Olivia Twist(24)
Olivia waited, holding her breath, until he lifted his head with a grin.
“You’re a right brawler.” He shrugged a shoulder. “For a lady.”
She punched his arm, hard. “For anyone!”
“Yeah, all right. I’ll give you that.” He rubbed his bicep where she’d hit him. “So, what’s the plan?”
Olivia pulled the rest of Jack’s money from her pocket. The boy’s eyes grew huge as she handed it to him. “Only use this a little at a time. Finish getting supplies for winter and add to the food supply where needed. When you work, go out together. Send two groups of three, preferably with you or Arch in one of the groups, and stay within shouting distance of each other.”
Brit nodded solemnly as he folded the money and tucked it into his pocket.
“And for saint’s sake, get yourself some blasted trousers that fit.”
Jack hiked the few blocks to Cavendish Square in a down-pour. Even with his collar turned up and hat pulled low, icy water found its way down his neck. Big Ben’s resonating clang sounded once in the distance and he picked up his pace, his boots squeaking and splashing as he traversed the deserted walk.
At the risk of his good home and occupation, that morning after church services, he had confided in Lois the truth of the lost advance money. After several long and humiliating minutes of her cackling laughter, she had asked him what he planned to do about it. When he’d reminded her that day’s sermon had been about forgiveness, all he’d received was an icy glare. So here he was dressed in black from head to toe, like some villain in a penny dreadful.
Jack stopped under the canopy of a dripping tree. Number Four Cavendish Square was dark as pitch, intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the blank windows like ghoulish eyes. The conditions were not ideal for a nocturnal jaunt, but if he hoped to get his money back and solve the mystery of Miss Brownlow, he would need to take her by surprise.
As if by some invisible signal, the rain stopped and a series of soft sounds echoed through the night. Smoky fog rose from the cobbles like steam as Jack crossed the street, hopped over the front gate, and ducked behind a hedge. The scents of wet leaves and dirt mixed with something musky and less pleasant. Through the branches, he could make out patchy black-and-brown fur. Brom.
Dragging a hand over his face, Jack counted to ten in his head and then peered around the hedge. A dark-haired youth with a sack slung over his back led Brom on a leash down the street. What the devil? Or rightly, who the devil? Why would a servant take the dog out in the middle of the night?
After giving the lad a head start, Jack followed at a distance. He’d planned to tail Olivia to her destination, but instead, he’d get what information he could from the boy before heading back to climb the trellis outside Olivia’s window. The thought of finding her sleep-mussed and snuggled into her bed heated his blood and quickened his step.
They neared a tree-lined park at the end of the square, and Jack picked up his pace. The wound in his leg gave a pull and twinge, which he ignored. As he closed the distance between himself and the boy to a few yards, Brom dug in his feet and swung his massive head in Jack’s direction. The boy scolded the dog and tugged on his leash, but Brom spun, bearing his teeth with a menacing growl.
Jack walked straight at the dog and pulled his hat from his head. He’d made peace with the beast—he just hoped Brom felt the same way. As he entered the light of a streetlamp, Brom’s posture relaxed and his tongue lolled out of his head. Jack took a few cautious steps before the boy made an odd, high-pitched squeak. Jack’s gaze jerked up to a face that struck him as familiar. Before he could figure out why, the lad made an inarticulate command, yanked the leash, and ran.
Saints. If there wasn’t so much at stake, he’d let the kid go, but instinct spurred him to give chase. Smashing through the underbrush and dodging branches, he came out in an open space, winding paths intersecting at a circular fountain. Ahead, the boy skirted the fountain and then deftly jumped over a stone bench. Jack ran faster, pushing through the burning pain in his thigh. His greatcoat flapping behind him like a giant bird, he made a flying leap and tackled the lad to the ground. They landed in the wet grass and rolled. As soon as they stopped, the boy scrambled away from him on all fours, quick as a flash.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Jack caught a flailing arm in one hand, and then clamped his other on a thrashing leg and flipped the boy onto his back. Crawling, he knelt on hands and knees over the boy. “I’ll not hurt you, kid—” His voice stuck in his throat. Hat gone, a brown wig sat askew, revealing strands of dark-gold hair escaping a net. Jack’s gaze flicked to the boy’s face. Narrowed and shooting fire, were a pair of very fine honey-colored eyes.
“Olivia? What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Jack demanded.
“That’s none of your concern! Now, let me go!” She kicked out with both legs, and he swiveled, narrowly avoiding a boot to the ribs.
“Damn it, Olivia. Hold still or I’ll lie full on top of you!”
That stopped her. She panted beneath him, her lips pressed into a stubborn line, her curves imperceptible in the ragged boy clothes. Jack hovered over her and stared at her face as the clouds shifted past the moon. Streaks of dirt covered her creamy cheeks, and the short wig framed her face in a way that sparked a long-buried memory he’d been trying to kindle for weeks—a memory of a boy who followed him everywhere and looked at him with the hope of the world in his eyes.