Jane Feather - Charade by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

drove a small fist upwards into his enemy'sgroin and the baker capitulated with a heavy groan, doubling over theexcruciating pain rending his belly.

"

Mon Dieu

, but you fightdirty,

mon ami,

" the earlmurmured, reaching with an almost lethargic gesture

to catch a bony arm as the creature turned to run. "If you run throughthe streets,

mon enfant

, youwill

be noticed and pursued."

His soft statement stilled the diminutive figure. An escaping urchinwould most certainly be chased on the assumption that he was runningfrom trouble.

"When you are caught," His Lordship emphasized calmly, "I am sure thisgentleman here will enjoy his revenge. Some might even say he wasentitled to it." He regarded the gasping, choking mountain with scantinterest before turning back to his captive.

"He 'urt me," a mutinous voice muttered, a hand rubbing the small sorebackside, "and jest for a crust o' yesterday's bread." The rebellioustone was belied by a sheen of unshed tears in the over-large brown eyesand a tiny defiant sniff accompanied the swift movement of a grimy,ragged forearm wiping a pert nose. The earl winced—the gesture seemedto have spread more dirt than it removed.

"Come, I think we should take ourselves away before your friend hererecovers." With a grimace that

was not lost on the urchin he seized a small grubby paw in an elegant,long-fingered hand and began to retrace his steps toward the broaderthoroughfare.

"Tell me about yesterday's loaf," he invited, maintaining his tightgrip on the tiny hand struggling to pull away.

"Would only a' gone to the pigs," the voice mumbled. "Don't seem rightwhen people are 'ungry."

"Quite so," His Lordship concurred smoothly. "And you, I take it, arehungry?" It was an unnecessary question—the tiny figure half runningbeside him was, for all its wiry strength, almost fleshless. Notunusual, of course, in this year of grace, 1789, and the Earl of Lintonwas well accustomed to the unpleasant facts of a social system thatnecessitated the poverty of the majority in order to provide for

the greater comfort of the elite minority. But something about thisfilthy little bantam with a mouth as dirty as his person stirred anunusual interest in the normally hardened, disillusioned breast of thismember of that elite. Probably boredom, the earl thought dismissively,heedless of the curious glances their progress brought. The sight of animmaculate aristocrat hand in hand with a backstreet waif was certainlyunusual enough to provoke speculative interest.

"Where you takin' me?" A sudden tug on his hand brought him out of hisreverie and he glanced down

at the small anxious face peering up through its layers of grime. "Iain't done nothin' wrong."

"I find that hard to believe," he replied with a short laugh and then,seeing the sudden frightened appeal

in those huge eyes, reassured, "I am just going to put some food inyour belly." And get rid of that dirt,

he added silently. But that part of the plan had best be kept tohimself, at least for the time being. He rather suspected that soap andhot water would be considered as much an assault on this small body asthe application of the baker's belt.

"What's your name, child?"

"Danny" came the prompt response.

"Danny what?"

"Jus' Danny."

He decided to let that go for the time being. "How old are you, Danny?"

"How old d'ya think?"

The earl frowned slightly at the aggressive tilt of the small chin. Ifthey were to pursue their acquaintance this street-wise waif was goingto have to learn some manners. But maybe now was not an opportunemoment—first things first.

"About twelve," he replied mildly.

"That'll do."

It was clearly going to have to, Linton mused as they reached the heavydouble doors leading into the cobbled courtyard of the inn that hadenjoyed the patronage of the house of Linton for many years.

The child hung back, digging the heels of his rough wooden clogs intothe mud of the gutter. "Ain't goin' in there!"

"You most certainly are, my friend." A hard tug on the small hand andthe unwilling body was pried

loose from the mud and hauled willy-nilly into the courtyard.

"Take your cap off," the earl instructed smoothly as he pulled thereluctant urchin beside him into the cool, darkened passageway of theinn. When the boy showed no inclination to comply he took the raggedobject between finger and thumb with a grimace of distaste and droppedit to the stone-flagged floor. His eyes widened in amazement at thehaircut thus revealed, but he was prevented from immediate comment.

"Ah, Milord Linton,

j'espere quevous avez

. . ." The cheery greeting of the rotund landlord diedas he caught sight of his guest's companion. The sharp blue eyes losttheir superficial warmth, narrowed and hardened.

"Cochon!"

he hissed, movingsteadily on the small figure. "You dare to come in here, you

filthy little guttersnipe." He got no further. A small foot swung,catching him on the calf with a wooden sole and a tirade of backstreetabuse poured forth from the suddenly rigid, enraged youth.

"Tais-toi!"

The earl jerkedthe hand in his with sufficient force to cause sharp pain in itsowner's shoulders. Danny, with a gasp, fell silent.

"Your eyes, Monsieur Trimbel, must be becoming dim," Linton saidcoldly. "Can you not see that I have the child by the hand? He is hereat my invitation."

"

Mais

, milord.

Je m'excuse, mais

. . ." MonsieurTrimbel stuttered, glancing over his shoulder, wondering miserably whathis otherguests would think of having their quiet, elegant havensullied by the presence of this street urchin.

"You are excused," His Lordship said softly. "But just this once, youunderstand?"

The landlord's forehead almost reached his knees—no mean feat given thesize of his belly—as he stammered his reiterated apologies. Linton madefor the stairs, ignoring the groveling figure behind him until hebecame aware of the antics of his suddenly acquired charge. The littlevagabond was prancing lightly on the balls of his feet, tongue out,thumb cocked on the tip of his nose at the enraged landlord.