A Talent for Trouble

by Jen Turano

  Unfortunately, no matter that she appeared to believe otherwise, she was an innocent at heart and far too trusting of people, and that disturbing situation was bound to land her in trouble. Which meant . . . he was not going to be able to keep his distance from her quite yet.

  She brought out protective instincts in him that he’d barely remembered he possessed, and those instincts were causing him a bit of discomfort, especially with her pressed so thoroughly against him. Slowing to a stop once again, he carefully set her down and nodded to a small walkway just ahead of them between two buildings.

  “We should be right by the theater if I’ve judged the distance right. I’ll walk with you to the end of this building, and then I want you to get in your pony cart and travel as quickly as you can to Theodore’s office.”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  “We can’t afford to allow anyone to see you with me. I’ll follow you as soon as the coast is clear.”

  For just a second, what looked like fear clouded her eyes, but then she squared her shoulders and nodded. He sent her a smile, took her hand, and helped her through the narrow space between the buildings, stopping at the end to peer into the street for a second before he turned back to her. “Thor’s just ahead. Simply walk as nonchalantly as you can to him, and then get on your way. I’ll watch from here, and if I think anyone is following you, I’ll step in.”

  “Won’t that defeat the purpose of not allowing people to know we’re together?”

  “If anyone’s following you, they’ll have already figured that out.”

  Felicia’s eyes went round, but then she drew in a breath and nodded.

  “Remember,” he cautioned before she stepped out onto the sidewalk, “try to appear nonchalant, but do everything you can to get Thor moving faster than a plod.”

  Felicia looked down at her sopping gown, then looked up and grinned. “That might be a tall order. Thor has never moved faster than an amble—well, except for the time he plowed into that hitching post.”

  She lifted her chin and stepped forward, causing Grayson to smile when she began to stroll toward her pony as if it were an everyday occurrence to mosey down the sidewalk while wearing a gown soaked with ale.

  She made it to Thor with no mishaps, moving to release her pony’s reins from the hitching post before she leaned closer and began to whisper something in his ear. Seemingly satisfied that Thor was going to listen to whatever she’d told him, she walked to the cart and climbed in.

  Relief swept through him when she flicked the reins and Thor began to move, but it changed to frustration when the door to the Rogue’s Theater burst open and two men rushed out, both of them waving madly to Felicia and both of them wearing what appeared to be her old gowns.

  “Miss Murdock, hold up a moment,” one of the men shouted as he raced toward her.

  “Don’t do it,” Grayson muttered through gritted teeth, even though he knew full well she couldn’t hear him.

  “We wanted to show you how we look,” the other man yelled as he skirted around some people on the sidewalk and stopped right by the pony cart that Felicia had, annoyingly enough, pulled to a stop.

  Felicia’s laughter soon drifted back to Grayson as she exclaimed over the men, but when one of them gestured to her gown, she sobered immediately and said something Grayson couldn’t hear. Then, to his amazement, one of the men jumped on the seat right next to her while the other climbed into the cart. Before Grayson had the presence of mind to step forward, Felicia flicked the reins and Thor—an animal that rarely cooperated—jolted into motion and headed down the street at what appeared to be almost a trot.

  The day just kept getting more unusual by the minute, but perhaps the sight of a drenched and disheveled lady riding in a pony cart with two men dressed in outlandish gowns would be enough of a distraction to allow Felicia to get safely on her way.

  He watched the cart until it disappeared from view and then took one step onto the sidewalk, considering how he was going to get across the space to his horse without being detected. A street urchin caught his attention. Grayson smiled in satisfaction and motioned the urchin to join him as he stepped back between the buildings.

  The dirt-encrusted boy regarded him warily across the space that separated them for a moment before he darted across the sidewalk and hesitated at the entrance of the walkway.

  “Did you need something, sir?”

  Grayson nodded. “I could use your assistance, if you’re willing to help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  Grayson nodded to his horse. “See that horse over there? I’ll pay you a dollar if you’ll fetch it for me.”

  “You a horse thief?”

  “No, it’s my horse.”

  “What’s its name?”

  “Spot.”

  The boy’s brow wrinkled. “That’s a dog’s name.”

  “True, but you see, my daughter wanted a dog, and I came home with a horse—hence the name.”

  The boy tilted his head and then nodded as if that made perfect sense. “How come you just don’t go and get Spot yourself? A dollar’s a lot of money.”

  “It is a lot of money, which means if you want me to give it to you, you’re not entitled to questions.”

  “Can I see the dollar?”

  Grayson shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “I’ll give you all of this if you stop talking and fetch my horse.”

  Before Grayson could utter another word, the boy darted away and was soon by Spot’s side. Grayson watched as the child, whistling in a nonchalant manner, unhooked the reins, pulled Spot away from the hitching post, and began traveling in the wrong direction.

  When the boy disappeared around a corner, Grayson feared he had been conned by a horse thief. He stood there for a moment, wondering if he should go after the boy, when the sound of galloping hooves sounded behind him. He turned and found the boy on top of Spot at the other end of the walkway. He strode to join them.

  “How’d you get back here so fast?” he asked as the boy jumped to the ground and handed him the reins.

  “I live on the streets. I know all the shortcuts.”

  A pang of pity spread through Grayson as he looked the boy over. He couldn’t be more than twelve years old, but his eyes were far too old for his years.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sam.”

  Grayson handed Sam the bills and then reached back into his pocket. The thin hand Sam had extended to him was almost frail, and Grayson couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to live on the streets. “Wait,” he called when Sam turned and began walking away.

  “You want some of your money back?” Sam asked, holding up the bills.

  “No, and put that away before anyone sees it. It’ll do you little good if it gets stolen.”

  “Nobody steals from me.”

  The boy’s spunk caused Grayson’s lips to curl. He pulled his hand from his pocket, stepped forward, and pressed more money into Sam’s outstretched hand. “Use that wisely, and if you ever need assistance, I’m renting a house on Fifth Avenue. Just ask for the English lord and someone will direct you to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Why would you help someone like me?”

  That was a difficult question to answer. But the truth suddenly smacked him in the face. He needed to seek redemption. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he tried to help even one unfortunate soul, he’d find a small measure of peace.

  “Mister, are you all right?”

  Grayson forced a smile. “I’m fine, Sam. Now, hide that money, and remember, if you need help—”

  “Fifth Avenue, English lord,” Sam finished for him.

  “Good boy,” Grayson said, swinging up on top of Spot. He looked down. “You didn’t happen to notice any Chinese men on the streets out there, did you?”

  “They’re all over the place.”

  “Wonderful,” Grayson muttered.

  “Where do
you need to go?”

  “Broadway.”

  “I could show you a shortcut where you wouldn’t run into any of those men.”

  Grayson smiled, held out his hand, and pulled Sam up behind him. They were soon traveling through one back alley after another, Sam regularly calling instructions.

  By the time they reached Broadway, Grayson’s anxiety level had reached an all-time high, and he could only pray Felicia had made it out of the slums safely.

  He’d hated to let her out of his sight, but he’d had little choice in the matter, since he didn’t want anyone to know of their association. If he’d stayed with her, he would have only drawn more attention to her.

  “You can set me down here, sir,” Sam said, breaking into Grayson’s thoughts.

  Grayson brought Spot to a halt and felt Sam slide off the horse. He looked down. “How will you get back?”

  “Not to worry,” Sam said. “I’ll just jump on an omnibus, seeing as how I have some spare money.”

  Grayson reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, surprised when Sam shook his head.

  “You already paid me plenty.”

  “That was for fetching my horse. Besides, you’ll draw less notice if you pay your fare with coins. No one expects a street boy to be carrying around a bunch of bills.”

  Sam hesitated for a moment and then, almost reluctantly, held out his hand. Grayson dropped the coins into it and smiled, but his smile faded when he found himself wondering how often Sam found something to smile about.

  “Thank you, sir. My sisters will appreciate having a decent meal, and the money you gave me will last us awhile.”

  Grayson closed his eyes for a moment and then slowly opened them. “You have sisters?”

  “I do, sir, two. Both younger than me.” He puffed out his thin chest. “I’ve been taking care of them ever since my parents got killed down at the mill.”

  “Do you have a home?”

  “We used to rent a room, but the landlady threw us out when my parents died.”

  “Did no one think to send you to an orphanage?”

  “We’re better off on the streets.”

  Pain sliced through Grayson at the injustice life offered some. He took a deep breath. “Not all orphanages are bad, Sam. My sister and her husband just opened one on the outskirts of the city. I have a feeling you might like it there.”

  Sam’s eyes grew round. “Is your sister Lady Eliza?”

  “You’ve heard of her?”

  Sam ignored the question. “That’s why you said to ask for an English lord. You really are one.”

  “Yes, I am, whether I want to be or not.”

  “You don’t like being a fancy gentleman?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “But . . . haven’t you got a house and plenty of money?”

  Grayson actually had five houses—or maybe it was six—not that he was going to admit that to the poverty-stricken boy gazing up at him. “I do have a house and money.”

  “Then you should be happy,” Sam said. “Someday I’m going to have me a house, or at least a room of my own, and rooms for my sisters. I’m going to get a job at the mill once I get taller.”

  Shame burrowed into Grayson’s soul. He’d thought he’d matured greatly during his years in China, but in reality, the boy standing by him, who was little more than a child, shouldered more responsibilities than Grayson had ever managed.

  It was humbling, being faced with the reality of his true character.

  He’d allowed himself to be pulled into a brawl with little consideration of the consequences. He was apparently still capable of whining about having been born an aristocrat.

  It was past time he grew up.

  “Is something the matter, sir?”

  Grayson shook himself out of his thoughts. “Nothing of any great importance. Now then, I have nothing with which to write this down, so you’ll need to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

  “I don’t read real well, sir, so I’d have to listen anyways.”

  Another bout of shame descended. He’d always taken his education for granted.

  “Right, you can’t read well,” he muttered. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Sir?”

  Grayson leaned forward on Spot. “I want you to seek out my sister, but I can’t recall her actual address, so you’ll need to go to that big church down the way, the one with the lovely stained-glass windows.”

  “Reverend Fraser’s church?”

  “That’s the one, but he won’t be there.”

  “I know. He just got married.”

  “You are aware of everything that goes on, aren’t you?”

  Sam grinned. “Sometimes it comes in handy.”

  “I imagine it does,” Grayson replied, unable to help grinning back at the boy. “Anyways, go there and tell them Grayson Sumner sent you. That will get you access to my sister, and she’ll get you and your sisters off the street and settled.”

  “I heard there’s no room right now at that orphanage.”

  “My sister will make room for you and your sisters,” Grayson said. “I’ll tell her to expect you.”

  “That’s kind of you, Mr. Sumner.”

  Grayson’s heart ached as he looked at the boy watching him now so earnestly. The boy’s life was beyond difficult, and yet he still minded his manners. It was clear he was an intelligent lad, and Grayson swore then and there he’d do whatever was in his power to help him. But first, he needed to get to Felicia.

  “I don’t remember the last time anyone called me kind,” he finally muttered before he leaned farther over his horse and held out his hand. Sam looked completely delighted as he shook it. “I have your word you’ll seek out my sister?”

  “I’ll do my best to find her.”

  It wasn’t a promise, but it would have to do.

  “See that you try your hardest,” Grayson said, “and now, I have to be on my way. I need to ascertain that a good friend hasn’t landed herself in more trouble.”

  “Miss Felicia?”

  “You know her?”

  “She roams the streets, looking for the needy and for stray orphans.”

  Grayson frowned. “If you know that, why didn’t you let her find you?”

  Sam shifted on his feet. “She just started looking for orphans a few months back, but everyone knows she’s one of those religious ladies. I don’t like when they try to lecture me.”

  “Felicia tried to lecture you? That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “Not Miss Felicia—some of the other ladies. But that’s why I never approached her.”

  “May I assume one of those ladies said something distasteful to you?”

  “Just one, she called me the spawn of . . . Well, it doesn’t really matter. But I didn’t like that at all, and then . . . she tried to dump water over my head. She said it would cure me of any evil lurking inside me.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Sam, but you’re going to encounter nutty people throughout your life,” Grayson said. “That one lady doesn’t represent all people of faith. Felicia’s a wonderful lady and remarkably good.”

  “Why was she singing in that pub if she’s so good?”

  “You heard her?”

  “The whole street heard her. It was horrible.”

  “If you ever run into her, you might want to keep that information to yourself.”

  “My pa always taught me to treat girls with respect,” Sam said. “I would never tell her she can’t sing.”

  “You’re a better man than I.”

  “You told her she couldn’t sing?”

  “Well, yes, but strangely enough, it seemed she liked hearing it from me.”

  “She’s a bit of an odd duck.”

  Grayson laughed. “Speaking of Felicia, though, I do need to find her.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Sam said. “I saw the men from the theater get into her cart. They’re good men, and they won’t let her
come to any harm.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Sam shrugged. “The men at the theater have been real kind to me and my sisters. They even let us sleep in the theater when it gets cold outside, and they offered to let us sleep there all the time, but I’m not keen on having my sisters live in such a . . . different place.”

  “We’ll have to work on finding you a normal place to live, Sam,” Grayson said before he tightened his grip on the reins. “Make certain you look up my sister. She’ll be expecting you.”

  Sam grinned, nodded, and then spun around, disappearing a moment later down an alley. Grayson stared after him for a long moment, hoping the boy was good for his word. Otherwise, he would be forced to intervene, whether Sam wanted his assistance or not.

  That thought took Grayson aback. He’d never been one to involve himself in the lives of others. For one, because he was an aristocrat, people usually gave him a wide berth, and for two, well, he didn’t really know how to go about assisting people.

  He had the sneaky suspicion his new attitude was a direct result of being in close contact with Felicia.

  He nudged Spot out into the street, anxious now to locate the exasperating woman.

  It didn’t take him long to find her.

  She was sitting on the seat of her pony cart in front of Theodore Wilder’s private investigation office, poor Thor already asleep in his tracks, his bedraggled mane blowing in the breeze. The gentlemen from the theater were seemingly doing their best to entertain her, because Felicia was laughing quite enthusiastically as one of the men gestured wildly with his hands.

  Grayson urged Spot forward and pulled to a halt right in front of Felicia, who looked up and sent him a smile that caused his mind to go numb.

  “There you are, Grayson,” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to worry.”

  The very idea that Felicia was worrying about his welfare had a chunk of the ice surrounding his heart melting ever so slightly. Before he could so much as think of a response, though, the door to Theodore Wilder’s office opened, and Theodore and his wife, Arabella, rushed out, both of them brandishing pistols pointed at the now somber men in the cart.