childhood, but not so quickly, and not where I intended to lodge. When I last saw the man behind the bar, Kingsley Franklin had been ten years younger, quite a bit less corpulent, and far better dressed. He’d been a factor then, and a successful one, a man with whom my father had done frequent business.
For a moment, I feared recognition, but of course that was foolish. He last knew me as a thirteen-year-old boy, hardly worth the notice of a merchant. Even if, for some inexplicable reason, the man recalled the son of a New Christian business associate, if he had clear memories of him and discussed him often with his friends, he would not now perceive the child in the face of a bewigged English gentleman fresh off the packet ship.
His dark expression certainly betrayed no recognition. “Something not to your liking? Not the finery you’d hoped for?” Franklin asked. He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, daring me to look away, and then returned to the important work of wiping out mugs.
Were this London, I would have taken very unkindly to his rudeness. To best communicate my displeasure, I might well have grabbed his hand, twisted back his wrist until he fell to his knees. I did not enjoy being treated poorly. I chose to let the matter pass, however, for I had not come all this way to teach innkeepers how to conduct themselves, and though he was ill-mannered now, long ago Franklin had dealt fairly with my father.
I said, “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense. I wrote ahead about a room. I am Mr. Sebastian Foxx.”
Evidently, he did not care for my efforts to ingratiate myself. “Young fellow like you? I was expecting
Mr. Sebastian Foxx
”—he recited the name with not a little mockery—“to be a man of business. I wasn’t expecting a lad making a stop on his grand tour.”
If that was the game, I would play it. “I assure you, I am here upon business, and I am three and twenty. Not so very young for a man who wishes to live by his own labor.”
Franklin grinned, warming to the banter. “Aye, that’s true enough, if you are not still upon your mama’s teat.”
“I am not.” I leaned forward slightly to meet the man’s gaze. “Were you a younger man, I might quip that I’ve actually been upon
your
mama’s teat, but given your own advanced age, that would be not a little unsavory.”
Franklin stared at me. His mouth quivered, but he said nothing, and I wondered if I had gone too far. Mr. Weaver had taught me that it was easier to get what you wanted from a man if you could convince him he had not been bested.
“Now, shall we discuss my room,” I inquired, “or shall we further explore the subject of teats?”
Franklin remained motionless for another moment, then he erupted in a guffaw, showing off a mouth of large and generally intact teeth. “You’ve got spirit for a popinjay, I’ll warrant.” He thrust out his hand. “Kingsley Franklin.”
I took his hand and shook as though he were a long lost friend, and, in truth, he was close enough. “I believe we shall do together quite amiably.”
“As to your lodgings, I think we have what will answer.” All hostility had now been erased from our history. “I reckon you’ll be glad to sleep upon dry land after all that churning about on the packet. And once you’ve seen your rooms, perhaps some food and drink will answer.”
“Nothing presently, but I assure you, I will want refreshment later, and I shall let you know if it is convenient.” I had already informed Franklin I was not easily frightened. Now it was time to assure him I would be a source of coin.
“We aim to please,” Franklin replied brightly, having received the message, “provided it ain’t much trouble.”
With a lazy wave of his hand, Franklin led me through the common room and toward a dark staircase so steep it seemed designed specifically to encourage drunk men to fall to their deaths. Indeed, Franklin’s height and girth made the stairs a particular
For a moment, I feared recognition, but of course that was foolish. He last knew me as a thirteen-year-old boy, hardly worth the notice of a merchant. Even if, for some inexplicable reason, the man recalled the son of a New Christian business associate, if he had clear memories of him and discussed him often with his friends, he would not now perceive the child in the face of a bewigged English gentleman fresh off the packet ship.
His dark expression certainly betrayed no recognition. “Something not to your liking? Not the finery you’d hoped for?” Franklin asked. He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, daring me to look away, and then returned to the important work of wiping out mugs.
Were this London, I would have taken very unkindly to his rudeness. To best communicate my displeasure, I might well have grabbed his hand, twisted back his wrist until he fell to his knees. I did not enjoy being treated poorly. I chose to let the matter pass, however, for I had not come all this way to teach innkeepers how to conduct themselves, and though he was ill-mannered now, long ago Franklin had dealt fairly with my father.
I said, “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense. I wrote ahead about a room. I am Mr. Sebastian Foxx.”
Evidently, he did not care for my efforts to ingratiate myself. “Young fellow like you? I was expecting
Mr. Sebastian Foxx
”—he recited the name with not a little mockery—“to be a man of business. I wasn’t expecting a lad making a stop on his grand tour.”
If that was the game, I would play it. “I assure you, I am here upon business, and I am three and twenty. Not so very young for a man who wishes to live by his own labor.”
Franklin grinned, warming to the banter. “Aye, that’s true enough, if you are not still upon your mama’s teat.”
“I am not.” I leaned forward slightly to meet the man’s gaze. “Were you a younger man, I might quip that I’ve actually been upon
your
mama’s teat, but given your own advanced age, that would be not a little unsavory.”
Franklin stared at me. His mouth quivered, but he said nothing, and I wondered if I had gone too far. Mr. Weaver had taught me that it was easier to get what you wanted from a man if you could convince him he had not been bested.
“Now, shall we discuss my room,” I inquired, “or shall we further explore the subject of teats?”
Franklin remained motionless for another moment, then he erupted in a guffaw, showing off a mouth of large and generally intact teeth. “You’ve got spirit for a popinjay, I’ll warrant.” He thrust out his hand. “Kingsley Franklin.”
I took his hand and shook as though he were a long lost friend, and, in truth, he was close enough. “I believe we shall do together quite amiably.”
“As to your lodgings, I think we have what will answer.” All hostility had now been erased from our history. “I reckon you’ll be glad to sleep upon dry land after all that churning about on the packet. And once you’ve seen your rooms, perhaps some food and drink will answer.”
“Nothing presently, but I assure you, I will want refreshment later, and I shall let you know if it is convenient.” I had already informed Franklin I was not easily frightened. Now it was time to assure him I would be a source of coin.
“We aim to please,” Franklin replied brightly, having received the message, “provided it ain’t much trouble.”
With a lazy wave of his hand, Franklin led me through the common room and toward a dark staircase so steep it seemed designed specifically to encourage drunk men to fall to their deaths. Indeed, Franklin’s height and girth made the stairs a particular
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