Page 26 of My Fair Lord

“Absolutely I am. My integrity is everything to me, Miss Wakechild. I move in some shady circles but I never lower myself to breaking the law.” Mr Blake lifted his chin and eyed her solemnly. The effect would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been sporting his bruises. “I can be devious but when I give my word, I keep it. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

Florence nodded thoughtfully. “I think it is. But you haven’t told me how your injuries came about.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, his straight brows almost meeting. He looked furious, though not at Florence’s persistence.

“They are unconnected.”

He stopped speaking and looked as if he was thinking deeply.

“Will you come with me? I have something to show you that will explain everything. Bring your maid too. I see she is returning and yes, she has three books.”

Immensely intrigued, Florence followed him back inside the pub. He led her past the bar and upstairs. Dottie trailed behind, her eyes gleaming with interest. Mr Blake stopped at a door and knocked.

“Are you decent?”

A high voice answered the affirmative. It sounded either young or female. Florence wasn’t sure which.

“Is this a house of ill repute?” Dottie asked in a scandalised whisper.

Florence hushed her. She should be shocked, but she was immensely curious as to what she’d see behind the door.

“Do you think I’d take anyone like your mistress somewhere like that?” Mr Blake asked Dottie, his brows raising in amusement.

“I’m not sure I’d put anything past you,” Florence said.

Mr Blake grinned and opened the door.

ChapterEight

They entered a small bedroom, sparsely furnished. A young boy was sitting on a chair. He gave a wide grin on seeing Mr Blake. Three of his front teeth were missing.

“This is Alfie. Do you remember him? He took you back to Lewis’ on the day we first met.”

“Yes, I remember. Hello, Alfie,” Florence said.

She took a closer look at him. He was much cleaner now and wearing a better fitting shirt, but also an adult’s yellow and green waistcoat that drowned his small frame. His face was covered in a multitude of little scabs and bruises that were not quite as fresh as Mr Blake’s, but still recent and his lip was puffy.

“What happened to his face?”

Mr Blake held a hand up and slid his eyes towards Alfie. Florence nodded, understanding.

“Alfie, nip down and buy yourself a twist of pork scratchings.” Blake flipped him a coin. Alfie caught it in mid-air and skipped out. When he had gone, Florence turned back to Mr Blake.

“Did he get into a fight or did somebody attack him?”

“His dad did it. Alfie came into a bit of money but his dad took it. Alfie fought to get it back but he was never going to win against someone who spends his days heaving about crates and barrels.”

“That’s dreadful. Something needs to be done.” Florence felt her hands curling into fists. “Where can I find this man?”

“You won’t find him,” Blake said firmly, “and even if you could, I wouldn’t let you go off to confront him.”

“That choice is not yours to make on my behalf,” Florence said indignantly.

Blake folded his arms across his chest. “It isn’t a choice I am prepared to let anyone make. What would you do? March up to him and tell him to reform his ways?”

“Well, yes. I suppose so.” Florence could feel herself getting flustered. “That is, I would inform him that the police would be getting involved if there was a repeat.”

Blake’s mouth twitched. She thought he was about to smile but he controlled it.