idea. And after, we could go visit Mr. Potts—so Tiki can get a new book to read to us.”
“That sounds good as long as I don’t have to read it myself,” Toots said, in between shoving the last bites of oatmeal into his mouth.
“Excellent point, Toots, it is time for you to work on your reading again.” Tiki pushed clear of the table, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “Fi, you don’t want to go to Charing Cross because someone named Johnny might be there, do you?”
“That’s right,” Toots exclaimed, his spoon scraping against the bottom of his bowl. “Johnny lives in the old abandoned clock-maker’s shop where we used to…” The young boy stopped and shot a guilty look over his shoulder at Mrs. Bosworth, who stood at the sink washing dishes, giving no indication she’d heard their conversation. He raised his voice. “Mrs. B., could I take him some bread and cheddar?”
“Of course you can, Thomas,” the middle-aged woman replied. “If you can take it without spillin’, I’ll send a crock of stew along for him as well.”
“I THINK WE’D better go to Charing Cross and deliver the food first,” Tiki said as they walked down Brook Street and turned onto Regent. The sky overhead was gray, but the rain had stopped and a few spears of light shot through the clouds. It was only a thirty minute walk from Grosvenor Square to Charing Cross and the exercise was a welcome relief from the questions that churned relentlessly in her mind. What was Donegal plotting? What was Larkin plotting? Was it really possible she was Finvarra’s heir? Would a stone roar if she touched it?
Clara skipped along beside Tiki, holding her hand, Doggie clutched in the other. She wore a pink dress that reached her knees and she reminded Tiki of a little spring flower. “Let’s ask ol’ Potts for a new story today.”
Tiki grinned down at the little girl. “Yes, I thought I’d buy a new book as a gift for Rieker, since he’s allowed us to stay in his home for now.”
“Do you think Potts will give him another story about pick-pockets?” Toots asked, as he ran back and forth, trying to keep a wheel balanced with a stick. Mr. Potts had recommended the story, Oliver Twist , to Rieker last time he’d visited the shop.
Fiona walked next to Tiki, carrying the bag of food for Johnny. “Do you have money to pay for a book?” she asked. Her hair was a tangle of soft waves around her face and she wore a blue hat with a ruffle on the side that tied under her chin. She looked every inch a middle-class girl and not someone who had been picking pockets to survive just a few months ago.
“I have the money the Queen gave me, for,” Tiki assumed a proper voice, “‘assisting in the return of an article of importance to the monarchy.’” She laughed. “I suspect Rieker was the one who suggested they “reward” me but I was happy to take it. We shouldn’t have to pick a pocket ever again.”
“Amen to that,” Fiona said, “but I have to admit, there’s times when I miss wearing boys’ trousers. They’re just so much easier to get around in.”
“I know.” Tiki replied. “There are times when I miss being invisible. When we dressed in our rags, everyone looked through us, like we weren’t even there. Now people smile and nod, especially men. It’s exhausting sometimes.”
“It’s ‘cause yer pretty, Teek,” Clara piped up. “That’s why they stare at you.”
Tiki laughed and squeezed the little girl’s hand. “Your ears are working pretty well today, Miss. Did Mrs. Bosworth clean out all the potatoes in them?”
Clara burst into giggles. “I haven’t got potatoes in my ears.” She pointed her little hand. “Toots does.”
WHEN THEY REACHED Charing Cross Tiki sent Toots into the abandoned clockmaker’s shop to see if Johnny was there. Before he returned a familiar voice spoke from behind them.
“You’re looking as beautiful as a spring day, Miss Fiona.” For a second Tiki was
“That sounds good as long as I don’t have to read it myself,” Toots said, in between shoving the last bites of oatmeal into his mouth.
“Excellent point, Toots, it is time for you to work on your reading again.” Tiki pushed clear of the table, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “Fi, you don’t want to go to Charing Cross because someone named Johnny might be there, do you?”
“That’s right,” Toots exclaimed, his spoon scraping against the bottom of his bowl. “Johnny lives in the old abandoned clock-maker’s shop where we used to…” The young boy stopped and shot a guilty look over his shoulder at Mrs. Bosworth, who stood at the sink washing dishes, giving no indication she’d heard their conversation. He raised his voice. “Mrs. B., could I take him some bread and cheddar?”
“Of course you can, Thomas,” the middle-aged woman replied. “If you can take it without spillin’, I’ll send a crock of stew along for him as well.”
“I THINK WE’D better go to Charing Cross and deliver the food first,” Tiki said as they walked down Brook Street and turned onto Regent. The sky overhead was gray, but the rain had stopped and a few spears of light shot through the clouds. It was only a thirty minute walk from Grosvenor Square to Charing Cross and the exercise was a welcome relief from the questions that churned relentlessly in her mind. What was Donegal plotting? What was Larkin plotting? Was it really possible she was Finvarra’s heir? Would a stone roar if she touched it?
Clara skipped along beside Tiki, holding her hand, Doggie clutched in the other. She wore a pink dress that reached her knees and she reminded Tiki of a little spring flower. “Let’s ask ol’ Potts for a new story today.”
Tiki grinned down at the little girl. “Yes, I thought I’d buy a new book as a gift for Rieker, since he’s allowed us to stay in his home for now.”
“Do you think Potts will give him another story about pick-pockets?” Toots asked, as he ran back and forth, trying to keep a wheel balanced with a stick. Mr. Potts had recommended the story, Oliver Twist , to Rieker last time he’d visited the shop.
Fiona walked next to Tiki, carrying the bag of food for Johnny. “Do you have money to pay for a book?” she asked. Her hair was a tangle of soft waves around her face and she wore a blue hat with a ruffle on the side that tied under her chin. She looked every inch a middle-class girl and not someone who had been picking pockets to survive just a few months ago.
“I have the money the Queen gave me, for,” Tiki assumed a proper voice, “‘assisting in the return of an article of importance to the monarchy.’” She laughed. “I suspect Rieker was the one who suggested they “reward” me but I was happy to take it. We shouldn’t have to pick a pocket ever again.”
“Amen to that,” Fiona said, “but I have to admit, there’s times when I miss wearing boys’ trousers. They’re just so much easier to get around in.”
“I know.” Tiki replied. “There are times when I miss being invisible. When we dressed in our rags, everyone looked through us, like we weren’t even there. Now people smile and nod, especially men. It’s exhausting sometimes.”
“It’s ‘cause yer pretty, Teek,” Clara piped up. “That’s why they stare at you.”
Tiki laughed and squeezed the little girl’s hand. “Your ears are working pretty well today, Miss. Did Mrs. Bosworth clean out all the potatoes in them?”
Clara burst into giggles. “I haven’t got potatoes in my ears.” She pointed her little hand. “Toots does.”
WHEN THEY REACHED Charing Cross Tiki sent Toots into the abandoned clockmaker’s shop to see if Johnny was there. Before he returned a familiar voice spoke from behind them.
“You’re looking as beautiful as a spring day, Miss Fiona.” For a second Tiki was
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