.
The door cracked open and Sophia poked her head in, holding a lamp.
“I’m awake,” Kate said. She had a feeling her life was about to take another turn.
Five
The carriage stopped on the outskirts of Rome as the sun was coming up. What was toward? Kate didn’t peer out the window. She didn’t want to look like she cared. She pulled the light cloak of fine merino wool in a very becoming wine color about her more tightly. The sable of the ruff around the hood was silky against her neck. The traveling dress Sophia had produced was likewise wine-colored, a sophisticated lustring with dyed Brussels lace lining its hem and its decidedly décolleté square neckline. It wasn’t an appropriate color or design for a girl. But then, neither was her usual gray, which made her look as though she was a year into mourning or some kind of a ghost already. The hat Sophia provided was a confection of sophisticated feathers. Kate had firmly refused the garnet-encrusted crucifix and earring drops, but she would wager they were in that trunk the footmen had tied up at the back of the carriage. Sophia had produced a wide ribband to conceal the bruises on her neck.
Kate pressed her lips together
“Where is that?” Kate asked in a small voice.
“Sir’ll take ye in.”
* * *
The man they all called “Sir” was impossibly tall and gaunt. His nose had a funny hook in it, but it wasn’t that that made her afraid. Just now he stood in front of a coal fire that lit the cellar with flickering light. Children huddled in the corners under blankets, their stomachs full of the stew that still wafted its smell over the dank scent of brick walls underground.
But Kate’s stomach wasn’t full.
“Ye cain’t eat till ye get me purse off me, gel.”
Kate wanted to cry. She was so hungry she couldn’t think. And he always caught her. She’d sidled up to him a dozen times and slipped her hand in the capacious pocket of his coat.
“If ye don’t get it this time, it’s out in the cold fer ye,” he threatened.
Tears welled. She’d spent last night in the cold, hovering outside the door, wet and shivering. She couldn’t do that again. She couldn’t. She wanted whatever was left of that stew, and this dreadful man wouldn’t give it to her, and she didn’t even know who she was, or who might want her, so this man was her last hope. The other children wouldn’t help her.
The boy who found her — his name was Ralph — was the only one who would speak to her at all. Today he told her about something called “hit ’n’ go.” She’d like to hit something. Sobs choked her. The man didn’t understand that she couldn’t get his purse if she couldn’t think, and she couldn’t think when she hadn’t eaten in so long. The tears turned angry. Why didn’t he just tell her how to do it? Maybe he was keeping the secret from her on purpose.
But maybe Ralph had told her how to do it. She thought back to this afternoon.
And launched herself at the man. She just ran smack into him, even as she reached for his pocket. He lifted his hands. She slipped inside the pocket and spun away.
The purse was somehow, miraculously, in her hand. She looked up, still heaving breath.
“Well, it’s about time, I’d say,” the man called Sir said. “Let me get ye some stew.”
* * *
Kate opened her eyes on darkness. Sir had indeed taken her in. Maybe her anger had saved her. She ran her hand over the embroidered bed linens, as her surroundings thunked back into place. She was in a bedchamber belonging to a rich gigolo in Rome, not in the squalid streets of London. Twenty-three years had passed since she’d gained entrance to that strange society of thieves, one of several times her life had taken a dramatic turn. Thank God for Sir. An irrational drunk, given to beatings when one didn’t bring back the fancy, but without him she’d have starved on the street.
The door cracked open and Sophia poked her head in, holding a lamp.
“I’m awake,” Kate said. She had a feeling her life was about to take another turn.
Five
The carriage stopped on the outskirts of Rome as the sun was coming up. What was toward? Kate didn’t peer out the window. She didn’t want to look like she cared. She pulled the light cloak of fine merino wool in a very becoming wine color about her more tightly. The sable of the ruff around the hood was silky against her neck. The traveling dress Sophia had produced was likewise wine-colored, a sophisticated lustring with dyed Brussels lace lining its hem and its decidedly décolleté square neckline. It wasn’t an appropriate color or design for a girl. But then, neither was her usual gray, which made her look as though she was a year into mourning or some kind of a ghost already. The hat Sophia provided was a confection of sophisticated feathers. Kate had firmly refused the garnet-encrusted crucifix and earring drops, but she would wager they were in that trunk the footmen had tied up at the back of the carriage. Sophia had produced a wide ribband to conceal the bruises on her neck.
Kate pressed her lips together
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