Page 27 of My Fair Lord

“He’d snap your neck before you got three words out. People like you don’t go after men like Carver Clarke. The police wouldn’t touch him either.”

A finger of ice traced itself down Florence’s spine, causing her to shudder; it was not the words as much as the tone of his voice. She had never heard him sound so serious.

“Well, something needs to be done,” she protested.

“It has been,” Blake said quietly. Their eyes met and the hardness she saw in his was so alarming it caused her to take a step back. More dots joined. She looked him up and down.

“What did you do?” she asked in a whisper.

“Enough that he won’t be so quick to beat anyone again.”

There was a quiet determination in Blake’s voice. It was like listening to an iron bar speaking. She looked Blake up and down, drinking in the livid bruising on his face and imagining more beneath his shirt. The hair at the back of her neck prickled.

“Have you murdered him?” Dottie, standing by the window, gave a squeak of alarm.

Mr Blake’s eyes widened. “Good grief, Miss Wakechild, your maid does seem to have a dreadful opinion of me. Of course I haven’t murdered him.”

“There, Dottie, don’t be so foolish,” Florence said, slightly relieved that Dottie had asked the question she had been wondering herself and even more so that the answer was negative. Blake’s next words were not so comforting, however.

“You don’t murder somebody like Carver Clarke. That’s too dignified a word. You put the animal down.”

“Oh!”

Blake’s eyes flickered and for a moment Florence saw pure fury.

“I have done neither, however. Let’s just say I demonstrated how it feels to be on the receiving end of a solid beating and Mr Clarke will think twice before laying his hand on the boy again.”

He lifted his chin, displaying the profile that Twemlow had praised.

“Oh thank goodness,” Florence breathed. “I mean, thank goodness you didn’t kill him. Also thank goodness he won’t hurt Alfie anymore and got what he had coming to him.”

Alfie wandered back into the room holding a brown paper bag and crunching on something enthusiastically. The smell of fat and salt rose enticingly from the bag. He was tucking into his treat as if there was no tomorrow. For him, with a brute of a father, perhaps there was no guarantee of a tomorrow. Florence’s stomach tightened.

“What will happen to him now?” She asked Ned quietly so that Alfie didn’t hear, but he looked towards her from his spot by the window.

“He’s a bright lad,” Blake said. “Quick on his feet. Sharp too. The sort of boy that could be made something of if he had the opportunity.” He gave a gentle cough. “Miss Wakechild, something extremely untoward has just occurred to me.”

“Yes,” Florence said, giving him a big smile. “Yes, Alfie can come with us.”

He looked astonished. “How did you know that is what I was going to ask?”

She tilted her head on one side to look at him, wondering how he could be so unaware. “Because you brought him here. You are taking the time to care for him and now you want to ask something of me. What else could you be asking me?”

Blake smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m not suggesting we turn him into a viscount, but with a bit of education, some manners, and enough food to fill his belly, he could make a passable servant. Not at the house, of course, but downstairs. Will you do it?”

“How can you even doubt it? We can’t possibly leave him at the mercy of someone who would do that to him.”

“Thank you.” Mr Blake took her hand. She looked at her hand contained in his. His fingers were slightly calloused. Not the hands of a nobleman. She’d have to invest in some lanolin ointment to help soften them. She curled her fingers slightly around his, and he made a soft noise in the back of his throat, something between a sigh and a grunt. Florence slipped her hand free, wondering if she had upset him, and went to Alfie.

“Alfie, would you like to come with me to Cheshire? My brother-in-law owns a house and he could always find work for a clever boy.”

Alfie looked interested. “Does he have horses, miss? I like horses.”

“Why yes, he does. He has two that pull his carriage. I’m sure he could find you work with them.” She thought for a moment, then added, “There is someone I’m going to meet who breeds racehorses. If my brother-in-law can’t find you work, perhaps he will.”

Alfie beamed. Florence looked at him speculatively, then at her maid. Dottie’s skin was darker than Alfie’s but that wasn’t necessarily a problem.

“Dottie, you have a little brother, Davey, don’t you? I think for one night Alfie can sleep in your room and if anyone asks, you can say he’s Davey come to visit you. Will you run ahead to the hotel and ask the porter to find a pallet bed?”