know.”
“What’d she call you?” one of the girls asked. “Auto-what?”
“Ignore her. What do you remember?”
Rather than answer Samuel directly, the flower girl gave her friends a knowing bob of the head. “Could be Lizzy’s boy.”
The youngest of the girls made a face. “Lizzy Hopkins?”
“No, not Hopkins,” the third girl retorted with the impatience of an older sister. “Causer. Her with all them pretty-eyed lads.”
“Do you have a name?” Samuel inquired.
The girl in the green dress shook her head. “Just Lizzy Causer’s lads.” She pointed down the street. “Peerpoint Alley. Mind you, I won’t be having them flowers back if it ain’t him.”
“Thank you,” Esther called out as Samuel took her by the elbow and hurried her off.
In the wrong direction.
“Where are we going?” she demanded. They’d just come down this stretch of road. One would think a man with a keen memory might recall that sort of detail.
“Not we,” Samuel replied. “You. You are not going down that alley.”
She didn’t want to go down any alley, particularly. While she very much hoped the denizens of Peerpoint Alley were all the very best of people, she wasn’t eager to risk her neck on it. “I don’t see how it can be avoided. You can’t find him without me. You’ve never seen him.”
“I have a surname, an approximate age, and a description. If he’s there, I’ll find him. And you”—he stopped outside a milliner’s shop they’d already visited—“will wait in this shop until I come for you.”
“But I want to speak with this boy.” She also wanted to be of use. She had her daggers strapped to her ankles. Where was the sense in Samuel risking his neck all alone?
“I’ll bring the boy to you.”
She pulled her arm away. “That is ridiculous. You heard the flower girl. Lizzy Causer has all them boys . What if she has a dozen of them? You can’t haul them all out one by one.”
“How could she have a dozen boys near eight years of age?”
She didn’t really think there would be a dozen. She’d been thinking more along the lines of three or four and indulging in a bit of hyperbole. But if he really wanted an answer, she’d give him one. “She might have stepchildren, or she might have several sets of twins between the ages of six and eleven, which might easily be confused with eight years of age. Or she might have both and—”
“Get in the shop, Esther.”
She wished she could cross her arms, but the blasted parasol was in the way. She closed it with a smart snap instead. “That sounds like an order, Samuel.”
He took a long, deep breath through his nose. “One order,” he ground out. “I want to be able to give you one order a day whilst you are here. And I want you to follow it without question and without complaint. That is not an unreasonable request.”
“You’re trying to change the rules.” She didn’t have any objections to that. She liked her rules a little flexible. “Very well. But in return, you must follow one order a day from me.”
“Get in the shop.”
“I am not”—she reached out and pulled down the arm he’d thrown up so imperiously to indicate the shop’s door—“getting in the—”
“Is that him?”
“What?” Esther followed his gaze, turning around. “Where?”
Samuel nodded toward a small dark-haired, big-eyed boy sitting at the entrance of a completely different alleyway across the street. Not picking pockets, thank God. He was shaving kindling from a small stump of wood with an ax blade that looked far too big and unwieldy for his small hands.
“It is,” she said, dropping her hand. “That’s him. How did you know?”
“Big eyes, dark hair, roughly eight years of age, not far from Peerpoint Alley.”
As Samuel and Esther neared, the boy pushed aside overlong bangs and looked up, and up. His big brown eyes widened. “Afternoon, guv.”
“What is your name, lad?”
“Henry, sir. Henry Causer.”
Esther
“What’d she call you?” one of the girls asked. “Auto-what?”
“Ignore her. What do you remember?”
Rather than answer Samuel directly, the flower girl gave her friends a knowing bob of the head. “Could be Lizzy’s boy.”
The youngest of the girls made a face. “Lizzy Hopkins?”
“No, not Hopkins,” the third girl retorted with the impatience of an older sister. “Causer. Her with all them pretty-eyed lads.”
“Do you have a name?” Samuel inquired.
The girl in the green dress shook her head. “Just Lizzy Causer’s lads.” She pointed down the street. “Peerpoint Alley. Mind you, I won’t be having them flowers back if it ain’t him.”
“Thank you,” Esther called out as Samuel took her by the elbow and hurried her off.
In the wrong direction.
“Where are we going?” she demanded. They’d just come down this stretch of road. One would think a man with a keen memory might recall that sort of detail.
“Not we,” Samuel replied. “You. You are not going down that alley.”
She didn’t want to go down any alley, particularly. While she very much hoped the denizens of Peerpoint Alley were all the very best of people, she wasn’t eager to risk her neck on it. “I don’t see how it can be avoided. You can’t find him without me. You’ve never seen him.”
“I have a surname, an approximate age, and a description. If he’s there, I’ll find him. And you”—he stopped outside a milliner’s shop they’d already visited—“will wait in this shop until I come for you.”
“But I want to speak with this boy.” She also wanted to be of use. She had her daggers strapped to her ankles. Where was the sense in Samuel risking his neck all alone?
“I’ll bring the boy to you.”
She pulled her arm away. “That is ridiculous. You heard the flower girl. Lizzy Causer has all them boys . What if she has a dozen of them? You can’t haul them all out one by one.”
“How could she have a dozen boys near eight years of age?”
She didn’t really think there would be a dozen. She’d been thinking more along the lines of three or four and indulging in a bit of hyperbole. But if he really wanted an answer, she’d give him one. “She might have stepchildren, or she might have several sets of twins between the ages of six and eleven, which might easily be confused with eight years of age. Or she might have both and—”
“Get in the shop, Esther.”
She wished she could cross her arms, but the blasted parasol was in the way. She closed it with a smart snap instead. “That sounds like an order, Samuel.”
He took a long, deep breath through his nose. “One order,” he ground out. “I want to be able to give you one order a day whilst you are here. And I want you to follow it without question and without complaint. That is not an unreasonable request.”
“You’re trying to change the rules.” She didn’t have any objections to that. She liked her rules a little flexible. “Very well. But in return, you must follow one order a day from me.”
“Get in the shop.”
“I am not”—she reached out and pulled down the arm he’d thrown up so imperiously to indicate the shop’s door—“getting in the—”
“Is that him?”
“What?” Esther followed his gaze, turning around. “Where?”
Samuel nodded toward a small dark-haired, big-eyed boy sitting at the entrance of a completely different alleyway across the street. Not picking pockets, thank God. He was shaving kindling from a small stump of wood with an ax blade that looked far too big and unwieldy for his small hands.
“It is,” she said, dropping her hand. “That’s him. How did you know?”
“Big eyes, dark hair, roughly eight years of age, not far from Peerpoint Alley.”
As Samuel and Esther neared, the boy pushed aside overlong bangs and looked up, and up. His big brown eyes widened. “Afternoon, guv.”
“What is your name, lad?”
“Henry, sir. Henry Causer.”
Esther
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