you go to the constable immediately, showing the proper documents of your guardianship and demand that he look into this heinous fraud!”
Addicock leaned over his desk, his face florid and his handsome eyes narrowed in fury. “I haven’t bloody well got a hundred pounds! I haven’t even got the quid to pay Ned here and he’s a damn sight more useful than your Tommy!”
“Wot?” That came from Ned, the tone both surprised and indignant. And it was enough to recall Addicock to himself.
The man straightened his coat, tugging on the fabric in what was obviously a nervous habit. Then he spoke slowly and clearly, his eyes calm and his expression grim. “Guardianship of one Tommy Shoemaker has not brought me any money at all. There has been no income from the property; therefore, I have nothing to give Miss Shoemaker.” He turned to Penny, his expression cold. “I suggest you find a husband. Quickly. Or ply some other trade.” His tone left no doubt as to what trade he referred to.
She gasped, but Samuel tightened his hold on her arm, silently willing her to keep quiet. It was a near thing, but she obeyed. For the moment.
“But you will go to the constable to show proof of guardianship? And you will report this crime? This is what a legal guardian would do.”
Addicock released something between a growl and a grunt. As answers went, it meant nothing. Fortunately, Samuel wasn’t going to let the man get away with that.
“You know, I intend to stop by the constable’s this afternoon. Should I send him around to you? But of course, once here, he might take it into his head to look into more documents. As long as he’s here—”
“I said I’ll go to the constable. It’s what a guardian does, and I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Samuel gave a brusque nod, then turned to Penny with a smile. “Very well, Miss Shoemaker. I believe we are done here now.”
“What?” she gasped. “I have no home, no money, no—”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware. But these things take time, as I’m sure you know. Let Mr. Addicock do his job. He’ll get it all sorted out.”
“But—”
“Please,” he said, his expression congenial, but his eyes intense.
She wanted to argue. She wanted to choke Addicock with her bare hands. But she wasn’t going to get what she wanted, and so in the end, she spun on her heel and headed toward the door. Samuel followed at a slower pace, as if thinking of something.
“Oh, one more thing, Ned. I believe I know your aunt. Is it Mrs. Saynsberry? Husband owns a printing shop down by Picadilly Circus?”
The statement was so odd that it caused Penny to turn around. But her confusion was nothing compared to Ned and Addicock’s. They both stared at Samuel as if he were the daft toff she knew he was.
“Er, no, sir,” Ned answered. “My family’s the Wilkers. Live down in Shoreditch.”
“Of course they are! Now I remember. I saw one of your father’s plays once. Or read one. Or was it a poem?” Penny could tell he was guessing. Shoreditch was known for its writers and artists, and given that Ned was a clerk, it made sense that his father was a writer. But it was just a guess. Fortunately, given Ned’s surprised expression, she could tell that Samuel was right.
“Poem, sir. He’s had a few published.”
“That’s it. Excellent man, your father. I’m sure he’s right proud of you.”
Ned flushed, as all young men did when praised in so casual a fashion. Looking at it from outside the conversation, Penny could see the brilliance of her mad toff. If he’d been more earnest in his compliment, it would have been suspected as flattery. But spoken so offhand, and as he was reaching for his hat, no less, Samuel managed to both flatter the boy and make it sound completely genuine.
Not that she understood how flattering Ned and his father would get them anywhere. But she was working on trust—a very rare and surprising thing for her—so she kept silent. A moment later, she and
Addicock leaned over his desk, his face florid and his handsome eyes narrowed in fury. “I haven’t bloody well got a hundred pounds! I haven’t even got the quid to pay Ned here and he’s a damn sight more useful than your Tommy!”
“Wot?” That came from Ned, the tone both surprised and indignant. And it was enough to recall Addicock to himself.
The man straightened his coat, tugging on the fabric in what was obviously a nervous habit. Then he spoke slowly and clearly, his eyes calm and his expression grim. “Guardianship of one Tommy Shoemaker has not brought me any money at all. There has been no income from the property; therefore, I have nothing to give Miss Shoemaker.” He turned to Penny, his expression cold. “I suggest you find a husband. Quickly. Or ply some other trade.” His tone left no doubt as to what trade he referred to.
She gasped, but Samuel tightened his hold on her arm, silently willing her to keep quiet. It was a near thing, but she obeyed. For the moment.
“But you will go to the constable to show proof of guardianship? And you will report this crime? This is what a legal guardian would do.”
Addicock released something between a growl and a grunt. As answers went, it meant nothing. Fortunately, Samuel wasn’t going to let the man get away with that.
“You know, I intend to stop by the constable’s this afternoon. Should I send him around to you? But of course, once here, he might take it into his head to look into more documents. As long as he’s here—”
“I said I’ll go to the constable. It’s what a guardian does, and I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Samuel gave a brusque nod, then turned to Penny with a smile. “Very well, Miss Shoemaker. I believe we are done here now.”
“What?” she gasped. “I have no home, no money, no—”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware. But these things take time, as I’m sure you know. Let Mr. Addicock do his job. He’ll get it all sorted out.”
“But—”
“Please,” he said, his expression congenial, but his eyes intense.
She wanted to argue. She wanted to choke Addicock with her bare hands. But she wasn’t going to get what she wanted, and so in the end, she spun on her heel and headed toward the door. Samuel followed at a slower pace, as if thinking of something.
“Oh, one more thing, Ned. I believe I know your aunt. Is it Mrs. Saynsberry? Husband owns a printing shop down by Picadilly Circus?”
The statement was so odd that it caused Penny to turn around. But her confusion was nothing compared to Ned and Addicock’s. They both stared at Samuel as if he were the daft toff she knew he was.
“Er, no, sir,” Ned answered. “My family’s the Wilkers. Live down in Shoreditch.”
“Of course they are! Now I remember. I saw one of your father’s plays once. Or read one. Or was it a poem?” Penny could tell he was guessing. Shoreditch was known for its writers and artists, and given that Ned was a clerk, it made sense that his father was a writer. But it was just a guess. Fortunately, given Ned’s surprised expression, she could tell that Samuel was right.
“Poem, sir. He’s had a few published.”
“That’s it. Excellent man, your father. I’m sure he’s right proud of you.”
Ned flushed, as all young men did when praised in so casual a fashion. Looking at it from outside the conversation, Penny could see the brilliance of her mad toff. If he’d been more earnest in his compliment, it would have been suspected as flattery. But spoken so offhand, and as he was reaching for his hat, no less, Samuel managed to both flatter the boy and make it sound completely genuine.
Not that she understood how flattering Ned and his father would get them anywhere. But she was working on trust—a very rare and surprising thing for her—so she kept silent. A moment later, she and
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