The Homeless Heiress

‘Come with me then,’ Richard said, taking hold of his arm. ‘And don’t try to run away, Georgie—no funny tricks, do you hear? This package is important to me, but it would be of no use to you. Try stealing from me again and I shall not be as forgiving next time.’

‘Don’t go on about it,’ the lad said, glaring at him. ‘And you’re hurting my arm. I shan’t run orf. I give yer my word.’

There was a touch of unconscious pride about the lad then that alerted Richard’s suspicions. Somehow he was certain that Georgie—if that was his name—was not an ordinary street urchin. There was more here than met the eye. He slackened his hold of the lad’s arm a little, but made sure it was sufficient to bind him to him as they left the last of the mean streets behind. The lighting here was better, and, glancing at the boy’s profile, Richard knew that his suspicions were right. Just what had he discovered here? If he knew anything at all, this lad had not been born to these poor streets of the London slum. Was he a runaway from school or a tyrant father? He was almost certain that the accent was a sham, for it had slipped once or twice. Just what was Georgie up to?

‘Where do you go to school?’ he asked.

‘Don’t go,’ the lad replied. ‘Ain’t never bin, sir.’

He was not telling the truth; Richard’s instinct never lied. His curiosity deepened. The boy was clearly very young, and, despite what he had done, Richard felt it his duty to try to help him if it were possible. He knew only too well to what depths of degradation some unfortunates were forced to sink in these stinking alleys. A grim expression dwelled briefly in his eyes as he remembered. He would not think of that now! It was behind him. He had buried himself deep in his work to forget and he would not allow that past tragedy to haunt him.

The lights of a respectable inn were just ahead of them, a lantern shedding a bright yellow glow over the pavement. More lanterns lit the archway that led behind to the inn yard, but Richard headed for the main door. He felt Georgie’s hesitation, the slight resistance, and looked down.

‘There’s nothing to fear here, Georgie. You may not be used to such places, but we shall be served, never fear.’

‘I ain’t frightened,’ the lad replied. ‘You don’t need ter hang on to me any longer. I shan’t run away. I ain’t frightened of yer no more. Besides, I’m starving!’

‘Well, they serve decent food here,’ Richard replied. He glanced at the lad’s face as they went inside. Now he could see the delicate profile and the pale complexion. Georgie was very slight and he found it difficult to assess his age. At first he had thought him a child of perhaps twelve or thirteen. His height was below Richard’s shoulder and he had felt the thinness of the lad’s body as he held him after he slipped on the rubbish. Looking at his face in the light, he thought now that the lad must be older—fifteen, perhaps.

‘Yes, sir?’ The host came bustling up to them, a smile on his face that dimmed somewhat as he saw the boy. ‘Captain Hernshaw, isn’t it? I believe I’ve had the honour of serving you before, sir?’

‘On a couple of occasions,’ Richard replied easily, ignoring the host’s expression. ‘You serve excellent chops, landlord, and a good pie. My young friend here is hungry and so am I. We shall have the best of whatever you have on offer this evening.’

‘Yes, sir. Would you be wanting the parlour, sir?’

Richard hesitated. He sensed tension in his companion and wondered what the lad could be thinking. ‘Yes, Goodridge. We shall have the parlour, if you will spare it to us.’

‘Just as you wish, sir. Will you want wine or ale?’

‘You may bring me some wine,’ Richard said. ‘Do you have any cordial that you might prepare for the boy? He is my groom’s lad and he has been helping me with the horses. I am afraid he has got himself into something of a state.’

‘Ah.’ The innkeeper nodded as he was enlightened, relief in his eyes. ‘Boys will be boys, sir.’

Georgie eyed him resentfully as they went into the private parlour, but said nothing until the innkeeper had left, shutting the door behind him.

‘Whatcha want ter say that fer?’

‘I thought it best to concoct some tale lest our host imagined something for himself. I do not wish to acquire a reputation for molesting young boys.’ Richard smiled wryly. ‘In case you had some such suspicion yourself, you may rest easy that my tastes do not lie in that direction.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie’s dark eyes studied his face for a moment, searching, all too wise and yet naïve at the same time. ‘I didn’t think it. I’ve met that sort afore and you ain’t. I’ll vouch for it if he turns up rough.’

‘Thank you,’ Richard said, a note of sarcasm in his voice. ‘If I need your help, I shall ask for it.’

‘No need to be so superior,’ Georgie said. ‘I was just offering…’

‘Thank you,’ Richard replied, a slight smile on his lips. Something in Georgie’s manner at that moment had confirmed what he had been thinking for a while now. This was no street urchin! He wasn’t sure why Georgie had tried to steal from him or why he was living rough, as he clearly was from his appearance. There was dirt on the delicate features and the lad’s clothes were disgusting. He smelled unpleasant! ‘I think we should call a truce, don’t you—just for long enough to eat our supper.’

Georgie didn’t answer but went to the fire, standing in front of it and holding his hands to the flames. He rubbed them together, shivering as if he had just realised how cold it was outside, but he did not speak. He continued to look into the flames when the door opened, admitting the innkeeper’s wife and a maid with two large trays filled with plates of food.

‘Come and eat, boy,’ Richard said. ‘This food smells delicious.’

The lad turned, stood looking at the food for a moment and then came to the table. He sat down on the bench, reaching for a plate of lamb chops. He took one and began to eat it with his fingers, tearing at the tender meat with his teeth—very white teeth for a street urchin, Richard noticed! He ate that chop and reached for another, demolishing that in much the same way, and licking the fat from his fingers—slender, delicate fingers.

‘That’s enough,’ Richard said when the second chop had gone down in a hurry. ‘Eat properly now and slower. If you haven’t eaten for days, it will make you sick if you stuff too much down at once. Try some of the pork pie. It is delicious.’ He cut a slice for himself, putting some pickles on to his plate and breaking a bit of the bread.

Georgie watched and then did the same. He began to eat small pieces of pie with a little relish, buttering his bread. He had small, smooth hands, Richard noticed. Now that he was eating properly he appeared to have table manners too. He sipped his lime cordial and appeared to have no fault to find with the taste.

Richard smiled inwardly. The lad had come from a good home. What had caused him to flee that home for a life on the streets he could not tell, but thought it would be worth discovering. When Georgie put down his knife and sat back, clearly having eaten his fill, Richard drank a little of his wine and observed in silence for a moment.

‘Better?’ he asked at last. His brows arched as the boy nodded. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

‘Whatcha mean?’ A look of uncertainty came into the lad’s eyes.

‘Your accent is false,’ Richard said. ‘You don’t always use slang and it slips from time to time. I don’t think you were reared in the slums, George. So where have you come from and why?’

‘You really want to know?’ The boy looked at him oddly. ‘Why?’

‘Because I should like to help you if I can. A life of thieving is not for a lad like you. I think you have run away from your home or your school—why?’

‘I ran away from—’ Georgie said and caught his breath. ‘I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t believe me.’ He got to his feet abruptly. ‘Thanks for the food…’

Richard stuck out his leg, preventing the lad from passing. ‘Sit down and tell me the truth.’

‘No! You can’t make me…’ Georgie tried to push past. Richard leapt to his feet and grabbed him. As he did so, Georgie’s disreputable cap came off and long dark locks came tumbling down, framing a face that now looked decidedly feminine. Richard gave a grim nod of satisfaction. He had thought something was wrong! This was no fragile lad but a girl! ‘Oh…’ Georgie put up her hand, trying frantically to hide her hair, giving a very unladylike oath. ‘Damn it! I thought you promised to let me go…’

‘And I may—if you give me a satisfactory answer. Who are you and what were you doing in that slum?’

She hesitated for a moment and then gave a reluctant sigh. ‘My name is Georgie Brown and I worked as a lady’s maid,’ she said, sitting down again. ‘I ran away from my place because my lady’s son would not stop pestering me. He kept trying to kiss me and…well, I couldn’t stay there any longer so I took some old clothes and ran off.’

‘Surely you had family who would have taken you in?’ Georgie shook her head. He arched his brow. ‘Friends? Another employer?’

‘I couldn’t ask for a reference, because she would have blamed me…she wouldn’t have given me one…’ Georgie’s eyes dropped, her hand clenching nervously in her lap. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be at the mercy of—’ She broke off on a choked sob.

Richard’s gaze narrowed. ‘Why live on the streets and try to steal from people? Surely you cannot want to live this way?’

Georgie sniffed, a suspicion of tears in her eyes, but she was obviously trying not to cry. ‘I had some money, but it was stolen from me the first day I got to London. I thought I could find myself a job and I had enough money to live decently for a while, but…’ The tears were trickling down her cheek despite her efforts to stop them. She rubbed the sleeve of her disreputable jacket over her face, streaking the dirt. ‘After my purse was stolen, I did not know what to do and no one would give me money or food.’

‘So you thought you would turn to pickpocketing for a living?’ Richard smiled oddly. ‘Unfortunately, you chose me for your first victim—or was I the first?’

‘I stole some fruit from a stall and…and a kerchief from an elderly gentleman, which I sold…’ Her cheeks were uncomfortably red now. ‘Don’t look at me like that! I was hungry!’

‘Yes, you were,’ Richard agreed, watching her face thoughtfully. He wasn’t certain that she was telling him the whole truth even now, but he was prepared to go along with it for the moment. ‘Are you sure you have no family? If they live in the country, I could help you get there.’

Georgie hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. She had bundled her long hair back under her cap and her tears had dried. ‘Let me go now. You gave me supper, but you promised to let me go.’

‘I have no hold on you,’ Richard said. ‘But I know someone who might take you in. She is elderly and needs someone to look after her—and she might take you for my sake.’

‘I’ll be all right.’ Georgie eyed him suspiciously, clearly not quite trusting him. ‘I’m not sure.’